Revolution 1.0

“I'm too old for this shit.” Bobby looked like he didn't quite need to shave yet.

“Dude, you're nineteen.” I responded

“Yeah, and this is a job for a 12 year old. Someone who has no concept of their own mortality.” He wasn't looking at me, but out the rear of the modified F350 we were riding in.

He had to look out the back because the sides were covered with angled steel plates covered with canvas tied to cleats mounted on the body panels of the truck. The canvas was marked in direct contravention of the laws of land warfare and several international treaties with a large white square and a big red cross.

“Well, you're not wrong. I said ruefully. I was only 28 myself.

We were riding in an illegally marked vehicle one of a dozen that made up a convoy of similarly marked vehicles because with the exception of federal forces and humanitarian efforts, the feds bombed the shit out of groups of more than three vehicles or groups of more than 10 people. Violation of the regulations effected when martial law was declared a few years ago.

Between the drones and real-time satellite data being fed to the local air wing and army aviation moving between cities in convoy was a suicidal act. And moving en mass inside a city drew the attention of the white mice and the pigs. So usually we traveled in dribs and drabs. One squad at a time either in foot or in a couple of cars, and let me tell you son, spending 10 hours in a Honda Civic with four other guys is not an enjoyable act. But vans got inspected at every checkpoint and border. Ditto large commercial trucks. In the early days of the war we tried moving entire companies in semis but once the feds got wise any vehicle not inspected and RFID tagged by a federal proctor wound up with a 200lb bomb through it's roof or got cored by a tank or chewed up by an IFV at the next checkpoint. I guess losing a major urban center and the majority of the flag and field grade officer corps for a division will make you paranoid.

On the other hand, every innocent trucker killed as a result of the paranoia drove thousands of people to the cause.

Our current mission was to covertly insert a company of rangers into Seattle and pursue asymmetric warfare operations against the local government and any federal agents in the area. Since moving 200+ men and their basic combat load was not an easy task and the likelihood of losing half the force by moving in small units, we were disguised as a humanitarian convoy returning for resupply. I know, it seemed stupid to me too. But it had worked so far.

I turned my gaze to parallel Bobby's and saw that we were being followed by a Lincoln town car.

“How's it going buddy, see anything interesting.” I thought as I stared at the dark blue sedan. All the sedan's driver would see was the false wall made of a porous material that allowed us to look out, but no one else to look in decorated to look like a stack of crates and medical equipment cases. Bobby fingered a grenade.

“Terrible idea.” I said, watching his face out of the corner of my eye.

His eyes flicked downwards and widened slightly in surprise, as though he didn't realize that he was touching the 1 lb cylinder of scored cast iron and RDX. His hand shook a little as he swiftly moved his hand away from the grenade.

“I'm too old for this shit.” he reiterated.

Privately I had to agree with him, we all were.

It seemed like it never fully stopped raining in Seattle. My squad was based in an industrial park out in Redmond using a pamphlet stuffing scam as our cover. You know those “Make up to $500 a week from the comfort of your living room!” ads you see on the classifieds page? That was us. The scam was that you got paid five cents per pamphlet that you folded and stuffed in an envelope then dropped in the mail. If you really applied yourself you actually could make $500 a week.

Now most of the pamphlets would get tossed in the recycling by their recipients. Who opens junk mail, right? And of the few who did open them, most would toss them in the recycling too. But maybe three percent would open the letters and actually pay attention to the message within. Those three percent would be curious enough to check the website or call us directly. And that was where the money came from.

The website was black and had it's own IC to keep the feds and lesser LEOs out. Any name or ISP associated with a cop, fed or LEO office was redirected to the website of that company that makes anthropomorphic sex toys. The rest were given the usual pitch and shown how to use an anonymous browser client to purchase...well just about anything. The only things we didn't sell was child pornography and wetwork. People who paid for a murder, almost never got their hit fulfilled. Occasionally the order would be by an abused spouse to make the abuser dissapear. Those generally happened, everyone else we just kept the money.

People who ordered child pornography were sent a virus disguised as an order confirmation email that erased the contents of their hard drive then physically cooked the hardware. Shortly before the virus activated a discrete package was sent to their mailing address that that contained some racy photos of jailbait treated with a light-sensitive neurotoxin one of the research guys back home cooked up. The perv opened the envelope, handled the pics and then died of an apparent stroke. After a few minutes of exposure to light the toxin broke down and evaporated.

The rest of it was drugs, restricted electronics, weapons, illegal literature and kink paraphenalia. The “House” handled all transactions, took 5% off the top and guaranteed delivery. The receipts were a lot higher than you'd expect. Enough that each squad was able to support their activities in the field. After the first month we'd established ourselves enough to build twenty-five submersible drones. fifty quadrotors and buy an old fishing trawler.

I'd set Felix up with a lab on the second floor and he had been busily making RDX, PETN and the associated stabilizers and plasticizers.

“How's it going Felix?” I asked from the false safety of the hallway.

“Pretty good boss!” Felix sang out, his Afrikaaner accent making it come out as “Priddy goot bus” to my American ear.

“Got 135 Kilos of Semtex, 10 kilos of straight RDX and 5 kilos each of lead styphenate and lead azide in the magazine boss.” he said cheerfully.

I swallowed. It's not that explosives terrify me, but rather that I disliked the idea of having 145 kilos of HE as a roommate. I dislike loud neighbors of all types.

