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This is part 1 of a planned erotic thriller.
The closets in the rooms of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York aren’t the most spacious. Back when the current hotel was built in 1931 the expectations of luxury hotels were vastly different than they are today. Despite many updates and renovations, the size of their standard rooms and certainly closet space has remained constrained.
And so, when Mary Gould found herself in need of a hiding space, she discovered that her plus size body could barely sneak into the well adorned but small closet of room 423 that was already filled with one luggage rack, a suitcase, the unpacked contents of said suitcase and an ironing board. But Mary squeezed, squirmed and wriggled her naked body into a huddled mass on the floor in the right corner of the closet and closed the door.
Mary was hiding for her life. Less than 90 seconds ago Liu Zhang’s heart stopped beating. Liu was the vice minister of foreign affairs for Taiwan and was naked with Mary in room 423 of the Waldorf Astoria when his life left him. Liu’s heart did not stop on its’ own accord. A projectile traveling about 1400 feet per second first pierced one of the two glass windows in room 423 then found its way into the base of Liu’s skull. The small metal ball exited it’s unsuspecting target and ended its journey by lodging itself into the mass reproduction of Monet’s water lily’s that hung on the wall above the faux Louis XIV desk. Mary, who was on her knees at the time, and despite her training and experience, reacted like most people do the first time they witness a violent death – she screamed, felt the blood drain from her head, then did her best to crawl for cover in the closet.
Mary was hiding for her shame. Raised in Virginia with a good Catholic upbringing, Mary understood the importance of chastity – or at least sexual discretion. Mary had yet to walk down the aisle with that ‘one’ person but was also not a virgin. Still, her sexual exploits so far had been limited to men she really cared about and that also cared for her. So it surprised even Mary to find herself in this situation. Liu and Mary had met each other only 123 minutes earlier that evening. Prior to this occasion Mary was last naked with a man 625 days hence. Just before the glass to room 423 and the skull belonging to the human formerly known as Liu Zhang shattered, Liu Zhang’s erect member was in Mary’s mouth. Within 33 seconds after the shot, Mary was huddled naked behind the closet door. She was a trembling, sweaty mess. Tearless sobs racked her body as she held one hand over her mouth to silence her own unforgiving cries; and as her response for self-preservation came under control – her mind shifted to blame. Why did she decide to be there in room 423? How could she betray her mother, her father, her god? What is the possible penance that can make up for the selfish act of lust she just performed?
Mary was hiding for her country. Mary was a spy. Mary had been a spy for 2,356 days before she was forced to release Liu Zhang from the hold of her lips and mouth. And up until then, Mary’s spy work consisted almost exclusively of counter cyber terrorism. In other words she was a computer geek. Mary loved her country and its values. Her father was an ex-air force mechanic and had dedicated his professional life to the service of his country. Her mother spent 16 years as an admin for a leading defense contractor. She spent most of her childhood less than 100 miles from the capital of the United States and Mary was in awe of the sparkling white buildings, inspirational democratic values, busy urban life, and even the sometimes corrupt machinations of the world’s largest government. And Mary knew – that in this moment – an agent of the largest US intelligence gathering agency could not be found with the lifeless body of Liu Zhang. So Mary took refuge in the cramped and dark closet of room 423 of the Waldorf Astoria and waited for help.
9 Months Earlier
The electronics of Herr Meier’s laptop were splayed out on her desk. The twisted mess of wires, circuit boards, crunched plastics and hard drives looked like the road kill of some high tech rabbit that didn’t quite have the speed it thought it had when it attempted to cross the highway. ‘Splat’ thought Mary Gould as she began her autopsy of the deceased laptop.
“Let’s see if we can bring you back to life” she whispered to herself and then set about work.
Within 45 minutes Mary had hooked up the hard drive to a desktop she used for such occasions. It was a high powered machine – the fastest available. A quad core multiprocessor with souped up onboard RAM memory powered the beast. An array of hard drives – some traditional and some all solid state provided ample storage. But it was a glutton for power and generated massive heat. So it was also outfitted with state of the art fans and cooling systems that kept her comfortable. It was big – like Mary – but what escort kızılay a beauty. Her employer always provided her with the best. One of the many benefits she received. Not that she needed any. Mary was a believer.
