My Wife The Assassin
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
What it's like to be married to a professional hit woman


My name is Brett. I'm 28 years old and married. My wife and I live in a nice
two-story house in a quiet suburb of Reno, Nevada. Sounds pretty normal so
far, right? Well, it's about to get abnormal. My wife is a professional
assassin.

Her name is Deborah and she's the most extraordinary woman I've ever known.
She's everything I've ever wanted in a woman - confident, smart, beautiful,
powerful, athletic, and feminine. I consider myself the luckiest guy in the
world to be married to her.

Debbie is 32 years old, but looks more like 25 - when she's in her "normal"
look, anyway. (As a professional killer, she often plays different roles to
get close to her target, and she can play anything from a ditzy 18-year-old
girl to a 40-year-old soccer mom). She has long brown hair that goes down to
the middle of her back, blue eyes, an elegant and high-cheekboned face, and a
deep, healthy tan. Her long muscular legs, slim waist with six-pack abs,
medium-sized and steel-hard ass, and ultra-toned arms all drive me wild. At
5'10" and 140 pounds, she towers over my 5'6", 135-pound frame, especially
when she wears her knee-high black leather boots with razor-sharp four inch
high heels.

People do stare at us when we're out in public. I guess they assume the only
reason a woman like her would want a guy like me is that I'm a rich guy. But
I'm not. I'm an IT specialist for a small company, and I make about 50 grand a
year. Debbie makes much more than that with her... line of work. Depending on
what kind of contracts she gets, she can pull in anything from half a million
to 1.5 million a year, and all of it tax-free. It's her money that's allowed
us to pay cash for our house, buy expensive cars, go on Hawaiian vacations,
etc.

So our relationship is almost completely non-traditional. My wife is taller
than me, stronger than me, makes more money than me, is more comfortable with
violence than me, and is even older than me. A lot of guys - dumb guys - would
let that intimidate them and make them feel insecure. But I don't feel
insecure at all. I mean, come on. I'm married to a beautiful, athletic, smart,
rich woman. What guy with a functioning brain wouldn't want that?

Now, just so there are no misconceptions: Do I still find myself in awe of her
capabilities, even after knowing her for years? Yes, I do. Does she usually
take the lead during sex? Absolutely, and we both like it that way. But do we
have one of those weird relationships where she pushes me around or humiliates
me or makes me do shit like eat bugs or wear women's clothes? Definitely not.
We have a passionate and healthy love for each other based on mutual respect,
and though she's strong enough to easily hurt me, she would never do that. We
occasionally play sex games where she ties me up and spanks me, but we both
strongly believe that that kind of activity should be restricted to the
bedroom. At any rate, if we got too weird it might lead to attention from the
neighbors, and as a professional assassin Debbie certainly doesn't want that.

So why would a woman who could have any man she wanted get involved with a guy
like me? Well, in the first place, we have a symbiotic relationship. Sometimes
she needs someone with expert computer skills to help track down a target.
That's where I come in. And the hacking experience I get from tracking
Debbie's future victims helps me in my work, enabling me to better prevent
hacker attacks on my company's network.

Also, most guys don't know the proper way to react around a woman like Debbie,
and she hates that. When they found out the full range of her physical
capabilities, most of the guys she dated would either become insecure and
withdrawn, get aggressive and try to out-macho her (they always failed), or
start acting like she was a dominatrix for hire and offer to humiliate
themselves. While she enjoys being dominant, she also wanted a stable
long-term relationship that had more meaning than just S&M sex.

We are quite different from each other. In addition to what I've already
mentioned, Debbie is amazingly athletic. She was a three-sport varsity athlete
in high school, on the softball, volleyball, and gymnastics teams. She's
excellent at doing back flips despite her height. She also received a full
softball scholarship to the college of her choice. I, on the other hand, have
never been good at sports. When I played baseball with the other neighborhood
kids as a boy, the two team captains would do rock-paper-scissors to see who
would pick first, and whichever captain lost would invariably moan, "Oh, no!
I'm stuck with Brett!" And when I had completed the mandatory two years of
physical education in high school, I remember jumping for joy.

But we have some similar interests too. We both enjoy traveling, going to
hockey games, reality TV shows, and science fiction. And at the end of the
day, at least in our case, opposites do attract. How did we meet? Well, that's
material for another story.

My wife has turned one of the smaller upstairs bedrooms into what's basically
her secret assassin room. Pretty much anything related to her kills, she keeps
in there. She's told me not to go in there for my own safety. If, God forbid,
I'm ever captured and interrogated by her enemies, I can't tell them what I
don't know. She also keeps quite an arsenal in there. I only see the weapons
when she brings them out, but at various times I've seen an assault rifle, a
submachine gun, Lara Croft-style twin pistols, a sniper rifle, a samurai
sword, twin throwing daggers, and a crossbow. Though most of the weapons in
the house are locked up in the arsenal, my wife does keep a pistol in the
drawer next to her side of the bed, and a shotgun in the closet, just in case
something happens. She's taught me how to shoot and I'm sad to say that I'm
quite bad at it. I can hit the broad side of a barn, but the narrow side might
give me some trouble. Debbie, on the other hand, is an excellent markswoman.
She can easily nail a head shot on a target from 500 yards.

