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Ich arbeite in einer großen Firma in einer Software-Entwicklungsabteilung, dementsprechend gibt es bei uns nicht allzu viele Frauen. Genauer gesagt haben wir in unserem gesamten Stockwerk ein einziges Mädchen. Bianca heißt sie… und sie ist 27 Jahre alt, wenige Monate älter als ich.

Frauen in so rein technischen Berufen sind oft … hmmm… schwer zu beschreiben… Sie sind etwas anders eben als Frauen in anderen Berufen. So auch Bianca: sie hat ein schönes Gesicht sowie eine tolle Figur. Bianca ist ca. 165 groß und ein klein wenig kräftiger gebaut. Also nicht dick, aber auch nicht dürr. Eben genau richtig! Häufig trägt sie alte unauffällige Schuhe, schminkt sich äußerst selten und trägt die mittellangen dunkelblonden Haare meist offen, ohne sich viel Mühe um die Frisur gemacht zu haben. Im Widerspruch dazu hat sie lange sehr ordentlich gepflegte, schöne Fingernägel. Von der Kleidung her, trägt sie meistens eher konservative Sachen. Beispielsweise mag sie wohl Strickjacken besonders gerne und hat diese auch entsprechend oft an. Auf der anderen Seite trägt sie oft enge Jeans, die ihren geilen Hintern extrem scharf aussehen lassen. Vom Typ her ist sie recht reserviert, spricht von sich aus nur sehr ungern Leute an, und bleibt relativ distanziert, wenn jemand ein Gespräch mit ihr beginnen mag.

Bianca kommt meist ähnlich früh wie ich in die Arbeit, oft sind wir die ersten im Büro. Häufig gehen wir dann erstmal Kaffeetrinken um wach zu werden, und dabei sind wir mittlerweile doch ganz gut ins Gespräch gekommen. Bianca hat ein großes Hobby, und das sind Online Rollenspiele. Auch ich spiele solche Spiele sehr gerne, d.h. von daher geht uns fındıkzade escort der Gesprächsstoff auch nicht so schnell aus.

Wie so oft auch komme ich eines Montags in der Früh ins Büro. Bianca ist schon da und tippt in ihren Laptop rein… „Morgen!” — „Guten Morgen”… „Lust auf Kaffee?” — „Oh ja, dringend!” Ich lächle ihr zu und nehme meine Tasse. Bianca steht auf und geht selbstbewusst an mir vorbei… Ich überlege, dass heute irgendwas anders ist mit ihr… ob sie sich geschminkt hat? Auf dem Flur in Richtung Kaffeeautomat fällt es mir dann auf: Bianca hat schwarze Stiefel mit ca. 12cm hohen Absätzen an, die enge Bluejeans über die Stiefel, sodass die Stiefel auf den ersten Blick nicht auffallen. Allerdings ist das Klonk-Klonk der Absätze nicht zu überhören!

Sie schreitet selbstbewusst vor mir her, ich schaue ihr dabei verwirrt auf den Hintern. Durch die hohen Stiefel kommt ihr sexy Arsch noch besser zur Geltung. Sie öffnet die Glastüre zur Kaffeeküche — ups, hat sie im Spiegelbild der Türe etwa meinen Blick auf ihren Po bemerkt gehabt? Hoffentlich nicht. Sie grinst selbstsicher… und fragt dann „Wie war dein Wochenende?” — Etwas ertappt stammle ich „Oh ähmm… ähh… ja… äh… war echt nett gewesen.” Ich stelle meine Tasse in den Automaten und wähle „Kaffee mit Milch”. „Ja, war nett, aber wieder mal viel zu kurz! Und du hast dein Wochenende auch gut verbracht?”, frage ich sie. „Ja, ich war wieder fleißig gewesen, aber… war schön”. Während Bianca das sagt streckt sie sich genüsslich… Mein Blick fällt auf den Bund ihrer Jeans, wo durch das Strecken für einen kurzen Moment escortlar etwas Haut sowie der Bauchnabel sichtbar geworden sind. „Heiß!!” denke ich mir. Dann fallen mir wieder die Stiefel ein, und ich wage einen kurzen Blick… Hohe Stiefel aus schwarzem mattem Leder. Keine so spitz zulaufenden, wo man(n) Angst bekommt, sondern eher mehr wie Gogo-Stiefel gebaut. Wie gern würde ich…

„Soso!” Ihre Worte reißen mich aus den Gedanken und schuldig schaue ich hoch. Bianca grinst selbstsicher und zufrieden. Diesmal hat sie meine Blicke bestimmt bemerkt gehabt. In mir steigt dieses Gefühl auf ertappt worden zu sein. „Du schaust heute… trägst heute… die Schuhe … die Stiefel schauen gut aus an dir”, versuche ich selbstsicher herauszubekommen, was mir aber wohl nicht gelungen ist. „Ich weiß, Danke!”, sagt sie eher scherzend mit einem leichten arroganten Ton! Waahh, dieses Luder macht mich noch wahnsinnig! Ich spüre, dass mein kleiner Freund in diesen Momenten hart geworden ist, und sich wohl eine Beule an meiner Jeans gebildet hat. Ob Bianca die Beule bemerkt hat?

„Du stehst also auf Stiefel?”, fragt sie mich ganz unverblümt. Sie muss die Beule bestimmt bemerkt haben. Mein Puls geht schnell… „Äh… ja… ich finde du schaust gut aus in den Stiefeln!” Bianca grinst frech und breit, schreitet dann mit einem selbstsicheren Schritt zum Kaffeeautomaten und stellt ihre Tasse drunter. „Ich glaube du magst mir heute einen Kaffee ausgeben…”. Grrr! Bianca spielt doch nicht auf die Beule in meiner Hose an, oder? Mit leicht zitternden Fingern halte ich meine Karte an den 50-cent Abbucher während sie normalen Kaffee wählt.

Ich bayan escortlar sage nichts, versuche meine Gedanken zu sortieren. Mittlerweile ist Biancas Kaffee fertig und wir stehen uns wieder schweigend gegenüber. Bianca schaut mir musternd in die Augen. Ich schaue zurück, weiche dann aber mit meinem Blick ab, zum Fenster hinaus, dann wieder zurück in Biancas Gesicht. Sie schaut mich immer noch eingehend an. Selbstsicher beginnt sie dann: „Du stehst also auf meine Stiefel und magst es, wenn eine Frau sich wie eine richtige Bitch aufführt?” Mir wäre beinahe die Kaffeetasse aus der Hand gefallen. Ich öffne den Mund, schließe ihn aber wieder und warte ab, was sie sagen möchte. „Komm her, gib mir deine Kaffeetasse!” Verunsichert und wortlos gehe ich den einen Schritt zu ihr und reiche ihr meine Tasse. Bianca grinst mich frech an, funkelt mich mit ihren braunen Augen an, und lässt einen großen Tropfen Spucke in den Rest von meinem Kaffee fallen. Ich glaub ich spinne — das Luder spuckt mir tatsächlich in den Kaffee!?? Doch damit nicht genug: sie reicht mir die Tasse zurück und grinst mich überlegen und dominant an. Was erwartet sie? Soll ich das etwa jetzt austrinken??

Sie scheint meine Gedanken soweit gelesen zu haben, denn sie nickt mir kaum merklich zu. Während ich wie in Trance den Becher zum Mund führe wird mir bewusst, auf welches Spiel ich mich hier einlasse: Ich ordne mich in diesem Moment ihr unter und erkenne freiwillig sie als Chefin an. Sie, die ich erst vor kurzem auf ihr Thema eingearbeitet habe, die sonst so reserviert nach außen hin erscheint. Ich rieche den Kaffee und merke wie er meine Lippen benetzt. Bianca hebt grinsend und überlegen den Kopf, während ich den Becher mit einem großen Schluck leere.

Bianca knabbert äußerst gut gelaunt an ihre Unterlippe und brummt mehr zu sich selber gewandt: „Hmmm… mein persönliches Spielzeug…”

Etwas lauter sagt sie dann: „So, lass uns was tun — an die Arbeit!”

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2. Kapitel 3. Teil

Ich ging nach oben um mich ein wenig auszuruhen und die nächsten Tage zu planen. Sharky sollte auf alle Eventualitäten vorbereitet werden. Sie tat mir ehrlich leid, und ich dachte an meine Ausbildung zurück. Die Dauerte allerdings nicht nur 2 Wochen, sondern während ganzen 8 Monaten wurden wir geschliffen, trainiert, gequält und misshandelt. Es wurde uns beigebracht auch die grössten Schmerzen unter der Folter auszuhalten. Unseren Geist vor Methoden der Gehirnwäsche zu verschliessen. Meiner Familie erzählte, ich dass ich ein Projekt in Europa für meinen Arbeitgeber zu betreuen hätte. Nach 8 langen Monaten kam ich zurück, ich hatte mich verändert. Ich war nicht mehr der treusorgende Familienvater der ich einst war. Ich war hart gemacht worden. Ich konnte meiner Familie gegenüber keine Emotionen mehr zeigen. Meine Frau verlies mich und nahm meine Tochter natürlich mit sich. Ich konnte es ihr nicht verübeln. Kontakt hatte ich nur noch durch die Briefe die ich ab und zu von ihr bekam. Gelegentlich war ein Bild meiner Tochter beigelegt. Sie glich von Jahr zu Jahr mehr meiner Frau. Die Augen aber musste sie von mir geerbt haben. Den letzten Brief bekam ich kurz bevor der Zaun gezogen wurde. Meine Tochter blies auf dem beiliegenden Foto die Kerzen ihres Geburtstagskuchens aus. 15 Kerzen zählte ich.

Ich war anscheinend eingenickt, denn als ich auf die Uhr blickte war schon 22.00 Uhr vorüber. Ich hatte Hunger. Ich bereitete mir mit meinen bescheidenen Fähigkeiten ein Essen zu. Im Vergleich zu den gestrigen Bratkartoffeln war es ungeniessbar, aber die letzten Jahre hatte ich es ja auch überlebt. Nach dem Essen, mixte ich die Reste zu einem scheusslichen Brei welchen ich in eine flache Schüssel gab. Damit ging ich runter zu Sharky. Ich öffnete die Schranktüre und erschrak. çapa escort Das Mädchen war kaum mehr zu erkennen. Sie hing schlaff an der Decke, die Augen geschlossen, die Haare strähnig im verweinten Gesicht klebend. Ihr ganzer Körper war ein einziger Bluterguss. Ich kontrollierte ihre Atmung. Alles i.O. Ich löste Ihre Fesseln. Sie sank in sich zusammen. Die Hände band ich ihr auf dem Rücken zusammen, die Schüssel stellte ich vor sie, nahm meinen Schwanz aus der Hose und urinierte über ihr Essen. „Da friss du Hündin! Etwas anderes wirst du in nächster Zeit nicht zu fressen bekommen.” Ich verschloss die Schranktüre, ging nach oben. Auf dem Treppenabsatz drehte ich mich nochmals um das Licht zu löschen. Ein Schluchzen war von unten zu vernehmen. Ich hatte Tränen in den Augen. Ich liebte dieses Mädchen, und doch quälte ich sie, musste sie quälen.

Ich ging in mein Schlafzimmer, warf meine Kleidung in eine Ecke und legte mich schlafen. Es war eine unruhige Nacht. Immer wieder wachte ich schweissgebadet auf. Ich träumte schlecht. Die Bilder meiner eigenen Ausbildung, die Gesichter all der Menschen die ich im Auftrag der Regierung aus dem Weg schaffte und die Szenen die ich gerade erst mit Sharky erlebt hatte erschienen mir immer wieder. Ich war froh als endlich die Sonne aufging.

Ich machte mich schnell frisch und zog mir Trainingsanzug und Laufschuhe an. Unten in der Küche machte ich mir erstmal einen Kaffee um meine Müdigkeit zu vertreiben. Ich trank ihn aus und verliess danach das Haus um meine erste Runde entlang des Zaunes zu joggen. Zum einen um nachzusehen ob da wirklich ein Eingang zu einer Höhle war durch die wir verschwinden konnten, zum anderen um keinen Verdacht zu wecken und alles wie immer aussehen zu lassen. Bei der Gelegenheit holte ich escorts auch wie jeden Tag meine bestellten Sachen und die Zeitung welche mir die Agentur täglich zukommen liess.

Auf dem Rückweg kam ich an der Stelle vorbei wo sich nach der Beschreibung von Sharky und dem Schlappschwanz der Durchgang befinden sollte. Und Tatsächlich, ich musste noch ein wenig suchen, aber da war er, verdeck von einem Busch. „Gut, nur nichts anmerken lassen.”, sagte ich zu mir selbst und Joggte weiter zurück zum Haus.

Nach einer erfrischenden Dusche warf ich mich wieder in meine Kampfklamotten. Es war nun beinahe 08.00 Uhr und Zeit um nach Sharky zu sehen.

Das Bild welches mir bot, als ich die Schranktüre öffnete verschlug mir den Atem. Eine zusammengekauerte Gestallt mit vom Nahrungsbrei verschmiertem Gesicht, und grün und blau geprügeltem Körper erwartete mich. Die Augen waren gerötet aber sie blitzten mir stolz entgegen.

„Komm mit du Drecksau, es geht weiter!” Ich zerrte sie aus dem Schrank. Nur schon meine Berührungen mussten ihr grosse Schmerzen zufügen. Sie stöhnte bei jedem Schritt. Ich spannte sie an die Sprossenwand und liess sie erst mal hängen. Aus dem Keller holte ich einen Gartenschlauch welchen ich an den Wasserhahn im Waschbecken des Fitnessraumes anschloss. Mit kaltem Wasser spritzte ich sie ab. Dies würde zwar die ganze Einrichtung hier unten ruinieren, aber ich hatte ja eh nicht vor noch lange hier zu bleiben. Der kalte Wasserstrahl traf sie an Rücken, Po, Beinen. Triefend nass liess ich sie hängen. Sie fröstelte, es war relativ kühl hier unten.

Den ganzen Tag lang liess ich sie nicht zur Ruhe kommen, liess sie Gewichte stemmen, Klimmzüge, Liegestütze, Kniebeugen, Rumpfbeugen usw. machen. Und immer bestrafte ich sie fürchterlich für nicht korrekt istanbul escortları ausgeführte Übungen. Ich Schlug sie, trat sie, durchstach ihre Nippel mit Nadeln, machte ihr Klammern an Schamlippen und Klitoris, behängte sie mit Gewichten. Demütigte Sie mit Worten und Taten. Ich liess sie ihre eigene Scheisse fressen. So ging das sieben lange Tage. Die Nächte verbrachte sie in der engen Besenkammer. Zu essen und zu Trinken bekam sie gerade so viel wie es brauchte sie nicht sterben zu lassen. Sie war in einem fürchterlichen Zustand als ich sie nach ihrer Letzten Nacht aus dem Besenschrank holte. Sie konnte sich nicht auf den Beinen halten. Ihr Körper war übersäht von blutigen Striemen. Ihr Busen wies unzählige Einstichstellen auf. Ihre Schamlippen waren Wund und geschwollen von den Torturen die sie über sich hatte ergehen lassen müssen. Sie stank fürchterlich, da sie ihre Notdurft in der Besenkammer verrichten musste und darum in ihren eigenen Exkrementen schlafen musste. Aber nun war es vorbei, sie hatte es überstanden. Ihr Körper schien zwar nur noch aus einem Haufen geprügelten Fleisches zu bestehen, aber ihre Augen funkelten immer noch. Müde zwar, aber stolz und ungebrochen.