“Ok, well wrap up what you're doing and then start on the thermate charges. I want to be ready to go by Monday. Let me have the lead and the RDX and I'll take them down to Jeff.”

“Sure thing boss.” He said and walked away from what looked like a stand mixer with a plastic whisk attached to it. It was mixing something a rich brown color. I eyed it warily.

“Here you go boss.” Felix said as he opened the air-tight vinyl door and handed me a Pelican case about the size of a large attaché case. I was treated to a blast of chocolate scented air.

“You're not making food in the lab again are you?” I asked. He'd done that once before and the entire squad had been out of commission for 2 days with hallucinations.

“Nah, I leaned my lesson. You know how the sniffer dogs are trained not to hit on food smells?”

Oh shit...I couldn't help but laugh ”OK, so we're now blowing shit up and killing people with chocolate scented Semtex. I love this job.”

He laughed. Now you need to understand that Felix's laugh is...unique. I've never heard a “maniacal laugh” outside of a movie, but Felix's qualified. Now that I think of it, Felix may just qualify as a mad scientist, or at least as a mad chemical engineer. I waved as I left and walked downstairs to the electrical shop.

Jeff was working on one of the limpet systems for the submersibles. It was a PVC ring 18 inches across with six electromagnets spaced around it mounted to the edge of a copper bowl. The whole thing would be filled with Semtex, the magnets wired to a capacitor bank and mounted to the underside of a submersible for transport. Once at the launch site the initiator caps would be installed and water proofed then the sub would be in the water and away from us.

“Anything wrong kid?” I asked. One of the electromagnets was dissected and splayed out over the workbench.

“Nah, just not getting enough of a field out of number 4. I think it's a problem with the composition of the base magnet. Don't have the equipment to fix it so I'm just going to replace it.”

“Quality control in the Chinese magnet factories has gone to shit has it?” He looked up, his grin blinding in his coal-black face.

His eyes flicked down to my hand. “That the initiator materials?”

I nodded. “You gonna be done soon? I can take it back up if you're going to be a while.”

He shook his head. “I'll have this done in a jiff. Leave it over there in the plastic cabinet and I'll have them built by 1900.”

“Good man.” I said as I turned and headed for the door.

“You did what?” I stared in exasperation at JT and Bobby.

“We dismantle de engine on de Hurricane.” JT's Cajun drawl made it sound as though it were an everyday occurrence.

Bobby just smiled through the grease, oil, rust and grime that coated his face and torso except where the goggle had fit over his eyes.

“We're supposed to start operations in 4 days you damned Coonass! And the boat's named the Skipjack.” I shouted, visions of failing to make our exfil after the attack or worse, not being on time for the attack fogging my vision.

“Me an' Bobby decide dat stupid name. Hurricane much better. Beside, we already repaint 'er. Ain't no worry about de engine sergeant, me 'an Bobby have 'er in tip top shape come time for trials and have the bugs worked out before the op.”

I looked at him sceptically “You'd better. You need anymore hands for this evolution?”

Bobby snickered and JT just laughed “Mais no boss-man. None of the loose fellahs know the difference b'tween an injector port an' exhaust manifold. Bobby may not know boats but he know engines.”

“My people race stock cars Sergeant and back during the first prohibition we ran 'shine out of the Kentucky hollers. I grew up with a torque wrench as a rattle.” Bobby's delight at surprising me was evident in his boyish grin.

“Ok. What about the Q section?” I asked.

“Done.” came the reply “and the deployment crane is rigged and ready.”.

“Good.” At 2 feet wide and 4 feet long the 200 lb submersible drones were too heavy and bulky to manhandle overboard by hand. Thus the necessity of a 10 foot tall boom crane with a 15 foot arm that would allow us to winch the drones out of the hold and over the side into the water.

“And the scuttling charges?”

“Also done, 'do I really hope we don' have to use 'em boss. 'De Hurricane be a fine boat to go shrimpin' in after 'de war be over.”

“I hope so to JT. Carry on.”

Saturday came around and sure enough, JT and Bobby had the engine rebuilt and reinstalled. I sent them out with Thorson and Fuches to put her though her paces since they both claimed to have some boat handling experience..

Our part of the plan was fairly simple. At 0200 hours we were to maneuver our sub-drones away from our trawler and into the harbor at Naval Station Everett, lock two 5 Kilo limpets on to the hull of each vessel and set the timers to detonate at 0600 hours. One man would monitor the the area via another drone submersible outfitted with radio intercept and relay gear and a cleverly disguised periscope. The whole thing looked like a piece of floating driftwood.

Once that was accomplished, we would use the quadrotors to deliver several charges of thermite gel with an initiator onto every aircraft we could manage at NAS Whidby Island. Whenever the quadrotors were noticed or as soon as we managed to dope every aircraft was when we were to detonate all our charges. Expectation was that we would sink every naval vessel in the port and burn a foot wide hole straight through 50-75% of the aircraft. If we were lucky, we'd detonate or ignite some of the jet fuel and burn the hangars to the ground, taking all the aircraft with them. Once out attack was completed, we were to dump all our gear including the crane in the sound and then go back to our base. In case we were ordered to heave to for boarding we had the Q section in reserve.