I work regular nine-to-five hours, but my wife is home most of the time. She
generally does about one hit a month. Because of her excellent reputation, she
doesn't take small jobs and can afford not to. Every contract she takes pays a
minimum of fifty thousand dollars, and most pay more than that. She has
something of a regular cycle. She spends a few days researching various
offers, and after careful investigation she selects a contract. She then
spends several days researching every little detail about her target and
planning out exactly how she's going to do her mission. If she needs computer
help tracking him (they're usually male) down I come in at that point. When
she has everything she needs, she goes off on the actual mission. Sometimes
she's gone for six hours, sometimes six days. After her mission is
accomplished she spends the rest of the month relaxing at home, the beach, the
spa, etc. Sometimes I join her for vacations at this time, though not often
because I only get two weeks of vacation a year. When the next month rolls
around, the cycle starts all over again. Some months she declares a 'vacation
month' and simply spends the whole time relaxing.

Quarter past five on a Friday afternoon. Finally home for the weekend. I
pulled my silver Lexus (courtesy of my wife's money, of course) into the
driveway. Debbie's black BMW still wasn't there. She had left on Tuesday on
one of her missions.

I turned on my cell phone to see if any calls had come in while I had been
driving. My heart leapt with excitement when I found a message from my wife,
saying she'd be home in a few hours. She generally doesn't call me while away
until her mission is completed. After she comes back from an assignment, we go
out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate, then come back to the house to
celebrate with sex. Our sex life is great all the time, but it's by far the
best right after she's returned from a kill. She's feeling aggressive,
dominant, and powerful, and that gets her in the mood more than anything.

I made myself a ham sandwich to keep my stomach satisfied until we went out to
dinner, then grabbed a book and plopped down on the couch. Around eight, the
doorbell rang and I eagerly jumped up. Debbie walked in, looking beautiful as
always. She was wearing black leather pants, a tight black T-shirt that showed
off the outline of her small, firm, perky 36B breasts, and black leather
gloves. Her tanned, muscular arms looked great and her long brown hair, which
was wild and loose, added to her female warrior image. She greeted me with a
long, aggressive kiss.

"Welcome home, Debbie," I said when we finally pulled apart. "All went well?"

"Went great. One more scumbag taken out of commission permanently, one more
notch on my belt. How have you been?"

"Same old, same old. Spent about half my time bailing out people at work after
they forgot their passwords and locked themselves out of their own computers."

Debbie tossed her wild hair and laughed, playfully pinching me on the ass.
"I'll go change quickly, then let's go out. I had to hitch a ride on a cargo
plane if I didn't want to wait till tomorrow to get back here. No food service
on there. On the way over on Tuesday the private jet came complete with a
flight attendant who served me lunch." She picked up the duffel bag she had
taken with her, her arm muscles rippling as she did so. As she swept upstairs,
I saw that she was wearing a dagger on each well-developed hip, and the long
telescope case she wore over her shoulder undoubtedly carried her sniper
rifle.

She came back downstairs three minutes later. She was now wearing a long,
sleeveless red dress with a slit on one side. Her hair was piled up in an
elegant bun. She looked equally beautiful as a tomboyish warrior or a feminine
lady. "I'm wearing flats tonight," she said. "I won't look too much taller
than you this time."

As we sipped red wine at our favorite Italian restaurant, I looked into my
wife's deep blue eyes. "So, sweetie, how much can you tell me about this one?
It turns me on so much to hear about your kills."

Debbie gave me that heart-melting smile of hers. "Nothing too spectacular this
time. He was a mid-level guy in a drug ring. There was a contract on him for
$100,000, though, so I took it. I sniped him - it was only about 300 yards, so
it was an easy shot. But on the way out I bumped into two of his bodyguards
who had been spread out to watch for danger. That's where my daggers came in
handy. Their pieces ended up in two different dumpsters."

"Wow," I said. "I'd call that pretty spectacular."

She laughed. "You think all of my kills are."

"Well, they are." I put my hand on hers. Looking down at our forearms
positioned next to each other, I couldn't help noticing the differences
between them. Mine was pale, with no real muscle definition, while her forearm
was darkly tanned and had prominent veins and heavily developed, well-defined
muscles. Her wrist was bigger than mine - she had playfully commented on it
once and we had measured them. Mine was six and a half inches around, while
hers was just over seven inches. Her biceps were bigger than mine too - mine
measured a paltry eleven and a quarter inches, compared to her impressive
thirteen and a half.

"I wish I could come with you on a mission sometime," I said. "I'd love to see
you in action up close and personal."

She leaned her head against mine. "As much as I'd enjoy your companionship,
you know I can't let you do that. It would be too dangerous. I feel
responsible for protecting you and if anything ever happened to you I'd spend
the rest of my life blaming myself."

"I know. I understand. I just like imagining how exciting and fun it would
be." I sighed. She moved in and kissed me.

After an excellent dinner, we headed out to the parking lot. Just as we
reached the black BMW, Debbie suddenly pushed me to the ground, shouting, "GET
DOWN!" A split second later, several bullets went through the air space my
chest had previously been occupying. They slammed into the BMW's left rear
window, shattering it.

Two men were standing at the edge of the parking lot, both armed with machine
pistols. Debbie had already reached underneath her dress and whipped out a
small pistol, which she had been wearing strapped to her thigh. More bullets
were sprayed at us, some only missing by inches. My wife fired two expertly
aimed shots, one nailing one man right in his forehead and the other hitting
the other guy in the arm. As his companion's corpse slumped to the asphalt,
the second man screamed in pain, dropping his weapon and clutching his wounded
arm.