Ich trug sie nach oben ins Bad und legte vorsichtig in die Wanne in die ich schon vorher das Wasser eingelassen hatte. Ich gab einen Badezusatz dazu der Ihre Haut desinfizieren und die Wundheilung beschleunigen sollte. Vorsichtig wusch ich sie mit einem Naturschwamm. Jede Berührung löste bei ihr ein schmerzliches stöhnen aus. Ich wusch sie am ganzen Körper, wusch ihr auch ihre langen schwarzen Haare. Als ich fertig war, hob ich sie aus der Wanne und setzte sie auf einen bereitstehenden Sessel. Sie wäre nicht fähig gewesen selbständig zu stehen. Mit einem weichen Frotiertuch tupfte ich ihre Haut trocken. Anschliessend trug ich sie ins Schlafzimmer und legte sie auf mein Bett. Ich deckte sie zu und gab ihr einen Kuss auf die Stirn „Ich liebe dich.”, flüstere ich. „Sir, ich liebe sie auch.”, hauchte sie. „Ab sofort bitte wieder Clive.”, ich küsste sie auf den Mund. Sie war bereits eingeschlafen.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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Ein erotischer Roman

Naomi Schmitz

August 2016

Kapitel 1

Staubkörner tanzten in den Lichtstreifen des hereinfallenden Tageslichts. Draußen krähte ein Hahn. Weit weg war ein Traktor zu hören. Landleben. Früher hatte ich in der Stadt gelebt, und ich hatte es immer genossen. Aber das hier war besser. Wir hatten es zu einem bescheidenen Wohlstand gebracht und uns dieses Haus leisten können. Und wir lebten dort recht zufrieden.

Dies ist die Geschichte, wie es dazu kam. Wie ich die Frau meines Lebens kennenlernte und von einer recht guten, aber erfolglosen Bassistin, zu einer recht erfolgreichen wurde, deren Gesicht in der Öffentlichkeit aber vollkommen unbekannt ist. Und es ist die Geschichte von einer Violinistin, die ein absolutes Wunderkind war, aber diesen Status für ein Leben mit mir eingetauscht hat. Sie ist immer noch ein Genie, aber auch ihr Gesicht kennt niemand.

Aber in jenem Moment interessierte mich das nicht. In diesem Moment interessierten mich nur die Staubkörner. Wie sie langsam durch die Luft schwebten und von irgendeiner unsichtbaren Kraft hin und her geschoben wurden. In meinem Bett war es warm und kuschelig. Ich fühlte mich ausgeschlafen, und der Tag versprach Gutes. Ich musste nicht arbeiten, es stand nichts an. Was konnte man mehr erwarten?

So lag ich eine Weile da, zufrieden in meiner Welt, bis meine Aufmerksamkeit sich auf die Bewegungen neben mir richtete.

Da lag sie. In einem unruhigen Schlaf. Ihr weißer, runder Po lugte zwischen den Laken hervor. Ihre Hände, immer noch auf den Rücken gefesselt mit ledernen Manschetten, zuckten leicht. Sie träumte. Joelle in einem bewegenden Traum.

Ich war kurz versucht, mit der flachen Hand kräftig auf die beiden gewölbten Bäckchen zu schlagen, aber verwarf den Impuls schnell wieder. Das wäre zu gemein gewesen.

Ich könnte die Decke ein wenig über ihr entblößtes Hinterteil ziehen, aber mir gefiel der Anblick, und ich wollte mich nicht bewegen. Ich hatte es gerade so gemütlich.

Die Kettenglieder zwischen den Manschetten hatten einen kleinen Abdruck auf ihrem Hintern hinterlassen. Es sah schön aus, passend, wie ihre Hände im Schlaf zuckten, sich leicht gegen die Fesselung wehrten, als könnte sie sich befreien, wenn sie nur ein wenig zöge.

Seit dem vergangenen Abend war sie gefesselt, aber immer noch hatte sie sich nicht daran gewöhnt. Sie hatte sich mit ihrer Hilflosigkeit noch nicht abgefunden. Das war irgendwie süß. Wie sie sich wälzte, wie etwas in ihr arbeitete. Ein Murmeln entfuhr ihr. Ich drehte meinen Kopf zu ihr. Zu gerne hätte ich gewusst, was sie in ihrem Schlaf sagte. Aber ich konnte sie leider nicht verstehen. Kein Wort. Es war ein langsames Brabbeln, ein Murmeln.

Ihr Kopf war tief in das Kissen gepresst, und ihre blassblonden Haare schlängelten sich wirr über das Kissen.

Ich spannte meine Muskeln an, ohne mich groß zu bewegen, schüttelte den Schlaf ab. Ich atmete tief durch. Mein Brustkorb hob sich, hob die Laken, die im Sonnenlicht spannende Falten warfen.

Ich wurde wach und beobachtete Joelle weiter.

Süß war sie.

Meine süße kleine Sklavin.

Ein Lächeln zog über mein Gesicht, während sie mit einem Ruck an ihren Fesseln zog und sich aufbäumte. Ich hielt den Atem an, erwartete, dass sie aufwachte, aber ihre Muskeln entspannten sich, und sie fiel zurück in ihren Traum.

Schlaf weiter, meine süße Prinzessin, dachte ich. Schlaf weiter!

Der Tag war noch jung, und ich konnte mir vorstellen, dass sie lange gebraucht hatte, bis sie eingeschlafen war. Die Fesseln, die ihre Hände hinter den Rücken zwangen, machten es ihr sicher nicht einfach. Einmal war ich in der vergangenen Nacht kurz aufgewacht, da hatte sie sich in ihren Fesseln gewunden, hatte versucht, eine Position zu finden, die ihr den Schlaf ermöglichte. Ich war wieder eingeschlafen, bevor sie ihren gefunden hatte.

Wovon träumte sie? Aber von wem sollte sie schon träumen? Von derjenigen doch wohl, die sie in Fesseln geschlagen hatte, die mit ihr anstellen konnte, was sie wollte. Ich war es, die sie von einem ruhigen Schlaf abhielt, die sie in Ketten geschlagen hatte. Von wem sollte sie anders träumen als von mir?

Damit war jeder Gedanke, sie zu wecken, vollkommen undenkbar.

Träum, träum von mir, von deiner Herrin!

Ich lag also neben ihr und ließ sie träumen, bis sie langsam begann sich zu regen und aufzuwachen.

Ihr Atem veränderte sich. Sie war wach. Ich drehte mich zu ihr, betrachtete ihre ruhigen Gesichtszüge, das Licht, das weich auf ihre Wangen fiel. Joelle hatte die Augen noch geschlossen, wollte langsam und sanft in den Tag gleiten.

Vorsichtig streichelte ich über ihre Haare, legte meinen Kopf neben ihren. Mit meinen Fingern zog ich eine ihrer Haarsträhnen zu mir, kitzelte mit den Spitzen meine Nase und sog ihren warmen Duft ein.

Dann ließ ich meine Hand unter die Decke schlüpfen und berührte sie an der Schulter. Wie eine Schlange kroch meine Hand weiter, erfreute sich an der Wärme ihres Körpers.

Sie bewegte şişli escort sich nicht, ließ meine Hand machen. Ihr Brustkorb hob und senkte sich langsam und rhythmisch. Ich versuchte, meine Bewegungen ihrem Atem anzupassen und bewegte meine Hand immer, wenn sie ausatmete und sich ihr Brustkorb senkte.

Schließlich schlängelte sich meine Hand über ihre weiche Brust. Ich fühlte ihre weiche Brustwarze, rieb sie zwischen meinen Fingern und spürte, wie sie unter meinem Griff hart wurde.

Joelle seufzte, und ihr Brustkorb hob sich ein wenig mehr.

Ich spielte eine Weile mit ihrem Nippel, und sie ließ es geschehen. Auf ihrem Gesicht machte sich ein wohliges Lächeln breit.

Ich streichelte über ihre Brust, fuhr ihre Kurven nach, fand ihre Brustwarze wieder, strich über sie und kniff einmal mit meinen Fingernägeln hinein.

Augenblicklich spannten sich ihre Muskeln an, ihr weicher Körper verhärtete sich für einen Wimpernschlag. Aber ich wollte sie nicht quälen. Sie sollte nur wissen, wer das Sagen hatte.

Also streichelte ich sie bald wieder, und sie entspannte sich augenblicklich, weil sie mir vertraute.

Meine Hand fand ihren Weg hinunter zu ihrem Bauchnabel, umkreiste ihn und wanderte dann tiefer. Doch wenige Zentimeter vor ihrem Ziel zwischen ihren Schenkeln hielt sie inne. Ich ließ meine Finger einfach ruhen kurz vor ihrem Venushügel.

Nach wenigen Sekunden wurde sie unruhig, hob ihr Becken, wollte mir signalisieren, dass ich nicht aufhören sollte. Aber ich ließ meine Hand einfach schlaff an ihrer Position.

Joelle wurde ungeduldig und seufzte. Sie zog an ihren Fesseln.

Ich genoss meine Überlegenheit und meine Macht.

„Möchtest du, dass ich weitermache?”, hauchte ich ihr ins Ohr.

Sie nickte energisch.

„Dann sag mir: Wer ist deine Herrin?”

„Du bist es!”, kam ihre Antwort.

„Sag es noch einmal!”

„Du bist meine Herrin!”

„Da hast du verdammt nochmal recht!”, flüsterte ich ihr ins Ohr. „Aber was tust du, wenn ich weitermache?”

„Alles!”

„Alles? Du solltest aufpassen, was du alles so versprichst.”

„Ich tue alles für dich, wenn deine Hand weitermacht!”

„Ich werde darauf zurückkommen!” Es sollte wie eine kleine Drohung klingen.

Und dann erwachte meine Hand wieder zum Leben und setzte ihren Weg zwischen ihre Schenkel fort.

Kapitel 2

Prinzessin auf der Erbse trifft die Beschreibung für Joelle am besten.

Kennengelernt haben wir uns in einem Musikgeschäft. Wir waren beide Musikerinnen, aber sie erfolgreicher, und ich hatte keinen reichen Daddy, daher jobbte ich in einem kleinen Musikgeschäft als Aushilfe. Der Job war angenehm. Ich verdiente nicht so viel wie beim Kellern, aber ich musste mich auch nicht mit Besoffenen rumschlagen, sondern war unter Instrumenten in einem Metier, das ich wirklich liebe. Die meisten Kunden waren nett und freundlich, und man konnte auch mal ein Schwätzchen halten und fachsimpeln.

Ich war siebenundzwanzig, hatte nach dem Abi Wirtschaft studiert, das schnell sein lassen, dann eine Ausbildung angefangen, und auch die schnell abgebrochen, weil ich es nicht ertragen konnte, den ganzen Tag in einem Büro zu sitzen. Die ganze Zeit über war ich in Bands, und irgendwann lief es mit der Musik so gut, dass ich mir die Ausbildung sparen konnte. Also kündigte ich. Dann ging es mit der Musik plötzlich nicht mehr so gut, und ich musste mich anders durchschlagen. Das tat ich also. Ich schlug mich durch. Mal besser, mal weniger gut, aber ich kam zurecht. Es war ein unstetes Leben, das nie so richtig geradlinig verlief, aber ich mochte das. Man musste flexibel sein, irgendwie auf sich aufpassen, irgendwie erwachsen sein, aber dann auch eben nicht. Ich suchte mir die Jobs, wie ich sie brauchte und wie sie kamen. In zehn Jahren könnte ich ein großer Star sein oder immer noch am Existenzminimum rumkrebsen und mein Instrument rumschleppen, Verstärker aus Transportern hieven und Kabel einstöpseln, um meine Musik zu spielen. Das mit dem Star war ziemlich unwahrscheinlich. Bassisten werden keine Stars, überhaupt gibt es nur wenige, die von der Musik leben können. Es gibt eine Menge Sternchen, aber das ist etwas anderes. Ich hatte damit kein Problem. Ich liebe die Musik, und das reichte mir. Daher war ich auch glücklich, den Job in einem Musikgeschäft zu bekommen.

Musikinstrumente sind etwas Faszinierendes. Eigentlich sind sie Gegenstände aus Kunststoff, Holz und Metall, aber ich stelle mir vor, dass sie ein eigenes Leben haben, so etwas wie eine Seele. Ich stelle mir vor, dass ein Instrumentenbauer sich wochenlang damit beschäftigt hat und seine Seele in das Instrument gegeben hat.

Die Realität sieht natürlich anders aus. Die meisten Instrumente kommen aus China und sind Massenware. Da hat niemand stundenlang gehobelt, gesägt oder gefeilt. Die kommen alle vom Fließband. Da steckt in der Herstellung keine Liebe drin. Das heißt nicht, dass billige Instrumente schlecht sind, sie sind häufig sogar erstaunlich gut, wenn escort man den Preis bedenkt, aber für Romantik bleibt wenig Raum.

Nur die richtig teuren Instrumente kommen noch irgendwie aus Handarbeit, und nur bei den wirklich teuren hat vielleicht noch ein Mensch eine Unterschrift geleistet, aber das ist dann auch nur der Qualitätstester bei der Endkontrolle.

Warum erzähle ich das? Weil es mit unserem Kennenlernen zu tun hat.

Ich war gerade in einem Verkaufsgespräch. Ein Vater wollte für seine Tochter eine Gitarre kaufen. Aber da fing es schon an, denn während der Vater aus diversen und allesamt nachvollziehbaren Gründen seine Tochter mit Pferdeschwanz und Strickpulli auf einer akustischen Gitarre am Weihnachtsbaum oder Lagerfeuer sehen wollte, sah sie sich aus vollkommen nachvollziehbaren Gründen mit einer E-Gitarre breitbeinig headbangend auf einer Bühne, hinter ihr ein Verstärkerturm und vor ihr hunderttausend headbangende Fans. Ich befand mich also in einem Familienstreit und nicht nur als unbeteiligte Zuschauerin. Vater und Tochter hatten mich beide als ihre Verbündete auserkoren, die für ihre Sache streiten sollte.

Allerdings war mir gar nicht danach, für irgendeine Sache zu streiten. Ich konnte den Vater verstehen, der seine kleine, wohlerzogene Tochter mit Pferdeschwänzchen bewundern wollte, gleichzeitig aber auch seine Tochter, die von hunderttausend Fans bewundert werden wollte. Als Symbol für diese Visionen standen eben Wanderklampfe und Stratocaster. Beides ging nun mal nicht.