The Q section consisted of an antique 40mm lvakan m/48 cannon we'd rigged on a platform in the hold. In less than 60 seconds we could raise her and get her into action, laying 240 rounds per minute onto any target to either side or the aft of the boat. The arms dealer had happened to have both contact fused shells as well as VT shells on hand so we took both. In case we had to fire the thing we'd outfitted the hull with scuttling charges and thermite charges to destroy the Hurricane's hulk entirely. Hard for the feds to trace us if they have nothing to work with for forensic evidence.

Simultaneously, 24 other squads would launch their own attacks on local military installations, federal Law enforcement offices, the office of the Mayor and his staff, and the FEMA branch offices. RoE specifically were to leave the Coast Guard, Fire Department and EMTs alone. No sense in targeting people who actually do good work.

44 hours to the jump off point.

In the Army Now, Chapter 1

June 1, 1944, Salisbury England

“Johnson! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

That was Sergeant Thomas, my platoon sergeant; he’s always trying to find one of us goldbricking. It’s like it’s a big turn on for him whenever he could catch us doing something we weren’t supposed to.

“Nothing sergeant!” We chorused.

“Well God damn it, the army doesn’t pay you to do nothing! Go get your packs and meet me at the arms locker!”

What the fuck was this all about?

As Toby and I shagged ass over to the company area to grab our packs, I reflected on what had led me to this point in my life.

____________________________________

March 17, 1942, Macon Georgia

I had found the girl in a beer joint just off the highway; she was hot in more ways than one. Her blonde locks and blue eyes glimmered when they caught the feeble light in the bar, as she introduced herself as Kitty.

“I’m Max” I said looking at her knee length skirt, and the respectable blouse that barely restrained the respectable rack that she had. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a joint like this?” I asked. You know, I think I might have been the first guy to use that line.

"Looking for a good time, how about you?” She said with a twitch of a smile and an arched eyebrow.

“Well, I’m always looking for a good time, toots, how good a time was you thinking about?” I replied coolly, sliding along the bar a bit to put myself right up against her. I figured she would either want to bolt now, or wouldn’t want to advertise to the barman and sundry what she was up to.

“Well, I really think you’re cute, and since my boy friend went off to the navy last year, I haven’t had a man in me at all.” She was almost pouting, her crimson red lips parting slightly as the tip of her tongue peeked through.

I suddenly felt a pressure on my thigh. I almost jumped out of my skin when she ran her hand around from my hip to my groin and started to massage my joint right there in the bar!

“Hot damn lady, you really are ready for it aren’t you?” I gasped, my dick sluggishly stirring.

“You have no idea.” She said wickedly, a salacious smile spreading across her face. She looked up at me from under her lashes and continued to run her hand over my rapidly stiffening penis. “Let’s take your car.”

I groped in my pocket for two bits to cover our beers and dropped them on the counter.
Holy shit! I thought I think I’m going to get laid.

While this is not an unusual occurrence, in my life, it was the first time that a girl had picked me up.

We walked quickly out the door, me with my turgid cock pressed closely against her backside, trying to hide my erection. My car was at the back of the small lot, not very far, but it seemed like an eternity as I steered her across the rough packed dirt of the parking lot and over to my 1939 Phaeton convertible. As I reached to open the door for her, she suddenly turned around and I found myself face to face with the biggest set of hooters I ever laid eyes on. I mean her breasts were at least a D cup and there was no cup between us.

“You’re not wearing a brassier.” I blurted stupidly.

“Haven’t you heard, all the patriotic rubber has been turned into rafts and tires” she laughed, delightedly, I guess at the stupefying effect her bosom had on me. That should have been my first clue.

I grasped her by the waist and lifted her up onto the edge of the door.

“Eeek!” she screamed and giggled

My mouth dropped to her chest, seeking the nipple that called to me in a voice only I could hear; a voice that said in a very sultry Mae West, “Hey Sailor!” My tongue twirled around and around as I applied suction to her breast causing her already erect nipples to stiffen almost painfully. She gasped and moaned softly, her hand seeking once again the cannon in my pants.

As I moved my lips to her other nipple I felt her unzip my trousers and reach inside, fishing for my John Thomas. As I worked on stiffening her other nipple her small hand found what she sought, and she gasped; this time not in pleasure, but in shock.

“God in heaven, mama told me there were men like you, and I thought she was lyin’!” she had drug my cock out of his confinement and was stroking him, all along the ten inch length of him.

At just that moment, headlights crossed us, and I heard the crunch of tires on the parking lot.

“Kitty, baby, if we don’t want to go to jail, maybe we should take this to your place.” I said painfully, her hand was still stroking away on my cock, I noticed that her hand didn’t quite meet when she fully grasped it.

“Not my place, I’ve got nosey neighbors, what about yours?”

“I’m just passing through, got no place to take you.”

“Wait a moment.” She said looking up, as though thinking over something “I’ve got just the place.”

She was still stroking my cock, and I thought turn about was fair play, so I slipped my hand up her skirt. I slid my hand along her stocking clad thigh until I found her panties, then I slipped two fingers under the band against her outer thigh and slid them around until I was holding the gusset. She moaned a bit louder and leaned in to kiss me, and as our lips parted, so did her lips. My knuckles rubbed against the soft inner labia, and brushed lightly against her clit.

“OH, OH, OH, OH!” She cried and convulsed against me, the fell back into the car.

