The Specialist (Closed for ArticAvenue and Rainingheat)

[RainingHeat]

This Intro Post was written by both Myself and ArticAvenue .. Enjoy

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She was a child prodigy. Well, no, she was a teenaged prodigy. One did not do what she did as a child. It was a skill she had discovered, developed, and honed, with the help of her father, starting at the tender age of 15. She was following in her father's footsteps after all. He was one of the best there was. He had 112 confirmed kills. The name Harold Blackthorne was well known among "those" types of people. Those types of people being ... Assassins.... Harold was not a garden variety Assassin. He worked for the highest levels of the Government. Presidents, Kings, Prime Ministers. He had worked for them all. And, he was the BEST.

Was... Because Harold was dead. He no longer was the best. But his daughter, she wanted to be.

Harold had wanted a son. A son to carry on the business. As well as to carry on the family name. But he got a daughter. His one and only child, was a daughter. Bobbi.. well Roberta actually... Roberta Blackthorne.. Her full name was Roberta Emily Blackthorne. But of course, her father called her Bobbi from day one. It was his way of letting her and her mother, know that he had wanted a son. Bobbi certainly didn't look like the "son" her father wanted. She was all female, with long blonde hair, and sparkling blue eyes. She was a vision, with a girl next door beauty and that smoldering heat just under the surface.

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She looked just like her mother. Well, that's what others said. She looked just like Caroline. But Caroline was gone. Bobbi's mother could not handle the "life" anymore, and could not handle Harold's disapproval, or Harold's idea to bring her precious daughter into the business. So just before Bobbi turned 15, her mother packed up and disappeared. Truth be told, Bobbi was never all that close to her mom. She was "daddy's girl"... Yeah, he had wanted a son, but was determined that since he did not get that, he would do the best he could with what he got...

So, Harold began the job of teaching her the "business", and Bobbi turned out to be a natural at it. As beautiful she was on the outside, with a heat in her eyes that already were making boys melt, she was cold and calculating on the inside. Not the typical teen when she was a teen and not the typical young adult she was now... she was about to turn 20...

But there was a problem. Bobbi was good. She was damned good. She was a natural. She had the knack. She had 9 confirmed hits already. But they were far from clean. She was good, but could be messy, inpatient, make mistakes. She needed to be focused. She needed to be flawless. She needed to be perfect. And the problem now was, her father had just died. He had ignored the warning signs of the impending heart attack, and it had killed him. That left Bobbi with no mentor. No teacher.... It left her lost.

What she didn't know was that her father had indeed contacted someone to further her teaching. He was known only as The Specialist. Her father had yet to tell her about him, but had actually planned to send her to this man upon her 20th birthday. 3 days after her father died, Bobbi turned 20. 3 days after her father died, Bobbi found out about her father's plans. 3 days after her father died, Bobbi's life was about to change again.

***************************************

The box was left inauspiciously on her bed. Smaller than a shoebox, the box’s exterior was pink with white hearts dotted across in a pattern. It was wrapped in a pink lacy bow, tied elegantly on top. A small, embossed card on the top read in careful calligraphy “Roberta Emily Blackthorne”.

Once opened, the contents inside contained just two items.

A small stuffed animal in the shape of a mouse. It’s lips turned up in a smile, it’s paws open wide as if asking for a hug, it’s brown fur lighter than the brown plastic eyes, accented only by the pink of the inner ears. The toy looked playful, happy, excited for a new owner.

The other item was a piece of heavy paper folded carefully along its center. When opened it read the following:


Roberta,

Happy Birthday.

For this day, your father acquired my services to further your education. While I give you my condolences for the untimely loss of your father, his departure from the living does not cancel the contract we agreed upon. He remains my client, and your results will be to meet the standards he established.

If you wish to reject this gift from your father, please stop reading further and destroy this box, it’s contents, and any memory of what was inside. I wish you a good life, in whatever trade you choose to make for yourself outside of that your father hope you to succeed at..

If you accept this gift, your education begins immediately.

Proceed to your bathroom, shower, and prepare yourself for a long journey. I have selected an outfit of (1) pair yoga pants, one (1) cotton t-shirt, one (1) pair of white ankle socks, and one (1) pair of running shoes for you to wear. They are awaiting you in the bathroom.

When you are ready, proceed to 10045 Airport Way, and have attendant point you to Hanger 2. You have until 15:00 before you will be too late.

If I have not yet arrived, you may make yourself comfortable in my jet. It will be a long flight, and it may be your last chance for comfort until your training is complete.

As a final note: I have taken account of your inventory of clothing and equipment and what you will need have been removed for your domicile, packed suitably, and will meet you upon arrival at our destination. You are to only bring with you this box and it’s contents. Do not bring identification. Do not bring money. Do not bring any of your ‘tools’. Do not leave the box or any of the contents behind, they must all be in your possession when we meet.

You well know, Harold Blackthorne is a name that garners respect in the field he was an expert in. I intend to honor his reputation with the education he acquired for you. It is my expectation you honor it as well by accepting the education given.

Sincerely,

The Specialist

***************************************

Blinking, Bobbie read the note again, and again, and again. Her heart rate had quickened, her breathing was rapid, her face flush. Her father had intended to send her for... training? Didn't he think she was good enough?

Of course, Bobbi was still young, and she thought, like alot of young people did, that she did not need the intervention of an "Adult". She knew what she was doing. She was GOOD.. Her Father had said so, yet, he had planned to send her away. She didn't need this Specialist. She DIDN'T.. But a little voice, her father's voice, whispered in her mind ... "You do need this sweetheart." the whisper grew more insistent... "You have to be perfect, flawless, you have to carry on my legacy." ... he had said those exact words in the Hospital, after his heart attack, but just before he died. It was as if he willed himself into consciousness just to tell her that. Now, those words were repeating in her mind. "I have to be perfect, flawless. I have to make Daddy proud"...

So, with a look of resignation in her eyes, Bobbie did as the note directed. She took a long, hot shower, pulled shimmering blonde hair back into a ponytail (which is what she always did when in a hit)... drew on the black yoga pants, the white tee and white socks, and was surprised that the running shoes fit as well as they did. Had her father told this guy her size? Why would that even matter? She was a bit confused, but that was OK. The last few days had been nothing but confusion thanks to her Father's death.

It was 14:25 when she hailed the cab outside her apartment building.

"10045 Airport Way" the Cabbie nodded and pulled away.

With a deep breath, she was ready to face her... training.

Hanger 2 was to the left of the airport, secluded away from the main hangars and the commercial jets. Poking it's nose just outside, was a sleek Lear jet, the staircase down, as if beckoning her within. She approached, holding nothing but the box and the stuffed mouse, which she had affectionately called Alfred. And the note of course, that was with her as well, folded up and secure in her bra.

"Miss Blackthorne" a woman stepped forward from the shadows cast by the building. She was impeccably dressed in a black suit skirt and black jacket, crisp white blouse beneath. She motioned for Bobbi to ascend the stairs. "He will be joining you momentarily" was all she said. She did not follow Bobbi up into the jet, nor did she say anything else.

The interior was cool and comfortable, a glass of wine and a bowl of grapes awaiting her. Sitting down, Bobbi ignored the wine, and instead, plucked a grape from the bowl and enjoyed that while she waited....

 

[ArcticAvenue]

The decor of the jet was modern and simple. Creme leather, white pine paneling, and gold trim. The tan carpeted floor was clean & free of vacuum lines as if never walked on. Two seats on one side of the cabin were separated by a table facing each other, where the logical place to sit would be for Bobbi. Behind them,what could be described as a couch lined one wall and desk the other. The interior didn’t speak of any great personality, but it seemed nothing had a single scratch, mark, a spec of dirt.

The woman who welcome Bobbi could be heard speaking on a phone from time to time. For the most part she stood outside at the ready. The clock on the wall read 15:12 when she stepped into the cabin, and went directly to the cockpit door. Sticking her head inside she said a few brief words. Before leaving the cabin once more she stopped quickly and spoke to Bobbi. “He’s on his way, shouldn’t be too much longer,” and just like that she exited again.

Then nothing for a while longer.

The clock neared 15:33 when something changed up front. From the cockpit, the noise of preparations could be heard. Words like reading a checklist, switches flipped, the sound of systems turning on. Outside the door, a flash of light, sun bouncing off metal as a vehicle pulled up right outside the door of the aircraft. From the back of the plane, a whir of motion indicated the start-up of an APU, followed by the ignition of one engine. Once running, the engine noise drowned out what sounded like a conversation occurring on the tarmac. The woman was speaking to man, likely one from whatever car was outside.

She stepping back into the cabin, she opened a cupboard near the cockpit, and pulled forth a blender. A small fridge opened to reveal an assortment of leafy vegetables and roots, all of which she quickly threw into the blender along with a yellowish liquid similar to yogurt. A few pulses later and a lime green smoothie was complete and poured into a tall tumbler. She placed the drink on the table across from Bobbi in front of the opposing chair. She gave a brief smile to Bobbi and again departed the plane in a flash.

The flash of sunlight outside suggested a car door was opening. From outside a man could be heard talking, as if he was having a conversation with someone or shouting to be heard on a phone. Around the wing of the aircraft, a man dressed like a driver of sorts carried a duffle appearing to find stowage for the bag. The voice outside continued, coming from someone other than the driver. It could be heard conversing with woman, finalizing some plans. Finally he stepped close enough to the door that his voice could cut through:

“Is she here?”

“Inside,” the woman responded.

“Good,” he returned. “I will see you in Lac de Oublie then.” The voice had a hint of a French accent, maybe mixed with something else. Not quite American but Americanized European.