She tossed me the keys. "Start the car!" Trying to snap myself out of the
state of shock I was in, I managed to stand up and open the driver's door. My
body was still shaking. Debbie, too well-disciplined and used to violence to
have a freak-out, raced toward the injured man, doing a roundoff followed by a
series of back handsprings in his direction. As she elegantly backflipped at
him, he wasted precious seconds staring at this image of athletic, feminine
beauty, amazed that a girl could do back handsprings in a long dress. He
finally began reaching for his gun, but it was too late. Debbie had been much
too quick for him. She crashed into him on her last backflip, knocking him to
the ground, while she landed perfectly on her feet. She bent down and knocked
him out with a swift karate chop to his neck.

I had managed to get the car started by this time. My wife motioned for me to
drive it over. I did so and she opened the rear door. Picking up the
unconscious man, she tossed him into the back seat. He was a medium-sized guy
and she was able to handle his weight easily. She jumped in after him. "Now
go! Fast!"

I raced out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. As I drove off, I saw
in the rearview mirror that several people were coming out of the restaurant,
hands over their mouths as they saw the dead body.

"Thank you for saving my life," I said. In the rearview mirror, I saw her
smile and even blush a little. She almost never blushed.

"Now what?" I asked. My heart rate had declined somewhat since the shooting,
but it was still well above normal.

"Take us out of town, out into the desert. I need to interrogate this fucker
to see who put him and his buddy up to it." She looked behind her. Satisfied
that no one was following the car, she added, "That was some excitement right
there."

Remembering what I had said in the restaurant, I suddenly felt guilty. Debbie
must have sensed what I was thinking, because she said, "You have nothing to
feel bad about. You had no way of knowing that was going to happen." I felt
better immediately.

About fifteen minutes later, she said, "This is far enough." I pulled over and
turned off the engine. Debbie pulled out the thug, who was just regaining
consciousness, and threw him onto the dirt.

"You may want to step away," she told me. "Things could get brutal if he
refuses to talk."

"It's okay, I'll stay."

She forced the would-be assassin into a kneeling position. He was awake by now
and glared at her, then at me. I shivered in fear as his angry eyes focused in
my direction. I was very glad my wife was out here with me.

Debbie reached under her dress and pulled out her pistol. Pointing it at the
man, she said, "It's very simple. Tell me what I want to know and I won't
shoot you, or refuse and I will shoot you. Your call."

"I ain't telling you nothing, bitch," the thug growled.

Her face remained expressionless. That seemed to frighten him more than an
angry expression would have. He talked tough, but was trembling with fear
inside.

Debbie suddenly rammed her knee into his face. Blood sprayed out from the
impact. Some of it landed on her dress, which luckily was red and matched the
color. Her model-like face still showed no emotion as he cried out in pain.
She kneed his face again. More blood and another shriek of pain.

"Every time I knee you, I'm doing more damage," she said calmly. "Soon the
damage will be permanent and irreversible. I suggest you start talking before
then." She began raising her knee.

"Wait!" he cried out. "If I talk, do you swear you won't shoot me?"

"You have my word of honor," she answered.

"Okay, I'll talk! Someone put a bounty on YOUR head. Two million dollars."

She smiled slightly and glanced over at me. "Well! I had no idea I was worth
that much." She turned back to the thug. "Who put the bounty out?"

"I don't know."

"Wrong answer." She began raising her knee again.

"Wait! Please! I swear I don't know! He's not going to tell who he is, he's
too smart for that! It was over the Internet, completely anonymous!"

"Internet, eh?" Debbie glanced at me again. "Now we're getting somewhere. Tell
me the details."

"I have a printout of the email he sent me in my pocket. That's all I got from
him."

"Take it out. Slowly." She aimed her gun at his forehead to enforce her point.
Shaking with fear, the man obeyed.

My wife motioned for me to approach. Normally I would have been nervous about
getting close to a guy who was likely a trained killer, but I could see that
she had him completely under control.

She handed me the paper. "Can you trace this email?"

I looked at it. "I think so."

"Good." Debbie turned back to the failed assassin. "That means we don't need
you anymore, and that means it's time for you to die."

"Wait! No!" he protested. "You gave me your word of honor that you wouldn't
shoot me!"

"I know. I'm keeping my promise. I'm going to kill you with my knee." With
that, she rammed her knee into him again, but aimed a little lower this time.
Her knee impacted the underside of his chin with such force that it snapped
his neck backward, breaking it with a sharp CRACK. The dead body slumped to
the desert floor.

My wife looked at the dead body dispassionately, while I looked at it with
wide eyes. Slipping her pistol back underneath her dress, she came close and
held me affectionately. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, honey. Thanks to you. You were amazing, once again. You seem so
fearless."

"I'm not. I'm human like you and there are things that scare me. But not that
guy. He was just a small-time thug." She held me tighter. I loved this girl
who could go from brutal killer to loving wife in just a few seconds.

"Our home may not be safe," Debbie said when we finally pulled apart. "Let's
check into a hotel." She got behind the wheel of her BMW. I got into the seat
beside her and we drove off, leaving the dead body for the vultures.

