Who's the mole?

Over the last four months, it seemed as though the police and other groups had been undermining Monique's crew on nearly every occasion. If it had been one or two times, it could've simply been dismissed as coincidental; but this ongoing issue indicated that there was somebody on the inside acting against her interests.

After narrowing down the list of possible suspects, Monique decided to engage outside services to deal with the issue. Jimmy Herlihy was a dangerous individual to work with. His father, grandfather and uncle had all worked with the IRA during the troubles over in Ireland years ago; as a result, Jimmy had basically become a "child soldier" by the age of 11. That mean streak of his got channeled into a four-year tour in the Royal Marines.

For several years, Jimmy had worked alongside Lisa McFlanigan's crew, demonstrating great skill as a marksman and vehicle expert. For the last six years, however, he'd been acting as a "freelance consultant", and occasional black marketeer, for the various families and gangs. His only rules were threefold:

1). No vendetta-related tasks
2). Make sure you pay him when you or he said
3). Don't double-cross him

The last rule had been violated by a group of wannabe "river pirates" two years ago, and they had learned WHY Herlihy shouldn't be crossed. Their leader's remains were found in six different neighborhoods.

Meeting at a midtown diner, Monique felt it'd be a fairly neutral location. Clad in a black leather skirt, low heels, and a long-sleeved blue blouse, she saw Jimmy already waiting at one table, sipping a mug of green tea.

"Jim, good to see you!" Getting up, the tall Irish man gave Monique a quick hug, the two of them subtly copping feels off one another. Jimmy was about 35 years old, with short dark red hair and sparkling blue eyes. A scar graced his right temple, a "souvenir" from his time in the military. Clad in dark, semi-casual attire, for some reason, he was wearing a black glove on his right hand.

"So how're things going with you, Jimmy?"

"Well, Carrie and I split up six months ago. We both realized that the marriage was at ****'s door, so we decided it was the only real solution."

"Damn shame; we had some good times." Monique shuddered a bit at the memory of Carrie's long tongue.

"Yeah, remember our trip to Seattle? We never even got out of the apartment," Jimmy chuckled.

"So what happened to your hand, boyo; your father slice off your hand in a swordfight?" Monique joked.

"Three months ago, during some business with the Russians, an incendiary device went off." Slipping the glove off slightly, he revealed severe burns along his hand. "The hand works fine; I'll be fine in a few months." Though he'd been living in the country for over 10 years, Herlihy's voice still had a slight trace of Irish brogue. "So what's this all about, love?"

"I've begun to suspect that somebody on the inside has been backstabbing me for a while now. I have some likely suspects, but I think I'd prefer you to handle it." Monique took a manila envelope out of her bag and slid it over to Jimmy. "Enclosed is the list of suspects, along with some info to help with the investigation, and eight grand in cash. You'll get another eight grand once you've finished your work."

"Are there any specific rules you want me to follow?"

"Just keep the gore to a minimum. You don't have to Jack Bauer all of 'em. I just want you to rely on the stuff that made the name 'Jimmy Herlihy' a synonym for 'Irish nightmare'."

"It shouldn't be a problem," Jimmy replied with a smile. That's when Monique felt a hand on her upper thigh, before it began to lightly graze her bare pussy. "My oh my, love, it looks like all the business talk has gotten you a bit excited, hmm? YOu must've been in a hurry to forget to wear a thong today." Before Monique could respond, she felt two fingers ram into her pussy hard, as his thumb grazed her clit. Fortunately, their location in the diner kept anybody from seeing them.

Monique let out a mild whimper. The black sistah hadn't really thought about how she'd been dressed for this meeting; she always went commando when wearing leather; she loved the feel of it against her bare skin. Biting her lip, and **** not to attract attention, she grit her teeth and gasped out, "T-two minutes . . . bathroom." Getting up quickly, Monique walked towards the restroom.

Five minutes later, Monique was leaning against the sink, her short skirt off. Jimmy knelt between her legs, noisily eating her pussy like a starving man.

Monique was in a blend of agony and lust. Jimmy was one of the few guys she knew who was not only as good at oral sex as some of her dancers, but who actually enjoyed it. So far, she'd gotten close to orgasm nearly three times before Jim pulled away, leaving her frustrated.

"P-p-please, Herlihy, let me c-cum," Monique whisper-begged. She was nearly in tears, being driven crazy with lust.

Jimmy leered up at her, his lips smeared with pussyjuice. "Beg me, slut." As he said this, he scratched one hand along the outer lips of her pussy, as his other hand grazed against her asshole.

Monique finally snapped, and whispered out, "Fuck me." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Jim's tongue grazed her clit, making her knees nearly buckle when her high-powered orgasm hit.

Before she could recover from her orgasm, Jim's hard cock was buried to the hilt in her pussy. Monique wrapped a leg around her fuckbuddy's body, her head buried in Herlihy's shoulder. Barely able to talk, Monique half-gasped, half-sobbed "Fuck me" over and over again for the next several minutes. Though she'd never considered herself racist, nothing got Monique wetter than fucking a horny white boy (or occasional girl). Most of them were so nervous, and felt the need to try harder to impress her. With Jim Herlihy, however, he was just as hard and aggressive as some of her co-workers.

Without warning, Jim's orgasm hit at the same time as Monique's, their screams cut off by their tongues dueling with one another. Even after Jim flooded her pussy with his cum, he stayed harder than a steel girder, and continued to ram into her, hard, fast and vicious. This second round seemed to go on even longer, and when Monique came, she bit Jimmy's shoulder hard enough to draw blood. When they both came, the duo growled and snarled like wild animals, their hands moving all over each other.

Once his orgasm subsided, Jimmy straightened himself up and pulled out of his black lover. Making himself somewhat presentable, he stepped out of the bathroom. Monique just slumped to the floor, half in shock, half giddy from the hard fucking she'd just received. She knew that no matter how much she straightened up, it'd be obvious to the next person who walked in would know what had just occurred in here.