Black Widow Blonde

Sometimes a good disguise is all you need...

Transcript: Jeremy Schlepper’s soft sole shoes pattered quietly across the marble floor despite his whirlwind sprint. Lucky for him, the mansion he’d ducked into was empty, and the men pursuing him had momentarily lost his trail, but he knew he couldn’t shake them for long. They were quick and strong and this particular contest was not a game he could win by his wits. He had to think of something, and fast—perhaps a place to hide.

Bursting through the expansive halls, Jeremy found himself suddenly in a quaint, lavishly decorated bedroom. A fine mahogany wardrobe stood to his left, large enough to fit him and an entire hockey team inside, but that would be too obvious. But that was of no consequence, it was packed full of luxurious evening gowns, chic dresses, and sultry lingerie anyways. An array of matching dressers also surrounded the room, no doubt also filled with equally expensive garments, which would do him no good either. His gaze wandered about the room until it fell upon the overflowing pile cosmetics on the vanity in front of him, inspiring a daring idea: he didn’t need a place to hide, but a way.

Twenty minutes later, Jeremy, who was unrecognizable beneath the many layers of masterfully applied makeup, heard the first evidence that he was no longer alone. He hurriedly rolled up the last stocking and secured it in place. Jeremy would’ve preferred to be wearing more than just lingerie—which thanks to his slim frame had been a perfect fit—but it would have to do; he had no time to fumble with a dress now. At least he looked decent. It’d been a long time since he’d done drag in college, but the statuesque blonde staring back at him proved he still had it. Carmela was making a comeback. The hair extensions weren’t exactly her color, but she was making them work, and her tuck looked as marvelous as ever. Finding the breast forms in the house had been an unexpected lucky break—the owner apparently had had a double mastectomy sometime in the past—but one Carmela had taken full advantage of. With a little contouring around the chest, her ‘breasts’ looked good enough to be convincing. One last spritz left her smelling like a freshly picked bouquet of roses and ready to take the stage.

Carmela pretended to be oblivious to the large beast of a man that was hulking up the stairs with a gun in hand as she sauntered down.

“You!” a callous voice called out, stopping Carmela in the middle of the stairs, “where is Mr. Schlepper?”

It would’ve been hard not to recognize the intruder. His name was Christian Renaldi, better known as “Il Toro”. A lethal bounty hunter known for his unearthly strength and stamina, the only thing larger than his biceps may have been his rippling pectorals. Carmela tried not to let any fear show.

“Why? What’s he to you?” Carmela replied casually, easily slipping into her feminine voice and letting her nonchalant tone taking her would be assailant by surprise.

“Just answer the question,” the mean looking bounty hunter growled, “I know he’s here. I’d hate to mess up a pretty face like yours, but I will if you don’t give me what I want, sweetcheeks.”

That was good news. Renaldi had just admitted that he found her attractive.

“You’re another one of the men trying to kill him aren’t you? Well you just missed him,” Carmela lied. “He ducked out a few minutes before you barged in, but if you’d like to wait, he promised to come back for me tomorrow morning. You’re more than welcome to stay.”

Carmela had been quietly closing the distance between them as she spoke and was now only an arm’s length away. Renaldi had remained cautious, but allowed her to approach. Even a tested veteran could be a sucker for a pretty face and a nice set of tits.

“You like his girl or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Damn, what does Schlepper have on you?” His voice contained just a hint of jealousy.

“Nothing,” Carmela was now close enough to place a soft hand on Renaldi’s broad chest, “I guess I just like bad boys.”

Her hint might as well have had a glowing neon sign and singing chipmunks to advertise it. Renaldi took the bait.

“I’m a bad boy too.”

“Oh are you? I love playing with bad boys. They’re always so…naughty.” Carmela teased. She guided him to a couch and motioned for him to sit, then straddled him in one smooth motion and began to grind back and forth, up and down, slowly and sensuously on her unwitting quarry. Loosening her sunny locks, her hair hung down far enough to tickle Renaldi’s face and saturate his nostrils with her subtle perfume. “Is this what you want?”

She didn’t really need to ask. She could feel his answer in the form of a steel rod pressed up against her panties. Carmela did her best not to let herself grow stiff in response. There would be time for pleasure later—business first.

Renaldi’s guard was no longer up, good for Carmela, dangerous for him. Carmela’s hands ran free through his hair, across his chest, and around his neck—SNAP, his lifeless body fell limp to the floor.

“Oops,” Carmela’s tone was unapologetic. Taking Renaldi’s wallet and gun, Carmela went back up the stairs to put on a dress before leaving the scene of the crime.

That had been fun. She almost couldn’t wait for the next man to catch her. She spotted a mysterious vehicle trailing her as she drove away in a hotwired car. It looked like she wouldn’t have to wait long.