He first orgasm in a long while I thought. As she was recovering, I curled my fingers and stripped her panties from her now damp cunt, stuffing them into a pocket for later use.

I tucked John Henry back into my pants, and walked stiffly around to the other side and got in. She was lying across two thirds of the front bench, with her legs sticking out over the door. I fumbled momentarily with the keys, watching her as she moaned and played with her tits. Finally, the ignition on, I punched the starter and she roared into life. Backing out of the space, and spinning the wheel, I noticed that I had caused her to roll into the floor of the car. I reached down and slid back the bench, gaining another six inches of “leg” room.

I looked down at Kitty and said “You liked that babe?”

She nodded, looking up at me, big eyed.

“You make a left going out of the lot, get on the highway and drive to the next exit, get off there and then make a right and then the third left, don’t stop till you see the wall” she said breathlessly, reaching for my trousers, and my cock.

“You like to go fast? “ I asked and she nodded, working on my belt “You do this right and I’ll go as fast as you want.”

She squealed like a little girl and practically ripped open my pants, grasping my dick with both hands and licking like a lollypop at the pre-cum oozing from the tip. I placed one hand on her head and gently pressed it onto my Johnson, feeling her lips stretched tight and her tongue lapping at the underside. I floored it, and peeled out of the lot.

The faster I drove the faster she bobbed her head. The louder the engine got, the harder she sucked. When I took a turn fast, she would squeal into my joint, and when I began to loose it, she knew to slow down, to tease, and just how to make me keep from blowing my top.

As we began to make the last turn, she quickened her pace, one hand around the girth, the other rolling my balls in the palm of her hand. The road suddenly changed from paved to dirt, and shitty dirt at that. But as the road became bumpier, her attempts to swallow my tube steak grew more animated, until she was going from just the tip, all the way to the bottom. Taking my cock into her throat, I had never found a girl who could do that for me before. I began to help her, thrusting upwards, into her throat, and I reached over and pulled her skirt up, caressing her perfect white ass. I was close to blowing my load, and as I slid my middle three fingers down the valley of her ass, across her rosebud, and her pussy she shuddered a little and moaned into my fully engulfed cock. The feeling was indescribable, but it incited me to slip my middle finger into her twat and push the other two forward, so that they just barely tapped against her clit. She began to moan into my cock, and I sped up as she did.

Jesus my fucking eyes are closed! I though, panicked and snapped them open to see an ancient stone wall zooming up towards us.

I slammed on the breaks just as she started to lunge at my lap with her face again, and just as I made the last thrust before my dick exploded in her mouth.

I swear on a stack of bibles, it was the most terrifying moment of my life; and until much later it was the most intense orgasm I ever had. I could feel her throat convulsing around my cock, I could feel her pussy gripping my finger fiercely, like a terrier with a rat, and I remember knowing that we were going to die when my car rammed that wall.

When the dust settled, and my vision retuned, I realized that I was still alive, that my bumper was just touching the fieldstone of the old wall, and that Kitty had just swallowed about a quart of cum.

As she slowly backed off my softening joint, sucking and blowing all the way, I noticed that my hand was drenched. She had come as hard as I had. I looked down at her and she looked up at me. Her face sweaty, her lipstick a bloody smear across her chin, the glorious gold of her locks in fabulous disarray. I then saw something else, in her eye was a look, a glint, a hunger. She wanted more; more pleasure, more cock, more me. And Christ I was spent.

She crawled up my body, pulling herself up by my tie. She looked into my eyes and snarled “FUCK ME!”

Oh shit!

I opened the door, and slid out. She tried to follow me, but I gently pried her off and pushed her back into the seat. I walked around to the front of the car, and examined my bumper. It was fine; I then turned and faced the car with my reticent Johnson still hanging out the front of my open pants. I slowly took hold of it, pulled the foreskin back and began to urinate.

My stream came forth in a torrent, a golden flood that spewed forth like a garden hose. As I pissed, I saw Miss Kitty standing in the seat of my car, holding onto the windscreen staring wide eyed at my fire hose. As I shook the last drops from my hose, I noticed that only one of Kitty’s hands was holding onto the windscreen, the other was pushed down the front of her skirt, buried in her twat.

I walked around to my door again, opened it and turned off the car. Kitty was still standing in the seat, one hand in her cunt, the other tugging at her nipple.

I looked up at her “Strip Kitty, get naked for me.”

She ripped her blouse off, buttons flying, and struggled with the skirt, finally getting it off by the simple expedient of pulling it down over her hips, and be damned to the buttons. I was treated briefly to a glimpse of her bush, a wild thatch of golden fur, like the fleece of legend. She bent down to unhook the clips of her garter belt that attached to her stockings, and I stopped her.

“Leave those alone baby, they’re so sexy.” I said and she dimpled at me. My cock twitched.

I held out my arms and she leaned into me. I swung her legs over and lifted her up while kissing her glazed eyed countenance and carried her around to the boot of my car. As I set her down on the boot, she yelped a little.

“Oh damn baby. That’s cold!”

“Hold on a moment, and we’ll warm it up.” I replied, grinning mischievously.

“What are you going to do; I’m too high for… AHHH!!” Her complaint turned into a shriek of pleasure as I leaned her back and plunged my head between her creamy white thighs.