There was a brief moment, and then he stepped into the cabin.

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Navy suit, black tie, white shirt, all cut with high class and worn with purpose. Sunglass covered his eyes until he nearly finished his entry revealing grey steely eyes accented by his well tanned skin. From that moment his eyes landed on Bobbi and stared at her like one staring down his enemy. As he continued his preparations, he never took his eyes off of her. He stood tall enough that he had to crouch slightly in the jet, but he did so effortlessly like a man fit to any physical challenge laid in front of him. His face was flush & taut, only suggesting further an athleticism. Unless one would look at the slight recession of his hairline, he could be mistaken for someone in his 30s, but he was likely older than that. He had a beard that looked meticulously trimmed so not to look as it has been. As if someone had designed each follicle to be arranged so that it appeared to be scruffy.

With his eyes still on her, the whine of the engine flooding the sound of the cabin through its open door, he silently prepared himself for the flight. He unbuttoned his jacket, pulled it from his shoulders, and handed it to the assistant standing just outside the door. He removed his tie tossing it again to the assistant, unbutton his shirt halfway, then uncuffed the shirt as well. His jacket reappeared with the tie on a hanger, the assistant placing it onto the a hook just inside the door before her arm disappeared again. He pushed his shoes off his feet, lowering his height so he no longer hand to crouch, and slide a slick leather belt from his belt loops. The assistant’s hands reappeared, took the shoes without his notice. He offered the belt behind him, she took that as well. In very short order he had gone from executive suit to a state that was the last point one could be called fully clothed but still be the closest to naked as one could get.

He finally broke eye contact with Bobbi, turning to look out the door and gave a nod. As he turned back to his client, the cabin door closed behind them, the sounds of the engine changing as it seemed they rushed to make it into the enclosure with listener. When the door closed and sealed, the interior immediately fell proportionally silent as the air pressure inside increased.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t react much at all. He only seem to regard her. Yet he didn’t stop watching her. He was just regarding her.

He moved to the chair across from the Bobbi. Pushed a button on a council next to the chair, and stated, “We are ready.”

From an intercom speaker came a reply, “Yes sir, we will be in the air shortly.”

Seconds later, the engines powered up and the jet began to move. He reached for the smoothy the assistant made earlier and took a first drink. With the plane bouncing along the taxi ways, he put the drink down and spoke to her cutting the silence.

“Roberta Emily Blackthorne.” He stated. “You may ask me any question you wish and I will answer truthfully.. Keep in mind, it is only one question so choose your question wisely. You have two minutes to ask it.”

 

[RainingHeat]

“Roberta Emily Blackthorne.” He stated. “You may ask me any question you wish and I will answer truthfully.. Keep in mind, it is only one question so choose your question wisely. You have two minutes to ask it.”

Bobbi had watched him with the same cool gaze that he appeared to be watching her with. Tho she was not quite as good at maintaining that gaze and ended up looking away, long before he did. She HATED when people stared at her. Usually it was some jock or college nerd or guy in a business suit, looking her up and down and thinking God only knows what. Some even dared to try and talk to her. Like she would date a nerd, or a jock, or a suit. Bobbi had no interest in guys really. Not that she didn't have her share of dates, here and there. Mostly when she was in high school. But her father had told her, to excel she had to commit and she could only commit to one thing at a time, if it were the opposite sex, than so be it, her training would end right there. Of course, Bobbi picked her training. She wanted to make her daddy proud. She would never admit that she was lonely. And she would never admit that her body had begun "needing"....

The last thing she wanted was anyone seeing her "need" anything. So being stared at made her feel, well... it chilled her. She hid that little fact, or at least tried to...

Now, he was sitting across from her, and allowing her one question. And that, had a time limit. OK, she'd play his game. Her father had set this up, so it must be.. well.. worth it.. right? Had he trained her father? No, he was too young for that... Then who was he? ... He had to be good, right? Otherwise her father never would have arranged this. Damn him for dying, Bobbi felt so fucking LOST....

One question.

2 Minutes.

"My Father must have thought you are the best, since he arranged this. So tell me, if you are the best, are you willing to loose that distinction once you train me to be the best?"

Asking questions, her father had told her, would almost always reveal something about the "Asker" even more so that the "Askee" or the person answering the question. The person answering could always tailor the answer to hide their thoughts, their feelings, etc. But the Asker rarely considered that. So, he had told her, always be careful of the questions you ask, because you always reveal something about yourself when you do....

So, Bobbi figured, all she revealed was her desire to be the best, and replace him. That simple.

She plucked another grape from the bowl, along with a ripened strawberry. The grape quickly devoured, the strawberry, that she would savour while she awaited his answer, this time, she was staring at him.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

He lifted the green drink to his mouth, drinking most of it in short order as he waited for her question. Once she had asked it, he seemed to pause and ponder an answer.

Before he spoke, he raised a finger, as if suggesting to wait. “After takeoff,” he explained. He spun the chair he to face the cabinet where his assistant had prepared his drink earlier. Pulling a drawer, the top of an open bottle of wine presented itself. He removed a wine glass the same shape as Bobbi’s, lifted the bottle, and filled the glass. “I would recommend you try the wine. It is a lovely Cab Sav Reserve Small Barrel from Napa, quite nice on the inexperienced palette, and suited well for the circumstances - a plane is no place to let a wine breathe.” Turning back to face her, the glass in his hand. “Try it. It will help you to relax for what is in store ahead of you.”

The engines went to full power as the plane rumbled down the runway. It smoothly pulled from the ground, continuing its acceleration as the gear went up and the flaps retracted. As the noise that comes with the liftoff subsided, he took a sip of the wine, and responded finally.

“I held your father in great regard, Roberta. For this, I shall grant you something I normally wouldn’t. I will not just give you what you ask, but explain why you are mistaken in your question & in doing so tell you that which I don’t often reveal to one who’d haven’t learned anything yet.

“In return, you will listen to me speak without interruption, is that understood.” It was a command, not a question. As if to emphasize that, he continued.

“The honest answer to your question … is No. I am the best at what I do. I am not ready to lose that distinction. You are mistaken to think that I would be, just as you are mistaken to think something far more fundamental.”

The last of his words hung between them, as he raised the wine to his lips. While swallowing, he spun it around the glass, and took a sip.

“Your question implies I am the best at being a contract killer. Well, that is in fact, not true and never was. I have done what you have done, I have experience not unlike yours; but killing is a path I no longer want to take. Your father shared with me your dossier, and it is impressive for a little girl. I do not doubt you are already bettering me in what you do, and I do not doubt you could quite possibly be the best at what you do. If this was say some competition between you and I, you would surely win.

“But this is not a competition between you and I .. this is a competition between you … and you.”

Again, his words hung between them like the air that the breathed. When he continued, the calculating words were back he stared into the wine like reciting prose.

“They call me The Specialist. I specialize in training those who need it, and leaving them better than they could achieve on their own. I train. I make ones better. I have trained the best, and I have left them better. Simple.

“I cannot say your father believed I am the best. Yes, I admired him greatly, but I do not care about his opinion of me. He did not hire me because I was the best, that I can tell you. He hired me, because he wanted you to be better. He hired me because of you.”

He placed the wine glass down onto the table, and set his hands into his lap.

“Now, remove your shirt, please. Do not delay, there is much to discuss, remove your shirt, and ONLY your shirt.”

 

[RainingHeat]

Bobbi wished she had the knack her father had for reading people. He was really good at judging character, emotion, and sometimes even more when it came to people/strangers. He said it was all in the observation, and yes, he tried to teach her those same instincts. But it was instinct, and even tho Bobbi was pretty good at reading superficial people, who were shallow and well, just plain stupid, she had a rougher time when trying to decipher more complex individuals.

And this man went beyond complex...

She wasn't frightened, not yet anyways. But she was leery.. cautious. She had come here willingly, yes, but in reality it was not all that willingly. Her father had arranged this, she would never walk away from that. She wanted, no NEEDED to make him proud. So really, this was never a choice for her. She would do this.. she would become the best, for HIM...

Bobbi did not meet his gaze as he spoke. She also did not touch the wine. Wine, and any other kind of Alcohol or Drug, clouded one's mind and one's judgement. Her father had taught her that lesson very early on. So the wine went untouched, but she did pluck another grape from the bowl... and listened.

"Your father shared with me your dossier, and it is impressive for a little girl."

Bobbi heard everything he said... and she waited for him to finish, as he requested, before she interjected... because that one phrase had set her on edge.. and if he were as observant as her Father had been, he would see her tensing.

"Call me Bobbi... not Roberta. Only my teachers called me Roberta and I hated it then and I hate it now"... She still did not look at him when she said that... but she did turn her gaze into his when she continued... "and I am NOT a little girl".... The words were almost a snarl, slipping out of her mouth between clenched teeth... She knew she revealed a bit about herself when that came out.. but she HATED those words, little girl. Like she was a child. She hadn't been a child in a very long long time. In fact, if you outright asked her, she would tell you that she lost her childhood on the night of October 30th, when she was 16 years old, on the 5th floor of the parking garage, sniper rifle in hand, her father at her side. Her childhood died when she peered thru that scope at the back of the blonde man's head and squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet into his brain, and sending him to his maker instantly. It was funny that her first kill had been her cleanest. Yeah, Bobbi got a little cocky sometimes and that lead to being messy.

She still made her kills, but in 3 of them, it took 2 bullets to complete the kill. That was not how it needed to be, and her Father knew it. That was why he sought out....

