The merc grunted, pumping another load into the little operative’s throat. He panted, keeping his feet spread so when it dripped out of her esophagus, it wouldn’t land on his own boots.

He’d been watching this girl for a while. He was patient. He knew she’d come to him eventually. Thy all did.

He knew she’d seen him, too. He remembered the look in her eyes—tempted, for a moment, then dismissive. These girls were all hard-up for dick, out here in the desert. If they wanted their gash licked or fingered or rubbed on another gash, no problem. But viable men were few and far between in the Swedish DMZ.

So she’d thought about it. He’d seen her think about it. She’d seen him see her think about it. And just as clearly, she saw her little smirk, saw the thought form in her head that, maybe, sometime, if she got desperate, she’d let him fuck her.

She wasn’t desperate, now. She wasn’t anything at all. Her or the other operative who’d died with her—one of the longest-serving operatives, that one. But she’d come to him, too, eventually. She’d always been so cool, and reserved, and ironic. It was pretty great, watching her decapitated body flop around while his partner fucked it.

It was… really great. He thought about what he’d do to her neckhole, once he and his partner switched off. These two had died clean, drilled center mass several times each, probably barely had time to choke before it was lights out. When the bodies had been delivered for disposal, and he and his partner had realized how high-level these two were, they’d decided that wasn’t good enough. These two deserved a proper send-off.

And that was for sure what these two ladies were getting. He smiled, thinking about what he’d done to this little operative’s ass as he’d run the saw through her unresisting neck. What he’d probably do again, soon, if he still had the energy. He smiled wider, and with both hands, he forced her severed head down his cock again, so that her throat squeezed him the way he liked.