I sat there in my dimly lit office, the one tucked away in the back of that fancy psych clinic in North Gatter Lake City, staring at this fucker named Jax. He'd just handed me the dossier on the rat in my organization, that slimy piece of shit who'd been feeding intel to some rival gang. Jax had sniffed him out like a goddamn bloodhound, intercepted the messages before they could screw me over big time. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs in that tight black JK uniform skirt, the thick black pantyhose hugging my thighs just right, and those lace-up high-heel mid-calf boots digging into the carpet. My medical latex gloves squeaked as I flipped through the pages. "You did good, you worthless prick," I snarled at him, a smirk curling under my black lipstick. "Real fucking good. That bastard could've tanked everything I've built in this shithole city."
Jax just grinned, that cocky son of a bitch, sitting across from me like he owned the place. He was built like a tank, all muscle and scars from whatever hellhole he'd crawled out of. He'd come to me a week ago, offering his services as a freelance operative, and damn if he hadn't delivered. The bedroom eyes he was giving me now? Yeah, he wanted more than just a pat on the back. "Hayley," he said, leaning forward, "I got three demands for my trouble. First, I need cash. Enough to last a few lifetimes, you greedy cunt. And you gotta escort me out of this godforsaken country, get me far away where no one can touch me."
I laughed, a low, throaty sound that echoed off the walls. My hand drifted to the pack of cigarettes on the desk—regular smokes, the kind that burn your lungs just right. I lit one up, inhaling deep, the smoke curling around my black eyeshadow-smeared lids. "Money? Escort? You think you're bargaining with some street whore, you pathetic dickhead? But fine, keep going."
"Second," he continued, his voice dropping, eyes raking over my body like I was fresh meat, "I want to fuck you. Right here, right now, you twisted bitch. Make it count."
Oh, that got me wet. I could feel the heat building under those pantyhose, my fetish kicking in hard. But I played it cool, exhaling smoke in his face. "And third?"
"Third, I want in on dealing with that undercover fuckwit. I want to make him scream, you sadistic slut. And after? I want to eat some fresh human meat. A goddamn cannibal feast off that traitor's carcass."
I pulled out the hospital report he'd handed me earlier—no STDs, clean as a whistle. Smart move, you paranoid asshole. I scanned it quick, then tossed it aside. "Alright, you filthy pig. You've got balls, I'll give you that. I agree to all three. But I'm feeling generous tonight, you lucky shitstain. I'll throw in two extras. First, no matter where your sorry ass ends up, if you run into trouble, call me. I'll fix it." I reached into my drawer, pulling out a SIM card. "This has twenty encrypted lines straight to my crew. Any big shit hits the fan, dial one. We'll handle it, you spineless worm."
He nodded, pocketing it. "And the second?"
"A farewell party, you greedy motherfucker. Something to remember me by before you fuck off."
"Deal," he said, standing up.
"But wait," I purred, getting to my feet. "Tonight, we start fulfilling those wishes. Right fucking now. But understand this, you disgusting perv—I don't take off my mask. This silicone face? It stays on. And you'll see what I'm wearing underneath, all my kinky shit. My psychopath behaviors? Oh, you'll get a front-row seat, you sick fuck."
I wasn't kidding about the mask. It was high-grade silicone, molded to look like some generic bitch, but it hid my real face—my tattoos, my sharp features. No way was I risking exposure, not even for a good lay like him. We were in my villa on the outskirts of Sea River North District, that crime-ridden dump by North Gatter Lake where the smugglers and lowlifes thrived. My place was a fortress: bulletproof windows, concrete walls that could take a rocket, full surveillance, emergency supplies. Safe as houses for what we were about to do.
First things first—the sex. I led him down to my basement lab, the one with the surgical tables and tools for my "experiments." The air smelled like bleach and blood, faint but there. I flicked on the dim red lights, stripping off my outer coat to reveal the full getup: black JK uniform top unbuttoned low, showing the lace bra underneath; thick black pantyhose sheer enough to tease; those boots clicking on the concrete; and my latex gloves, shiny and tight. I lit another cigarette, puffing as I pushed him against the wall. "You want to fuck me, you horny bastard? Then strip, you worthless cock."
He did, fast, his dick already hard and throbbing. I dropped to my knees first—my "free welfare," as he called it. Oral for him, the lucky shit. I grabbed his shaft with my gloved hand, the latex cool against his hot skin. "Look at this pathetic thing," I mocked, stroking slow. "You think this impresses me, you tiny-dicked loser?" I leaned in, my masked face inches away, black lipstick smearing as I took him in my mouth. Slow at first, tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salt. He groaned, hands in my hair—fake hair, part of the mask. I sucked harder, bobbing my head, deepthroating him until he hit the back of my throat. Gagging a bit, but I loved it, the control. "Fuck my face, you animal," I mumbled around him, spit dripping down my chin. I worked him like a pro, hands cupping his balls, squeezing just enough to hurt. He bucked, cursing, "You filthy whore, suck it harder!" I did, humming vibrations up his length until he exploded, hot cum shooting down my throat. I swallowed every drop, pulling back with a pop, wiping my mouth with the back of my glove. "Taste like shit, you cum-guzzling pig."