I began by kissing the back of her silk covered knees and continued down and around the thigh until I was nibbling the hollow between her thigh and cunt. She was writhing all over, and clutching at my head, trying to force me to touch her pussy, but I resisted. I began the whole process over on the other leg, and by the time I was ready she was right on the edge of orgasm.

As I placed the tip of my tongue against her tiny dimple, she cried out and by the time I had drug it up her slit and was tippling her clit she was screaming and gushing against my chin. I backed off for a moment and nipped at the soft spot where the buttock joins the back of the thigh, like a sheepdog with its charge; though I very much doubt that any sheepdog had ever banged any sheep.

She had calmed down a bit when I decided to start the French fucking in earnest. I had one hand turned around, holding her pussy open from the top and pressing on the front of her mound. My lips grasped the whole of her clit and my tongue danced around it, tugging at the hood, sluicing up one side and down the other. Swirling around it but never making any solid contact with that sensitive nubbin.

A barmaid in Tijuana taught me that. That a girl’s clit was usually too sensitive to be attacked directly, and needed to be teased into release, she also taught me this other trick, I have no idea where she got it, but I’m grateful for it. As Kitty was gripping my hair and trying to shove my head into her twat, I was slipping two fingers into her.

First my middle finger slid into her cunt, and swirled around eliciting a moan and a jarring thump, as she thrust her pelvis against my face, and humped up to meet the pleasant intruder. Then I pulled out, and started to slide my index finger in, in its place and just as I got the first knuckle into that tight cunt, I started to worm my middle finger inside that little dimple just aft of her cunt. She stiffened up a bit, but I lashed he clit with my tongue, pushed a little harder with my fingers and she opened up just enough for both fingers to slide home.

That was enough to send her over the edge for the second time. Her cries sounded angelic and guttural at the same time. She thrashed and tossed her head to and fro, her hands scrabbling unfeelingly at the steel of my car. I backed off again and leaving my right hand buried in both her holes, I moved my left hand up to massage her massive globes, leaning forward and taking one in my mouth.

She hugged my face to her bosom and kissed my head, making inarticulate sounds. After a few minutes of mauling her tits, I kissed my way back down to her downy cleft and resumed my gentle ministrations. Her sweet-tangy juices flooded my mouth and flowed over my chin at least twice more, as I sucked on her clit, nibbled on the rosy petals of her precious flower and rubbed the inside of the front of her clutching, milking, cunt. Some time during this process, she began to cry, and I knew I had her in that sweetly terrifying place only women can go. That place within themselves where nothing matters but the pleasure; the closest I have ever seen a man get to that place is on the wings of a morphine high.

I had also added another finger to her ass, pulling out of her pussy completely. As I rose from her delta, and leaned forward, she caught my face in both hands and pulled me to hers. Her kisses were tender and loving, even thankful, and the hunger of before was dulled. Not quite gone, but satiated. As we kissed, my fingers still slithered in and out of her ass.

She pulled back slightly and said with a naughty smile “My goodness Max, but you sure know how to show a girl a good time!”

“I try to ma’am.” I replied just as naughtily.

Kitty looked down at my steel hard erection, sticking almost straight out, and I could see that fire rise up in her eyes again.

“Now turn over Kitty, I want to pound that pussy.”

She squealed in delight at the prospect, and almost lost her seating as she rushed to turn over on the boot of my car. She almost lost her balance again when she went to roll over and spun her ass on both of my fingers.

“Ohhhh dammmmnnn, baby!” she cried, pushing back against my hand.

I just grinned evilly and slapped her garter covered ass playfully, pulling my fingers from her back door as I did so. She shivered but said nothing.

I dropped my trousers even further and moved up to stand on the bumper. I lifted my cock, feeling for the dripping tunnel entrance that waited hungrily for my hot rod. Kitty moaned a little as I found it, and pushed forward just enough to keep it in place as I placed one hand on each side of her waist, then slowly pulled her down the length of my shaft. Kitty made a wordless sound as all ten inches of my cock penetrated her constricting cunt.

“Ffffffffffuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkkkkk.” I moaned, my head thrown back, I hadn’t been in a twat this tight in years.

“Silly, I thought that was what we were doing.” She giggled, and my laugh joined her’s.

After filling her hot box with all I had, I just rested there for a moment. But just for a moment. I moved one hand back and grasped her ass firmly, pushing her away from me, then pulling her slowly back down my dick with the hand on her waist. Moving slowly at first, but picking up speed.

Soon my hips were a blur, and her arched back bowed in rhythm with me, as she fucked back against my thrusts. I was in heaven. Her cunt had grabbed my cock like a fist and was massaging the length of it in a rippling convulsion I had never experienced before. Soon I began to slap her ass, gently and sporadically at first, but slowly growing harder and with increasing frequency. Shortly she was grinding her ass against my cock and screaming out with every smack.

“OOH YES DADDY! HARDER DADDY! SPANK ME HARDER!” That should have been my second clue. At the time though I just wasn’t thinking, y’know?

Her squirming, fully impaled against my stiff pole eventually caused her to collapse into the throws of inarticulate, panting, orgasm, and I had to shift my stance to stay in her. As she slumped forward, I stepped up and crouched over her rump, thrusting. This seemed to do what she needed and moments later she was screaming and shuddering, with me having to hold her hips up to keep her from falling completely. Her trick pussy was still massaging my cock, and I had just about had all I could handle. I could feel my balls tightening and that familiar tingle that began in the small of my back and slowly began to work it’s way up my spine and around to the base of my cock at the same time.