Während ich also mit Händen und Füßen versuchte, mich aus dem Pubertätskampf herauszuhalten, betrat Joelle das Musikgeschäft. Am Eingang blieb sie einen Augenblick stehen, orientierte sich kurz und schritt dann zielstrebig an uns vorbei zu den Westerngitarren.

Ich dachte mir nicht viel, als ich sie das erste Mal sah. Mir fiel ihr Pferdeschwanz auf, der akkurat saß. Mir fiel auch das Selbstbewusstsein ihrer Bewegungen auf. Aber ich hatte keine Zeit, mich auf sie zu konzentrieren, denn die Tochter wollte von mir die Bestätigung, dass E-Gitarren nicht zwangsläufig lauter waren als akustische Gitarren, und der Vater wollte kontern mit dem Hinweis, dass eine E-Gitarre immer E braucht (also Strom). Ich gab beiden Recht, obwohl es auch batteriebetriebene Gitarrenverstärker gibt, die ziemlichen Krach machen können. Aber das sagte ich nicht, weil ich die Sache nicht noch verkomplizieren wollte.

Ein Auge warf ich als professionelle Verkäuferin derweil auf Joelle, die sich recht zielstrebig die teuerste Westerngitarre gegriffen hatte, die wir hatten. Aber meinen ersten Gedanke, dass sie eine Kennerin sein musste, ließ ich sofort fallen, denn sie hielt sie wie eine absolute Anfängerin.

Wie gesagt, ich habe diesen Glauben, dass Instrumente eine Seele haben, zumindest die teuren, die mit Liebe hergestellt werden, und bei einem Preis von zweieinhalbtausend Euro kann man auch schon ein wenig Liebe und Respekt verlangen von dem, der sie kauft. Also manövrierte ich das Familiendrama an einen Übungsverstärker und drückte ihnen zwei Gitarren in die Hand, um dann zu der Gibson zu eilen und dem jungen Mädchen, das sie hielt.

„Die ist verstimmt!”, meinte sie statt einer Begrüßung mit einem leicht vorwurfsvollen Ton, als ich zu ihr trat. Sie drehte am Stimmflügel der E-Saite und zupfte immer wieder daran.

„Ein schönen guten Tag. Kann ich Ihnen helfen?”, fragte ich betont freundlich und wunderte mich, dass sie glaubte, beurteilen zu können, wie die Gitarre gestimmt werden musste, wo sie diese doch nicht einmal halten konnte.

„Ich will Gitarre spielen lernen”, sagte sie, ohne mich anzusehen. Stattdessen begab sie sich an die zweite Saite und stimmte diese nun.

„Da würde ich eine Musikschule empfehlen! Wir verkaufen hier Instrumente.”

Sie sah mich nun zum ersten Mal an, als wollte sie herausfinden, wie ich das gemeint haben könnte. Es war so gemeint, wie es herausgekommen war. Die Butter ließ ich mir von so einem Früchtchen nicht vom Brot nehmen. Etwas schnippisch antwortete sie:

„Das ist mir schon klar. Aber ohne Gitarre kann ich es ja schlecht lernen oder wie siehst du das?”

Ihr Tonfall gefiel mir gar nicht und das Duzen auch nicht. Statt sofort zu antworten, nahm ich mir nun eine Sekunde Zeit, mir ein Bild zu machen. Sie hatte einen bleichen Teint, strohblonde Haare. Ein paar Sommersprossen, graublaue Augen und eine spitze Nase, die etwas nach oben ragte und ihr damit einen im wahrsten Sinne hochnäsigen Ausdruck gab.

Stoffhose, ein paar schwarze Pumps mit flachem Absatz, die etwas zu förmlich aussahen, eine cremefarbene Bluse mit altmodischen Rüschen. Sie vermittelte den Eindruck, dass sie sich Gedanken gemacht hatte über ihre Garderobe.

Das unterschied sie von mir. Ich zog meist an, was gerade so auf dem Boden lag.

Es war die etwas nach oben gebogene Nase, die sie am besten charakterisierte als Prinzessin (Die Erbse kam später).

Ich konnte nicht sagen, dass sie mir besonders sympathisch war, aber ich nahm sie auch istanbul escorts nicht ernst genug, um sauer zu sein. Sie war halt eine dieser Kundinnen, die eben nicht so nett, nicht so angenehm waren. Aber man musste sich deswegen ja nicht gleich den Tag vermiesen lassen.

Sie war mittlerweile bei der vierten Saite angelangt. Als sie langsam die vier gestimmten Saiten anzupfte, stutzte ich. Sie klangen sauber aufeinander abgestimmt. E-A-D-G. Das waren auch meine Saiten. Eine Oktave tiefer zwar, aber immerhin. E-A-D-G, die Saiten des Basses und die ersten vier der Gitarre.

„Immerhin können Sie schon mal eine Gitarre stimmen!”

Es war als Kompliment gemeint, aber sie sah mich nur irritiert an.

„Was ist jetzt? Verkaufst du mir das Ding?”

„Das Ding, das Sie da in der Hand haben, ist eine Gibson und kostet fast zweieinhalbtausend Euro.”

„Okay…”

Sie war nicht beeindruckt.

„Das ist nicht unbedingt ein Anfängerinstrument.”

„Ich habe noch nie verstanden, warum Anfänger auf billigen Instrumenten lernen sollten. Gerade ein Anfänger braucht alle Hilfe, die er bekommen kann, und eine gutes Instrument ist eine immense Hilfe!” Sie sah mich kühl an, und ihr Näschen reckte sich noch etwas mehr in die hochnäsige Höhe. „Das müsste jemand, der in einem Musikgeschäft arbeitet, eigentlich auch wissen.”

Sie stellte meine Geduld zugegebenermaßen auf eine harte Probe. Als ich ihr gerade eine passende Antwort geben wollte, grollte uns ein schiefer und ohrenbetäubender Gitarrenriff entgegen. Wir drehten uns beide um. Der Vater, der sich, aus welchem Grund auch immer, die eben noch so verhasste E-Gitarre umgeschnallt hatte, drehte hastig den Lautstärkeregler am Verstärker runter, wand sich zu mir um und rief: „Tschuldigung!”

Scheinbar war die Diskussion zwischen Vater und Tochter vorangeschritten, denn die Tochter beobachtete nun, wie der Vater sich an der elektrischen Gitarre versuchte. Diese kleine Ablenkung jedenfalls ließ meinen Zorn verfliegen, und ich ignorierte die Provokation ruhig und erwiderte:

„Viele Anfänger wissen nicht, was sie wollen. Und es wäre doch zu schade, wenn dieses tolle Instrument als Staubfänger in einer Ecke enden würde.”

„Erstens wird das nicht passieren, und selbst wenn es zweitens als Staubfänger enden sollte, dann hätte ich lieber die hier als irgendeine unförmige Holzkiste. Also, wie sieht es jetzt aus? Ich habe das Gefühl, dass du mir die Gitarre nicht verkaufen möchtest.”

Die Frage war gerechtfertigt. Ich hatte in der Tat etwas dagegen. Ich konnte mir zwar ihre Beleidigungen anhören, aber irgendwie sträubte ich mich, diese schöne Gitarre in die Hände einer verzogenen Göre zu verkaufen.

Das war, als müsste eine Adoptionsvermittlerin ein Baby in die Hände von alkoholkranken Junkie-Verbrechern geben. So etwas tut man einfach nicht. Und das sagte ich ihr dann auch ziemlich deutlich:

„Da haben Sie ganz Recht. Mir stellen sich die Nackenhaare hoch, wenn ich daran denke, dass ich Ihnen dieses tolle Instrument verkaufen soll. Wenn ich ehrlich bin, glaube ich nicht, dass Sie dieses Teil verdienen. Auch wenn Sie es sich locker leisten können.”

Sie stutzte. Das hatte sie nicht erwartet. Es schien ihr nicht oft zu passieren, dass Geld sie nicht weiterbrachte. Sie atmete tief ein, schluckte die erste Reaktion, vermutlich eine pampige Antwort, herunter, sah betreten auf den Boden, als hätte ich sie bei etwas ertappt, und besann sich.

Dies erstaunte mich nun wieder. Hatte ich einen Nerv getroffen? Ich hatte angenommen, dass das Geld ihres Vatis sie gestählt hätte gegenüber der Kritik des Pöbels. Scheinbar war das nicht so.

Mit merklich kleinerer Stimme und gesenkter Nase sagte sie schließlich:

„Ich verstehe, was du meinst, aber du musst dir keine Sorge machen. Ich bin eine ausgebildete Solo-Violinistin. Ich habe CDs aufgenommen, ich spiele in internationalen Orchestern, und wenn es von mir Aktien zu kaufen gäbe, wäre ich der Geheimtipp. Ich spiele übrigens eine Violine, die ungefähr das Zehnfache von der Gibson hier kostet. Ich weiß also sehr gut, dass man vor einem guten Instrument Respekt haben sollte. Aus diesem Grund möchte ich auch ein gutes. Einer meiner Lehrer sagt, es würde mir guttun, ein neues Instrument zu erlernen, um Saiteninstrumente besser zu verstehen. Also hat er mir die Gitarre empfohlen. Hier bin ich, und ich bin einfach nicht der Typ für ein Anfängerinstrument. Und falls es dich beruhigt, ich habe zwar eine schwarze Visa-Karte, aber ich bin nicht irgendeine neureiche Göre.”

Ich muss gestehen, ich hatte keine Ahnung, was eine schwarze Visa-Karte ist, aber scheinbar ist Schwarz das neue Gold und damit was Besonderes für besondere Menschen. Damit konnte sie bei mir keine Stiche landen, und ich verschränkte demonstrativ die Arme vor der Brust, um ihr das auch so zu zeigen. Sie hatte mich noch nicht überzeugt, auch wenn ihre Antwort mir gefiel.

Das mit der neureichen Göre sollte übrigens gelogen sein. Sie hatte Geld, ob es neureiches Geld oder altes war, spielte keine Rolle. Es war Geld, das sie sich nicht verdient hatte, aber mit vollen Händen ausgab.

Nach ihrer kleinen Rede senkte sich eine kurze Stille über unser Gespräch. Nun, ganz still war es nicht, denn im Hintergrund schrammelten Vater und Tochter Dissonanzen auf ihren Gitarren.

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Kapitel zwei: Der Überfall

Anke und Dirk studierten am Fähranleger kurz den Ortsplan und machten sich auf den Weg zum „Hotel Weiße Düne”, das sich in der Nähe des Strands, dem Kniepsand, befand. Sie ahnten nicht das ihnen Jemand folgte. Marianne betrat ein wenig später das Hotel, setzte sich in das Restaurant, welches sich, von einer Glastür getrennt, neben der Rezeption befand. Sie wählte einen Zweiertisch am Fenster aus, holte eine Schachtel Zigaretten der Marke „HB” heraus und wartete auf die Bedienung, die prompt erschien.

„Was kann ich für sie bringen?”, fragte der junge Kellner.

„Tasse Kaffee mit Sahne und einen Cognac”, gab Marianne ihre Bestellung auf.

„Darf es sonst noch etwas sein?”, wollte er wissen.

„Nein danke!”

Der Kellner entfernte sich und Marianne entzündete ihre Zigarette, schaute aus dem Fenster, sollte das Pärchen das Hotel verlassen, von hier aus würde sie es bemerken. Der Kaffee und der Cognac kamen.

„Sagen sie kann ich hier das Telefon benutzen?”, fragte sie den Kellner, nachdem er die Getränke serviert hatte.

„Ja sicher, es steht am Ende des Tresens, allerdings kostet das Ortsgespräch 30 Pfennige, Ferngespräche dürfen nur von den Hotelzimmern geführt werden.”

„Es ist ein Ortsgespräch. Zeigen sie mir bitte das Telefon.”

„Bitte folgen”, forderte der Kellner sie auf.

Marianne holte einen kleinen Zettel aus ihrer schwarzen Lederhandtasche, die Nummer des Feriendomizils war darauf notiert. Sie wählte und einen Moment später nahm Gudrun den Hörer am anderen Ende der Leitung ab.

„Ich bin es”, meldete Marianne sich, „die Fische sind im Aquarium. Soll ich die Angel bereit halten?”

„Mach das”, sagte Gudrun, „bleib` ihnen auf den Fersen, wir richten dein Zimmer mit ein. Melde dich, wenn es was Neues gibt.”

„Ich werde die Köder auswerfen”, antwortete Marianne und legte auf, begab sich zurück an ihren Tisch, schlürfte den heißen Kaffee, nachdem sie ein wenig Sahne eingegossen hatte. Ein zweiter Schluck Kaffee, nun passte der Cognac in die Tasse.

Zwei Stunden später, drei Kaffee und drei Cognac später, tauchte das junge Liebespaar im Restaurant auf, setzte sich ebenfalls an einen Tisch an der Fensterreihe, direkt vor dem Tisch von Marianne. Sie bestellten ein Bier und einen Rotwein. Marianne war froh, dass endlich etwas geschah, es hätte ja auch sein können, dass die Beiden heute nicht mehr aus ihrem Hotelzimmer gekommen wären, weil sie ihre Zweisamkeit alleine genießen wollten.

„Herr Ober”, rief Marianne, als der Kellner in ihrer Nähe vorbei lief, „ich möchte bezahlen.”

„Sofort, mecidiyeköy escort ihre Rechnung kommt”, ließ er verlauten und ging zum Tisch des Pärchens.

„Haben sie noch einen Wunsch”, befragte er die Beiden höflich.

„Nein, wir möchten auch zahlen und rufen sie uns bitte ein Taxi zur Blauen Maus”, sagte Dirk.

„Kein Problem, nur einen kurzen Moment”, antwortete der Kellner.

`Blaue Maus` überlegte Marianne, `was mag das denn sein`

„Macht 6 Mark und 50″, erklang die Stimme des Kellners hinter ihr und fügte hinzu: „Mit dem Telefonat.”

Marianne nahm ihr Portemonee aus ihrer Handtasche, öffnete es und gab ihm 7 DM.

„Stimmt so, wenn ich noch einmal telefonieren kann.”

„Natürlich, dürfen sie.”

Marianne rief nochmals im Feriendomizil an.

„Hallo, hier bei Hennemann”, meldete sich Eva.

„Ich bin` s”, flüsterte Marianne in den Hörer, „das Paar verlässt gleich das Hotel, will zur blauen Maus. Frag` doch Gudrun mal, was die blaue Maus ist, denn die kennt sich auf dieser Insel aus.”

„Augenblick.”

Kurz darauf hatte Marianne die Antwort.

Um kurz vor 21 Uhr betrat Gudrun die „Blaue Maus”, schaute sich in der rauch-geschwängerten Musikkneipe um, entdeckte das ausgewählte Pärchen an einem der kleinen, runden Holztische, auf denen gelbe Kerzen aus einer Messingschale ragten und ein gemütliches, warmes Licht im Raum verbreiteten.