"Just one quick stop before we go to the hotel," said my wife as she drove.
"Luckily we're already out here in the desert." I was puzzled as she drove
down a series of dirt roads, then came to a stop by two large boulders. Midway
between them was a smaller rock. She went over to it and lifted, revealing
that it was a fake rock covering a chest. With a key from her large keyring,
she unlocked it.

"One of my secret stashes," she explained. "I knew that someday we might get
into a situation where I couldn't access my main arsenal in the house."

I peered into the chest. Inside were a mini-Uzi submachine gun, a 9mm pistol,
a crossbow, several spare magazines of ammunition, and a quiver of arrows.
There were also MREs, bottles of water, and a small, locked box. She unlocked
the box with yet another key from the large keyring. Inside this one were half
a dozen wads of $100 bills, two tubes filled with gold Krugerrands, and two
more tubes of silver dollars.

I stared at my wife. "Debbie, you never told me..."

"Sorry, Brett. I guess I should have told you." She stroked my cheek. "Forgive
me?"

"Of course I do." I touched my forehead with hers. I had to stand on my toes
to do it, as she was taller.

"Thanks, sweetie." She turned back to the chest and removed all the weapons
and ammo. "We'll leave the food and water here, and the gold and silver too. A
different kind of situation might come someday when we'll need those. We have
all our credit cards, but just to be safe I'll take half of this cash out."
She slipped three of the six wads of bills into a convenient dress pocket,
then locked the small box and the chest again and put back the fake rock.

As we were carrying the weapons and ammo to the car, my wife said, "By the
way, I have two other secret stashes out in the desert. One is north of town
and the other is to the southwest. I'll tell you the directions of how to get
to each. Memorize them because they can't be written down anywhere." I
memorized them quickly. At least that was something I was good at.

Debbie popped the trunk open and we put the submachine gun, crossbow, and ammo
inside. She handed the pistol to me. "Brett, I want you to carry this with you
at all times until I take out the guy who's behind all this." I took it a
little nervously - I still wasn't that comfortable with guns - and put it in
my pocket. She still had her own pistol in her dress pocket. It was nice that
they made formal evening dresses with pockets.

I was silent in the car on the way to the hotel. The full magnitude of what
had happened was finally sinking in. Deep down, I had always known that my
wife's profession could put me in danger someday, but I had never really given
much thought to it, probably because it was something I feared. But there was
no getting away from it now.

We pulled up to one of the big casino hotels downtown (the closest thing to a
high-end hotel in this town - such is life in Reno). Soon we were in a large
suite on one of the upper floors. The large weapons and ammo we managed to
smuggle into the hotel in a couple of big bags. Finally (relatively) safe,
Debbie bolted and chained the door, put a chair in front of it, then sat on
the bed next to me and looked into my eyes. "Are you okay, Brett? Are you
*really* okay?"

"Yes, honey. The shock's finally worn off. Mostly."

"I'm sorry I got you into this. If you weren't married to me..."

"No!" I cried out. "Don't say that. Being married to you is the best thing
that could ever possibly happen to me. I'll happily take everything that comes
along with that. Including the danger. I'd much rather be married to you and
have my life at risk than be married to some non-warrior woman and have a
perfectly safe life. Don't blame yourself for what happened."

She kissed me, gently. "That's why I love you. You may be a shy and quiet man,
but when you feel passionately about something you always stand up and speak
out." She began undoing her hair, which was still in a bun. "You know, we're
here together and we have this nice suite. And we need something to take our
minds off what happened..."

I got an automatic erection in my pants. She noticed and laughed. Motioning
for me to remove my clothes, she kicked her shoes off and took off her dress.
She stood there dressed only in red panties - because of her exceptionally
firm and perky breasts, she didn't wear bras, except for sports bras when she
worked out. Her nipples looked like they could cut glass.

She wrapped her hand around my erect cock and applied pressure. The muscles in
her big forearm became even more defined. The slightest movement she made with
her arm always caused the muscles to start rippling. I moaned in pleasure,
then in pain as she increased the strength of her grip.

"Sweetie, you know your superhumanly strong forearms turn me on immensely and
you're probably strong enough to crush it, but please don't," I gasped out.

She relaxed the pressure. "Sorry hun. Better?"

"Mmmm yes, Miss Debbie."

She began moving her hand in a rhythmic and steady up-and-down motion, sending
new waves of pleasure through me. It was not long before I came hard, shooting
a large load of semen onto her wrist. The white cum sharply contrasted with
the darkly tanned skin of her forearm.

I wiped it off with some tissues (no, she's not one of those women who makes
her man lick it off), then kissed her clean wrist in tribute to the powerful
muscles that could give so much pleasure...or pain. She smiled seductively,
then sensually removed her red panties, sitting there completely nude. Her
dark brown pussy hair was neatly trimmed.

She stood up and turned around, then launched herself into a powerful standing
back tuck, her well-developed thigh and butt muscles propelling her high into
the air. She landed neatly on the bed and motioned for me to lie on my back.
She then performed a cartwheel into the splits, landing her splits perfectly
centered right on my face. Her wet pussy was right over my mouth and I eagerly
began going down on her. She grinded down hard as I plesured her with my
tongue and I knew that my face would be bruised tomorrow. Soon she had a
powerful orgasm, screaming "Yes! Yes! Yes!" as she came all over my face.

As I was wiping the sticky girl-cum off my face, a loud banging came from the
opposite wall. The suite was available with one or two bedrooms. We just
needed one, and when not part of the suite the second bedroom was sold as a
separate room. Whoever was in there now was making the ruckus. A man's angry
voice shouted, "Why don't you fuckheads keep it down in there!"