“Oh baby you’re making me cum!” I shouted, and she tried to pull away.

“Don’t spurt in me!” she cried.

Oh shit, she’s right, what the fuck do I do?

Then I had a thought. I pounded into her pussy twice, as hard as I could, then pulled out, and did a hopstitch that placed my hard throbbing cock at the entrance to her ass.

“YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!” she hissed, and I pushed as hard as I could.
Just as soon as my head entered her as, I could feel the tight ring of muscle clamp down just behind the head. I waited just an instant, and then pulled her to me as I pushed into her.

“GOD DAMN!” I bellowed as I spilt my seed into her clutching bottom.

“DDDAAADDDDDDYYY!!!” she screamed and collapsed onto the boot of my car, unconscious and taking me with her.

I don’t know how long we lay there, her weeping softly and shuddering as her ass milked my cum, me trying not to crush her small frame and catching my breath. Slowly, I could feel my now useless prick slip out of her anus. I carefully stepped backwards, and made my way off the car. I paused when I reached the ground and looked at my handiwork; a swollen pink pussy, still leaking the aromatic nectar of the flower of femininity and one fiery red anus leaking the pearlescent tears of my orgasm.

I was suddenly overwhelmed by a sensation I had never felt before. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I wasn’t sure that I liked it. My introspective reverie was interrupted by an unexpected sight. The wall was pulsating red. After a moment I realized that it wasn’t the wall that was glowing, but the gumball light of a cop car that had somehow crept up behind us. That bastard had enjoyed one hell of a show before he decided to bust us.

“Kitty, get up, it’s the cops!” I called to her, franticly trying to wipe both cum off my penis and stuff it back into my pants. She showed no response and I was suddenly struck by a horrible thought; I had killed her! Holy shit, I actually fucked her to death! Then my rational mind clamped down, and took over. I knew she wasn’t dead, I could see her impressive chest rising and falling, and that took a load off my mind, but what about the cop?

The cop had by this time gotten out of his cruiser and had trained the door light on us, as he approached, I could sense his smugness, his self satisfaction that he had busted the horny couple. I had heard stories about this, how cops would bust the couple making out, out at lover’s lane, and proceed to have their way with the girl, the threat of being arrested and convicted of a sex crime used as leverage on them both.

I suddenly felt the urge to kill this man, this pig, this cop. Where the hell did that come from? I’m not a killer, I’m a, well I don’t know what I am, but I’m not a killer. What the hell was I thinking?

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Asked the cop in the exact thick hillbilly accent I had expected.

I had to think fast. “Good evening officer, my wife and I were out for a drive, and the car broke down…” I said fast, not well.

“Don’t you lie to me boy. You were fuckin’. I know what I saw, and I saw you fuckin’. Not just that, but fucking in an unnatural manner. You know what we call that in these parts boy?”

“Um…” I faltered, for once caught without a glib reply.

“SODOMY!” bellowed the cop.

The slightly slurred voice of Kitty, just now retuning from the land of nod added, “Don’t yell, I think you fucked my brains right out of my head Max.”

I was really nervous now; at the very least I was looking at indecent exposure and possibly sodomy as potential crimes.

“Who is that?” asked the cop, stepping nearer to Kitty.

Close enough now to see the cum leaking out of her butthole, her perfect ass framed by the white garter belt. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder.

Her eyes widened sharply. “CLETUS!” She shouted, “Avert your eyes!”

Oh shit, she knows the cop, either we’re safe or I’m about to be beaten to death by Cletus-the-Slack-Jawed-Yokel.

“Katy-Anne! Is that you?” He called out.

“Of course it’s me Cletus; now quit looking at me I’m nekked!” She called back.

Whew, I think we're safe. That sounded like the banter of close cousins, not a cop and a criminal. I had a sudden vision of Kitty, or I guess “Katy-Anne”, making the beast with two backs with her cousin the cop, and my cock twitched involuntarily.

“What the hell are you doin’ Katy-Ann Meriwether!”

“I know you ain’t exactly Harvard material Cletus, but what does it look like I’m doin’?” She slid backwards off the car, and I noticed with a perverse sense glee that a nice big dollop of cum dripped out of her ass as she landed on her feet.

“It looks like ya’ll are violatin’ the laws of man and God” Snapped the cop, obviously growing cross.

No baby, do not piss of the man who can incarcerate us both. I prayed silently.

“Cletus Laughton, you are no gentleman, starin’ at me in my altogether, with man juice drippin’ out of me. Let me alone to get dressed” She said levelly.
Cletus the cop turned to me. The look on his face was not a pleasant one. I could hear Kitty moving around by the car, and my door opening, so I guess she was getting dressed.

“What should I do about this?” the cop said, rhetorically.

“Let us go with a stern warning?” I ventured, hopefully.

His gaze was much like staring into a blast furnace, only hotter.

“Give me your driver’s license, boy.”

I passed it to him without a word. He glanced down at it, and then pocketed it behind his badge.

“Maximillian Johnson, I hereby arrest you for Indecent Exposure,” Crap. “Lewd and Lascivious Behavior,” Damn. “Sodomy,” Shit. “Illegal Parking,” What? “And Rape.” Oh fuck.

He pulled out his service revolver with his right hand and pointed it at me. His right hand came up with a pair of handcuffs, and he tossed them to me.