„Entschuldigung junger Mann”, sprach sie Dirk an, „wären sie so freundlich mir zu helfen? Mein Wagen ist in einer Sandwehe stecken geblieben. Ich glaube ich bin einfach zu ungeschickt, um ihn daraus wieder zu befreien. Wären sie vielleicht so nett es einmal zu versuchen?”

Dirk schaute fragend seine Freundin an, die aber schon zustimmend nickte.

„Werde mein Bestes geben”, antwortete er und sprang auf.

„Sie dürfen gerne mitkommen”, forderte Gudrun das Mädchen auf.

„Ich warte hier, Dirk. Muss sowieso mal auf `s Örtchen.”

„Es ist gleich dort drüben”, sagte Gudrun zu dem jungen Mann, als sie das Lokal verließen, „direkt hinter dem kleinen Kiefernwäldchen.”

Drei Minuten später erreichten sie den Wagen. Gudrun ging einen Schritt schneller, so dass sie vor dem Jungen war, drehte sich plötzlich um, umarmte und küsste ihn auf den Mund. Gleichzeitig fielen von hinten Eva, Ursula und Marianne über Dirk her. Zwei verdrehten seine Arme auf den Rücken, sofort schlug Barbara das bereit gehaltene Seil um seine Handgelenke und zog die Vorbereitete Schlaufe fest. Dirk fing an sich wehren, wollte eskort „Hilfe” rufen, da traf ihn das Knie von Gudrun mitten in seine Geschlechtsteile, er stöhnte hörbar auf. Ursula hatte in diesem Moment seine beiden Fußgelenke mit Klebeband umwickelt und war dabei einen kleinen Klebestreifen über seinen Mund zu kleben, damit er nicht lauthals in der Gegend herum schreien konnte. Dirk war überwältigt! Sie zogen ihn bis zum Wagen, Marianne öffnete die Beifahrertür und die anderen Frauen drückten ihn auf den Sitz des Käfers.

„Ihr Beiden wartet hier, wir fahren ihn zu unserem Haus”, bestimmte Gudrun und nickte dabei Eva und Ursula zu.

„Wollen wir seine Freundin auch noch kidnappen?”, fragte Eva erwartungsvoll.

„Wir waren uns ja noch nicht so richtig einig, wie wir mit dem Mädchen verfahren sollen”, erwiderte Ursula.

„Ich denke es kommt auf die Situation drauf an”, sagte Marianne, „wenn sie gleich heraus kommt, um ihren Freund zu suchen, dann schnappt sie euch. Lässt sie sich aber nicht blicken, dann last sie da wo sie ist, meine Meinung.”

„Eure Entscheidung”, sagte Gudrun, „wir sind mit dem Wagen gleich zurück, um euch zu holen. Den Typen haben wir. Das ist die Hauptsache.”

Sie hielt die Fahrertür auf, klappte den Sitz nach vorne, so dass Marianne und Barbara auf dem Rücksitz Platz nehmen konnten. Während der Fahrt konnte Barbara den sich windenden Mann auf dem Beifahrersitz von hinten festhalten, in dem sie seinen Kopf in den Nacken drückte. Wenn er zu sehr zappelte verpasste sie ihm eine schallende Ohrfeige. Nach dem dritten Schlag auf seine Wangen blieb er still sitzen, ergab sich seinem Schicksal.

Eva und Ursula hatten sich indessen dem Lokal wieder genähert.

„Ob seine Freundin heraus kommt. Um nach ihm zu sehen?”, fragte sich Eva mehr sich selbst, bekam aber eine Antwort von Ursula: „Wenn sie ihn liebt, dann wird sie mit Sicherheit wissen wollen wo er bleibt. Immerhin ist er ja mit Gudrun hinaus gegangen, einer attraktiven Frau.”

Sie standen in der Nähe des Eingangs, die Sonne verschwand langsam hinter den westlich gelegenen Dünen der Insel, Grillen zirpten, eine leichte Brise wehte vom Festland herüber.

„Ich wette, die kommt gleich”, vermutete Eva.

„Abwarten”, erwiderte Ursula.

„Bestimmt”, sagte Eva und in diesem Moment wurde die Tür der Musikkneipe geöffnet.

Ein Mann trat heraus, entzündete seine Pfeife und marschierte in Richtung Wittdün davon. Eva blickte ihre Freundin Ursula enttäuscht an, denn sie hoffte auf diese junge Frau, wollte das Spiel nicht nur mit dem jungen Mann spielen, istanbul escortu eine junge Frau würde das Ganze viel interessanter gestalten. Wieder öffnete sich die Tür der Kneipe und diesmal war sie es!

„Da kommt sie”, flüsterte Eva erwartungsvoll ihrer Freundin zu.

„Ich habe es bemerkt.”

„Was nun?”, fragte Eva leise.

„Abwarten. Wir müssen erst einmal sehen wohin sie geht”, antwortete Ursula genauso leise. Auch ihre innere Spannung stieg an, das Adrenalin in ihrem Körper pulsierte. Anke kam direkt auf sie zu.

„Verzeihen sie”, sagte sie, als sie vor den beiden etwas älteren Frauen angekommen war, „haben sie zufällig einen jungen Mann mit einer Frau gesehen? Die Frau war so in Etwa in ihrem Alter. Er wollte ihr helfen einen Wagen aus einer Sandwehe zu fahren.”

„Sie sind seine Freundin?”, fragte Eva.

„Ja! Und ich mache mir Sorgen, denn er ist schon fast 20 Minuten verschwunden.”

„Vielleicht hat er sie ja mit der Dame verlassen und vergnügt sich jetzt mit ihr”, lästerte Ursula.

„Das kann ich mir nicht vorstellen”, empörte sich Anke.

„Also ich kann es nicht genau sagen, aber vor einiger Zeit sind tatsächlich ein hübscher junger Mann und eine etwas reifere Frau dort hin gegangen”, richtete Eva ihre Worte an das junge Mädchen und zeigte mit ihrer Hand auf das kleine Kiefernwäldchen.

„Dann schau` ich dort mal nach”, sagte Anke.

„Sollen wir sie begleiten und beim Suchen helfen”, fragte Eva.

„Das wäre nett. Ich kenne mich auf dieser Insel überhaupt nicht aus. Wir sind erst heute angekommen.”

Sie trabten los. Anke voraus.

„Machen sie sich man keine großen Sorgen, auf dieser Insel passieren keine Verbrechen”, beruhigte Ursula das junge Mädchen.

„Vielleicht gibt es Probleme mit dem Wagen”, hoffte Anke, „und er ist deswegen noch nicht zurück gekommen.”

„Wird wohl so sein. Und wir werden ihren Freund bestimmt finden”, sprach Eva ihr Mut zu.

„Er ist sehr zuverlässig, der Dirk, so heißt mein Freund.”

Eva schlang einen Arm um ihre Freundin Ursula, flüsterte ihr ins Ohr: „ Das Mädchen hat einen geilen Arsch, ich werde schon ganz feucht.”

„Beherrsch dich”, gab Ursula leise von sich.

„Jetzt packen wir sie”, schrie Eva heraus, stob nach vorne und warf Anke bäuchlings zu Boden, kniete sich auf ihren Rücken.

„Los doch, fessle ihre Beine”, forderte sie Ursula keuchend auf, ergriff selbst die Arme der überwältigten Anke, drehte sie auf den Rücken und hielt sie stramm fest.

„Beine gefesselt”, meldete sich Ursula, die das Klebeband um die Fußknöchel der jungen Frau gewickelt hatte.

„Hilfe, so helft doch”, schrie Anke laut heraus.

„Halt` s Maul”, herrschte Eva sie an, „Ursula! Kleb` ihr einen Streifen über den Mund.”

Anke konnte nichts mehr sagen, ihre Arme wurden auf ihrem Rücken gefesselt, ebenfalls mit Klebeband. Sie war wehrlos.

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“The Orcs of Ironfist Harbor are funneling arms to Highmaul.”

“Are you sure?” Pinter asked. “Yesterday in Gorgrond we found a pond full of waterbeasts instead of the Blackrock you promised.”

Pinter stood with Scout Valdez at the operations table in her town hall. A blaze nearly the size of a bonfire roared in the large meeting room fireplace as soft, purple sunrise shone through the window. Scout Valdez shifted just slightly as he examined the map spread on the table. He had a strong constitution, but Pinter had grown so much in a few weeks. When she asked a question, she wanted an answer. “Qiana returned from her reconnaissance at midnight,” Valdez said. “We are confident.”

“Very well,” Pinter said. “The day is clear. Destroy the supplies, kill the Highmaul emissary, and assassinate General Kul’krosh. I’ll find Mandala.”

“Good luck, Commander,” Valdez said.

He clicked his heels and saluted. Pinter returned with her hand at her forehead, and she left the town hall.

News of Pinter’s victory in the Slag Mines traveled fast. Very quickly Pinter earned a reputation, earned her gold, and won favor with Khadgar. Now she commanded a true fortress, nearly a castle, and one hundred Dwarves straight from Ironforge kept watch day and night. Pinter was a Commander, and she talked the part.

Pinter walked through the infant morning with the stiff smell of her stables permeating the dew-soaked air. The windows of the Testy Talbuk, her garrison inn, glowed soft and gentle with the day just beginning. She had the place built shortly after King Arian Wrynn himself expanded the walls of her garrison, and now she used it as the hub of her activities. Strange travelers somehow found their way to her garrison, each of them weaving some tale of adventure that usually ended with her and Mandala trekking to some dangerous part of Draenor and returning with whatever exotic treasure they had been sent for. The Testy Talbuk also attracted curious wanderers from Azeroth, and they were usually ripe for recruiting to her ranks, adding to garrison defense, volunteering for missions around Draenor to procure resources, loot gold, and cause general mayhem for the Iron Horde and their allies. The Testy Talbuk was also just a good place to enjoy a meal now and then, and Pinter even had her own private room if she ever wanted it.

Innkeeper Allison looked up from the bar as she ran a white cloth down its length. She smiled for Pinter and already bubbled with enthusiasm despite the early hour. “Good morning, Commander!”

“Is Mandala upstairs?” Pinter asked.

“Same room,” Allison said with a smirk. “Same room.”

Pinter passed a few tables already filled with workers from the barn enjoying breakfast before they spent the day toiling until sunset. She nodded at them as they greeted her, and she walked to the staircase.

She didn’t have to knock. As soon as Pinter reached the top step, two Dwarves wandered out of a corner room in just their underclothes, their armor in heaping handfuls that they struggled through as they kicked open the door with their feet. They saw Pinter and paused, staring over the mounds in their hands.

“Morning, fellas,” Pinter said.

“Commander,” one of the Dwarves said, and that was that. Pinter stepped aside as they went to the stairs.

She opened the door and found the purple-skinned Draenei sitting naked on the bed with her armor laid out at her feet. “Commander Pinter,” Mandala said. “I’ll be ready shortly.”

“Honestly, don’t you ever spend time in your own garrison?” Pinter asked.

“I have Draenei guarding mine,” Mandala said, her accent so wonderful to Pinter’s ears. “Your Dwarves are so much more fun.”

Pinter shook her head as Mandala laughed to herself. She stood, and the beautiful curves so common to her race snaked their way through the early morning. Pinter had a glimpse of dark nipples on Mandala’s perfect breasts. Draenei women truly were a sight, absolutely lovely, seemingly so delicate, but then Mandala hefted her plate leggings up to her waist. The paladin was a little wild, sure, but Pinter trusted no one else in the dark depths of Draenor. “Just be ready to fly,” Pinter said. “We’re assaulting Ironfist Harbor.”

“You are far too serious,” Mandala said as she slipped into her red breastplate. “You need some fun in your life.”

Pinter laughed, deflecting the jest, and she went back to the dining room for a cup of warm milk.

Maybe Mandala was right. After all, Pinter had saved Mandala’s life, snatching her back from the edge when death was just moments away. Ever since the fight in Bloodmaul, Mandala had been staying in Pinter’s garrison, enjoying the company, sleeping with whoever she could convince. Mandala didn’t have to do much with a body like hers. Pinter typically found her with one or two lovers each morning, usually Dwarven defenders, sometimes the mysterious traveler from the day before. Why wouldn’t Mandala enjoy herself when she had been denizli escort so close to the end?

Pinter had done nothing but build her garrison since Bloodmaul, since her night with Kerrak. Maybe she could stand to loosen up, too. But every time she thought she had a free moment to be easy and relax, some other instance demanded Pinter’s attention. She loved her life and was proud of what she knew Kerrak had helped her become. She was thankful for the chance to share something so magical with someone who had needed it just as badly as she did, but now Pinter had bigger business to attend to. She was a Commander, and so she acted like one.

Mandala dressed quickly indeed. She joined Pinter at the bar for a glass of milk in her full set of armor, her domineering visage drawing the usual awed stares from the garrison laborers in the dining room. Pinter and Mandala toasted the day, and then they bought their gryphon rides into Nagrand.

* * *

Pinter marveled at how much more quickly events transpired with an available flight path. A silly little Goblin greeted them on arrival in Nagrand and handed over the reins of two wolf mounts. Soon Pinter and Mandala sped west towards Ironfist Harbor.

Mandala cut in half the first two Orcs that greeted them. Pinter stayed far behind the Draenei paladin, who didn’t even need her for the most part, but as Mandala fought a trio of heavily armored Orcs just inside the harbor gates four more raced up the road to join the fight. Each one fell with an arrow in his eye slit.

Pinter and Mandala fought their way past large wagons filled with supplies, and they tossed torches and lighted arrows into each one. Every laborer who tried to stop them wound up dead. The two adventurers found their way to a large ring, an amphitheater of sorts, where a hefty Ogre in ornamental robes held a meeting with seven Orcs. Mandala charged into the ring with a war cry. The attendees turned all too late, and three of the Orcs were headless before the Ogre picked up his club to fight. Pinter downed the towering brute with an arrow through his forehead. Mandala cut the legs from the other Orcs, and they rushed to the tower where General Kul’krosh held his counsel.

A few Orcs in black armor met them on the spiral staircase inside, but none were a match. Pinter and Mandala emerged on the tower roof to find Kul’krosh ready for them with two large axes in hand. Pinter slowly walked out to the flank as the menacing Orc kept his eye on the two raiders, and then Mandala threw her axe shield.

Kul’krosh flicked it aside with one of his axes and ducked Pinter’s shot, but the hunter and the paladin were too much for him to handle at once. Mandala fought in a sweeping dance as she anticipated Pinter’s every shot, careful from experience not to stand still while she knew another volley was coming. Mandala’s shield parried a mighty strike from Kul’krosh. He dodged back from her counterstrike, raised his axe to strike in return. Pinter was waiting for this with two arrows primed and ready. She let loose. Kul’krosh fell dead with both eye sockets plugged.

Mandala searched the dead Orc general’s pockets and tossed Pinter some of the gold she found. Pinter looked over the harbor, perfectly ablaze with their handiwork. “Some morning,” Pinter said.

“We’ve had better,” Mandala said.