Mary had disabled her high powered processor from the network. In the security game you couldn’t be too careful. Viruses were sometimes just one file away from releasing their dirty little digital bytes into an unsuspecting node. And if that node was connected enough – if it had a lot of digital friends – poof, the virus could move from node to node faster than an STD through a whorehouse.
Most importantly, her beauty stored a wide range of decryption algorithms – processes designed specifically to gain access to computer information that was otherwise protected with passwords or other security procedures. In the contest that pitted algorithm vs. algorithm Mary seldom lost. Part skill, part state of the art resources and part sheer creativity and fearlessness, Mary could make most computers spill their secrets. Within another 32 minutes the deepest passages of Herr Meier’s laptop were opened for exploration. She began to log the files so other analysts could dig deeper.
Mary wasn’t surprised when she opened the folder called “Alte Arbeitsdateien” (Old Work Files) to find it populated with hundreds of porn images. At least 50% of the computers she cracked had some variation of folders attempting to hide in plain sight. “Ok, Herr Meier, let’s see what you are into” she thought as she quickly set about creating a slideshow of the pics.
Herr Meier’s predilections were remarkably consistent. A blonde woman is resting on her knees and elbows. Her ass is high in the air – higher than her head. She is wearing a garter belt, but the stockings bra and any other clothing have long since been torn off. Her pale skin stands out against the dark bedspread like a polar bear in the amazon and she is looking in the direction of the figure in front of her but it seems like she doesn’t know he is there. She is lost in sexual pleasure. He is invisible.
He is sitting naked in a chair. He is bound to the chair. Her stockings found their way from her legs to his wrists and they restrain him from any action. He is only a few feet from the pale naked figure and he can only watch. His look is full of shame. Her look is full of selfish desire. He looks like a middle aged man that has been beaten. She looks like a warrior about to devour the weak. His thinning head and chest hair is turning prematurely gray and lays oily and flat on his scalp and flat pectoral muscles. Her golden locks flow over her toned shoulders and frame her high cheekbones and ruby red lips. His penis is small, withdrawn and useless. Her breasts and hips are of the abnormal variety – as if her body was designed by some Japanese anime artist. They spread out from her unusually thin waist and scream ‘fuck me’. She is – in the picture – the symbol of life-giving mother earth and she needs seed. He stares back at her defeated.
Mary feels the sensation. It is rare, but ever since Evan, Mary has grown to understand the look of selfish desire and her biological reaction to it. The warmth starts in her stomach and travels south. She squirms uncomfortably in her chair, pressing inner thigh against inner thigh.
Another figure is in the digital photo. His face is cropped out of the picture, but one of his enormous dark cherry colored hands secures the blonde by the waist, apparently guiding the big white hips in some erotic motion. One of her legs is pushed forward. The gap between her ass cheeks is visible and the tip of Cherry Man’s thick limb of a cock has parted the opening. He’s holding the 9 inch rod at the base with his other hand. It rests just at the entrance. It is dry – but her pink lips are dripping. The blonde’s look of rapture is actually in anticipation of the plunge. She knows what is coming. She will be filled with hot hard pleasure. Her womb craves it. It craves to be filled, to be caressed and stroked in wild abandon. It craves to feel the splatter of seed. Deep, wild and wet.
“So, what have we got here Mary?” a voice interrupts her research from over the edge of her cubicle.
“Um, well Dev” she stammers as she fidgets with the keys on the keyboard, “I was able to crack the decryption and access the hard drive. It wasn’t very sophisticated stuff, and there weren’t any viruses that I could find. So either he’s an idiot or the stuff on here is just mid-level. I categorized the files, anyway. There were some emails and a spreadsheet that mentioned Dubai Crude – I know you were most interested in these.”
“OK – great” he replied with just a hint of appreciation. “When can linguistics get a hold of them?”
“Well, I’d say an hour or two. I still have to finish organizing them and do another sweep for viruses before I put them on the net” she reported. “And there is one other thing Dev” she pauses to collect her thoughts.
“Yeah, what else” he coaxes her to continue.
“Well ankara yabancı escort you may want to have the psych guys look at his porn stash” she managed to state in a professional manner. “It’s pretty extensive, but also very consistent. Almost all of them are of a white guy being cuckolded by his wife – I think Herr Meier wants to be dominated” she offers her insight.