“Put ‘em on, boy.”

I started putting them on, my mind was racing. What the hell was this farm fed pig babbling about? Rape, there was no rape! A little weird maybe, but not rape!

“Um, Officer, I think you may have the wrong idea of what occurred here…”

“Shut up Yankee! You think we’re just gonna’ let you come down here anytime you want and defile our children?”

“Children? What the hell are you on about man?” I was shouting now, the handcuffs chained to one wrist. “KITTY!” I bellowed.

“What is it?” she asked, walking up while tucking her blouse into her skirt.

“What is your name?” I asked, turning to face her.

“Kitt-“she started.

“Your full name.” I interrupted.

She turned a little pink in the cheeks and looked downwards. “Katherine-Anne Marie Meriwether.”

“How old are you Katherine-Anne?”

She blushed a bright crimson. “Sixteen.” She whispered.

“SIXTEEN!” I shouted, taking a step towards her. “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, GIRL!”

Katy-Anne started to blubber, and instantly I felt horrible. Then I felt worse, because the cop tapped me on the head with his Billy Club.

I could see the ground rush up as I collapsed; there was no sensation, other than the pain in my head. I could hear the girl screaming at the cop, the cop yelling back, and I felt the cuffs close over my free wrist, just before the world wandered away.

Night Elves & Dark Blades Chapter 1

Kenneth Jones was an upright, young man, dark of hair and eye. Only 28 he was neither impetuous nor naïve. He was also a metropolitan police officer. He had been a police officer for the last four years, rising to the rank of patrolman. Right now though, Ken Jones was hung over, dramatically, earth-shatteringly, emesis-inducingly, hung over. His vision was blurred, and his stomach was rolling back and forth like the deck of the sloop he sailed as a kid. Ken would have called in sick, but he had no leave left. That was what happened when you let your partner get shot. You donated all of your leave to keep his family fed while he was in the hospital.

It didn’t matter that the perp who shot Billy had also shot Ken. It didn’t matter that he had warned Billy to wear his vest. It didn’t matter that Ken had gotten the perp just before he could finish the job on the both of them. It didn’t even matter that the board review had cleared both Ken and Billy of any impropriety.
All that mattered was that Billy had been in the hospital for over a month, and had been medically retired. Because Ken had not thought to check every possible hiding spot, his partner had died twice, once on the way to the hospital, in the back of the ambulance. The other had been on the table, when the doctors had tried to stitch his chest & back together. They had saved Billy’s life, but the damage had been done.

The assassin’s weapon of choice had been a twelve gauge shotgun. The slugs the prick had been using had not penetrated Ken’s trauma plate, but Billy had taken one through the shoulder; a shattered Scapula, three shattered ribs, a lung with a hole the size of an egg. Shards of bone, either from the scapula or a rib had perforated the aorta, but had plugged the holes. It was a miracle Ken’s partner had survived at all.

Shuffling up the stairs to the station, Ken tried to pull himself together. The sunglasses he wore did little to mitigate the light streaming down. Nor did the hastily applied speed-stick completely cover the scent of unwashed cop and used booze that sweated from Ken’s pores. His clothing was rumpled, and smelled a little musty, veterans of the evolving pile of unwashed laundry that was laughingly referred to as a “hamper”. While dark of hair, the five o’clock shadow was more due to his having shaved yesterday, than to his heritage.

Gathering all of his strength and will, Ken walked with just a bit of sway into the station and past the desk sergeant. The desk sergeant, a rail thin matron with iron grey hair and twenty years on the force stared disapprovingly at him, her gaze following him all the way across the lobby. He tried to stare imperviously back, but failed miserably. Once out of the public area, Ken felt a little better, and managed to get down to the locker room without incident.

Once there Ken rummaged through his locker coming up with a small, white, unlabeled bottle that contained a mixture of anti-inflammatories and analgesics. He popped six, ibuprofen and a couple of aspirin, washing them down with as much Gatorade as he could stand. The Gatorade bottle had been sitting in his locker; half drank, for several days. He hopped the drugs would kick in quickly. He closed the locker and went to wash his face, hoping to wake himself up.

Either it didn’t work, or it did and he felt even shittier awake, than he had half asleep. His face was greasy, his hair, though closely cropped, was unkempt, and the feel of his hands on his stubble reminded him of his failure to shave that day. Looking up into the mirror he met his own eyes, and realized that there was as much red, as brown in them. He was trying to find something in his own eyes, but wasn’t sure what, or even if he was having any luck.

A tiny movement on the clock in the mirror caused him to whirl around. The room continued to whirl, even after he had stopped. Forcing his eyes to focus on the clock, Ken suddenly realized why it had caught his attention. It read 0815 hrs. Roll-call had started at 0800.
Ken Jones tried desperately not to vomit as he ran towards the squad-room.

~

Captain Giovanni Giancomo Courso, a veteran of the 70’s civil unrest and an officer of the law in the style of the old school, looked out over a roomful of faces and sighed. He was looking for one particular face, and it was just not there.

Ever since that whack-job Morgan had ambushed Jones and Rosignol, Jones hadn’t been the same. It’s not like Billy Rosignol had died, or even been injured while off duty. Courso felt for him, Billy was a good cop. But he was alive, and he was on full retirement with out being too old to enjoy it. Jones on the other hand… Ken Jones just could not find a way to forgive himself. And it was beginning to show.