The two women walked uncontested through the harbor’s main gates. They turned east down the sandy road, but then what sounded like a lion wailing in agony drew their attention. Another tower was just off the road, buried in the thick trees, easily missed when they came this way earlier. Pinter kicked her wolf and hurried to see what the commotion was. “It’s not our mission,” Mandala said.

“Someone needs us,” Pinter said, and she leapt from her wolf, bursting through the tower’s main door.

Pinter was lightning up the spiral stairs taking the steps two at a time. As she reached the top she heard the deep, growly tone of an Orc as he laughed in derision. “I like how you cower, young Saberon,” the Orc said. “Do not stop or I will cut you again out of boredom.”

There was a loudcrackof a whip, and the agonized cry ripped through Pinter’s belly again, churning her insides with rage and pity for whoever suffered so terribly. She found herself beneath a closed trapdoor. She opened it a crack with a careful poke from her bow. Pinter saw two stout feet wearing heavy mail boots. There was a cage nearby, and a large sandy colored humanoid crouched in the corner crying as he endured his torture. Pinter growled at the sight, and she was in the open.

The Orc turned. A large Orc in a red tunic, a whip in one hand, a dagger in the other. He saw Pinter, who dashed to the side as the whip cracked down and missed her. The wooden floor splintered with the strike. Pinter set her arrow and fired. The Orc dodged, but he was too slow for Pinter herself. She rammed headlong into him, powered her legs with every ounce anal porno of retribution she could muster, and shoved the torturer over the side. He screamed as he fell, and he went silent as he landed with the loudsnapof multiple breaking bones. Pinter watched him for a moment, his limbs all bent at insane angles, and she turned to the cage.

It was a Saberon, one of the cat people she and Mandala had encountered while adventuring through Nagrand. Saberons bore signs of intelligence, but they managed little more than primitive villages in the grasslands. This Saberon wore a small loincloth and nothing else. His upper body was powerful, muscular beneath his soft yellow fur, but he was lined with lash marks. There was a cut on his cheek that stood out in dark red contrast to the rest of his body. Pinter stepped forward, and the Saberon pressed back against the corner of his cage with his body rising and falling with fast, frightened breaths.

Pinter shouldered her bow, stopped, and opened her hands in peace. “It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t hurt you. It’s over. He’s dead.”

The Saberon stared at Pinter with wild, yellow eyes. He glanced briefly over Pinter’s shoulder. She looked, and she saw the key hanging from a nail. “I’ll let you out,” Pinter said.

Pinter stepped closer to the cage. The Saberon drew back more. “It’s okay,” Pinter said. She put her fingers through the iron bars, and she waited. The Saberon’s breath slowed, and then he inched closer to her. He moved his nose to Pinter’s fingers, and he sniffed her. She laughed a little as he licked her fingertips with his rough tongue.

“Was it worth it?” Mandala asked as they rode again on their wolves. The flight station was just ahead.

Pinter looked back at the Saberon who trailed them by ten yards like an unsure pet. He walked on his hind legs, his thick, strapping arms held out to his side. Pinter made eye contact with him. The Saberon stopped for a second, only to rush ahead so he could make up the lost ground and continue on. “He’s free and he’s safe,” Pinter said as she looked ahead again. “I’d say it was very worth it.”

“You do like to make friends,” Mandala said. They mounted their gryphons to return to Pinter’s garrison. She wasn’t sure if there would be room, but the Saberon gave her no choice. Pinter returned home with her new friend riding behind her.

* * *

The gryphon master in Pinter’s garrison watched them fly overhead. When they landed he walked up with his head cocked, motioning behind Pinter. “Who’s the newcomer?” he asked.

Before Pinter could answer or even dismount, the Saberon leapt from behind her and bounded away, straight into the large barn just up the road. A few startled shouts followed, accompanied by two shaken laborers who jumped into the open and looked around in confusion.

“He’s a friend,” Pinter said.

The Saberon never left the barn over the next three days. At first the workers were afraid to go to work, complaining that all the Saberon did was hide in the loft and rumble quietly to himself. Eventually, though, in less than a day even they got used to him. Pinter would go to the Testy Talbuk to rouse Manadala in the morning and see the workers finishing up breakfast, getting a nice bucket of water and waiting on fresh bacon and eggs for their new Saberon inhabitant. “He keeps to himself,” the barn keeper, Homer Stonefield, told Pinter at the end of that first day. “And he watches us. He’s a curious fellow. He may come in handy.”

Pinter knew how curious he was. Every morning when she went to Scout Valdez downstairs in the town hall he had a present for her, something someone left on the front step. Little wreaths of wound up hay waited for Pinter in the morning, and she spotted large cat prints in the dust leading to and from the town hall front door. She smiled to herself whenever she found them, and she always meant to go talk to her new friend. But the day’s mission always drew her away with Mandala, and they returned home victorious and so exhausted they only wanted to eat and turn in until the following day’s assignment. She was glad the Saberon seemed to be fitting in, though. Pinter knew she had done right by saving him in Nagrand.

One morning dawned with the horizon blood red. Pinter saw it from her chamber window, and something cold gripped her insides. Hasty footsteps stopped at her closed door, followed by a few quick knocks. “Commander, ma’am,” a nervous, young voice said. “You are needed.”

A few minutes later, Pinter stood on the front step with Scout Valdez and three of her Dwarf defenders. Sergeant Crowley, her Stormshield attaché, joined them with eyes narrowed on the dawn that seeped crimson like a saturated bandage. He sniffed the air. “Smoke,” he uttered. “The Iron Horde is coming.”

“How could they find us?” Pinter asked, but then a low war horn rang out somewhere far away but far too close for comfort.

“Rally the lads,” the Dwarven Lieutenant said, porno seyret and they were off.

“I’ll wake the Barracks,” Sergeant Crowley said rushing away.

“Go,” Pinter said as she unshouldered her bow. She pointed at Scout Valdez and Lieutenant Thorn, the one-eyed Worgen who drew up missions for Pinter’s followers. “Gather the townsfolk. Get them in the mine and seal the entrance. The rest of us will deal with this.”

“Yes, Commander,” they said, but Pinter was already running to the Testy Talbuk. The Dwarves blew their alarm, and an anxious blanket covered the garrison.

Mandala greeted Pinter at the door to the Talbuk tightening her leggings, her sword sheathed and her shield strapped to her back. “Who is attacking us?” the Draenei asked.

“The Iron Horde,” Pinter said, and then an iron star sizzled over the wall, blasting in a cloud of molten sparks, racing up the main road straight for the Town Hall. An astute team of Dwarves shoved a cargo cart in the star’s path, and there was an explosion of red flame and twisted metal. It settled, and Pinter motioned for the Dwarves who poured into the garrison square. “Set up positions! They’ll be coming through the gate.”

They were already there. Pinter and Mandala led the way, loosing a barrage of arrows, chopping down Orc after black-armored Orc that charged through the garrison gate. The Dwarves shouted with the rush of battle they had all secretly longed for these last few weeks, and no one was denied the chance to shatter shield with hammer, cleave helmet with blade, shed Iron Horde blood that morning.

Pinter and Mandala worked in their uncanny coordination. Pinter didn’t even stop to think as the Draenei paladin ran from pack to pack, startling the Orcs into a cloud of confusion, giving Pinter the chance to cut down stragglers with her careful aim. They fought with an unspoken language, like they were meant to find each other here in Draenor. The Dwarves took advantage of the confusion, of the gaping paths Pinter and Mandala cut through the Orc ranks that kept charging into the garrison only to meet a foe they had not counted on facing in a hundred years. Pinter wondered if this was it, if this was all Grommash’s finest had to offer.

“Rylak!” a Dwarven voice called out.

Pinter looked above the town hall. A long shape with bat wings and the tail of an ear wig descended in silhouette from the morning sky. Two necks extended from the body, both with heads that barked like hell hounds. One of the heads jerked backwards, and a blue ball of lightning flew into the ground leaving a wide zone of crackling static.

“Pinter?” Mandala said, looking back from the pile of dead Orcs she had created.

“Stay here,” Pinter said. “I’ll deal with it.”

Mandala nodded and went back to work. Pinter was off and running.

She shouted commands to a few Dwarves that stared at the descending rylak in shock. They broke their paralysis at the sight of Pinter with bow in hand rushing headlong to destroy this new threat to everything she and so many others had worked to build. Two of the Dwarves joined Pinter with repeating rifles, and they aimed with her at the horrible flying beast. “Draw it to the ground,” Pinter said. “And keep firing while the others hack it to pieces.”

“Aye, m’lady,” the Dwarves said. The air cracked with rifle fire and whistled with Pinter’s arrows. The rylak landed and reared back with both heads roaring in challenge. Six Dwarf warriors were on it immediately. Pinter and her riflemen kept up their barrage, aiming for the beast’s eyes, distracting it while the warriors got close, got personal, got bloody. One of the heads whipped to the left, sending one of the Dwarves flying with a cry. The others jumped into the opening, each one finding flesh for his blade. The rylak howled in pain. Pinter found her killing blow, and she fired. Her arrow pierced straight through one of the rylak’s chins. The head swung lazily back and forth, crashing dead on the ground. The other head was weighted by its fallen counterpart, low enough for the warriors to finally strike home and sever it. Rylak blood poured through Pinter’s town square. It was dead.

A cheer went up, and Pinter felt the surge of morale from the victorious moment. A dozen more Dwarves seemed to appear out of nowhere ready to join the fight. They charged with Pinter back to the garrison gate where Mandala and the others were pushing back the last of the Iron Horde invaders who were too stupid not to flee. Pinter cut down two more Orcs. Mandala chopped one in half from shoulder to crotch. The Dwarves cleaned up the remaining mess, and everyone looked around as the morning suddenly went quiet.

The Dwarf Lieutenant panted over a groaning, incapacitated Orc who clutched his stumped leg on the edge of consciousness. He laughed. “Is that it?”

Sergeant Crowley stared cold and calculating through the garrison gate. Pinter followed his gaze, and then she heard it. The deep rumble of an engine. The ground vibrated through the soles of her boots, up her legs, into her knees. It wasn’t over yet. “Siege engine!” Pinter shouted.

“Form a line!” Mandala ordered, and then three of the Dwarves flew as the ground burst beneath their feet.

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This is just a non-erotic side story I made for the Adventure of Tash and John series. Just to give back story to the universe.

*****

March 28th, 2184 — 1300 Hours

Republic of Texas Carrier USS Houston – TXNC 16255

The room was a buzz of excitement. Corporal John Henry Baird sat in the large auditorium surrounded by the rest of the Republic of Texas Army’s 105th Airborne, first company. The room had probably warmed up a good five degrees since he had first entered. The USS Houston’s atmospheric controls seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the combined body heat of ninety or so paratroopers that filled the room.

Most of whom joked, laughed and chatted among themselves as they waited for the briefing to begin. As is right on queue, John saw the familiar stature of the companies commanding officer, Captain Adam Garcia, take the rooms center podium. The myriad of chatter started to diminish as the Captain, an older and tanned skinned man, loudly cleared his throat into the podiums microphone.

“Gentlemen,” He began, waiting for the chatter to subside before continuing. “At oh-nine-fortyfive hours yesterday the Commonwealth naval vessel HMS Indomitable detected a mass of unknown activity on this planet,” the Captain tapped a small series of keys on the podiums touch pad and the image of a solar system filled the large LED screen behind him.

The image circled in red the third planet in the small five planet system, designating it ‘S-42396-3’. “Ess four-two-three-nine-six dash three. Initial examination detected reactor signatures consistent with drive cores used by Breten Hvas affiliated pirate clans.”

The image shifted again. This time to a colored satellite view of a region on the planets surface. The image was high altitude but John could make out what looked like buildings buried half inside a small rock outcropping.

“High altitude recon drone passes were able to locate and determine the energy signatures originating from this point” Captain Garcia continued.

The area that John had thought to be buildings was now being highlighted. The satellite view began to zoom in.

“Further analysis has confirmed that this is indeed some kind of outpost operated by a Breten Hvas affiliated gang.”

The image pulled up a marking on one of the containers outside the outpost, showing clearly the scribbled hieroglyphs of the Breten Hvas insignia. The briefing screen once again pulled up an image. This time of one of the Breten Hvas guards. John thought they looked like somewhere in between a cross of a bird and a mantis. A small beak protruded from a rounded skull which housed four eyes.

Continuing down the neck met the body not unlike a praying mantis from earth. It had two long arms that ended with an almost sword like point. Each arm having about five fingers at the end for manipulation. The whole thing stood on four legs, but was however only about four feet tall altogether. It was a slim and apex hunter like frame. It was certainly alien to John. He snapped back to reality as Captain Garcia began again.

“Repeated drone passes have been able to determine their forces strength at about one hundred-fifty give or take. Ground penetrating radar has the whole complex only about two hundred meters into the rock face. Any questions so far?” Captain Garcia asked the room.

“Yeah” a voice chimed up. John really wasn’t able to see who was speaking. “Why don’t we just nuke ’em from orbit and be done with it?”

A smile crept along Garcia’s face almost as if he had been anticipating this question.

“Because,” The screen shifted to a different version of the recon photo and highlighted a new part of the image. It brought up a xeno, definitely not the Siven that made up the vast majority of the Breten Hvas slaver clans.

This one was tall and lanky. Its homeworld must likely be low G, John thought. It sported gray-brown skin, about four arms and four legs with a head that seemed to be on a swivel. John didn’t recognize it in the slightest. “They have hostages.”

John could hear most of his comrades stiffen. Hostages meant no nukes. No nukes meant ground operation. And that operation would be a rescue operation. Captain Garcia continued after a slight pause.

“We have no official estimate as to how many hostages they have. But at the end of the day it has been decided by the higher ups that they do not get to keep them.”

Fucking slavers, John thought. Slavery was already a black mark in Earth history, wars had been fought over it. Just as Humanity as a whole thought they had overcome their past, the New Holland Incident had reopened those long thought closed wounds. The sacrifice of the HMS Battleaxe was the first, and only, tipping point that Humanity had needed to declare and intergalactic war on slavery.

“Which brings us to defenses.” Garcia continued again, shifting the image to a more tactical overlay of the recon photo. “First analysis shows the main building complex to be lightly denizli escort fortified. There appear to be two watch towers built into the rock face on opposite sides of the main building.” The image enhanced to display them. They really were no more than a couple of domed walkways jetting out of the rock. The Hvas also appeared to have set up heavy guns of some kind in each tower. The image was shifted again.

“The enemy has also erected three medium sized bunkers facing each direction away from the rock face, encompassing the landing pad and main courtyard area of the outpost.” The image enhanced for a final time. “Recon has also determined the presence of at least two assumed anti-air positions within the outpost perimeter. Comparison with similar known emplacement shows this model as being an inner atmosphere weapon with a limited range. So high altitude flights will be well out of their reach.”

A hand popped up in the crowd. John recognized him as one of the newer recruits from second platoon. A Felix something-or-other. Captain Garcia motioned for him to speak.