“They call me The Specialist. I specialize in training those who need it, and leaving them better than they could achieve on their own. I train. I make ones better. I have trained the best, and I have left them better. Simple. I cannot say your father believed I am the best. Yes, I admired him greatly, but I do not care about his opinion of me. He did not hire me because I was the best, that I can tell you. He hired me, because he wanted you to be better. He hired me because of you."

“Now, remove your shirt, please. Do not delay, there is much to discuss, remove your shirt, and ONLY your shirt.”

Say what?

She didn't say those words, but they flashed in bright lights across her mind. Take off her shirt? What.. the fuck? WHY?

Bobbi didn't move, and she managed, somehow, to keep her gaze locked in his. He didn't look like a pervert to her. But again, she was not the best judge, unfortunately.

"There is no reason for me to take off my shirt" she said very matter of factly. It was nothing more than a white tee-shirt, and a white bra. It wasn't that she was embarrassed, she just did not see the need. She shifted in her seat, and that was when she felt, slightly, and remembered, the note, folded up in her bra. Is that what he wanted? Did he figure out it was there because it was the only logical place it could be? She had no purse, no bag of anykind, no wallet. No ID, as he requested. She didn't even HAVE an ID to be honest. Her Father had made sure she understood to NEVER carry one. The box, she had destroyed that, and she had the little stuffed mouse and the note, the mouse was sitting on the small table guarding the grapes she had been indulging herself in. The note, was in her bra.

He was testing her.

At least that was what she thought.

Reaching into her bra, but NOT taking off her shift, Bobbi retrieved the note and tossed it onto the table between them.

"As I said, there is no reason for me to remove my shirt"

 

[ArcticAvenue]

When the note hit the table, he didn’t even react. His eyes moved to a tired look when she stood her ground … on her name, on calling her a little girl, even when she rebutted his request to remove her shirt. He just waited to respond.

And she didn’t have to wait long for a response.

He leaned forward in his chair, knitting his eyebrows, the dark brown of his eyes growing a few shades darker in front of her.

“Roberta … Everything has a reason.”

He took a quick look up to the clock, then returned his steely gaze back to her.

“You have thirteen minutes to remove your shirt. It is 16:21, you have to 16:34.”

Then as if he changed the subject completely, he started in a different direction.

“Nineteenth of February, South Boston. Patrick O'Callaghan. Entry and exit wound to the left neck. Entry and exit wound to right chest. Thirteen seconds between rounds. Cause of death loss of blood in 4 minutes. Sufficient time for.someone to identify the source of the shooter, yet confusion between suspects led to the wrong building to be identified.

“Twenty-third of April, Placentia, California. Emilio Vasquez. Entry and exit wound to right shoulder. Entry and exit wounds to the left hand and head, considered to be from the same bullet, the hand wounds to be protective. Witness attest to a third discharge that is believed to miss the target. Twenty seven seconds between rounds. Four witness gave statements suggesting the shots came from a black van parked within 10 feet of the corner store they standing in front of.”

He recited these facts without any notes, without any reference. They were strictly from memory. They were factual. They were intended to hurt.

“... For a Little Girl,” he stated as if continuing the speech he gave earlier. “For a professional, it is bad advertisement. For a well seasoned killer, it is the mistakes that get you killed. For The Best,” he accented that title for emphasis to her expectations of herself, “it is an utter embarrassment.”

He took a breath, flicked his head to the side, and leaned back in his chair. No longer making contact with her he continued. “However … For a woman who hopes to be better than she is, it is an opportunity to learn.”

He picked up the wine glass again and before taking a drink he looked up at the clock. “You have eleven minutes.”

 

[RainingHeat]

Thirteen minutes...

Two minutes...

What was it about time with this guy? Bobbi paused. That was NOT what she should be thinking about and she knew it. That was a distraction. So he was picky.. no... anal... about time. What did she care. But that had been and was part of her problem. Timing.... and sometimes... aim....

Nineteenth of February, South Boston. Patrick O'Callaghan. Entry and exit wound to the left neck. Entry and exit wound to right chest. Thirteen seconds between rounds. Cause of death loss of blood in 4 minutes. Sufficient time for.someone to identify the source of the shooter, yet confusion between suspects led to the wrong building to be identified.

Oh God... she remembered that one. It was fucking COLD. Freezing.. with a hint of snow in the air. Being from California, she HATED the cold, and it showed that particular afternoon. It was her 4th hit. Her father had said almost the same thing to her, that the target had not died instantly, had been semi-conscious for almost 4 minutes, plenty of time to point a finger. And only 1 finger needed to be pointed, and that would lead to the contract, that would lead to them...

The thing was her Father and herself were NOT Mob Killers. Were NOT free-lancers. They were Hired Assassins that worked for the Government, or the Royal Family, or the Prime Minister, or the King, whoever in power needed them, and paid them. Having a finger pointed at them had the potential to bring down an entire high ranking, and very well funded (as in the millions and millions and millions of dollars) operation. But Bobbi's father had faith in his daughter. She'd get it right. What was one mistake...

But one mistake turned into another...

“Twenty-third of April, Placentia, California. Emilio Vasquez. Entry and exit wound to right shoulder. Entry and exit wounds to the left hand and head, considered to be from the same bullet, the hand wounds to be protective. Witness attest to a third discharge that is believed to miss the target. Twenty seven seconds between rounds. Four witness gave statements suggesting the shots came from a black van parked within 10 feet of the corner store they standing in front of.”

She knew that was coming, maybe even anticipated it. That mistake was merely a year ago, well, 17 months ago to be exact. Emilio Vasquez, very high ranking in the Drug and Gun game. Very high ranking. In fact, he was 1 step from the top, and the top guy had been assassinated that same night, by another Assassin. It was a dual killing, one in California, the other in New York. It was a night killing, which was never easy in the dark... Harold had actually been the contracted Killer. But again, he wanted Bobbi to learn, so he allowed her to take the Hit. That was his mistake. This was an important contract and his daughter had almost, ALMOST screwed it up... It was this hit that lead Harold to contacting The Specialist for his daughter. Those closest to Harold thought that it was this hit that perhaps brought on the heart attack that killed him...

Entry/Exit wound to the right shoulder and left hand. Entry/Exit wound to the head, that indeed was a 2nd shot from Bobbi, yet it only grazed the target, entering near the left ear and exiting just the other side ... and Emilio was still on his feet... The 3rd discharge was from Bobbi as well, and missed entirely. It was then that her Father, using his own sniper rifle, aimed and hit with the killing shot, base of the skull, spine severed, Emilio was dead before he hit the pavement face first.

They had almost gotten caught. Almost. It was not pretty. It was a disaster. Yet still, Harold had faith in his daughter. He could see flashes of brillance in her... He refused to believe otherwise...

Bobbi knew, deep inside she knew, the fact that the Specialist had NOT said outloud that her Father had to complete that one Hit that had almost cost them their everything, she knew... she could almost feel what he was thinking. He was thinking she was not worth it, she was nothing more than a girl in a man's world and she was nothing more than a liability. He didn't have to finish the details of that particular Hit, his silence on that was enough.

And it did hurt, and try as she might, she could not hide that hurt from showing in her eyes. She had so disappointed her father, and she knew she had. He never said it. But she knew.

Bobbi got up from her seat, dropping the last grape she had plucked from the bowl, it hitting the floor at her feet before rolling away. Her breathing deepened. He had hit a nerve. He had not just hit a nerve, he had yanked it out and was twisting it.

Her dossier he had mentioned, and documented, 9 confirmed kills. Emilio would have made that 10, had she managed to do the job instead of fucking it up so badly. All because she lost focus. And she didn't even realize WHY she lost focus.

“... For a Little Girl,” he stated as if continuing the speech he gave earlier. “For a professional, it is bad advertisement. For a well seasoned killer, it is the mistakes that get you killed. For The Best,” he accented that title for emphasis to her expectations of herself, “it is an utter embarrassment.”

"I ... am... not... a ... Little ... Girl.... " she again growled. It was clear she was upset.. She was standing, facing away from him now, her entire body a taut as a violin string, hands balled into fists.

“However … For a woman who hopes to be better than she is, it is an opportunity to learn.”

It was that, those words, that washed over and and seemed to calm her. "A Woman... opportunity to learn." She remembered once when she was 15 and just beginning.. Her father had sat her down and spoke to her about his time in the military, the US Marines.. and boot camp. He told her how the Drill Sargeant would tear the recruit apart, ripping him to shreds, and then build him back up again, stronger, prouder, braver, smarter, than before. He told her it was a hard process, but necessary. He had repeated that same story to her just days before he died. She had wondered why, thinking he was getting forgetful, but now, as she stood there, back to The Specialist, she wondered if He, her new "Teacher" was the reason why he repeated that story.

Would he do that. Tear her apart, just to piece her back together, stronger, more powerful, so much better.... than before?

11 minutes...

Back still to him, she tugged her tee shirt up along her slender, lithe torso, pulling it over her head, and dropping it to the floor at her feet. At first, she did not move to turn around.. But then she thought, no, she would not let him get the best of her. She was not embarrassed. She was modest, but no where near a prude. Sex, sexuality, had never really entered her mindset since she had started down this road. Sure, she'd been as horny as most teens before this started, lots of kissing and petting, but never more than that. And once she was under her father's wing, all that was left behind. She had gotten good at ignoring her body's basic needs in that regard, altho it would be a lie to say she had never touched herself... she had...