“Really” Dev couldn’t suppress a slightly immature giggle at the thought. “Let me see” he says as he steps around the edge and leans in over Mary’s left shoulder. Mary fumbles with the keys on the keyboard. Her cheeks turn beet red, but Dev can’t see the embarrassment he caused because he is behind her, puffing soft moist breaths on the nape of her neck. Mary smells coffee and Old Spice. She pulls up the slide show and advances rather quickly through each image.
“Huh” Dev ponders as he lingers over her shoulder examining the images for a bit longer than Mary felt was appropriate. “Well you never know what this is about” He finally drawls as he lifts himself up and moves to a professional distance. “You’re right; the psych guys should look at it. We don’t really know who he might be identifying with in the picture. He’s a white guy so we assume it’s the weak white guy. But maybe it’s the black dude and he longs for the power and satisfaction that comes from – well – that position. Or maybe it’s the blonde bimbo” he said rather insensitively given Mary’s own blonde curls “and he wants to get fucked in the ass by some black bull while taunting authority – you just don’t know” he paused. Mary hadn’t thought of it that way. The sensation tweaked her again as she thought of the black man exercising his power over the wide and pale hips of the bimbo.
“Well, maybe they can work something up” Dev continued referring to the agency’s psych profile team. “If so, I’m sure we can use it. Everyone has a weakness you know – you just have to find it” Dev proudly offered his profound professional insight. Mary received it with a pleasant smile. “Sometimes it’s easier to profile men. I mean, it’s almost always about the psychology of sex and we leave these big obvious clues – like porn stashes – just screaming for someone to psycho-analyze.” He smiled sheepishly like he revealed a vulnerable secret about himself. “Too bad women aren’t into porn, it would make it easier to get inside their heads.” Mary gulped a bit, squirmed, but tried to continue her pleasant smile.
Dev turned to walk down the hall. “Good work Mary” he offered, waving thumbs up over his head. Then he stopped and returned, leaning in over the cubicle, as if about to reveal some secret. ‘Old Spice and Coffee’ she thought. Her pulse quickened.
“Hey Mary, have you ever considered field work?” His voice lilted like a child asking a friend to come out and play ball. Mary couldn’t help but laugh. It was the funniest thing she had heard in a long time. “Never” she finally managed than was embarrassed by her quick emotional reaction.
“Shame, I’ve read your file. I think you might be good at it” then he turned and retreated again. His firm ass reflected his urgent swagger with a back and forth good bye.
A high pitched mee mee mee mee jolted Mary as the sweat was puddling in the creases of her skin. She was still in the closet; trying to control her breathing; trying to relax. Lights glowed mysteriously from under the door. And the mee mee mee mee wasn’t stopping. It suddenly dawned on her what the high pitch singing was. ‘Someone set off the fire alarm’ she said to herself. ‘Dev – thank god. It should only be a few more minutes. I can make it through. They are coming for me.” She said to herself and concentrated on her breathing. In and out. In and out. Her breathing reminded her of the ocean surf as it filled the beach and then retreated. Mary drifted to a happy place.
“So, what’s your algorithm for determining how many orgasms you need to receive before you fall in love with me?” Evan asked Mary with an intentionally ironic scientific tone while holding out a strawberry to tempt her lips. They were having a late breakfast on a sunny patio on San Marcos Island 659 days prior to her visit to room 423 at the Waldorf. She was glowing from a highly satisfying evening the night before.
She was trying to explain to Evan – an artist and bohemian by trade and practice – what she actually did for a living. She had been going on for several minutes about computer algorithms when he interrupted her with the strawberry and the curious question. She can still remember feeling the blood drawn to her face. She swooned.
This memory was her happy place; the place she escaped to when she needed to calm down. This was definitely one of those times. And so, sitting in a fetal position naked in a closet, hiding for her life and her country, Mary transported herself to San Marcos.