“Do we know what the effective range is?” The man asked.

It was a solid question. They may not have been fly boys but they most certainly did their share of flying. It would be helpful as well if the Hvas decided to turn them groundwards as well.

“The gun shoots a canister that explodes at about fifteen hundred meters. They may have modified it. The canister explodes into a copper-tungsten shrapnel mix so keep an eye on your surroundings, I don’t want anyone getting hit by these things. Any other questions?” Captain Garcia asked.

The room was silent. After a few moments Captain Garcia tapped the podiums touch pad again, bringing up another overlay.

“Alright then, on to operational deployment.” The man said, continuing his previous formalized tone. “This is going to be a join Coalition Op.” Some groans could be heard from the troopers. Captain Garcia ignored them and continued. “Right now we are heading to rendezvous with Commonwealth ship HMS Irwin and Union ship USS Jefferson where we will be taking on troops from ANZAC’s Fifth Marine Expeditionary Force and US Army’s Twentieth Light Mechanized Infantry. The game plan is as follows.”

A region of the image became highlighted. “One hundred-fifth Airborne will insert via orbital drop at this location, five K south of the outpost. First Company will then proceed along this route to this elevated point two K from the outpost and establish a Forward Operating Base for our Forward Air Controllers. Once that is set Second and Third platoons will move southwest until they rendezvous with Fifth Marines. A detachment of Fifth Marines will have already linked up with the Twentieth Mechanized in the east. The main assault will begin once all units are set and Forward Air Control has confirmed and marked the enemy bunkers and anti-air.

“JDAMS will be dropped from orbiting A-100’s who will provide close air support as needed. Operational objectives are to neutralize all threats and retrieve the hostages. ROE’s are the same as normal, no firing on civilians unless they fire on you first, everything else is fair game. Questions?” The room was silent once again. “Alright, your platoon leads have all the necessary information. Get with them if you need to. Dismissed.”

With that, First Company stood and began filing out of the auditorium. Not long after leaving John felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. He turned to see his squad mates Johan Washington and Neal Ford flanking him.

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” Johan said as he gave John a firm smack on the back.

“Fuckin’ Aussies though man.” Neal chirped in before John could speak. “They’re always ‘Fuckin Cunt’ this and ‘Fuckin Noice’ that. Why don’t we just use the marine detachment here on the Houston?”

“Politics.” John was finally able to get in. “A Commonwealth ship found the place so they want ANZAC there to represent. Besides the grunts here are trained for ship to ship, not foot to ground.”

This comment produced a small laugh from Neal.

“Don’t want to get their precious gear all dirty. Oorah, huh?” Neal said as he made a mock marine style salute.

It was Johan’s turn to laugh this time.

“Well at least the Yankee’s you can understand. Similar history and all that,”

The group continued down the hall eventually turning into the common room that was set aside for the 105th. The room was filled with the indistinct chatter of his fellow paratroopers. John took a quick look around the room. There were a couple of new faces among the crowd.

New transfers, John thought. Such was life in the military. A sharp whistle followed by a yell caught his attention. John looked over to see his squad leader, Sergeant Robert Miller, beckoning him over. Johan, John and Neal quickly jogged over to meet him.

“What’s up sarge?” Neal inquired.

“Deployment assignments.” Sergeant Miller responded, handing each iskenderun escort of them a tablet. “We’ll be moving with the rest of First Platoon to meet up with the Aussies after they establish Forward Air Control.”

John studied the pad. It had a location map with a GPS along with several general equipment and movement orders. That was when something caught his eye.

“I see we’re using standard equipment, no hardsuits. The planets atmosphere is breathable?” John asked.

“Yeah it seems that way.” Miller replied. “Intel says the planet had a terraforming project that went belly up about a century ago. Instead of packing up some alien bigwig decided it would be more cost effective to just leave everything half finished. Atmosphere has grown pretty decent in that time. Oxygen value is about seventy per cent that of Earth at point-eight gee. Much higher nitrogen values to C-O-Two, but such is the stuff of life. I think Intel said there are some very basic moss and lichen growing in patches on the surface.”

“Planet should be a nice vacation spot in about three million years then.” Neal said grinning.

“Don’t reserve your condo just yet Ford.” Miller said. “We still have to evict some deadbeats.”

This produced a smirk from all three paratroopers.

“Deployment is at oh-six-hundred tomorrow.” Miller said. “Get some chow and some rest and be geared up and in the bay by oh-four-hundred. I got to go round up the rest of you. Dismissed.”

All three men gave a crisp salute and turned to leave the common room. John slipped the tablet into one of his uniforms side pockets and adjusted his patrol hat.

“So… Mess hall?” Neal asked pointing his fingers in the general direction.

John gave a sweeping hand motion that said ‘lead on’ and followed Neal and Johan down the corridor. The corridor was just as busy as it always was at this time. It was centered firmly inside the ‘Ground Pounders’ area of the ship. All that meant was that this hallway was the main access point to the barracks for the 105th and ship board marine detachment. There was also room for another unit and a half if need be. The armory and flight deck also had access points from this corridor.

The whole area was only slightly more full than normal. Marines and Troopers mingling in groups among themselves. A couple of naval crewmen in their recognizable navy blue and gray uniforms shuffled cautiously between the groups of ground pounders. Obviously trying not to attract attention. It wasn’t uncommon to see crew from the Houston in this area, but as a general rule the regular naval crew tended to stay away.

Too much testosterone and bravado packed into a small tin can dulls the brain, they would say. John wasn’t sure about the brain drain part, but there was something about being inside a vacuumed sealed titanium can. John had grown up under blue skies and warm light on Earth. The artificial lighting on board the Houston was just that, lighting. Not to mention the gravity. Artificial gravity, while a close approximation, had it’s quirks.

It probably didn’t help that it was a relatively new technology as well. Occasionally you would find yourself walking down a corridor, minding your own business in the standard 1 G when suddenly everything is lighter or worse, heavier. If you were really unlucky there wouldn’t be anything at all. Zero G in a line across the hallway.

Of course you can’t see it until you are in it, and by that time it’s already too late. It had happened to John a few times. He would be minding his own business when suddenly he could feel himself in a line of Zero G. Usually the area effected was small, maybe a little less than half a meter. But it was still enough to cause your body’s momentum to shift you forwards. At best it would trip you up, at worse it would cause you to fall flat on your face.

There was no sense in reporting it. The engineering teams would already know about it anyways. Anytime there was so much as a hiccup in the ships power network, a dozen different alarms would be going off to the engineers. Such is the necessity of redundancy. Fortunately John hadn’t hit any Zero G pockets in quite some time. Could be that they were finally starting to get the system down.

The three Troopers arrived at the mess hall without much delay. It was a fairly massive room which could probably seat about 200 people at capacity. And by the look of it, it was getting pretty close. John and his squadmates grabbed some empty trays and got in line for the dispensers. The wait wasn’t that long and before they knew it they were filling their trays with protein in all the flavors of the rainbow.

They had fake Spaghetti, fake chicken, fake beans… and oh hey, fake peach juice. John decided to indulge himself and grabbed some fake spaghetti with fake meatballs over fake sauce, some actual real toast, to his surprise, and a glass of peach juice. His comrades had already finished and were waving him over to xnxx porno their table.

Neal and Johan were already sitting with a couple of other troopers from his unit. John recognized some of them. Alfie Kenzington from First Platoon Bravo Squad, Romeo Garcia also First Platoon Bravo squad, and finally Sonja Ramirez from Second Platoon. John didn’t know which squad she was from, but it didn’t really matter.

Sonja was one of only five women in all of the 105th, and strictly off limits, as their commander liked to remind them. That was fine though, she wasn’t really John’s type anyways. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive, it was that she was one of them. A… sister-in-arms, and you don’t do things like that with your sister.

“So what’d ya get?” Neal asked as John sat down next to him and Alfie.

“Faketti and pseudo-meatballs.” John replied, feigning enthusiasm.

“Ah faketti, classic. Went with Faked Beans myself.” Neal said, picking up a spoonful and shoving it in his mouth. “Really ish the besht kind of protein.” He said, not bothering to swallow.

“Shut the fuck up Ford and eat your food! Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” John could hear Romeo say.

“Nah, she was too busy fuckin every guy who gave her a compliment. No time for teachin’ the younguns when you have dicks to suck.” Neal replied, shoving another spoonful in his mouth.

“Your family’s fucked up man.” Romeo said more as a general statement than anything else.

“That’s why I got you guys right? To keep me on the straight and narrow.” Neal said while putting his arms around both John and Johan shoulders, pulling them close to him.

“Yeah, just don’t ask me to suck your dick.” Romeo fired back once more.

“I wouldn’t worry about it Garcia, you ain’t got those dick sucking lips.” John could hear Johan say.

Neal just shrugged and looked down towards Sonja. “Ramirez?” He asked coyly.

“Fuck off Ford.” His reply came. “Not in your wildest dreams.”

“Eh… at least I got my beans.” Neal said, shoving another mouthful and chewing loudly.

John started to dig into his own meal. The ‘faketti’ looked about the same as it tasted. Like bland wet noodles in a bland sauce with something that might pass for meat. Not fantastic but you took what you could get when you were out in space.

Besides, the nutritional guides assured him that it had all the necessary protein, vitamins and fiber that his diet required. He guessed there was no accounting for taste. The toast was good though.

“So I heard the Aussies are on board.” Alfie said, breaking the short silent between the troopers. “They’re down in the deployment bay with the Yanks.”

“Mmm,” Sonja sighed contently. “I think I might try to pick me up a kiwi. Those accents of theirs makes me wet.”

“Oh god Ramirez, I don’t want to hear that!” John said, fork mid lift to his mouth.

“I do.” Neal perked up. “Keep going.”

Johan promptly gave Neal a punch in the shoulder, followed by a very curt ‘ow’ from him.

“So where are they bunking anyways?” Romeo asked, attempting to steer the conversation away.

“I dunno. I think just on the floor of the deployment bay.” Alfie responded. “I don’t think they saw a point of putting them up in the barracks since they are just going to be leaving tomorrow anyways.”

“Alright!” Said Neal enthusiastically. “Camp out in the deployment bay! I’ll bring the marshmallows. Won’t be able to light a fire but there should be enough heat coming from between Ramirez’s thighs that it shouldn’t be a problem.”

This caused another punch in the shoulder from Johan.

“Goddamn Ford, do you come with an off switch?” Romeo said as a chuckle escaped his lips.

“Haven’t been able to find one yet, Sarge.” Neal replied giving a big contented grin.

“Ya’ll are just jealous I’m going to get laid tonight.” Sonja said, picking up her tray and heading towards the recycler.

“Just don’t get pregnant before drop time!” Neal began to yell as Sonja walked away, flipping him off as she went. “Orbital drops aren’t good for babies! Also remember to wrap it before you tap it! And you can’t get pregnant if it’s in your throat! Ow! Fucker! That one actually hurt.” Johan had punched him in the shoulder again, causing Neal to rub the assailed area profusely.

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble one of these days.” John said, giving him a punch on his shoulder as well for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all fun and games until you get stuck with a sexual harassment suit. You sound like my guidance councilor..”

John just shook his head. “She sounds like a reasonable lady, you should have listened to her.”

“It was a him actually.” Neal decided to point out, obviously ignoring the hint that he should shut up. “Very feminine and flamboyant. I think he was gay.”

“Anyways,” Romeo said once again attempting to change the subject. “What’s up with these Aussies? I overheard that the Commonwealth insisted they be on the operation. What are they, some kind of Aussie space marine badasses?”

“Nah.” Alfie replied, chewing through a piece of toast. “Apparently they have experience with similar raids on outposts used by the Hvas. Mostly in ‘asset retrieval’.” Alfie said with air quotes.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

This story can be described as an extravagant daydream from a male perspective. Which explains why the concept is ludicrous. English is not my first language so I apologize for mistakes in grammar and spelling. All characters in the story are above the age of eighteen.

3: The Coronation

It is time for your coronation.

Prince Cumagan will become king Cumagan, the fourth with that name. The cathedral is prepared. The guests and officials are gathered. Your mother and soon-to-be wife, Alisha, has rehearsed the ceremony with you, but you are still uncertain about some details. She has told you not worry. The only, truly awful thing that could happen, she claims, would be your absence. The realm would be disappointed. And in danger. It needs its king. And breeder. The most trying thing for you is that the custom prescribes twelve days of chastity before the coronation. No fucking or sucking. Not even a kiss or a hug. At the same time you have been regularly drinking concoctions to strengthen stamina and potency. Torture.

You will be happy when this day is over, you think as you step out of the carriage and onto the platform in front of the cathedral of Revonia. Around the building members of the royal guard is posted, wearing golden armor and holding lances with white and purple streamers. The entire population of the capital is out on the streets. You wave benignly to the cheering crowd and then look up at the cathedral. It is a grand structure with five towers and many niches with life-size statues of men and women. All of them nude. Around the entrance there is a fascinating arch of intertwined statues, obviously representing lovemaking. Very skillfully done. It is a sight that might make anyone want to step inside to find true religion. You gather your long purple robe, lined with white fur, around you and enter. Alone.

You cross the stone floor in a dark chamber and then arrives in the main hall. It is filled with people. All of them women, obviously. As soon as you appear everyone kneel as if on a given signal. You try to walk slowly towards the high altar with something that could be interpreted as royal dignity. You can feel the red velvet carpet against your feet. Because you are naked underneath robe, in accordance with tradition. You cautiously watch the guests. About two thirds of them seem to be noblewomen, with lavish dresses and glittering jewels. The remaining third consists of a selection of your many sisters, recognizable with their violet eye color, and a hundred young women, some fair-skinned, some dark-skinned, all of them in bridal gowns. Interestingly designed gowns. The veils does not cover their faces. The corsets does not cover their breasts. The skirts does not cover their legs. They are your brides. All of them. You feel droplets of sweat on your neck and brow.

Finally you reach the open space surrounding the high altar, with its rather overwhelming statue portraying the goddess, the ultimate mother and mistress. If you could breed her you would become the progenitor of a new race of gods and giants. The gathered dignitaries bow towards you. In front of the high altar there is a newly erected podium and on it stands your throne. It is konya escort not as luxurious as one might think, it is centuries old and no one is allowed to redecorate it. To the right of it, on a lower level, your mother sits on another throne. She is wearing a gorgeous dress, studded with diamonds. Above her massive coiffure glitters the crown. The crown of the kingdom. Your crown. The state treasurer, a curvy blonde, steps to your left side and the chief attorney, a slender brunette, steps to your right side. They take your hands and lead you towards the podium. You cannot help thinking, with some nostalgia, that you fucked the state treasurer fourteen days ago and the chief attorney twenty-one days ago. They leave you to ascend the podium on your own, which you do, stand in front of the throne and turn around. First at this moment your mother and Caronna, high priestess of Revonia, bow to you. Then you sit down on the throne. The wood creaks beneath you, but it holds together.

