The lovemaking was intense, as our ebony and ivory contrasts made it far more sensual. My white hard eight inches thick and literally stretching her dark asshole under those balls, was eye Candy of the highest standard. Our body heat was like a moving fire, that kept coming closer, and soon she smiled and gyrated on me. Major cum explosion on my chest, she licked it off, as she clenched me with all that could be mustered. It was if my penis was in the most wet tight Vice grip of pleasure. Soon her body scent lit my fire more, as did my pumping her insides, with my balls exploding at a velocity I didn't know possible. We cuddled again, and despite my not wanting her to leave, she had to do a few things before tomorrow nights appearance at Ruby's. The most prominent LGBT bar in New York City, being visited by Natassia Dreams. Yes I was getting laid and enjoying our time together, but as my former navy seal bodyguard with the last name as mine but no relation showed up it was business. It was enjoyable kissing Natassia before Sean came to get her to her hotel, and he gave me a smirk that "let me know he knew." You can confuse a lot of people, but a navy seal of his caliber, might as well just acknowledge the obvious. Now it was time to conduct more research, as I was lucky to get Investigator Reid's intelligence reports. We had known each other for years, and he trusted me with this need to know information. There were more threats directed at Ruby's, and wow the number and veracity went up against Natassia. One might think this is disconcerting. It is, yet the reality is there was more love/support fan mail, but those weren't the ones you had to worry about. From what I gleaned, John Thompson, a semi employed drifter with skinhead ties, was rather vocal in his anger and blinding hatred. He had called Ruby's several times informing them "This transvestite freak won't be showing up," and "close your doors Wednesday night." No weapons or direct coordinated and verified threats, but my team and I would be on the lookout for this bitter loser.
Wednesday morning as Natassia was getting dolled up, my team and I were at our headquarters. Obviously my team leader would be Sean Green, with his navy seal command background. His group was Charlie Mack, ex delta force, Maria Garcia, ex New York Port Authority Police, and Walter Hobbs, ex NYPD. Diverse and all in their early 40s, they were formidable, and would make the Ruby's wannabe security team shut up. Unfortunately Al Franco my former Army EOD guy was sick, but I would take the freelancer role. This allowed me the ability to move, but also not distract from my team providing Natassia protection. I would be overlooking the club with various optical and audio surveillance devices, and also it was a relief the club was paying for uniformed NYPD officers. They were really good, and I felt relieved to have them in the picture.
John and other dossiers had been passed around, with the team using their smartphones, to take pictures for their albums. The leap in technology caused challenges, but they also helped us in multiple ways. As expected, the crowds were bustling, and the mostly 20 to 40 year olds, were having a wonderful time. Drinks were served, music was pumping, and Natassia looked radiant. I kept my eyes where they mattered though, as one second of complacency can deliver tragedy. So far nothing stuck out, and with the indirect threats barely registering on our matrix, it was less than obvious people and activities that kept me focused.
As expected at 10 pm to cheers, Natassia got on the stage. Lights upon her, and wearing all purple, I saw my team form a protective barrier around her. Also the uniformed police were in on it, and Sean as always was running a tight ship. Natassia gave some remarks, and although I loved the sound of her voice, this was game time. Watching for shiny objects or quick movements, I saw neither, and soon Natassia was back in the clubs secure VIP quarters. The sweat on my back decreased, as I cleared outside for the team on duty. As Natassia's driver pulled up, I called out on my radio "hold diva." My code name for the protectee. Sure enough it was John Thompson, in a black hoodie and sweatpants. Drunk as observed from his walking manner, he started to scream about gay people, using a variety of loud and vicious epithets.
None of us wanted to escalate this. I called down to Sean and said, "hold firm," but NYPD officers didn't follow my orders. I was warned by Sean "you got 30 to 40 seconds boss." Great. As I took a step towards John, I started to laugh. This enraged him, and soon his venom was directed towards me. Thank you. He approached my direction, with his hands in his pockets. His demeanor made him look "One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest," and as his charging became faster, I took my Glock 17 and pointed at him. "Stop, show me your hands!" To my surprise he stopped, and put his hands up. I owned him. He continued to yell, and I simply said "be quiet John, let's talk like gentlemen." "How do you know my name asshole?" "Because I'm an asshole that knows your an asshole." My humor had a 50 percent chance of getting him to laugh, or to become enraged.
He charged at me full speed, and since he didn't have a firearm, I quickly reholstered and pulled out the pepper spray. A direct hit as I released the can on him. CCTV cameras would document all, as I got him cuffing while he coughed and gagged, turning him over to the NYPD. Most of the badges knew me, and understood I was speaking the truth, but I had to discuss the incident with Detective Beth Evers. She was difficult, but thorough, so I answered her questions. Another detective whispered in her ears, and she gave the nod of acknowledgement. "Mr Green, the cameras and witnesses back your account. As soon as this knucklehead is treated at the hospital, he will being going in for assault and hate speech."
It wasn't a surprise. Thankfully a half hour after debriefing my team for a job well done, my phone rang. It was Natassia. Hearing her voice brought me back into a happy place, although I was saddened to hear her say "thank you, but I'm going to Vegas tomorrow." It seemed a new filmmaker with big pockets was going to sign her to a giant contract, and anyone lucky to have her even on an impersonal set with cameras recording everything was a lucky man. Walking home instead of using Lyft, it was a bittersweet journey, but I had gotten use to the hums of the city lights. Tomorrow I'd be back in the office with other clients, and my successful company would power on. New York despite having millions around me felt rather somber, and I just hoped Natassia wouldn't forget about me. That we could have more time together. Before turning in I stopped in for a green tea. Sipping it I found some peace, knowing that I did in fact get paid to get laid, which wasn't so bad after all.