Gus Keller relaxed under the shower, enjoying the feel of the hot water pelting his face, his chest, his belly. He turned around and let it drive the tenseness out of his shoulders, out of his back. After a few minutes, he stepped out of the shower but only to turn off the shower and let the tub – a very long, wide tub, fill up halfway with water. Then he sank down into its warm embrace.
His cock was floating free, and he grasped it with his right hand and began to play with it.
It had been a helluva long flight.
It had been tolerable. Apparently unusual among most people, he liked the taste of airline food. He’d also brought along some snacks of his own. So the fact that Taran Tula was eating high off the uppermost part of the hog in first class hadn’t annoyed him too much.
He’d also managed to secure a seat just in front of the bulk-head, so that had given him more leg-room. Unfortunately he found it difficult to sleep while sitting up, so he’d only gotten a couple of hours of sleep, scattered over many hours of trying. He’d had a book (Art in Australia: From Colonization to Postmodernism, by Christopher Allen) and a couple of movies on his laptop (National Treasure and The DaVinci Code), and fortunately there had been no kids on the flight – at least, none in annoying distance.
So it was just the lack of sleep, and a feeling of irritation. If he’d been the real…or perhaps he should say, a real, “Mr. Largo,” he’d’ve probably been pissed off at being relegated to economy class – not to mention having to pay his own way! – and let Taran Tula know it in no uncertain terms.
Well, he’d thought, maybe not. The woman did have a rep for shooting people who annoyed her…would a real professional assassin want to get on her bad side?
Keller sighed, wallowed in the water a bit to get the flow going over his chest and between his legs, and grasping his cock with a firmer hand began to rub it up and down, up and down.
What was he going to do, he wondered, if she expected him to help her kill someone? Would he do it, to maintain his cover? Or would he not do it? Maybe shoot and miss? And then be executed by her for being incompetent?
No…he had to go to work on her. Turn her to the good side.
She must like him…she must feel something for him..otherwise she would surely have killed him at their first meeting…
Ah, god. Keller clenched his teeth and breathed deeply. He started rubbing faster and faster…the feeling was coming…ah, god…then he was cumming, his cum spurting out over his hand and onto his belly, jerking with the waves of pleasure rolling over him…
Ended all too soon.
He washed the cum off, drained out the water and took another 30-second shower, then stepped out of the tub. He’d neglected to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom with him…and he didn’t really feel like putting on his old, sweat-stained clothing.
Should he walk out into the room in his underwear – nice, unrevealing boxer shorts.
He looked at himself in the mirror…drawing in his stomach…he didn’t look too bad. Not extremely muscled, but not flabby either…
Hell…James Bond would do it. Dirk Pitt would do it. Willie Garvin would do it – not that Willie would have an ulterior motive….
Keller took a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door.
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