Little Majes

I get to the Visalia Marriott just as the warm chocolate chip cookies are served at the front desk. The sweet smell is a welcome respite from the odour of the farm earlier today. I go to the bar, briefly consider dinner and then knock back a few stiff drinks before going to my room. Not hungry, for food anyway, I watch television for a bit. I called the concierge and requested they send up Champaign, caviar, and some company.

About an hour later, there is a lovely tall redhead at my door. We sort out the financials and she goes to work. Sadly, little Majes isn’t up to the task. I’m distracted. The girl who sold the pickup to me haunts my thoughts; she seemed familiar, but not, like someone in a dream long ago. The professional in front of me is trying her best, I’m tempted to ask her to rub herself with bacon for a kinky turn on, but I manage to resist.

It must be morning; I see sunshine streaming through the window. The hooker is gone, of course, I’m soiled and starving. What time is it? Wait, what day is it? I don’t believe it, that whore drugged me. What’s missing? Car keys, check, pistols still locked in the room safe, check, wallet, cash gone but everything else is intact. My Louis Vuitton bag is gone! It’s OK, she can keep it; I was tired of feeding those hungry Pit Vipers anyway.


About HybridHitman

Contract killer for hire.
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