The door at the back of the squad-room opened quietly, and Jones, looking like he’d slept in his clothes and carrying a gym bag managed to stumble in unheard behind the drone of the briefing sergeant. He took a seat and looked like he was trying to stay awake. In the captain’s opinion this was a bad idea from the start, but Jones had taken both the written and oral examinations, and done well on them. Since the shooting, Officer Ken Jones had been in no trouble, made all of his department mandated counseling sessions, and had even talked to the pshrink. He had made no infraction serious enough to warrant withholding it from him and that was part of what pissed Courso off the most. Captain Giovanni Giancomo Courso was going to have to promote the lush and hope that he would fuck up by the numbers before he could get anyone in trouble.

Christo, but this was a bad idea if ever there was one.

As the watch commander dismissed the watch, Captain Courso called out to Officer Jones.

“Ken! Ken Jones!”

Ken shuddered at the thought of the captain berating him in front of the guys, but he was man enough to suffer the consequences of his actions, and dutifully shuffled over.

“Morning captain.” he said, as loudly as he could muster, which wasn’t very.

“Come with me.” said the captain genially.

Ken shuffled as fast as he could, trailing along behind, as the captain set off at a brisk walk.

The captain led Ken to his office and sat him down in the one chair in the office that was not comfortable. The captain’s office overlooked the park and playground across the street from one wall and the detective’s area in the opposite. His other walls were covered with photos, newspaper headlines, memorabilia, awards commendations, and manuals. Prominent among them were pictures of the captain with the mayor, the governor and a cardinal.

“What am I gonna do with you Ken?” the captain asked. “You’re a good cop, you keep your nose clean and your hand in. You have no record of any violations and no procedural errors. Hell even the inquiry about the Morgan shooting left you with no fault.”

“Captain, I shoulda…” Ken interrupted.

Captain Courso just raised his hand palm out in a gesture to halt. Ken subsided unhappily.

“Can we agree that since I’m a captain and you are just a lowly patrolman, and since I have twenty three years on the force and you have only four, and that I have been through three partners while you have only been through one, that maybe, just maybe I have a bit more knowledge on this subject than you do?”

Ken simply nodded, realizing correctly that it was the only response.

“I come to you as a father to a son. I come to you, to try one last time to convince you that it is not your fault. I need you to believe that. Can you?”

Ken looked miserable. He knew what the captain was saying. It was the same as what Billy had told him, and the shrink and the councilors and the inquiry board and even the press. But he knew it was only so much bullshit.

Courso took one look at Jones’ face and knew that he hadn’t gotten through to him. Fine, fuck you then you poor bastard.

"Give me your badge Jones.”

Ken’s thoughts were as panicky as a wren in a net. He’s gonna suspend me, or fire me. He reached into his gym bag and fished out his badge. He glanced at it sadly and then held it out for the captain.

The captain took the gold patrolmans shield and glanced at it speculatively before dropping it into the left hand drawer of his desk. His hand dropped further into the drawer and came up holding a black leather wallet.

“This was confirmed two months ago, but was waiting on some red tape.” Said the captain grudgingly "Enjoy it while you can, unless you shape up, you're gonna fuck up real soon and I'm gonna hafta land on you with both feet, Detective Jones."

The wallet fell open and inside Ken could see the silver and blue badge of a detective.

~~

Allen Nilsson knelt behind the bench in front of his locker. He was naked and his towel formed a cushion for his knees on the tile floor. The locker door was open and resting on the waist high shelf was a small bow on a stand, only eight inches long. It was well crafted and would prove completely serviceable to anyone a foot and a half tall. Behind the bow stood a glove made almost entirely from steel. Close inspection would have revealed that there was blood dried in the nooks and crannies. Allen’s only adornment was a two inch long, bronze talisman in the shape of a hammer suspended from a steel chain around his neck. Occasional personnel wandering through the locker room stared curiously at him as he muttered to himself and gestured with a small drinking horn.

“I give thanks to Ullr for teaching me his skill. I ask you for aid in hunting my prey this day. I offer you drink.” Gesturing towards the locker with the open end of the horn “I offer drink, and frith as between brothers.”

Allen reversed the horn and drank deeply, then reversed it again, gesturing once more.

“I give thanks to Tyr for teaching me of justice. I ask you to shore up my discipline for the day to come. I offer you drink. I offer drink and Frith as between brothers.” Again he drank deeply this time draining the vessel.

Standing, Allen put away the horn, bow and gauntlet in a small pouch and stowed it in the bottom of his locker. Turning he realize that he had an audience.

“Good morning, Captain Courso.” he said ignoring the slovenly stinking man that leaned against the wall near the captain.

“Nilsson, what did I tell you about doing that crap here?” Asked the captain crossly.

“The captain might have uttered a discouraging remark, but knowing that the captain is a stickler for the rules, and remembering the municiple policy of religious tolerance, I knew that the captain was just engaging in a bit of rough humor and not attempting to violate my civil rights.” replied the naked man.

The bum against the wall made a sound halfway between a cough and a gag, while the captain’s face turned the same color as a persimmon.

“Detective-Sergent Allen Nilsson, meet your new partner” the captain hiked a thumb over his shoulder at the bum “Detective Ken Jones. Jones made detective just today.”

This time it was the naked man who coughed.