Bobbi turned then, kicking her tee under her chair as she did so. Sitting back down, she actually contemplated a sip of wine... but instead, she met his gaze once more, finally able to look back at him... "Could I possibly have a glass of water?" She realized her breathing was a bit rapid, and that she was a little flush, but the reason for that was because of the "Little Girl" remark... Each breath she took accented the perfect, round, curve of her breasts, and given that the jet was air conditioned and quite, cool, the darkened peaks of her nipples could be detected beneath the white cotton of her bra...

 

[ArcticAvenue]

His reaction to her outburst was something short of being unamused. When she turned back to him after removing her shirt, he was looking into her eyes again, clearly not to the body she is now revealing. Even as she sat down, he kept his eye on her face, noticeably so. Only when she requested water did he do otherwise. His gaze dropped down to her breasts directly and purposefully. When it seemed the look was enough, he lifted his head to return to her eyes - his lips now presenting a presentable smile.

“Water, yes,” he finally replied. He spun the chair once more and opened a refrigerator.

“I do mean what I said, earlier, Roberta, everything has a reason.” He pulling forth a cold bottle of water from a brand that would never be considered as cheap and turned to face her..

He turned and placed the bottle in front of her. “For example. You asked for a glass of water. I gave you a bottle. It is not what you asked for but you will find it refreshes you none the less and it allows you to close and keep in case you chose not to finish it here. It is my prerogative to choose if you receive what you ask for. However, if you demanded water, you would have received none.”

He picked up his wine and took a longer sip of it, his eyes returning to her breasts for a short period once more and again smiling to her appreciatively.

“You will also soon realize everything I ask of you comes in one of three forms. Recommendations, Expectations, and Offers. You will quickly come to understand the difference, though how you respond will matter much in the training you will receive. .

“There will be times you will have the ability to decide for yourself to take my recommendation, and I will respect your choice. I recommended the wine, if you remember; and I am not offended that it remains untested. I am only trying to guide you to what I feel is best for you, but trust you to make your own decision.

“If I would have made it an expectation, you that would be different. For example, I expected you to remove your shirt. You may choose to comply or you may not; but know there are consequences for the decisions you make. In this business, Roberta, consequences would end badly. As I sharing my methods with you I will promise you that all my expectations are exact. They include all that is needed and leave out all that is not. An expectation requires compliance to avoid consequence.”

He finished the last of the wine, and turned his chair again to place it onto the cabinet it came from.

“Exceed my expectation, and you may be rewarded … if I so choose. For instance, because you removed your shirt with nine minutes remaining, I will offer you an award for that, but before I do ...”

He turned back to her, took a deep breath and placed his hands back into his lap.

“Offers,” he started, “Offers are simple. I make a request, and if you fulfill it I grant you a reward. Offers are intended to challenge you, Roberta, and leave you with the opportunity to build on who you are, but they will tend to be difficult. This may take time for you to realize, but my rewards are always greater .. far far greater ... than the challenge of my request for you.”

He looked up a the clock, looked back to her, and took a slow glance over her body. Returning to her eyes he started:

“It is 16:29, you have the remaining nine minutes for these both.

“Your reward is, you have until 16:38 to ask me one personal question and I will answer it honestly. It cannot be about my training or my methods; but can be about anything you want to know of me. Choose wisely, as you may not get another such reward.

“And now … My offer to you is this. I have made a preliminary assessment of your weaknesses. Regardless if you accept my offer or not, at 16:38 I will list those weaknesses to you. If you fulfill my offer, I will give you the reward of how I came to my conclusions because … as I say … Everything has a reason. If you choose to not accept my offer, then I will never explain to you what I saw that shows your weaknesses. Tempting is it not?

“All you have to do is lower your pants to your ankles. You may take them off if you wish, you may take your shoes off as well. If you still wear your pants as you do now at 16:38 I will consider the offer refused.”

He crossed his arms, a rye smile on his face clearly interested in what she does next. “So, you have eight minutes now … to ask me a personal question, and if you wish, to lower your pants.”

 

[RainingHeat]

She was still standing. Her stance was defensive, and she knew it. She wasn't really sure how to go on the "offensive" with this guy.... this Specialist. For a moment, she cursed her Father for setting this up, but she immediately regretted it. He knew, or had known, what was best for her, right? And he deemed this best for her... right?

She would see this through, no matter what. For her Father. To make him, the memory of him, proud.

She just wished he was there to lean on, to give her advice, to just.... be there...

Eight minutes. Wasn't that a thing in bull riding? Stay on for Eight minutes and you have conquered the bull? Was he the bull and she trying to stay on? or was she the bull and he was determined to stay mounted. Wait, was that eight minutes or eight seconds? Now he was confusing her. He was trying to unsetttle her. Perhaps he was the bull and he was trying to "buck her off"... Get her off her feet, trying to get her to lower her guard even further. So, he claimed to already see her weaknesses. Well, then she was going to have to reign in those weaknesses and lock them away....

Eight minutes, to ask a personal question....
Eight minutes to lower her pants....

Taking away a person's clothing was a physical way to reveal that person's vulnerabilities. that much she knew... and Bobbi didn't like it, she didn't like it at all. But she was not about to let him get to her. She'd play his little game.

In a fluid motion, she slid the black yoga pants down her long, lean legs. She was not muscular like a jock or anything, She was much more lean, lithe, like a slender cat, perhaps a panther... Her movements were smooth and almost sensual, yet she certainly wasn't trying to be sensual. The pants in a black puddle on the floor she stepped out of them, shedding her sneakers as well, by simply kicking them off effortlessly. She was now nude, except for the white bra, and her matching white panties.

She could not hide the slight flush to her cheeks, but it was not a shy, or embarrassed flush. It was more a determined, holding in her own anger, flush.

As for the personal question, that caught her a bit off guard. She really was not sure what to ask. He mind raced for a moment. Oh her Father would have excelled at this little game, she was sure. She was equally sure he would have the perfect question to ask, that perhaps would even have given him the upper hand. That made her wonder, as she thought about it, had he ever even met her father?

That thought was what lead to the question she chose to ask...

"If you would allow me..." she already figured out that he would not tolerate her calling the shots. But that small fact made sense to her. He was the Teacher, after all, he was The Specialist. This was his jet. This was his game. When the time came, and she made up her mind in that moment that at some point that time WOULD come, when she was the one in control, she would NOT be asking permission for ANYTHING from him... She would make sure that time came.... She would work toward it. It gave her another goal, make her Father proud, and beat this guy at this own game and take control.

"... I have a 2 part question for you... Did you know my Father outside of his ... business... and if so... what did you think of him?"

Her Father obviously thought highly of this .... Specialist.... If she was going to be trained by this man, she wanted to know what his opinion of her Father really was. She hoped it would help her get a handle on who HE really was.

Others may have asked his name, that would have been the logical question. But truth be told, she cared less what his name was. He certainly did not seem to care what her name was, or what she preferred to be called.... So she cared less what he was called... to her.. he was and would be... The Specialist...

 

[ArcticAvenue]

When the pants pooled on the floor, he noticeably let his eyes wander down her exposed body. It was much like when she pulled her shirt off, seeming to be more concern with her facial expressions but ensuring to make her completely aware that he was taking in her newly exposed body. The smile was back on his lips, but he remained silent. Patiently waiting for the question he expected to come.

"... I have a 2 part question for you…

He smirked smuggly, turning his head away. He wasn’t ready to take the ‘2-part’ seriously.

” Did you know my Father outside of his ... business... and if so... what did you think of him?"

In the first instant she asked the question, his face didn’t change. It steeled in its continued expression, as if the natural reaction was to show nothing at all. He turned back to her, and widened his smile - this time letting it become more forced. But everything happens for a reason.

“Please, sit, the flight it is still long. You will tire standing like that.”

Almost in contradiction he stood himself, turning towards the cabinet. “Excuse me. The wine is lovely, but my flight drink of choice is gin.” He removed a glass from the cabinet, a few near perfect ice cubes, and a bottle of gin that appeared to have a handmade label on it. “Would you like anything other than your water, when I am up.”

He looked back at her and smiled, “By the way, it would be rude of me to not say as such, but you are a very beautiful woman. Usually, my students aren’t so lovely; but to their credit, they are not usually women.”

Sliding into his chair again, the forced smile was gone and the calmer one remained. He lifted the glass to his lips and spoke over its rim before drinking. “Well, I am sure you believe I have avoided your question long enough …”

He took a drink, swallowed, and spoke.

“I am fully transparent with you that I hold him in great regards, that true in and out of his business. As I mentioned, I used to do what you do, and what he did. As what I do now, he was one I consulted with from time to time. If one were to compare who we were to any other business, one would say we were working colleagues. Yet I will be dishonest if I were to tell you I never knew him outside of his business.”

Setting his glass down, he leaned forward. “I can tell you miss your father already. Sadly, There will be more difficult days to come. I believe that there is no business more lonely than this one. Your contract arrives from some unknown, keeping a low profile, finish the job remain in hiding. Even if one comes that you may befriend, you don’t dare share what you do. None know what problems you face. It is …” He let out a long sigh. “.. lonely.”

He spun the glass on the table with his fingers. “One day, I found myself sitting across the table from your father. When you meet someone who not only knows the difficulty with what you do, but is understanding … one finds himself sharing more than he ever has.” Shrugging he took another drink from the glass. “I doubt he looked to me as anything but The Specialist. But I think of that day often, and what had become of me since.”

Another drink from the glass, and all that was left was ice. “Just so you know, Roberta, that will be your last ‘2 Part’ question.”

 

[RainingHeat]

“Please, sit, the flight it is still long. You will tire standing like that.”