Debbie giggled. "Cranky bastard, ain't he? Well, let's get back to business."
With that, I lay down again on my back, my cock now hard again and pointing
straight up in the air. She giggled again when she saw, then mounted me in a
reverse cowgirl position. She fucked me dominantly and hard. My earlier
release, courtesy of her handjob, allowed me to last much longer this time.
She came hard and first, then had an equally powerful second orgasm, moaning
and shrieking in pleasure all the way. Finally I came, shooting my load deep
into her. She climbed off me and we lay in the bed next to each other,
breathing heavily.

Suddenly the banging on the wall started again, louder this time. "I thought I
told you motherfuckers to keep it the fuck down!" came the angry voice.

My wife's eyes got that mischievous sparkle and she got out of bed. Putting on
her panties and dress, she said, "I think I'll teach that asshole a lesson."
Noticing the worried look on my face, she added, "Don't worry. I won't do any
permanent damage."

She walked over to the connecting door and opened the one on our side. I put
on my clothes and followed several feet behind her, my heart pounding.

Debbie suddenly did a lightning-fast high kick, the slit on the side of her
dress enabling her to do it without damaging the garment. Her foot crashed
into the other side's connecting door with extreme force, splintering it and
knocking it down.

The man inside, who was dressed in a button-down shirt and boxer underwear and
had been furiously typing on a laptop, jumped up and turned around, a look of
fear and anger on his ugly face. His mouth dropped open in shock when he saw
the remnants of the kicked-down door...and my wife standing in the doorway.

"How...how are you strong enough to..." he gasped.

Debbie laughed. "I get that a lot."

She advanced on him. He was about my height, so my wife was a good four inches
taller than him. Her muscular, tanned body looked powerful and dominant next
to this scrawny loudmouth, whose pale, weak legs were showing. He cowered in
fear.

Her fists moved, first one and then the other. There were two loud impact
sounds and one cry of pain. He now had a broken nose and black right eye. She
kneed him hard in the stomach. He doubled over, unable to breathe. She grabbed
him and tilted his head up, looking straight into his frightened eyes.

"My husband and I have had a very rough day and we're trying to enjoy each
other's company," she said coldly. "And we don't need you giving us any shit.
So take this as a lesson in manners." With that, she headbutted him with all
her strength, knocking him down and unconscious. She turned to me and winked,
then walked over to her victim's pants, which were lying on the bed.

When the loud jerk woke up, Debbie was standing over him, her muscular arms
crossed in front of her. She smiled icily down at him. "Okay, asshole, here's
the deal. You're going to keep quiet for the rest of the night. And you're
going to tell the hotel that YOU broke the door and pay for it yourself." She
pointed to his pants pocket. "While you were out, I looked in your wallet and
memorized the address on your driver's license," she continued. "If you try to
give us any shit or don't do as you're told, I know where you live and I will
pay you a visit. Is that clear?"

"Y...yes," he stammered, shaking like the coward he was. The biggest talkers
always crumbled the quickest when faced with real strength.

"Are you going to be a good boy and do what I told you to do?"

"Y...yes," he stammered again.

"You will address me as Mistress Lara," she smirked, using one of her favorite
undercover names.

"Y...yes, Mistress Lara."

"Good." She tossed her long beautiful brown hair and smiled. "Sleep tight,
sucker."

Once we were back in our room and the connecting door was closed, she turned
to me, laughing. "That was fun."

"And we needed it," I said.

"That's right." Her elegant face became serious. "Let's try to get a good
night's sleep. We have a lot of work to do starting tomorrow. There are going
to be a lot of bad guys after us."

"May the odds be ever in our favor," I said. My wife giggled. We both loved
that movie.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY

After a room service breakfast, we were both sitting in the living room of the
suite. I was on my spare laptop (which, luckily, I had had in the car) trying
to trace the email Debbie had gotten from the would-be assassin. My wife was
cleaning her pistol.

"This isn't an ordinary email," I said as I typed away. "It's got a lot of
encryption and extra security. But I'll find out where it came from. It's only
a matter of time." Debbie smiled, came over and gently kissed me on the
forehead, then went back to cleaning her gun.

"Do you have any idea who might be behind this?" I asked.

"It could be anyone. I've killed many targets and the friends of any one of
them could be the ones who put the bounty out. But I thought I covered my
tracks well enough each time. If it does turn out to be one of them I need to
find out how they found out it was me so this doesn't happen again."

I continued pecking away at the computer. Finally, about fifteen minutes
later, I shouted excitedly, "I got it! The email was sent from a company
computer at a place called Dyno-Novo Industries."

"Jesus Christ," Debbie swore.

"What is it, honey?"

"Dyno-Novo. They were one of the organizations that HIRED me. A few months ago
they paid me half a million to whack some industrial espionage guy who they
said was stealing secrets from their company. It looks like they want to keep
their secrets so well guarded that they feel the need to have me 'cleaned up'
Jack Ruby style." She got up and stood behind me, looking at the computer
screen. "Can you find out which individual sent the message?"

"I'm afraid not. It's a company address not matched to any one person. It
could be anyone who works there."

"Fuck. So we have no way of knowing who's involved or how high up the
corruption might go. Unless..." Debbie's blue eyes lit up as she explained her
idea.