But we weren't done. I stood, shoving him onto the surgical table. "Now fuck me, you brute." I hiked up my skirt, ripping a hole in the pantyhose crotch—no panties, just wet pussy waiting. He grabbed my hips, slamming into me from behind. God, it felt good, rough and raw. "Harder, you pussy! Pound me like the slut I am!" He did, thrusting deep, my boots scraping the floor as I braced. I reached back, gloved fingers digging into his ass, urging him on. The mask stayed put, but I showed him my fetishes—mid-fuck, I paused to light a joint, big hit of weed, exhaling smoke as he railed me. "You like that, you dope-fiend fucker? Watch me get high while you drill my cunt." He laughed, slapping my ass, the sting mixing with the high. We switched positions—he on the table, me riding him reverse cowgirl, grinding down hard. My boots planted on either side, pantyhose tearing more. I came first, screaming obscenities: "Fuck yes, you bastard! Make me squirt, you dirty prick!" Waves crashed over me, soaking him. He followed, filling me up, groaning like a dying animal.
We collapsed, panting, but I wasn't one for cuddles. "Get up, you spent dick. Time for wish number three."
The Undercover was chained in the corner, that rat bastard named Karl. We'd dragged him here earlier, after Jax's tip-off. Karl was whimpering, eyes wide under the gag. "Look at this sniveling cunt," I spat, kicking him in the ribs with my boot. "You thought you could betray me, you backstabbing motherfucker? We're gonna make you pay, you worthless scum."
Jax grinned, grabbing a scalpel from my toolkit. "Let's carve this pig up."
We started slow, to savor it. I injected him with a paralytic—enough to keep him awake but immobile. "Feel that, you paralyzed shit? You're gonna watch every cut." Jax sliced first, shallow lines across his chest, blood welling up. Karl's eyes bulged, muffled screams. "Scream louder, you pussy! No one's hearing you in this bunker." I joined in, gloved hands wielding a bone saw. We took turns: Jax hacked off a finger, me cauterizing it with a hot iron to stop the bleed too quick. "Burn, you filthy traitor! Smell that? That's your flesh cooking, you disgusting worm." Blood sprayed, soaking my gloves, my pantyhose. I laughed, high on the violence, lighting a cigar mid-torture, puffing as I vivisected his thigh, peeling back skin like wrapping paper. "Look inside, Jax, you sadist. See those muscles twitch? Pathetic."
He begged through the gag, tears streaming. "Shut your whore mouth," Jax growled, punching his face until teeth flew. We escalated: I pulled out pliers, yanking nails one by one. "How's that feel, you nail-less freak? Cry more, you baby!" Then the big stuff—Jax gutted him slow, intestines spilling like wet ropes. I reached in, gloved hand fishing out a kidney. "Fresh organ, you organ-harvesting bitch. But we're eating tonight." Karl was still alive, gurgling, as we roasted bits over a Bunsen burner. The smell? Sickening sweet, but it turned me on. We fed each other chunks, chewing the raw meat off his bones while he watched. "Taste your own liver, you cannibal fodder? Delicious, you dead meat." Finally, mercy—sort of. I injected cyanide, watching him convulse and die, foam at the mouth. "Die slow, you rotting corpse."
Cleanup was easy; I had systems for that. Incinerator for the remains, bleach for the mess. Jax and I showered—separately, mask still on—then hit the booze. Red wine, straight from the bottle, chain-smoking a pack while we planned the rest.
Next night was the farewell bash, my gift. I threw it in the villa's ballroom, inviting a dozen of my top goons—those loyal fuckers who'd kill for me. Music blared, drugs flowed: coke lines, weed joints, my favorites. I switched outfits for the party: white JK uniform, sheer white pantyhose, white sneakers, latex gloves pristine. Mask on, of course. "Dance with me, you party-crashing asshole," I told Jax, grinding against him on the floor. The crew cheered, toasting our "victory" over the rat. We got wasted—me chewing betel nut between shots, the buzz mixing with the alcohol. "You're leaving tomorrow, you fleeing coward. But tonight? We're owning this shit."
We fucked again in a side room, quick and dirty. Me bent over a table, him pounding from behind. "Fuck me raw, you escaping rat!" I yelled, cumming hard amid the party noise. Oral too—he ate me out, tongue deep in my soaked pussy while I smoked a cigarette, ash falling on his head. "Lick better, you tongue-less fool!" Then I returned the favor, sucking him off until he blew his load on my masked face. "Messy bastard," I laughed, wiping it with my glove.