"I'm fine" she flatly stated. She had begun pacing, something she tended to do when nervous or not comfortable. It was a habit she did even when on a mission, while waiting for the target. She would pace the floor, or inside the van of box truck, or walk in circles in the parking garage, wherever they were set up for the hit, if she became impatient, nervous, or not comfortable, she would begin that pacing. It drove her father crazy....

“Excuse me. The wine is lovely, but my flight drink of choice is gin.”
“Would you like anything other than your water, when I am up.”

Bobbi paused. Truth be told, she'd love to have a drink right now and take the edge off. But her father had drilled into her, do NOT inhibit your thinking when working, and she considered this, working. She had to be able to think straight. It wasn't that she didn't trust the Man, this Specialist, but she had no clue who he really was or what he was capable of. Her father obviously had trusted him, but even that was not quite enough for Bobbi... not yet anyways...

"No, the water is fine, thank you" she did grace him with a slight nod and even the hint of a smile as she paced...

He looked back at her and smiled, “By the way, it would be rude of me to not say as such, but you are a very beautiful woman. Usually, my students aren’t so lovely; but to their credit, they are not usually women.”

THAT made her smile. Her father had told her the same thing. To find a woman in this particular profession was rare. To find a woman that was GOOD in this particular profession was even more rare. And given that she, and her father, worked for Governments, that made the fact that she was female the rarest of all. There were Rulers, Sheiks, Kings, etc, in governments in the world that still treated women as 2nd class people, that did not afford any rights to their women, that bought and sold women like cattle or sheep, yet she could be employed by these same people... and they would have to treat her like a "man" so to speak.

So, to say that Bobbi was proud to be a woman in this profession would be speaking the truth, and that light shone in her eyes when she met his gaze as he spoke.

It was now, that she finally felt comfortable enough to stop her pacing and sit down opposite her Teacher.

"Well, I am sure you believe I have avoided your question long enough …”

“I am fully transparent with you that I hold him in great regards, that true in and out of his business. As I mentioned, I used to do what you do, and what he did. As what I do now, he was one I consulted with from time to time. If one were to compare who we were to any other business, one would say we were working colleagues. Yet I will be dishonest if I were to tell you I never knew him outside of his business.”

So, that was why her father trusted him. He, this Specialist, had consulted her father from time to time. Her father had mentioned that he sometimes would "tutor" ... well, maybe that was not the correct phrase... other people in the same profession. He would offer these people his opinions, sometimes guidence... yes, guidence, that was the term... she remembered him telling her that everyone needed a mentor.

Given that the.... Specialist.. was younger than her father, had her father been his Mentor?

She almost let that question slip out... almost....

Setting his glass down, he leaned forward. “I can tell you miss your father already. Sadly, There will be more difficult days to come. I believe that there is no business more lonely than this one. Your contract arrives from some unknown, keeping a low profile, finish the job remain in hiding. Even if one comes that you may befriend, you don’t dare share what you do. None know what problems you face. It is …” He let out a long sigh. “.. lonely.”

“One day, I found myself sitting across the table from your father. When you meet someone who not only knows the difficulty with what you do, but is understanding … one finds himself sharing more than he ever has.” Shrugging he took another drink from the glass. “I doubt he looked to me as anything but The Specialist. But I think of that day often, and what had become of me since.”

Bobbi had not expected such an "open" answer to her question. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but she got more than she had thought she would. He had opened up to her, even if it was just a alittle, and she got the feeling, as she watched him, that he had not meant to, that the words had just seemed to flow out, as if needing to be free'd.

She remembered her father stating almost the same thing. "None know what problems you face. It is a lonely life"... He had said that to her not a month before he died.

But he had "bucked" the trend. He had met Caroline. He was young, new in the business... and tt had been love at first site. He courted her, he romanced her, and he married her. Caroline was not innocent to the "life", the "job", that Harold did. She was the Assistant to the Man who ran the business. But she was not part of the ... well.. the end results. So yes, she was still in the dark as to the killing aspect of the business. She kept the books, made sure payments were made. Her job involved numbers and accounts, not lives. That was how she kept herself "sane" in this business. But that changed after she married Harold. She resigned when she became pregnant, wanting to devote her time to raising her child. But Harold, he would not resign, no matter how many times she begged him to. The "killing" part of the business became much more real to her now, now that Harold was their only source of income. She worried he would be killed. She worried that he would get caught. She worried that someone would retailiate. She worried about raising a daughter with this in their background. Never mind the fact that Harold had so wanted a son. And given that she did not get pregnant again, well, he resented her for that little fact as well. Caroline had thought that having a daughter would have changed her husband, that he would have wanted to stop the killing buisness and live a more normal life, but she was wrong, so very wrong... And when Harold decided he would groom their one and only child, a daughter, to enter the business as well, she packed up and left. Caroline begged Bobbi to go with her... but Bobbi was Daddy's girl, she refused. She could never leave Daddy, she had said...

Her mother had not even bothered to contact her after that. Had not even bothered to come to her father's funeral... as far as Bobbi was concerned... Caroline was dead....

"Lonely" Bobbi whispered, more to herself than to him. She had hoped her father had not been lonely, she was there, she had always been there. He was different, right?

“Just so you know, Roberta, that will be your last ‘2 Part’ question.”

Bobbi leveled her gaze at him. Did he know about her mother? she wondered... Did he know that her father had not been one of the lonely ones? That he actually had been very loved, first by Caroline, and then by her? He knew she missed him, did he even have an inkling how much? And was being lonely what lay ahead for her? Her father had been lucky, he had found someone who, at least at first, understood his life choice. Bobbi didn't think she'd be so lucky. But that didn't matter, she always told herself. The only thing that mattered was making her father and his name PROUD....

"I understand" she answered back... her eyes finally going back to that cold, almost blankness that she tried to show others.

"And DAMNIT.. call me Bobbi!!!"

All kinds of thoughts were now careening around in her mind. Had her father gone thru a training like this? He had mentioned he had training, but Bobbi thought he just meant marksman training. Obviously this man had not trained her father, he was too young. But if there were one, that had to have been others. She remembered her mother, once, telling her father that she didn't care if "he was The Specialist".. that he was not setting foot in this house and not getting anywhere near Bobbi... She had been 12 at the time, and her father had begun to talk of teaching her to do what he did. At the time, Bobbi had thought it was "hunting"... and she was all for it, her mother, not so much. In reality, that had been the beginning if the end for Harold and Caroline.

"So, he had wanted to send me for training earlier than this" she said to herself, not voicing it outloud. What had stopped him? Why not send her to "training camp" back then? But she gathered that she needed to be more mature, more than likely. Sure, maybe he wanted to send her early on, that way she never would have made the mistakes she made, but her maturity level was not there.

Was she mature enough now, at 19?... "well almost 20" she again said to herself only.... It no longer mattered. She would do this, again, to make her father's name... Blackthorne... proud....

 

[ArcticAvenue]

"And DAMNIT.. call me Bobbi!!!"

After that outburst, he became stoic. He looked the clock, and then turned to the cabinet to pour some more gin into the same glass, then returned to look at her. He looked at the clock, took a sip of the gin, then looked at the clock again. Whatever part of the exterior that melted in front of her turned a few degree colder in little time.

He set the glass down on the table. “It is 16:38, let us begin.” He reached across the table and picked up the note she recently extracted from her bra. “By begin, of course, I do not mean your training as …” He opened the note, faced it to her, and placed his finger next to the line that read “Your Education Begins Now”.

He turned the note back to himself and shook his head. “I do not doubt that you understand when the first contact comes for a contract, you are already on the job, your father should have taught you that. I gave you the benefit of the doubt that you may not realize that your training is to follow the same rules. But you obviously did not. I could not lay out a more troubling beginning to your situation. Someone has come into your home, left you a gift, said to have packed your belongings, and even laid out your clothes for you. If I was your client, I compromised your home. If you do not believe you were compromised, challenge me, I will grant you that. But only do so if you are ready to hear how compromised you were. This tells me you know not how to analyze the risks to you in order to mitigate it.”

“And how did I know you didn’t analyze the risks well enough? Well, those questions should have been foremost in your mind. You should have let your questions, unanswered questions - and the first time you were allowed to ask a question, did you think of these risks? No, you thought of your ego.”

He reached over to the stuffed mouse that sat on the table with them, “Does this not even make you curious? Does that not lead to a question?”

He returned the mouse to the table, and turning the note to face him he reads: “an outfit of pair yoga pants, one cotton t-shirt, one pair of white ankle socks, and one pair of running shoes for you to wear.“ Dropping the note to the table, he waved his hand over her body. “If that were true, you would be naked now. Nowhere in the note does it say one bra and matching panties. YET you took it onto yourself to assume that is what I asked for. It was an incorrect assessment of the information laid before you.” He smirked at that point. “You felt you were so brave to challenge me that there was no reason to remove your shirt. When the moment you removed it, you proved to me what I needed to know about your ability to follow instructions. You did not even know why I left the undergarments out, you only assumed you knew better than the instructions.”

Pointing at her he became assertive, “You …. have … an … ego. And if you do not control it, it will control you,” giving a long pause he finished. “Roberta.”

Clapping his hands together, her smirks. “So there you have it, what we must work on.” Counting on each finger he starts a list. “Your assessment of risk. Your incorrect assessments of your situation. Your ego.”

Leaning back again in the chair he continued, “And one more … Of course, you have no idea how to deal with your body. It is as if you let it control you. No, you are not a little girl, but you are uncomfortable being a woman. You are embarrassed in that,” pointing to her body as if emphasizing her bra and panties, “and a job may ask you to wear less than that. And there is none but I to see.”