She reached into her purse and took out a makeup case. She then lay down on
the floor. Following her instructions, I applied red makeup on her forehead to
look like a bullet hole, complete with what looked like blood trickling down
from the wound. I then got my cell phone and used it to take a picture.

As I uploaded the picture to the computer, Debbie stood back up and grinned
wickedly. "Now those fuckers will think I'm dead," she said, wiping off the
phony blood. "How long will it take you to hack into Mr. Failed Assassin's
email account?"

"Just a couple of minutes. His doesn't have the security that Dyno-Novo's
did."

"Good. Tell them that you don't want any records of the money, so you want to
be paid in cash. Ask for a meeting."

I quickly hacked into the dead thug's email and typed the message my wife
wanted. I attached the picture of her and clicked SEND.

"Now we'll find out who the guilty ones are," Debbie said. Her voice and look
were passionate but cold. I was glad this lethal beauty was on my side.

"Come on," she said. "We'll go nuts just waiting. Let's go downstairs and do a
little gambling."

* * *

We came back to the suite a couple of hours later. I had lost about $50 on the
slot machines, but Debbie had won $300 on roulette and another $500 at poker.
She's really good at reading poker faces.

I immediately went to the computer. Sure enough, there was a response from
Dyno-Novo. "They want to meet tonight at nine in a warehouse," I reported.
"Here's the address."

"Good job," she said, kissing me. "Let's have an early dinner, then around
seven I'll head out there so I can be there by 7:30. That should be enough
time before they show up to set up an ambush."

"You're going alone?" I asked. Truth be told, I didn't really want to go. I'm
not used to dangerous combat situations and have no desire to get a lot of
experience in that area. But the desire to be near her and watch over her
while she was in danger, plus my desire to see her in action, pulled my
thoughts in the opposite direction.

"It's going to be extremely dangerous," my wife said. "I don't want anything
to happen to you."

"I know. I just...I just don't want to feel like a coward."

She came over and held me. "Trust me, Brett. I've never thought of you as a
coward and I never will. There's nothing cowardly about someone with no real
combat training staying out of a danger zone. I really think it's best if I
went alone."

"All right, Debbie. If you think it's best."

She smiled, then led me towards the bed.

* * *

After an afternoon of lovemaking, followed by dinner in one of the hotel
restaurants, we went back up to the suite so Debbie could change into her
combat outfit. When she was ready, she was wearing tight black pants that
showed off her muscular ass, black boots, black leather gloves, and a tight
black top with three-quarter length sleeves that emphasized her perky breasts
and slim waist, and showed off her big forearms. She wore the crossbow on her
back and had the Uzi slung across her chest. Her pistol was on her hip. She
put on a long coat to cover the weapons.

We stood by the door as she prepared to leave. "I don't think anyone will find
you here, but just to be safe make sure to keep your pistol on you, especially
if you go downstairs. And if you do go downstairs make sure to hang the 'Do
Not Disturb' sign on the door. Try to relax and have some fun while I'm gone.
Don't worry about me too much. I'll call you as soon as the action's over at
the warehouse." She kissed me on the lips. "I love you."

"I love you too, Debbie. Stay safe and kick some ass."

* * *

After my wife had left, I tried to distract myself by watching TV, but I
couldn't concentrate on any of the shows. I then decided to go downstairs and
play the slot machines some more. Maybe that would work.

But the slot machines couldn't stop my worrying either, even though I was
winning this time. I looked around at all the happy (and some sad) people
gambling, talking, laughing, crying...all oblivious to the dark forces my wife
was up against.

I decided I couldn't take it any longer. I couldn't be one of those oblivious
people. I had to be with the woman I loved in her hour of danger. Even though
I was not the kind of man who was capable of protecting her, I had to be man
enough to try. I looked at my watch. It was 7:40. There was still time. I went
outside and stood in the taxi line.

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right place?" the taxi driver asked as he pulled up
to the warehouse. "There isn't anybody here at this time of night."

"Yes, this is it," I said. I paid him and climbed out, watching as the vehicle
disappeared in the distance. Completely alone now, I shivered. Was I doing the
right thing? Patting my pocket to make sure my pistol was there, I headed for
the warehouse entrance. It was only a little after eight and the bad guys
shouldn't be here yet. I would find my wife and we would wait together.

I looked at the front door, then paused. What if the bad guys had come early
and were watching the door? I decided instead to head around the side of the
building. Finding an unlocked window, I climbed inside, my heart pounding.

I made my way cautiously though the dark warehouse. Suddenly, a tall figure
popped up right in front of me. I almost wet myself in fear before recognizing
the feminine shape of my wife.

"Dammit, Brett, what are you doing here?" she whispered. "I heard someone
sneaking in the side window and thought it was one of the bad guys."

"I'm sorry," I said, hanging my head. "I just couldn't stay away."

"You're definitely not a coward, but you just may be a fool," Debbie said, in
a tone that was angry and loving at the same time. "If you want to stay safe,
go out the way you came and go down to the next block. I'll call you when..."

She suddenly stopped when we both heard the sound of someone climbing in the
same window I had come through. A second later, we heard the front door of the
warehouse open.

I paled in fear. My wife's face kept its tan color, but there was a look of
alarm in her blue eyes. "No time," she whispered. "Hide!" She pointed to a
space surrounded by piles of boxes on three sides.

