Endings and Flight (espionage, fucking & snuff, WMAF but not raceplay)
An airplane flies through the dreaming dark of a Pacific night, heading to China. One passenger believes she's made her escape. One is steeling himself for a task part of him doesn't want to do - killing a woman he loved.
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Endings and Flight
It was always the same.
John Smith sighed, feeling the little .22 pistol concealed under his jacket. With the suppressor it felt large even though he knew it was practically invisible under the coat.
It held seven rounds, which was plenty for what he had to do.
She’s just another spy, he thought to himself. Just a fucking spy.
He had carefully chosen his seat so he could keep an eye on his prey. Zhi was fidgeting, playing with her collar like she always did, looking around. Nervous and excited.
He watched her, fascinated, and waited.
After half an hour, she stood up and walked to the rear of the plane.
It was an intercontinental night flight over the Pacific Ocean, hours in the dreaming dark thirty thousand feet in the air. Inevitable that the body’s needs would have to be attended to.
When she closed the bathroom door, he stood and walked after her, his footsteps on the carpet sounding loud to him as he took up a post by the door, senses alert for any surveillance. The majority of the flight were asleep, flight attendants drowsy. There were few eyes that weren’t glued to a screen of some kind.
Zhi opened the door, saw him waiting for her, and her eyes widened.
He’d grown a beard for this, so she wouldn’t recognize him, but face to face at close range there must have been something in his eyes or his scent, something intangible that gave him away, because her face told him that she saw death.
Fuck.
He lifted the pistol.
She’d really thought she had gotten away. Goddammit.
PHUT PHUT PHUT
With subsonic rounds, a .22 was movie-silencer quiet, and Zhi’s chest heaved as he put three bullets through her perfect breast and into her left lung. Her alarm turned to terror as she coughed up blood, red droplets staining her thin white shirt.
PHUT PHUT
Two in the other lung, punching straight through the curve of her right breast and deep into her chest. She was raising her hands, a futile defense, but it was too late.
He remembered her, stretched out over his bed, the sweet white curves of her body under his hands, and he wished any other agent had been available for this.
He glanced quickly around and pushed her back into the bathroom, following her in and shutting the door behind him.
She was making little straining noises, her chest heaving, her eyes large and liquid and strangely warm.
“Don’t try to talk,” he said in a low voice.
She opened her mouth, and he clapped his left hand over it.
“I said don’t.”
Tucking his pistol beneath his jacket, he reached down and jerked her pencil skirt up. He’d always loved the little skirts she wore, the white blouses, her sex kitten secretary chic.
He pushed her back, hoisting her ass up until she was sitting on the little sink counter, her back against the mirror.
A little moan came from beneath his hand, and he reached down and pulled the crotch of her panties aside.
Her gaze was locked on his. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers, seeing them narrow in pain as he moved her.
God, there were five bullets inside her. Five little hollow points ripping through those gorgeous breasts, tearing into her lungs, burning and filling her with agony.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard.
Her body strained against his, rolling like he remembered from bedding her, and he didn’t know if it was the pain or fear or what, but he also didn’t care. She was spreading her legs, welcoming him, and he pressed his cockhead against her pussy and felt the wetness.
“You like that, huh?” he whispered. She didn’t respond, just put her arms around him, pulling him close, and whimpered as he pushed inside her.
“You need this, don’t you, baby?” he said, cupping her cheek with his left hand and sliding his thumb past the red, red curves of her lips and into her mouth.
“I love the way your mouth looks when you’re sucking on something.”
Her hips were pushing back at him, her eyes wide with heat, her fingers claws in his back.
She coughed again, blood dripping down his hand, and the sight of it ignited a feral intensity in him. Grabbing her shirt, he ripped at it, buttons flying as he jerked it open and pushed his right hand under her lacy little bra to grip her left breast tightly.
Zhi shuddered with the pain and gave a little muffled scream.
There were three bullet holes there. Fuck. He squeezed it and she made an indescribable noise, but she kept pushed back against him, welcoming him into her tight wet core.
“You always liked a little pain,” he said, but he knew this was different, it wasn’t just pain, she was stealing a few moments of passion on the edge of oblivion.
He felt the wounds with his fingertips, and he saw the accusation in her eyes.
This is turning you on, isn’t it?
She’d said it so many times, when they were watching a movie together and he’d moved uncomfortably as a woman was gunned down or stabbed.
“You had my number,” he said, raspy with need and hunger. “You always knew, didn’t you?”
God, she was tight! His hips bucked, driving him into her, stretching her out again and again.
“You were so fucking perfect, Zhi. So perfect. And you had to pull this shit.”
He dug his fingers into her breast venomously, and she squeaked, her eyes rolling back as her body shuddered in a pain-spiked orgasm, spasming around his dick.
“Little pain slut. Fucking spy. God, I’m so fucking angry with you,” he breathed in her ear.
She was holding him tightly, so tightly that it was like she thought her grip on his body was what was keeping her from falling into the night. With a sudden surge of intensity, he plowed his dick into her hard, once, twice, again, driving her back against the mirror.
He could feel it, feel the tension in his balls, feel the electricity in his cockhead as he neared his own orgasm.
Jerking the pistol out again, he pushed it against her right breast and with a quiet report put a third hole there, making it match the left, making it jiggle and bleed with the passage of the bullet.
Then he pressed the tip of the silencer up under her chin, nuzzled it there a few moments, seeing the sudden terror in her eyes melt into something else as she came on his thrusting dick.
He pursed his lips, sadism and his softer feelings warring briefly. Presently, sadism won, and he pushed the gun into her belly.
PHUT
The bullet tore through her guts and she groaned around the thumb in her mouth. He rested his right arm against the mirror next to her head, pounded his cock into her balls deep, and shot the biggest load of his life into her wildly twitching pussy.
A few minutes later he opened the bathroom door and stepped out, hearing Zhi’s rattling, wheezing breathing quiet behind him. Quickly he grabbed his backpack from the overhead compartment and strapped it securely on, pulling the oxygen mask and goggles out and fixing them firmly to his face.
Then without a pause he barged his way to the emergency door and, with both hands and great effort, pulled the handle. He knew it was his imagination, but he almost thought he could hear her dying moans behind him as the door blew out and he leaped free of the plane, soaring into the night air as the transcontinental flight continued behind him.
He thought of Zhi, bloody bubbles at her lips as she died there alone in the air.
He thought of not even opening his parachute.
But he had other work to do. So as his lover coughed and scrabbled and died in bloody misery thousands of meters in the sky, he opened his parachute and radioed his location for pickup.
Posted Aug 7, 2025, 11:25 AM UTC