He gave her a smug smile, and reached for the glass of gin once more. “Are you ready to take this and be better because of it?”

 

[RainingHeat]

“Are you ready to take this and be better because of it?”

She stayed completely silent. In fact, she barely breathed while he spoke. Outwardly, she wanted to argue, refute, explain, or just plain tell him to go to hell, that he knew nothing about her.

But she couldn't. It wasn't that she was afraid. He really had given her no reason to fear. It was more that she was ashamed, and, well, he was right. Everything he said.. was absolutely correct... What the hell had she been thinking????

Was she so lost in the grief of losing her father, really her one and only friend, her one and only anything, in this world, that she did not even blink when she came home to find the note, with the instructions, along with a gift... in HER bedroom... What if it had been someone who wanted her dead? That silly stuffed mouse could have contained a bomb... or... poison... and Bobbi was not unfamiliar with poison. Her father had taught her about using poison, when the kill was to be up close and more.... personal...

And, as he so astutely pointed out, she in fact did disregard the details of those instructions that had been left for her. Never mind the fact that she did not even think to question those instructions. Instructions from a Stranger who managed to let himself into her house.

Bobbi went pale. Her father would be so disappointed. He had always told her that she had to pay attention to EVERY detail. "Every detail matters" he always said. Every detail from the contract, to the instructions, the who, the when, the where, and every minute detail in between, and she had missed it all, because she had been, well.. not thinking...

Then there was his observations regarding her body. He thought he was spot on. He was... close. It wasn't that she wasn't comfortable with her body, in reality, she was. She was very comfortable with the physicality of her body, and surely as soon as he saw her move, he would realize that. Her father often compared her to a hunting panther... What she was uncomfortable with was her sexuality. He had already stated it before, this was a lonely life. Her mother had left because of this life. Her father had been lucky for those few years that he enjoyed her love, but Bobbi knew how much he missed her, and how lonely he was. He had told her, over and over and over again, do NOT let anyone get close to you. They will either be a liability, or they will hurt you. That simple. She had dated early on, but had given that up before she even turned 17. She had to choose, her father had told her, and she chose... this....

The problem was, her body was constantly reminding her that it had needs. Never mind the fact that, being blonde haired and green eyed, with the lithe, lean, almost feline body that she had, with just the right amount of curves, quite often garnered attention from men, her own age as well as older. She rebuffed them all, but she had been... tempted... more than once. Now that her father was gone, how would she handle being so completely alone. How would she handle her..... cravings.....

“Are you ready to take this and be better because of it?”

She would take whatever he gave her, she decided right then and there. No matter what, she would do this to make her father, wherever he was watching from now, proud. To make the name of Blackthorne ... proud...

The thing was, his question had hung in the air for several minutes... The question was, was he as observant as he seemed to be? Had he seen the wide range of emotions, of thoughts, of feelings, of worries, of everything, that had flashed across her eyes, that had perhaps even shown on her face during those several minutes?

“Are you ready to take this and be better because of it?”

Bobbi slowly nodded, her eyes finally clearing, as if coming out of a dream.....

 

[ArcticAvenue]

The runway was gravel and surrounded by tall pines that filtered through the orange glow of the setting sun, but little else. The surrounding vistas were that of these forests and the flight in suggested they just continue onward to the horizon interrupted occasionally by rivers and lakes and a few small hills. The grey SUV had Quebec license plates & a pitch black partition that left the driver anonymous, and likely would keep her as well. Yet she was the only one intended to ride this evening, it appeared.

“I have some business to attend to, so forgive me, I will only just leave you for this evening to the house. There will be none there until approximately 20:00, regrettably, but once they arrive … well, you met my assistant Miss Black at the airport; she will arrive with the rest of the staff at that time. Just pick up any phone and she will get you whatever you need. She can take care of anything you wish her too, though she is the only one you are allowed to talk to while you are training with me .. other than myself, of course.”
​

The drive was short, less than a half mile, and it ended on a paved pathway that led up to large mansion framed like a log cabin. It was wet lit with bright yellow lighting, seemingly accenting the wood. There seemed very few walls front or back, because the large windows and doors allowed someone to look straight through to a wide spread lake beyond. And that was hard not to look at either, the late day creating whiffs of fog curling up off the glass flat surface, the lake stretching far enough that it circled beyond a central island seemingly to the forest beyond. The pool extended off the side of the house, starting from a grotto built into the hillside of the home, then extending forth to olympic sized to the edge of the lake. The forested edged the land around the home completely, and only a few well maintained trails entered into the trees.

http://cdn.cstatic.net/images/gridfs/5063299585216d69c40095c7/2116778443_zpid.jpeg
http://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--GIyRRk9I--/c_fit,fl_progressive,q_80,w_636/19gbd7f7zgugojpg.jpg

“It is named ‘Lac de Oublie’, or forgotten lake in English - it will be your home during your Education. The house is built for much more than the two of us, so you will find it quite spacious. The training room has all you will need to continue your workout regime, as well as a running path, and if you care for a swim, there is a pool and of course Lac de Oublie itself. You have no internet, no television, and the only call you can make is of course to Miss Black.”
​

He had covered the logistics of it all. There were prepared plates of dinner that were ready in the airplane once she had agreed be better based on his observations, and while they ate he laid out what she was to expect. During that time, he would suggest he could turn up the heat in the cabin if she was getting cold, with a clear suggestion that she was to remain in only her underwear.

“For the first five days, I shall not change your workout regime. You are fit, so that must be working for you. Know that I am always watching, though, no matter what you do. You are to keep your workouts to one session a day, though you will have two opportunities to do so. If you prefer mornings, you are welcome to start as early as you wish, but you are to be dressed and ready for breakfast promptly by 9:00. Everyday you will have free between 16:00 and 19:00 hours, and if you wish to workout at that time you may; but you are to be dressed and ready for dinner promptly at 19:00 hours. Otherwise, I shall decide the how to spend your time. And keep in mind, I will decide what it is is meant to be dressed and ready- and if you expect that to take you additional time, that is yours to decide to deal with.”
​

As much as the windows front back allowed the home to be seen through, the particans between each room were solid. Wherever this place was, it was a long ways from everywhere - so the beauty of the world outside could always be viewed but one could still keep their privacy to anyone that shared it with you. On top the grand staircase that extended from the main foyer, a series of rooms meant for beds and baths reached down one corridor. Some had doors opened, some closed. One in particular had a grand for post bed with light fabrics hung from the top. Soft animal fur rugs protected feet from the wood floors. Curling wood chairs and sofas were lined with plush pillows. It lead to it’s own bathroom complete with glass shower, bath, and vanities - all big enough for two people to share.

“Your room is up the stairs to you right. I will tell you no more than to give you those directions and expect you to deduct the proper room from there. When you look into the rooms and are not sure if you have selected the right room, then assume you had not selected the right room. I will see you tomorrow at 09:00 for breakfast.”​

On the bed, nestled between the large comfortable pillows, was the sign she found the right room. It was larger than the first, with black fur rather than the original brown. The pink plastic eyes beadier and the pink tongue laying out the side of it’s mouth. Yes, it was different the first, but it was the sign - another toy mouse.

 

[RainingHeat]

She simply nodded to his words. Her mind was racing, trying to take everything in. One thing her father had always told her, she had trouble focusing, deciding what was important and what was not. He had said that he realized it was a "maturity" thing, that most "kids" had trouble with the same thing. But Bobbi did not consider herself a kid anymore.

So, what she did was, at the top of the stairs, she paused, took a deep breath, and began to prioritize the thoughts that were currently jumbling around in her head. Between the memory of her father's words of advice and such, and the Specialist's observations....

“So there you have it, what we must work on. Your assessment of risk. Your incorrect assessments of your situation. Your ego.”

Bobbi was determined to not.. well.. screw up.. to put it bluntly...

So, she stood at the top of the grand, opulent staircase, still in her underwear. That, honestly, did not phase her. Her underwear were not the slinky, sexy underthings that other girls her age most likely wore. Hers were basic, and for the most part covered more of her than a bikini would have.

Slowly, she let her eyes roam over what lay before her, a series of rooms meant for beds and baths reached down one corridor to the right. Some had doors opened, some closed. To the left, another long corridor, with only 3 doors, all closed. At the end of the right side cooridor, a larger door. At the end of the left side corridor, a window. There was also a large window at the top of the staircase as well.

“Your room is up the stairs to your right. I will tell you no more than to give you those directions and expect you to deduct the proper room from there. When you look into the rooms and are not sure if you have selected the right room, then assume you had not selected the right room."


She wasn't really sure why he would not divulge which room, that seemed a bit silly to her. All she could really see right now was well, a hallway of doors. Both right and left. Altho there were fewer, only those 3, to the left. Fewer, that would mean, more than likely, that those rooms to the left were larger. His master suite perhaps? Training rooms? Maybe even a media room for watching movies? Not that he came across as the "movie watching type" .. she got the feeling that he probably found any movie involving a "hitman" hysterical, her father always had.

"But this man is NOT my father" she quietly said to herself as she turned to the right.

Bobbi first counted doors. 5 on each side of the hallway. Some open, some closed. Did each room mirror the one opposite? she wondered.. Were they all bedrooms? Then there was a final door at the very end of the hallway. It was larger than the others. That, was the one she decided to try first, that larger door at the end of the hall, that faced outward to everything. But, it was locked.

That piqued her interest. But given this was his residence... or was it? Did he actually live here? Or was it his "place of business? his.. school" The fact was, irregardless, that door was locked, so obviously that was not "her room"...