Caronna raises her staff of office and the congregation stands up. Caronna is in charge of the ceremony, after all this is her cathedral. There is something almost harsh over her sunburnt face, something one would not expect in a priestess serving the goddess of love, though you would still call her attractive. Sometime in the future you will investigate the body under that dark grey robe.

“Blessed be the goddess!” Caronna begins, with a voice used to public speaking, “Blessed indeed, for she has blessed this realm. An unbroken line of kings has ruled us in peace and prosperity. And this line continues today with Cumagan. He has already showed his worthiness, his devotion to the needs of the realm, his attention to the desires of his people. Rejoice! Our people shall not perish, our kingdom shall not be depopulated. Therefore we are here to honor him that should be honored above everyone else. To make him our king and supreme breeder. May his offspring fill the land! May his lineage never expire! May we deserve his seed! Blessed be Cumagan! Blessed be the Reversang dynasty! And blessed be the goddess!”

The congregation echoes: “Blessed be the goddess!”

Caronna makes a gesture and Iridina, one of your sisters, step forward. She is wearing a mantle of golden silk, glistening like metal. Her face, framed by a silvery coronet, is dazed. Caronna pulls the mantle aside. Underneath Iridina is just as naked as you are. Caronna touches her pussy lips with the head of her staff. Iridina quivers. She seems extremely sensitive at the present moment. Caronna replaces the staff with her right hand and starts caressing your sister.

“In the beginning the goddess allowed her divine juices to flow”, continues Caronna, “And the god was lured by her scent and she welcomed his body into her body and they copulated for a million years and from their mixing of fluids the world and all life in it was born. Therefore, in man and women is a divine essence, the juices that flow in mating. Copulate and you do the work of the goddess. Make love and the goddess shall bless you. God and goddess, man and woman, we fuck, we mate, we become divine. Praise to the goddess!”

During this speech Iridina Chirie Auto Chisinau has become more and more dissolved in pleasure. With extraordinary timing the orgasm spurts forward with the final words. The cries of Iridina fill the hall. Her legs bend under her and she sinks to the floor. Caronna makes a sign of benediction over her head. Then a serving girl helps Iridina to some cushions. Caronna steps up to the throne and holds her moist hand in front of your face.

“Receive the juice of woman, which originate in the goddess. With it you shall be anointed and blessed by the goddess.”

You lick her hand, a little bit hesitatingly at first and then eagerly, lapping each finger. Caronna steps back and raises her arms.

“He has received the goddess. The goddess is with him and he is with the goddess. Blessed be the goddess!”

Once again the congregation echoes: “Blessed be the goddess!”

Then your mother arises. When the folds of her dress straightens out you notice something. Her protruding belly. She is pregnant. With your child. She has not told you, successfully hidden the change until now. You want to rush up and embrace her, but realize it would disturb the proceedings. Alisha removes the crown and holds it with both hands.

“This crown I received from my husband and father. I have carried it to aid my son and king. Now I return it to him as is proper. May he possess the crown with wisdom and honor. With love and devotion, not envy or regret, do I perform this act.”

She steps over to you and offers you the crown. You touch it, not taking it yet.

“I receive this crown from my honorable mother so the unbroken lineage of kings shall not be broken. May the goddess and all my forbearers grant me wisdom and honor.”

You take the crown and place it on your head. It doesn’t really fit you, it is a bit too small, but at least it stays on your head. Alisha kneels and shouts: “Long live the king! Cumagan the fourth!”

Everyone follows her example: “Long live the king! Cumagan the fourth!”

But you do not care about the adulation. The only thing you see is your mother’s sweet face. And the only thing you feel is your hard erection. Surely those around have seen the bulge in the robe. You whisper, almost painfully: “Mother…I need you…”

“And you shall have me, my son.”

She unclasps your robe and shows your naked body to everyone. Then her mouth engulf your cock. You know that this time is special. This is not merely a blowjob, it is a proposal. That is how it is done in the realm, with the sucking of cock or licking of pussy. Your mother is asking for permission to become your wife. And the only thing in your mind is to fuck that heavenly mouth, see the love in those violet eyes, prove with your seed how much she matters to you. She pulls away from your cock and you groan in disappointment.

“My son”, she gasps, “My son and king…Will you take me as your wife?”

“Yes…By all the gods, yes!”

“The action have been performed and the words have been spoken”, interjects Caronna, “You are now husband and wife, in the eyes of the goddess.”

“Then…My wife and mother…Continue to serve me.”

“Later, porno izle my kingly son. You have other duties to perform.”

She takes your hand and together you step down from the podium. The officials have carried forth a kind of table covered with white cloth. You feel the crown being lifted from your head.

“I take care of it for now”, Alisha explains, “We do not want it to fall into the floor. Remember, you must not fuck all of them today. Just as many as you like. Or are able to.”

A bride is led to the table. Her swirling hair is bluish black. She has brown skin, small earrings and a cute smile.

“I am Guina, your majesty.”

“Glad to meet you, Guina. I…”

She drops to her knees and sucks you. The compliment dies on your lips in a hoarse groan. Guina shows great enthusiasm. After a while she looks at you.

“My king…Will you take me as your wife?”

“Yes…Yes, I will.”

Guina jumps up on the table and spreads her legs for you. The pent up energy from your enforced chastity is released. In one movement you kiss her and penetrate her pussy. She holds on to your shoulders as you pound her. Her little noises of pleasure make you wild. The table shakes under the onslaught. And with blinding haste you climax together. When the seed is seen in her pussy a chorus rings out: “Blessed be the goddess!”

Before you have time to say something to Guina she is replaced by another bride. This one has hair with the color of wheat and a wicked smile curves her intensely red lips. She doesn’t even introduce herself before going down on your cock, first lapping and then sucking. You push yourself deep in her throat and she takes you without problem. Though her eyes are moist when she asks: “Will you take me as your wife, my king?”

“Oh, I will.”

You lift her up on the table and fucks her with abandon. She encourages you with her smile and bucking body. You are going to breed this vixen. You are the breeder and she shall be breed. That is all you can think. Once again you erupt and once again the chorus rings out: “Blessed be the goddess!”

The rest of the day becomes a blur. The names elude you. All you see is faces in the throes of divine agony. All you can feel is body pressed against body, your hardness against their wetness. And you fuck and fuck and fuck.

Until you let out a sigh of relief that makes the hall reverberate and then you collapse into oblivion.

You wake slowly, feeling heavy and thirsty. Nursing hands touch you.

“Do not exert yourself, my son. Or perhaps you prefer that I use the address ‘your majesty’ from now on?”

There is humor in your mother’s voice, but also worry. You heave yourself up into a sitting position.

“What…What happened? It feels like I been sleeping for a week…”

“Not a week. Three days.”

“Three days! But…My brides…How many…”

Your mother glows with pride.

“All of them. You fucked them all. Left your seed in them all. In one single day. Of course you became fatigued. Would have been strange otherwise. I am afraid you need to rest for three days more. No copulation. Not even with your mother.”

Instinctively one of your hands have been caressing her bosom.

“Dreary…How do you know that I will not die of boredom?”

“Well”, she muses while removing your covers, “I suppose one little sucking will not hurt you.”

“Give me your pussy instead, mother”, you insist, “I need a drink.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bracken Short Story.

Foot falls echoed down the dimly lit hallways, the beams of three flashlights cutting through the dark gloom, identifying three people walking through the abandoned factory.

The metal flooring made stealth impossible, their boots hitting the floor advertising their presence to anything that could be in the area.

The three men were clothed in orange hazmat suits, providing limited protection from multiple hazards. They also wore hazmat helmets, the heavy items connected to an even heavier pack which could supply air to them if they were in hostile environments, thankfully the climate here was hospitable so the men could take their helmets off if they wanted to.

One of the men inwardly sighed, regretting the many life choices that had led him to this profession. Could it really be called a profession though? The only thing he and many others did was search through old facilities, gathering items of ‘value’ to sell to an eldritch abomination.

He had never gotten a good look at the creature, just its tentacles when it would shoot out of a window to take items that had been scavenged. He didn’t know why or what it could have possibly wanted with what most people would label garbage, nor did he know why The Company was so interested in getting said garbage to the creature either.

The Company. How he regretted signing on to them. Their job postings appeal to people down on their luck. They offered insane pay, for what they advertise as a relatively easy job. And it was… if you managed to survive.

He had needed the money and he had no other options so he had signed on, despite the vague job descriptions, the shady person he’d talked to about the job, and the numerous forms he’d signed to take the job.

The job was simple, work for a month, and make a years salary in that time. Provided you survive.

He’d seen a few people put their month in, but he’d seen many more people fall trying to get there. The places we got sent to were dangerous, either from local fauna, or the old, abandoned buildings we’d be sent into to look for junk to bring back.

Crews were given a quota to fill, salvage a few hundred dollars worth of debris and bring it back. Any crews that failed to fulfill their quota were ‘terminated’ as The Company put it. People quickly found out just what that meant when previously crewed ships would be seen getting filled with a brand new crew, just a few hours after the previous crew sent out.

He wondered why the governments didn’t do anything about it, but a part of him knew there was something bigger going on here, but he’d never know more than what little was required of him.

So, here he was, walking through an abandoned factory next to two men who he’d never talked to, who he knew did not give a single damn about him. You just tried to do your job and get out alive.

His previous crew had gotten wiped out by an Earth Leviathan, he would have met the same fate as them if he hadn’t forgotten his flashlight, those scant few seconds saving him from a grisly end. He’d had to fill the quota by himself, which was tough but he was just barely able to do it.

He got transferred to a new crew after that, this one. The two men with him he did not trust at all, and the 3rd was on board the ship, monitoring the maps, ready to inform them of anything in the area, that one seemed similar to him, just wanting to do his job and get out.

A glint caught his eye, tearing him from his thoughts as he swung the flashlight around to what he saw, seeing multiple items lying on the ground.

“Jackpot.”

He swung his flashlight around the area, making sure there was nothing around before walking forward. The other two next to him did the same.

On the floor and shelves were several pieces of scrap, but as one of them drew their flashlight further they spotted an engine lying in a corner. “No one must have come through this area before, place is loaded.”

“Ya, or we could be in a hoarding bug nest.”

“Then let’s hurry up before the little bastards get here.” The two men set to work, the man who spotted the engine picking it up and walking towards the two who were rummaging through some shelves, but he suddenly stopped in his tracks, looking past them.

His friend was too busy picking scrap up off the ground, but the other man noticed, turning around. “Oh god.”

The third guy finally stood up, looking at what the other two were looking at.

The radio chirped. “Guy’s, there’s something in the next room over.”

Stood in the doorway was a Bracken, a tall, vaguely humanoid creature, but extending out of its back were multiple flower like appendages, and in place of its eyes were two silver, glowing dots, making it stand out in the darkness as it stared at them.

It began to emit a low rumbling sound, the leaves on its back making a rustling sound as it began to step closer to them.

“Shit, run!”

He heard the two men behind him drop their items, and just as he turned around malatya escort he found himself being shoved by the man behind him. He stumbled backward, falling to the ground towards the Bracken. This was it.

He heard the creature running towards him and he tensed up, closing his eyes and waiting for those hands to close around his neck. Instead he heard the footsteps go past him, the man opening his eyes to see the Bracken turn around the bend they had come from.

A few seconds later he heard the terrified screams of the two men who had tried to sacrifice him. The first scream was cut short, but the other one soon turned to pleading, the man on the ground recognizing the voice as the one who had pushed him.

“No no no no, please, no! Oh god no, no no no, NO, N-AHHHHH!” The sound continued for 2 or 3 seconds until it suddenly ceased, immediately followed by a dull thud.

The man just sat there, breathing heavily, his heart going a mile a minute as he waited for the Bracken to come back, but after a minute passed with no sound at all he slowly got back onto his feet.

He picked his flashlight up and slowly made his way towards where his crew and the Bracken had gone.

Just before the room with all the scrap was a catwalk that was around a bend, and as he peeked around at it he could see that’s as far as they had gotten. Not because their bodies were there, no, the only sign they were there was the glowing flashlight on the ground. The two men were nowhere to be seen.

But then a radio crackled again, and he looked toward the source, shining his flashlight down at the endless blackness below. He couldn’t see the corpse, but he knew it was the man who had pushed him, because he was the only one who had a radio.

“Hey, man, can you hear me? I think the other two are dead, monitor says one of them is right next to you, but the other got carried off. It was a Bracken, wasn’t it? You gotta get out of there now… Wait… What the hell is… OH FUCK!” He heard running, then the sound of the ship door closing.

“There’s dogs outside. God. I’ve gotta… I’ve gotta get out of here, I’ll come back in the morning, just… Just survive.” The radio cut out, and a few seconds later he could hear the roar of the engines as the ship took off.

His arms grew limp. Survive a night. He’d be lucky if he made it another hour in this place. He didn’t blame the guy for leaving, he wouldn’t have been able to get back onboard anyway with the dogs nearby, but, damn.

He looked down at the blackness again, his thoughts turning back towards the Bracken. This thing loved to toy with its prey, stalking them from the darkness, then pouncing when they weren’t looking, grabbing them by the neck and breaking their spine before they could do more than gasp.

He guessed that’s what had happened to the other guy, but why had the same not been done the one who’d shoved him? Maybe this one was just a bit more sadistic than some of the others? It loved to get people when they were vulnerable too, so why had it not gone for him when he’d fallen and his back was to it?

Maybe it just wanted more of a game, and didn’t like having its food thrown to it. It would have plenty of time to play its games with him now. He wondered what he could do. Sit here and wait to die? Go somewhere else and die there instead? Hold out in a lit room and also wait to die?

There was nowhere for him to go. If he went outside he’d get eaten by the dogs, or whatever other creatures were out there, god forbid one of those giants catch him, he did not want to be eaten alive by a giant tree.

A rustling stirred him from his thoughts and he turned his head left to look, his shoulders slumping with relief when he saw it was just a hoarding bug. It was staring at him just past the catwalk, its body partially obscured by a wall it was peeking from.

They had a very good habit of making people jump by running out from corners, and he’d even heard of some that were bold enough to take scrap right out of a person’s hands. The sight gave him a bit of hope.

Hoarding bugs made for good meals for other more dangerous creatures around, and if there were hoarding bugs around it was a good sign that there wasn’t anything dangerous in the area. If those bugs and the Bracken were all that was here there was a possibilty he could survive after all.

The bugs he could probably shoo off, or bribe with some scrap, and as long as he kept his wits up he could probably keep the Bracken from getting close, provided it acted like the typical Bracken, but so far this one hadn’t.

He heard a sloshing sound off to his right and he turned his attention to that, finding a blue puddle slowly moving towards him.

“Oh, you fucking…!” He had seen these things a few times, Hygrodere they were called. They were massive predators that looked like a goo blob, their insanely dense form allowing them to go up stairs and over mesh, slowly chasing down their prey, in this case, him.

They weren’t konya escort hard to evade, their incredibly slow movement making it unlikely to be killed, provided they didn’t corner you. If you did find yourself caught by one, you’d suffer an insanely painful death, slowly being broken down by the acidic goo.