She had been dating Evan for 9 months when she agreed to join him for a long weekend to the Gulf Island – just the two of them. From the etlik escortlar moment she walked through the hotel doors, burst open the French screens and let the ocean air swath her in coolness, salt, sand and the faint hint of drying seaweed decomposing on the sun-drenched beach she felt an unusual sense of lightness. She was giddy. She didn’t care about code, bugs or system hacks. She stood up on her tiptoes as if the wind was actually lifting her frame like a dirigible off the green all season carpet that protected their balcony floor. She couldn’t stop smiling, which felt highly unusual to Mary’s analytical, always questioning brain. She stopped searching for answers. She just smiled. While Evan got busy unpacking and setting up the room she just leaned into the breeze. The world around her – even Evan – drifted away into a barely perceptible background.
From the room Evan sneaked glimpses of his new girlfriend floating in the sea breeze. He unpacked his clothes, and then caught her shoulder length platinum blonde hair shining like fine silk in the sun. He put away his Dopp kit in the bathroom and then emerged in the room to see her skirt dance around her calves. She was on her tip toes and her pale skin stretched tightly around her well-formed muscle. The sun shone through the fabric enough for him to trace the shadow of her knees and thighs, parted just slightly until they came together to form a large and very female set of hips. Evan moved to the bedside dresser and stored a few items he hoped would be appreciated for later in the evening. He turned expecting to finally break Mary’s trance.
But he paused admiring the beauty. And now Evan was frozen in place feeling something lift him from the bonds of gravity. She sensed him behind her. She imagined what he was thinking. She didn’t care. She wasn’t teasing or pandering to his lust with some provocative pose. She certainly wasn’t inviting him to join her at the balcony rail. She really just didn’t care. She acknowledged she was happy he was with her in San Marcos. She even felt she needed him. But she didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to stop smiling. She didn’t want to remember what she was supposed to think and do.
And that was fine by Evan. Because at that moment all Evan cared about was drinking in this real life visual banquet. It required savoring. It was his duty as an artist – as a member of the human race – to see the light – the shadow – the color – the yearning – and the peace. He drank in her curvy legs and buttocks. He saw shades of aqua, teal, sky and midnight intertwined in the 3 inch blue cloth belt that swaddled her waist and helped accentuate her large hips. The white and yellow print blouse then bulged outward in an attempt to constrain her torso and breasts. Her arms and shoulders were barren, pale and smooth. She was a Ruben woman – but with modern impulses. Mary was a plus size curvy Madonna standing transfixed in the window. He was her secret admirer – her secret lover. He would approach with tenderness and patience – almost reverence. Then he would bend her over the metal and glass rail, lift her skirt and take her as her blue eyes, red lips and pale cherub cheeks combined to scream with pleasure into the surf.
The phone rang. The two broke their trance. “Yeah, thanks, we’ll be right down” Evan answered with a bit of over compensated casualness. He hung up the receiver. “Hey Mary – our ride to the boat is here. Ready?”
“How can I answer that?” she thought. Then turned and grabbed his hand.
Mee mee mee mee mee mee the buzzing was incessant. She opened the closet door a crack. The lights in the room were now dim – possibly the buildings automatic response to the fire drill. The darkness would make it easier for her to get out of the room unseen if the shooter was still in position somewhere on the other side of the window. She crawled out of the closet and back to where she had been. Lying abandoned on the floor lay the white heavy cotton hotel robe that she had discarded a few minutes before. It had a partner. One arm of Liu’s robe had fallen over the top of hers. For a moment it looked as if the robe was consoling its mate. Its soft comforting arm embraced the shoulder of the other robe. ‘It’s OK’ it seemed to be saying. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Nothing can hurt me know.’
She grabbed at the robe. It was stuck. She pulled hard. Liu’ Zhang’s shoulder – the object restraining the robe – fell from the shadows. “Fuck” she whispered aloud. “Fuck, fuck fuck.” The robe gave way. She was just moments from the hall, then the lobby, then Dev and the team in the Van. In under a minute she could be safe.
But then the thought occurred to her. She didn’t want to do it – but she knew she had to. She crawled up to the body. Her body was at a 90 degree angle to the Taiwanese man. With one hand she clutched the robe. With the other she searched for his arm, then his wrist, then his pulse. Nothing. She confirmed he was dead.
Mary took a breath. She didn’t really know this man. She didn’t know if he was good or bad. He was never described as an enemy of the US – just that he had secrets. And in the short 123 minutes of their relationship, Mary had quickly formed an opinion of a wise and joyful father figure. She even felt some sexual attraction.