She looked at the other doors, glancing in the opened doored rooms as she walked back to the top of the stairs. Turning to face that large window opposite the stairs... Bobbi took a quick look outside, glancing downwards. "Long way down" she said to herself... but it was grass down below. She could make the jump, if needed, and more than likely be able to walk away, if she made the jump correctly. It was a means of escape, she noted to herself. A means to a way out. Would she need that "way out?" she now wondered. "No, you can do this" she again told herself... "Make him proud!"

"Always know more than one way out" her father had told her, it was as if she could hear him whispering in her ear, and she found it comforting. Altho she had not always heeded that advice. But she was going to now, and in the future. She looked to the left again. There as no door at the end of that hall, just another window. Upon investigation, that one opened to concrete, that would be a much harder jump/fall. One only to be taken in desperation.

She paused, looking at the doors. Should she try them? See if they were locked? But he had told her, her room was on the right. At this particular moment in time, there was no reason for her to be looking at anything on the left... so she went back to the right side corridor and began checking each room. She started at the back, by the locked door, and worked her way forward toward the stairway.

The first room she opened, the door had been closed, was nothing more than storage. She was tempted to poke thru some of the boxes, but decided against it for now. She did make a mental note of the room, to perhaps check again later. The room opposite was a large bathroom, the door had been left open... The facilities (meaning toilet/sink) in the front room, and another door, this one a glass/french door with a lace curtain for privacy, leading to the bathing area. A very large, sunken bath, room enough for 4 adults comfortable, and a separate shower...

The next 2 rooms, both on the left side of the right hallway, doors closed, were bedrooms, but she knew they were not for her. Both were very "masculine" and dark, and even if one of those had been for her, she would have asked for another. Another open room looked to be a study, Books lined the walls, 2 well appointed desks, both with laptops sat in the mid of the room,

She found her room on the next try, across from the study, on the right side of the right hallway. It was easy to figure out. The door had been left open and inside, a grand four poster bed with light, frilly fabrics hanging from the canopy. Soft animal print fur rugs protected feet from the cool wood floors. 2 Chairs and a large sofa were lined with plush pillows. There was a large wooden desk against one wall as well, with a padded chair that matched the wood detailing... A french door with a lace curtain for privacy, lead to her own bathroom complete with glass shower, large bath, and vanities - all big enough for two people to share. The chosen colors were perfect, pinks, with a splash of yellow and purple.

And there, on the bed, nestled between the large comfortable pillows, was the sign that she found the right room. It was larger than the first, with black fur rather than the original brown. The pink plastic eyes beadier and the pink tongue laying out the side of it’s mouth. Yes, it was different the first, but it was the sign - another toy mouse....

"What is is about.... mice" she said to herself as she sat down on the bed. "Why another mouse?" Then it hit her, just as the question had finished forming in her mind and slipping quietly past her lips...

"Cat and mouse"... He... was the cat.... she...the mouse. It was his way of showing her WHO was in control here. Who was in control of... her.. at least for the time being. "Clever" Bobbi said to herself. "Very clever..."

Bobbi took a few minutes to check the last of the rooms in this particular corridor. Another 2 bedrooms, and what looked like a den. The last room she opened the door to was bare. Nothing that she could see other than a closet door.

Returning to her room, she took a closer look around. There was clothing provided in the dresser drawers, basic underwear, couple pair of jeans, shorts, tee shirts. The closet had 4 dresses hanging within. Nothing too fancy. "How did he even know my size?" she wondered as she took each out to look it over...

The bight blue wrap dress...
http://i909.photobucket.com/albums/ac297/rainingheat1007/wrap20dress201_zpsu9dpuutm.jpg


The black lace cocktail dress...

http://i909.photobucket.com/albums/ac297/rainingheat1007/black20dress_zpsm9esvox2.jpg

The red lace cocktail dress...

http://i909.photobucket.com/albums/ac297/rainingheat1007/red20dress_zpscpfm3ufg.jpg

The flowered sun dress...

http://i909.photobucket.com/albums/ac297/rainingheat1007/sun20dress_zpsrdbx8tqv.jpg

Each one the perfect size. And very form fitting for the most part. He was a surprising man, this Specialist.... Very surprising...

Sitting back on the bed, and yawning, she was beginning to realize just how tired she really was. But now that she was thinking things thru, she had a couple of questions. He said he would see her at 9am for breakfast. Was she supposed to show up in her underwear? Then again, she wasn't his slave, she could get dressed if she wanted, right? And what about a lock on her door, was there one? Getting up, she checked and there was not. Not that having a lock would matter, she thought to herself, he'd have the key. "Well, we'll see about that" she said to herself. Checking the time, it was nearly 11pm. Walking out to the hall once more, she took a last look at where she was in the house. At least the part of the house she kinda knew. She checked all the doors again, both corridors and made a mental note again of the locked ones, the ones with closed doors and the ones with opened doors. Each was left as she found them. She checked the window over the grassy area and it was easily unlocked and opened. "Good" she said to herself.

Back in her room, she checked it thoroughly. She was a bit disappointed that her ... equipment... was not there. She would ask him about that tomorrow. She wanted her sniper rifle, and the slim, razor-like dagger she carried for her own protection, she was not proficient in using that for hits.

Using the chair that came with the desk in her room, she propped that under the doorknob to prevent anyone from coming in while she slept. She augmented that with a glass from the bathroom, knowing that if the chair were disturbed, the glass would fall and hopefully the sound of it hitting the ground would wake her, whether it broke or not.

She set the alarm to wake her at 5am for her workout... then remembered, where the hell was the workout room? Sure she ran, and the grounds around this beautiful oassis would be perfect for that, but that was at the end of her workout. She remembered that he had stated that Miss Black, if she remembered correctly, would be available to answer any questions, so she picked up the phone. She didn't even have to dial, it simply began ringing on the end.... "Good Evening Miss Blackthorne, may I help you" Bobbi tried to remember what the woman even looked like. With a disappointed sigh, she realized she really could not remember. Her father would not have liked that...

"Good Evening, I just need to know where the workout room is located please?"

"Just outside the back of the lodge, you will find a pool, and a workout, weight room, that also has an outdoor shower and towels for the pool. All are at your disposal, Miss Blackthorne."

"Thank you" She so wanted to ask the woman's full name. Bobbi was much more casual than the Miss Blackthorne, Miss Black way of addressing. And she felt a certain "kinship" with the woman, their names were so close...

Jillian Black, Assistant to .... him.... hung up the phone. She picked up her glass of juice and finished it off. She had been working for The Specialist for just over 4 years now. Ever since she was 21. She was well trained, he had trained her himself. And, contrary to appearances, she was not just his "assistant" for administrative duties and the like. She, too, was a well trained killer. She had proven herself to him, as a killer, as a confidant, and as a employee/assistant. This new one, like her, was a rarity in this world. Bobbi probably didn't even realize that she was only the 2nd female that the Specialist had ever trained, Jillian thought to herself. She did enjoy watching the process..... She took a glance at the camera that showed the new "recruit" just climbing into bed. She was lithe, lean, and reminded Jillian of a sleek leapord. Jillian, on the other hand, was a bit taller than the new girl, not quite as lean, but instead more taut, strong, like a lioness....

http://i909.photobucket.com/albums/ac297/rainingheat1007/miss20black_zpsjmvnepyy.jpg

Bobbi, just as she was falling asleep, had a sudden thought.. "I wonder if he has camera's in here, I wonder... is he watching me?" She lifted her head for a moment and looked around, but she was entirely too tired to try and find any camera's ... so she made a mental note to simply ask in when she saw him in the morning. That simple...

The alarm set for 5am... Bobbi was asleep within a few minutes..

At quarter to 5, she woke up. She had the eerie feeling of being watched, and determined that most likely, there was a camera trained on her at this very moment. She had slept in her underwear, so when she climbed out of bed, if he were watching, he did not get a show of anything he hadn't already seen. Padding quietly into the bathroom she paused, then shook her head. He wasn't a freak, right... and with that, she closed the door... a few minutes later, hair pulled back in a pony tail, she emerged from the bathroom and, fishing out a pair of shorts and a white tee from the dresser... all the tee shirts that he had provided for her were either white or black, ... and clean underwear.. she went back into the bathroom, only to appear again a minute later, clothed and ready to work out. Socks and sneakers on, she made her way out into the hall, down the staircase, past the entrance foyer and sitting room, thru the large kitchen (why was it kitchens were always at the back of the house) and out the back door. The pool and poolhouse/workout room were easily found.

Stretches, weights, and then her run. She was back and showering by 8:30. At 9am, as he had specified, she was back downstairs, in jeans and a black tee this time, awaiting his... arrival... She watched as Miss Black, that had to be Miss Black, in a navy skirt and white blouse, hustled the cook and the server along, as they each brought out plates of eggs, toast, fruit, and fresh milk.... Bobbi's tummy growled slightly, the workout had made her... hungry......

 

[ArcticAvenue]

As behind her Bobbi got to work on the breakfast, Jillian followed the cook back to the kitchen, and as the door closed she asked nervously, “Has he set lunch plans yet?”

“No, Miss Black,” the older female cook replied through a heavy, but unknown accent. The woman’s skin was tanned, her hair and eyes brown, but otherwise gave no impression of the ethnicity in the odd mix of European & Central / South American accents. “He say none to me yet this morning. He no say. He only coffee.”

“Alright,” Jillian replied with only a noticeable huff, chewing her lip and looking back towards the door to the dining area.. “I’ll make the call then and take the wrath. Garden salad with a protein. Light and refreshing, it may get warm out by the range today, and they likely won’t come back for lunch.”