Morning came, hangover pounding like a hammer. But business first. I handed him the bank card—anonymous, loaded with millions in euros, enough to buy a small island. "Here's your fortune, you money-grubbing whore. Password's on this note, along with the account deets. Withdraw it all, then burn the card, you idiot." He nodded, stuffing it away.
We spent the day lounging—me in my black getup again, boots and all. Smoked the last pack together, guzzling red wine by the pool overlooking that massive North Gatter Lake, its 310,000 square kilometers of freshwater hiding bodies like Karl's. "You helped me big, you useful prick," I admitted, blowing smoke rings. "But don't come back, or I'll gut you myself."
As night fell, my crew escorted him to the private airstrip on the city's edge—away from the bustling ports where my shipments came in. No customs bullshit; I bribed the right people. We shared one last joint, the weed haze thick. "Fly safe, you chickenshit deserter," I said, shoving him toward the plane. He turned, grinning. "Thanks, you psycho bitch."
And just like that, he was gone. I watched the jet vanish into the night sky over Sea River North District, that hellhole paradise. Back home, I lit another cigarette, poured more wine, and planned my next score. Life goes on, you filthy world.
But let me tell you more about how it all started, 'cause this shit didn't happen in a vacuum. Jax showed up at my clinic two weeks back, posing as a patient. "Doc," he said, slumping in the chair, "I've got issues. Paranoia, mostly." I knew right away he was full of crap—his eyes were too sharp, too calculating. But I played along, crossing my legs in my "normal" office attire: pencil skirt, blouse, but underneath? Black stockings, gloves tucked in my bag. "Tell me more, you lying sack of shit," I thought, but out loud: "Let's dive in."
Turns out, he wasn't there for therapy. Midway through, he slid a note: "I know about your side gigs. The organs, the drugs. But I can help with your leak." My blood ran cold, but I kept cool, lighting a discreet vape under the desk. "Prove it, you blackmailing fuck."
He did. Over coffee—spiked with my rum—he laid out the evidence on Karl, that two-faced cunt who'd infiltrated my gang six months ago. Karl was feeding info to a rival outfit from across the lake, those bastards in the bordering towns. Jax had hacked his comms, intercepted a drop. "I want in," Jax said. "For a price."
That's when the demands came, and I bit. Why? 'Cause he was right—I needed that rat gone. My operation in North Gatter Lake City was booming: drugs shipped in containers through the ports, organs harvested in my lab sold on the black market, hits carried out by my thousands-strong crew. I'd offed the old boss years ago, that weak prick, and taken over. Threatened the rest: "Join or die screaming, you cowards." They joined. Now, we ran silent—publicly "reformed," as I tweeted from our fake accounts, but underground? We were kings of vice.
Jax helped solidify that. The torture? God, it was cathartic. Remembering Karl's eyes as I sliced into his gut, pulling out steaming intestines... "Writhing like worms, you gutless worm!" I'd taunted. We cooked a steak from his thigh, rare and bloody, washing it down with wine. "Chewy, but fresh, you cannibal enabler," Jax joked. I loved it, the power, the blood on my gloves mixing with my makeup smears.
The party was wilder than I let on. Fifty people, not a dozen—my inner circle plus hookers and dealers. Music thumping, lights strobing. I danced on tables in my white outfit, pantyhose glistening under the lights, sneakers squeaking. "Grind on me, you sluts!" I yelled at the girls, but my eyes were on Jax. We snuck off multiple times: once in the bathroom, me on the sink, legs wrapped around him in those white hose. "Rip 'em, you destroyer!" He did, fucking me senseless. Oral in the coatroom—he on his knees, face buried between my thighs. "Eat it good, you pussy-muncher!" I came twice, squirting on his chin.
Another round: me blowing him in the shadows, gloves stroking as I sucked. "Gag on it, you throat-whore," he growled. Cum everywhere, on my uniform, my mask. We laughed, high as kites from the weed and coke.
Day two, we chilled. I showed him my lab proper—tools gleaming, fridges with organs. "This is where the magic happens, you voyeuristic prick." We smoked, drank, talked shop. He shared war stories from his merc days; I bragged about my hits. "Killed a family once, robbed 'em blind, you envious murderer?" Bonding over blood.
Then the handover. The card had ten million euros—my black money washed clean. "Spend it wise, you spendthrift idiot." Note with PIN: 666999, account in a dummy bank in a neutral town.
Airport run: my armored SUV, crew in tow. Last smoke, last wine swig. "Don't fuck up out there, you incompetent fool." He boarded, gone.
But I miss the thrill sometimes. Jax was a good fuck, a better ally. If he calls that SIM? I'll answer, send goons to bail his ass. 'Cause in this game, loyalty's rare, you disloyal dogs.
Life in North Gatter Lake City rolls on. Clinic by day, crime by night. Tomorrow? Another mark, another organ. Fuck yeah.