"Whatever you do, stay here and shoot anyone that isn't me," she whispered.
Trembling, I nodded and pulled out my pistol with a shaky hand.

Debbie spotted a platform about nine feet above the warehouse floor. She leapt
upward, grabbing the edge with her leather-gloved hands, and used her
upper-body strength to pull herself up. She positioned herself and took out
her crossbow. Inserting an arrow, she waited.

From the direction of the side window, two men appeared, both in work clothes
and both carrying pistols. Then from the direction of the front, two more men
appeared. One wore a trench coat and carried an assault rifle. The other was
dressed in a business suit and had a pistol in his right hand and a briefcase
in his left.

The man in the suit uttered a sharp command and the two men in work clothes
moved in opposite directions, taking up positions in the shadows. The other
two men remained where they were.

Debbie took aim at the workman nearest her. In his position, he was not
directly visible to any of his comrades. She fired, sending an arrow straight
through his heart. Before his corpse had hit the floor she was already
reaching for another arrow.

The body hit the floor with a THUD. "What the fuck was that?" came from the
man in the suit. The thug in the trench coat raised his rifle.

Debbie fired another shot from her crossbow at the second workman, who was
also not directly visible to his companions. This time, her arrow impacted her
victim in the head, causing it to erupt in a fountain of blood and brain
matter. Another THUD and another curse.

The man with the assault rifle opened fire wildly. Whipping out her Uzi, my
wife fired two quick but expertly aimed bursts. The first put half a dozen
holes in the shooting man's chest, dropping him stone cold dead. The second
burst sent another half dozen bullets into the other man's legs. He fell to
the floor, screaming in pain and dropping both gun and briefcase.

Debbie backflipped off the platform, landing neatly on her feet on the
warehouse floor. She hurried over to the wounded man, keeping her submachine
gun trained on him. She kicked his gun across the room.

"How the fuck are you still alive? Where's Ziggy?" the thug groaned,
recognizing her.

"I'm guessing Ziggy is the would-be assassin who failed to kill me last night.
He's dead. My husband and I played a trick on you and you fell for it hook,
line, and sinker," she smirked.

"Dammit, bitch, how could you have..."

Debbie stomped hard on his face with her big black size 10 boot. "I'll be
asking the questions now, asshole. Now are there any more of you guys here?"

"No," he gasped out. He was bleeding quite badly.

"You'd better not be lying, cocksucker," she snarled. "If you are, you're
going to find out what it's like to have your genitals smashed to pulp by a
muscular woman's gloved fists."

"I swear, it was just the four of us! Please!"

"All right. Now tell me the whole story of putting a bounty on my head. The
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." She aimed her Uzi at his
groin threateningly.

Trembling in fear, the man began, "One of our rival companies was developing a
valve system that could be used in space suits to make them less bulky. NASA
would pay big bucks for something like that. So we had a spy go in and steal
the technology. We were going to patent it as our own and sell it to NASA
first. Then one of their security guys got suspicious and started an
investigation. Luckily, we were able to stop him in time."

"That was the guy you hired me to kill. He wasn't a spy at all. You dirty
lying fuckers, you manipulated me into killing an innocent man," Debbie
growled as she realized. She looked down dominantly at her terrified victim.
"Go on," she said icily.

"Well, we became afraid that you knew too much," he continued. "So we...you
know. That's the whole story."

"Who else is involved?" my wife demanded.

"Just my boss, Mr. Skinner. He was the one who came up with the whole thing."

"That's all? Who was the spy?"

The wounded man pointed to the corpse in the trench coat next to him. "He was
the spy. And yeah, that's all. Just Skinner and his three bodyguards."

"And where is this Skinner now?"

"At his house, I guess. 1330 Baker Street."

"All right. That's all I need."

The thug sat up. "When you call the police to get me, can you call an
ambulance too?"

Debbie laughed. "Police? Are you nuts? I'm not going to have you arrested. I'm
going to kill you."

"But...please...no..." His begging was halfhearted, as he knew my deadly wife
wasn't changing her mind. Debbie calmly wrapped her muscular thighs around his
neck, then twisted her hips 180 degrees, brutally snapping his neck like a dry
twig.

I climbed out from my hiding place and stood next to my wife, looking down at
all the dead bodies. "Once again, you were amazing," I said to her.

She let the tension exit her body. "Thank you, sweetie. And you were a fool.
But a brave and loving fool."

Debbie bent down and opened the briefcase. Inside was two million dollars in
$100 bills. She grinned. "With this plus the money I've already earned, we'll
have enough to buy that very nice private plane I've had my eye on." I should
mention that in addition to her many, many other talents, my wife has had
pilot training.

"So now what?" I asked.

"We go get Skinner, of course. And by we, I mean me." Noticing the
disappointed look on my face, she added, "After I take out his bodyguards,
I'll let you watch me take care of Skinner." I smiled at that.

Skinner's house was a large two-story dwelling not far from his place of
business. Debbie parked a couple of blocks away and instructed me to wait in
the car.

Staying hidden in the shadows, she made her way towards the house. A bodyguard
was on duty outside, carrying a shotgun. She snuck up behind him. Wrapping a
muscular arm around his neck, she gave a quick jerk, breaking his neck.
Smirking to herself at her strength, she lowered the corpse to the ground. She
took a ring of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the front door.