“Her paper say she like shrimp,” the cook replied pointing towards the green sheet tacked to the wall. It listed the key things the staff needed to know about this trainee - personal enough so the staff can make the right choices, but vague enough to so that no identify could be garnered from it. “I barbeque prawn, they are huge.” Then a little more animated, “HUGE!!” She smiled and moved back towards the nervous assistant. “And with dressing you like, Miss Black.” As she said the last part, she gave Jillian a loving pat on her cheek.

Almost with a blush, almost with a roll of her eye, Jillian smirked “I am not the food critic here, Miss Lavender … but, I appreciate it.” She turned to fill a fresh press of coffee with hot water and mixed in coffee grounds “If he doesn’t like the menu, I’ll let you know.” Loading the coffee onto a tray with two cups, she left the kitchen and took the familiar route to his suite.

Walking into his room was a strange mix of lights and darks. The windows close to the unmade bed streams the morning sun in, but she found her employer sitting at a bank of monitors reviewing Bobbi’s work-out from the morning. He wore brown cargo shorts, heavy knit tan turtleneck sweater, and hiking boots. Leaning far back in the leatherbound office chair, his foot was propped up on the edge of the desk, he would spin the film back and forth as the girl on the screen as she ran up a hilly portion of the trail. For the man who rarely is seen out of a suit and tie around his main office, Jillian always needs a few moments getting used to the relaxed fit look for him. Yet she expects it, there is something about this place that brings him back to his natural side, and in a few days he will be levels more relaxed. “Sir?” she asked alerting him to her presence, a means of gaining permission to interrupt more than anything.

He spun in his chair and smiled, “Ahh, good morning Jillian. I am almost finished here. But coffee indeed.” He waved his hand to the desk holding the monitors.

She approached him and began finishing the coffee. “She is more athletic than I thought she would be. She seems agile too. I’d like to see what she could do in a ropes course.”

“Good suggestion,” he yielded, his eyes still heavily locked on the screen. “She is like a cat, when she lets herself move.”

She finished filling his cup, and placed it next to him. As she did, she leaned in to watch her as well. “I cannot believe you made that poor girl ride the entire flight in just her underwear.” To her best guess, he made her fly in her underwear because she had some hang-up about that. Whenever the new trainees got off the plane, you could tell there was some hang-up he was working on them already. One had to carry a pail of water with him everywhere, while another was required to shout all his words regardless of what they meant. She had nearly the opposite hang-up, forced to leave her beloved torn shorts, goth stockings, anarchy t-shirts, piercings, and pitch black lipstick for the upscale business suits she wears now. Trying to learn to kill someone at 500 feet while itching the stiffest clothes she had ever wore was the toughest week she ever faced. It was a needed change, though, and she realizes it now. Dressing like she used to made her as visible as a birth mark on a supermodel. Now, it is nearly all she wears - not because she has to, because she wants to. Her contract work has doubled since she took the training, but becoming his assistant now has lead her to a life she could only dream of. Yet there is still lacking parts from her life that she yearns for. “I would have given anything to be so lucky to look kindly on me to wear nothing but my panties.”

He smirked, “you only wish you could have seen her in her panties, Jillian.”

“Do you blame me?” she teased back. Jillian pulled up another rolling chair near him “She’s cute, why wouldn’t I want to see her like that.” As she sat in the chair, she leaned back slightly, her legs crossed professionally in front of her, but her eyes didn’t leave the scenes of the girl exercising. Her employer was well aware that Jillian took interest in all attractive bodies, male or female, so there was no need hiding it from him at this point that she seemed to watch her more than just professional curiosity. “I noticed that you didn’t define an outfit for her to wear this morning, I assume that is because you intended to tell her yourself?”

He dropped his head slightly, and looked back at the screen. “Yes,” he replied, “during breakfast.” It was subtle, but it was a lie. “Has she come to breakfast yet?”

“Of course, it is quarter after already.”

He looked a quick moment at his watch, then turned back to the screen. His concentration on the video now more focused.

Jillian uncrossed her legs, placing her feet together in front of her. “Do you plan on having her be naked? If so, I wouldn’t mind coming to assist you this morning.” .

“No,” he bluntly replied. “Unless that is where the training takes us. She needs to be more comfortable with her body, but she is still too much of a little girl to free herself to her own nudity.”

“She’s not a little girl, you know,” Jillian replied, swaying back and forth in the chair allowing her body to slide down more in the chair. Doing so led her skirt to rise up her thighs. Not that he was noticing.

The run was over, and he shut off the screens. “I will have her shoot today, we will be out at the range. Have her gun delivered to the range.” He spun to a laptop, and looked over a couple of e-mails.

“Already there,” she responded turning slowly in the chair.

“And for lunch, have ..”

She interrupted. “A garden salad with barbecued prawns. I will bring it to the range at Noon.”

He started banging on the keyboard, “I am requesting a copy of a report on the Xian plant opening. Please bring a hardcopy with the lunch.”

Jillian spun in the chair, and took a hold of the remote. She turned the screens on again, and Bobbi was frozen in time still stretching. ‘Cat-like’, that’s the way her dossier described her physical abilities, and they did look true here on screen. Yet it wasn’t just that, there was something else in the woman that seemed to be mesmerizing. For Jillian, it made her think of a question. “So, why the mouse? It doesn’t seem to fit? Something seems … I don’t know … too obvious.”

He sighed, and shut off his computer, looking back at the screens of his new student. “You know better to think I would share that with you, Jillian,” he replied.

Her body continued to slide down the back of the chair, her skirt continuing to rise, and now her hand wandered it’s way to her thigh. “What is it about her?”

He took a moment and responded to a question that she seemed to not be asking. “Take a look at the al-Qasimi file from Dubai. Thru-and-thru, behind the ear, 400 meters. No evidence left on scene, no record on CCTV, case shows no current suspects. Entered and left the country within 17 hours. Separate out her mistakes, and it shows talent.”

“No,” Jillian responded. “What is it about … her?”

This brought no response. He just continued to look at the screen.

She took a long breath, spoke softly, and to get his attention she used his name. “What’s going on, Phillipe? You aren’t yourself. Lunch, her outfit, late for breakfast? I have never seen you this … she didn’t say something or do something yesterday that … ” She stopped mid-sentence and put some things together. “Does this have to do with where you went last night?”

He dropped his head. Took a long deep sigh, and let the silence overtake the room. After another long breath he whispered, “Jillian, please.”

There was something there, something she knew was forcing a side of him out she had never seen. It made her curious, but she knew him well enough to know that being curious with The Specialist only leads to stronger walls and colder looks. Instead she bit her lip, sliding our her shoes she playfully kicked at his chair. “At least admit that she is cute.”

He smirked, looked over his shoulder at his assistant, and took a double take.

She had allowed herself to slide down the cushion to the point only her shoulders & head pressed against the chairback. He bare feet lay flat on the wood floor, her knees pressed together, and her business skirt pushed nearly to her hips. Knowing this was far from ladylike, she placed the remote down and took a long sip from her coffee with wide childlike eyes. “Or admit I am cute.”

He turned in his chair, rolled it so that he sat nearly next to her while facing the opposite direction, his smile growing wide and an eyebrow was cocked high. “Are you in the need of relief, Miss Black?”

Even his clinic way of saying it, she knew exactly what he was asking for and he probably knew how she would answer. She broke eye contact with him, looking away as if ignoring his question. She took a drink of her coffee, and with wordlessly turned her feet and spread her knees. With the skirt up high, her pantiless well trimmed sex came presented itself for her employer.

“Forgive me,” he said as he moved closer to her, “we are late already, so this must be quick.” He put two fingers in his mouth, extracting them wet with his own saliva, and to her bare pussy..

Jillian sat her coffee cup down, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back just as his fingers entered her. When it came to perks of the job, this was one of the big ones. They never been a couple, never dated, never been intimate together, and except in a couple cases where she got hints when he walked in on him in states of undress, she really hadn’t seen him naked. He had seen every bit of her, and explored more of her than anyone has ever. He was keen to realize that she remained more focused when ‘not in need’, so if she needed it, he was always willing to offer her a ‘release’.

Which, after the first nervous time, her body wouldn’t ever let her turn down.

While he maybe hired as a specialist for other areas, he was sure a specialist with his fingers. It wasn’t slow movements, it was determined and direct. Immediately, he found her trigger points, and gave it smooth attention to begin with, until she felt him grind into it with Two long fingers slid into her to his knuckles, curled inside her, then stroked against sensitive flesh. His thumb split her upper labia and pressed into her clit. The sensation made her arch her back and grind her hips into his hand, all while uttering a guttural moan. She could feel the slick juices lubricate his fingers, and he must have felt it too as it was the signal he needed to start pushing them into her rapidly. It lit sparks in her cunny that made her chest convulsed and the air rush from her lungs. She reached for her breast, gripping it through her blouse and bra, hoping to add to the pleasure of his fingers. Yet his relentless charge on her body was too much, and in less than a minute after he started, she climaxed.

In five times that time, she was lucid enough to see he had gotten up, and was preparing to leave the suite. He seemed to be moving towards the outside door rather than towards breakfast. He looked over to her and called out, “When you are ready, and if she is finished with breakfast, you may lead her to the range. Then come back here for the Xian report and lunch when it’s ready.”

Sprawled out on the chair, her naked thighs greasy from her own cum, her sweaty forehead plastered with stray hairs, her legs shivering from the intensity of the experience, her shirt disheveled from where she fought to feel her breasts, she could only reply, “Yes, sir.”

And he left for the range.