Inside, she encountered no one until she reached the bottom of the staircase.
Hearing footsteps approaching, she quickly hid. Soon the second bodyguard came
into view. She popped out from her hiding place and, before he could react,
punched him in the face, sending him down. Standing over him, she raised her
right leg in a full vertical split, then brought her booted foot down with
tremendous force onto his head. Her lethal axe kick shattered his skull
easily, sending blood, brain matter, and pieces of bone flying everywhere.

Debbie climbed the stairs swiftly but silently. She found the third bodyguard
and Skinner himself in the den. "Evening, gentlemen," she said as she entered
the room.

Both men looked up in surprise. With a shrill, feminine, high-pitched warrior
scream, Debbie performed a front tuck somersault to take her right to them.
Landing perfectly on her feet, she fired a lethal palm strike into the
bodyguard's face as he was trying to draw his gun. The cartilage from his nose
was driven into his brain and he slumped dead in the chair he had been sitting
in.

Skinner recognized my wife. "You! What the fuck are you do..."

POW! Debbie punched him in the face, knocking him out and knowing it would
leave him unconscious for at least fifteen minutes.

"And that's what happened while you were in the car," my wife finished as we
stood together in the den, looking at Skinner's unconscious form.

When Skinner woke up, Debbie was standing right in front of him, her muscular
arms crossed in front of her. He gave a yelp of fear. I was seated in a chair
across the room, watching the whole thing.

"I know everything," she said to him calmly. "I know that you were the real
industrial spies. I know that you were the one who put the hit out on me. I
killed the would-be assassins that came after me, I killed your
co-conspirators, and I killed your other two bodyguards before I came in here.
Now all that's left is you."

"What are you going to do?" he whimpered, shaking like a leaf.

"Well, if you can actually put up a fight against me, I'm going to fight you
to the death. But more likely, it's just going to be a one-sided massacre of
me beating you to death. My arms are bigger than yours," she taunted, showing
off her large, ultra-developed forearms that were displayed by the
three-quarter length sleeve top.

"Please," Skinner begged. "I can give you more money..."

"Are you hard of hearing or just slow? I'm not interested in your money. I'm
only interested in your death. Now get up and fight me like a man."

Skinner got to his feet, still shaking. At 5'8" and 140 pounds, he was a
little bigger than me, but smaller than my wife. He tried to punch her, but
she dodged easily and nailed his cheek with a quick jab, opening a bloody cut
on his face. He took another swing, which Debbie blocked with her thick
forearm. She responded by lashing out with a swift and brutal punch to his
left eye, turning it black. As he stood there stunned, she kneed him in the
stomach, stepped back and with a whirl nailed his face with a spinning back
fist, and then performed a standing back handspring, kicking him in the head
with both feet as she flipped and knocking him to the floor.

"Get up, you big baby," she mocked him, kicking him in the side while he was
down and breaking one of his ribs with her powerful, well-aimed kick. Cursing
and moaning in pain, Skinner got up and tried to charge her. She stopped him
easily with a kick to his chest. She roundhouse kicked him in the side,
breaking another of his ribs, then crescent kicked him in the face, sending
him flying backward and into a wall.

A dizzy Skinner tried to look for a way to escape. Instead, he saw Debbie turn
into a brunette blur as she did a blindingly fast series of cartwheels and
handsprings toward him. He froze helplessly like a rabbit faced with a snake
and a second later my wife was on him, punching him in the stomach and causing
him to double over gasping for breath. Struggling to stand back upright, he
took a swing at Debbie's stomach. Seeing it coming, she simply tensed her abs.
He screamed in pain as his fist impacted the rock-hard wall of my wife's
abdominal muscle and several small bones in his hand broke. His other hand
flew to his mouth in shock and fear. She immediately kicked him in the face
while his hand was there, breaking both his jaw and several small bones in
that hand too. She savagely kneed him in the groin, then headbutted him,
knocking him down again.

Skinner was in the fetal position, clutching his badly damaged testicles.
Debbie leapt on top of him and punched him in the nose with her big,
leather-gloved fist, breaking it. She rained several more punches down onto
his face, sending blood and teeth flying.

Finally, she climbed off of him and placed her semi-conscious victim in a
sitting position against the wall. She then began kneeing him in the face. She
worked calmly and efficiently, ignoring his cries of pain and the blood that
was flying everywhere. She simply continued ramming her knee into his face
again and again, slowly pulping him to death as her relentless knee strikes
weakened, then cracked, then shattered his skull bone and penetrated deep into
the remnants of his brains. She finally stopped long after she had killed him.

She turned towards me. She was covered in blood. I sat there, unable to move
or speak. I shouldn't be that way. I've known what she does for a living! But
I simply was not used to seeing extreme violence up close...or seeing my warm
and loving wife being so brutal.

"You okay, sweetie?" she asked.

I finally managed to speak. "Yes. I think so," I said, standing up. In every
action movie with tough, macho male heroes, a man who was brutal to the bad
guys was never portrayed as a dangerous or unsuitable mate to a woman. Why
should it be any different with the sexes reversed?

After that we cleaned up, literally and figuratively. I hacked into Skinner's
computer and put the word out that he was dead and the contract on my wife was
off. Debbie took off her bloody clothes, washed up in Skinner's shower, and
put on a fresh outfit.

"It's over now," she said as we embraced in the room where the dead bodies
still lay. "Let's go home."

THE END

Comments, compliments, and constructive criticism encouraged.

silverstar222b@yahoo.com