He tried to go for the flashlight on the ground, but it was too close to the blob, the man watching it get swallowed up and dissolved. He turned to go back the other way, but as he got closer he saw the hoarding bug wasn’t moving away, instead it stood up taller, its wings expanding as it took up a threat pose.

He didn’t have time for this, and he didn’t have anything to give to the creature either. He walked closer, preparing to punch it in the face, but at the last second the bug went away, allowing him to go back into the hallway.

It had gone down the way he and his crew had originally come in from, and as he looked down there he was glad it had retreated, seeing 4 others standing nearby, all staring at him. He wouldn’t have won a fight against 5 of those creatures.

He couldn’t go back that way, and he couldn’t turn back either, so he was forced to go down the hallway his crew had avoided earlier, entirely due to the fact that there were no lights, and a heavy mist making it impossible to see what was ahead.

His heart started beating even faster, his fear bordering on paranoia, always thinking something was just in front of him, barely out of sight. He hadn’t met a single person who liked those hallways filled with fog, they were impossible to see in, you hardly knew where you were stepping, and flashlights did nothing to help in it.

His relief was palpable when he saw that the fog thankfully didn’t go more than a couple of feet, his flashlight cutting through the darkness, revealing another catwalk. There were no other ways to go so he walked forward.

It was arranged in a T intersection, the catwalk going forward into a storage room, and as he walked past the T he looked to his right, seeing a dark hallway, his beam quickly swallowed up by the darkness as he looked down it.

He shuddered, deciding to go towards the storage room instead, seeing if there was anything of value in there.

This room was actually lit, and when he walked in there he almost dropped his flashlight, a gasp escaping him. This place was a literal goldmine, various scrap items sitting on shelves all over the place. There was enough here to fill their quotas for the entire month.

A smile crept onto his face as he walked towards the closest shelf, his fear of this facility fading to the back of his mind, instead replaced by a glimmer of hope for the future. If he could survive the night he and his crewmate would be completely set.

He heard a squeaking sound off to his right, turning over, only to find himself scared to the bone. Illuminated for a split second was the Bracken, and much to his horror, he saw it just as it finished pulling the single light in the room out of its housing, sending the place into blackness.

He stared at it with wide eyes and it turned its gaze over to him. It peered at him for a second, those glowing eyes staring right at his own, tilting its head lightly, and then it dropped the bulb.

If he could have jumped out of his skin, he would have. The bulb shattered on the ground, tearing through the silence, and he launched himself back in fear, falling to the ground and kicking himself up against a corner, watching as the Bracken quickly stalked away, its eyes never leaving him as it turned around a door at the far end of the room.

Never in his life had he felt such fear. He tucked his arms in closer to his chest as if he was cold, his eyes wide as his flashlight shakily aimed at the doorway the Bracken had exited from. All hope of him surviving the night vanished in an instant.

He had hoped to be able to keep his wits up, constantly minding the area, but this creature had silently stalked into the room, not a single sound being made. It could have snuck up behind him while he was looking at the shelves, it had ample opportunity to take him out.

Instead it had gone for possibly his biggest defense, his ability to see. He almost wished it had taken him out instead of doing that. It wanted to enjoy the night though, toying with its prey. There was no other reason for it doing what it did, it was playing with him.

It was going to terrorize him for however long he could keep it entertained. He could already picture it stalking him from the shadows, peering at him as he passed hallways, the creature uttering that low, insect-like sound as it shook its petals to terrify him, eventually going in for the kill when it grew tired of toying with him.

His adrenaline pumped when he heard a buzzing, and he swung his flashlight to the right, ready to see the Bracken staring at him, but instead he was greeted by the face of a rapidly approaching hoarder bug.

He screamed, raising his arms up to protect erzurum escort himself as it fell on him, the creature wrestling with him, dread pulling at him when he watched its claws wrap around his flashlight.

“NO! NO!” He desperately tried to keep hold of the light, wrapping both of his hands around it, but the creature was just as desperate to get the item as he was to keep it. It leaned forward, setting its mouth on his hand, biting down.

“Ahhh! Damn it!” He wrenched his hand away from the creature, leaving only one hand left on the flashlight. His grip was no match for the creature’s frantic kicks and movements, the light wrenched from his hands, the man watching in despair as it flew off the way he had come, the light rapidly dissapearing.

He didn’t care about his injured hand, the creature hadn’t bitten down hard enough to even break the skin, he only cared about his sole lightsource being stolen. He starred slackjawed at the now dark doorway the bug had flown down, his mind blank.

He stared for several seconds, his outstretched hand going completely limp and falling down with a thud, not caring about the dull pain that came from his arm hitting the ground. He had no chance of surviving without a lightsource, he was easy pickings for anything in this place, especially the Bracken.

He turned his head over to the hidden doorway the Bracken had come from, silently imagining the glee it would feel when it realized he was essentially blind now. A normal Bracken would have killed him when he was snuck up on earlier, but this one wasn’t a normal Bracken.

What would it do now that he couldn’t see anything? He didn’t want to imagine the horrors that awaited him and he didn’t want to stay here and just wait to be killed, so he slowly stood up, taking in the pitch blackness, doing his best to remember how the room was.

There were 3 doorways in here, and they were all on the right side of the room. One was the far doorway which the Bracken had gone down, the closest was the doorway that he had come from, which had the bugs and the Hygrodere slowly heading toward him. That left the door in the middle.

He slowly made his way over, cursing whenever he stubbed something with his shoes. He soon made his way to the wall, running his hand along it as he moved forward until he felt nothing. He took a step forward, feeling around, finding a wall to his left and right. He was at the door.

He took a cautious step forward, he had to be careful now, he didn’t know what the floor was like in this area, or if there even was floor. He felt along the wall, slowly shuffling forward. He quickly approached what he found was a 4 way intersection, seeing a singular light far off in the distance to his right.

He decided to look back the way he had come and his heart jumped out of his chest. The Bracken was peeking through the doorway its glowing eyes the only thing visible. Just as he spotted it it slinked away, the man listening to the petals shake as it walked off, the ominous sound disappearing.

He stood there, catching his breath for a few seconds before he started walking towards the lightsource, make frequent glances behind him to make sure the creature wasn’t sneaking up on him.

He took a glance behind him, seeing nothing, but as he was doing that he walked up on a pipe jutting out of the wall. It was low to the ground, at the perfect height to take out shins, and that’s exactly what it did.

He slammed his right leg into the metal pipe, a dull thud heard, followed by a pained groan, and then the sound of him falling to the ground.

He turned himself over onto his back, letting out a pained laugh as he rubbed the spot which would no doubt be bruised all to hell in a few hours, if he survived. He slowly got back up to his feet, keeping an eye down both ends of the hallway before moving forward again, a pained expression hidden beneath his visor.

He quickly made his way to the light, standing in the center of it. He looked around, not seeing anything so he walked forward some more, soon finding himself in darkness again. He was soon stopped by a wall though.

He felt around, but all he felt were pipes and wall. It was a dead end.

He slumped his head in defeat. Hanging it there for a few seconds, but eventually he looked back up, turning around to make the trek back the way he had come.

He froze, taking in a gasp, then shoving himself back against the wall. Silhouetted against the light was the Bracken. He stared up at its face, seeing nothing there for a second, but then its eyes opened.

It had been following him the entire time, keeping its eyes closed when he was looking at it.

He prayed to god it would go away now that it had been caught, but it didn’t. Instead, those petals on its back starting to shake, and it made that chittering sound again. It took a step forward and the man pressed himself further up against the wall, putting his arms to his sides.

As it got ever closer he closed his eyes, turning his head to the side, waiting for his end to come.

The creature was making a chittering noise constantly, and its petals kept shaking, letting the man know how close the creature was getting, and when it was right in front of him it suddenly stopped.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

[pre-story] Hey there, squish here, with the continuation of Rhuno’s adventures across Azeroth! The story, and the chapter, chosen by my faithful patrons! This installment takes our hero to a remote corner of The Blasted Lands. This one’s takes off a little slow, I really wanted to get some character development in there, and it ended up taking more space than I thought it would. Hopefully, it was worth it in the end! Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: All characters are 18 or older.

Content Warnings: Huge cocks, excessive cum, impregnation, cumflation, and furries.[/pre-story]

Chapter 2: A Hero’s Reward

Tonight, like every night in recent memory, a tense quiet hung over the Howling Drunk Inn. The few patrons, a selection of the town’s old, infirm, and cowardly, sat in humbled silence, nursing mugs of porter as the night dragged on interminably. Donna Berrymore, the innkeeper, stood behind the bar, mechanically re-washing the unused mugs. She was a mature woman, with warm tan skin, raven-black hair, and a glare that could send even the most ornery drunk cringing out the door. The young barmaid, Becca, was the only one moving, pacing around the room, clearing away empty mugs, impatiently seeking something, anything to do to keep herself busy.

Becca was a petite, slender thing, just barely more than five feet tall. She had a cute, mousy sort of look to her, with soft features dotted with a handful of freckles, a cute little button nose, and large, chestnut-brown eyes. Jaw-length brown hair was tucked hurriedly out of the way behind her ears, a few stray locks curling forward to brush against her cheeks. Her uniform was typical of her job, an ankle-length brown dress that hung loosely off her admittedly average hips, a laced leather bodice that cinched her already slim waist even tighter, and a frilly top with a neckline that bared her shoulders and the modest cleavage of her firm, orange-sized breasts. She was practically the ideal barmaid, attractive in that girl-next-door way, but not distractingly eye-catching. She almost seemed to blend into the background when you weren’t looking.

Becca was reaching for old man Jensen’s empty mug when she realized he’d perked up in his seat, tilting his head toward the window, listening to something. One by one, the other patrons followed suit, brows furrowing in confusion, and then Becca heard it too. It was quiet and indistinct at first, but it grew louder and closer by the second, resolving into something the town hadn’t heard in a quite a while. Singing. Raucous, off-key, out-of-tune singing. A dozen rough voices rolling over one-another as they sang with a kind of carefree joy that hadn’t been heard in Surwich for months. The sound alone was immensely refreshing, even if it was terrible.

The song grew louder and louder, until the front door of the inn suddenly burst open. The militia poured into the inn, perhaps a dozen men and women, some human, some worgen, all exhausted and clad in mis-matched, rusty, dented armor smeared with mud and black, green, and crimson blood. But every single one of them was grinning triumphantly through the filth, even those bearing hastily-bandaged wounds, and they sang loud and proud. A man with a ratty top hat broke from the crowd lingering by the door, stepping forward, his hard beard split by an irrepressible grin. “Donna!” He called. “Ready a room an’ open a tab, an’ put it all on the mayor’s dime! The Hero of Surwich drinks free tonight!” He half-shouted, half-laughed. The group behind him cheered, pausing in their singing just long enough to turn and usher an unseen figure forward.

The militia parted as a mountainous, shadowy figure suddenly filled the doorframe, so big it had to duck through, its horns scraping at the wood as it passed the threshold. When it straightened up again on the other side, it loomed over the crowd around it, easily eight feet tall, its square shoulders as broad as three men standing shoulder to shoulder. As it stood there on iron-shod hooves, long, pointed horns crowning its head, it looked almost like a demon. But there the similarities ended. The figure was covered head to toe in gleaming silvery armor, thick plates of metal trimmed with turquoise-studded gold. The thing’s chestplate, gauntlets, and pauldrons all bore the same motif, a large golden sun-disk in the center, radiating thin rays of gold all the way out to the edges. On its back, it carried a massive circular shield, an inch-thick wall emblazoned with the same sun-disk, large enough for a man to stand behind it and be completely hidden. On its waist hung a wrist-thick scepter of silver inlaid with gold, crowned with a sphere of gold as big as a man’s head, a mighty mace.

The figure shifted, its expression hidden beneath a silvery helm, and reached up with gauntleted hands. After a moment’s fumbling with the clasp, the helmet’s lower half swung free, and with one hand, the figure lifted the rest up and forward, revealing its face. Rhuno’s coal-black brow konya escort furrowed slightly as her cast his gaze around the tavern, startlingly blue eyes assessing the situation, before settling on the innkeeper and offering her a respectful nod.

Donna didn’t even acknowledge the look, turning to Devin with a sour expression, crossing her arms as her eyes narrowed. “A tauren? You brought a tauren into town, into my inn, and you want me to serve him drinks on the mayor’s tab?” she demanded, shaking her head. “You must have gotten your bell rung pretty bloody hard if you think this is a good plan.”

Devin shook his head, his smile never faltering. “If Archimonde ‘imself ‘ad done what this bloke did, I’d be buyin’ ‘im drinks just the same.” he replied. “You shoulda seen it. There was a bloody army comin’ outta the fog. Musta’ been a hundred treants, with as many demons on top, an’ a dozen of those ‘shroom giants to boot. They were comin’ on fast, an’ I was ready to kiss my arse goodbye. Then there was a flash, bright as the sun, lit up the whole forest like a bolt a’ lightin’. An’ there ‘e was…”

As Devin launched into his tale, the militia poured into the bar proper, filling up seats and ushering the guest of honor to take a seat by the fire. None of them noticed Becca, staring wide-eyed at the tauren as she clutched her serving tray to her chest like a shield.

—

“Now, I didn’t remember any of that! So when I woke up with the protodrake licking my face, all I knew was that I was hanging upside down by the hooves, that I had a headache that could have killed a kodo, and that I was wearing nothing but a wooly rhino pelt and smeared with what I could only HOPE was mud! Killit was laughing so hard she nearly fell out of the saddle!” Rhuno recounted, laughing and gesturing wildly, the last of the porter in his mug sloshing as it swung through the air. Devin was doubled over the table, laughing so hard his eyes watered, clutching his stomach with one hand and pounding the tabletop with the other. Becca tittered quietly, a hand over her mouth. “THAT’S why I don’t drink Sulfuron Slammers anymore, ESPECIALLY not with trolls.” Rhuno added definitively, grinning as he raised his mug to his lips and drained it entirely.

As time and drink had flowed, Rhuno’s armor had come away piece by piece, both literally and figuratively. The armored, serious, stoic warrior from hours ago now wore nothing but his under-armor as he casually shared tales of his travels with those militia members still conscious. Shimmering, lightweight frostweave, a brilliant shade of royal blue, was his only protection, the material hanging loosely over thick slabs of muscle as he drank and and chatted. His armor and weapons lay in a pile in the corner of the room behind him, his tossed aside along with his caution.

Devin shook his head as he managed to straighten up, gasping for breath and wiping the corners of his eyes as his laughter slowly tapered off to the occasional chortle. “Oh, light, that’s a hell of a tale! I think that one deserves another drink!” He grinned, raising a hand and looking toward the bar. “Donna! Another mug for the hero! This one’s on me!

Donna eyes the table for a moment, before casting her gaze around the room to survey the scene. Half the militia had already passed out, and the rest were getting quite close. “Alright, but this is last call, you lot!” She announced, firmly. A few moments later, a fresh mug was in front of Rhuno, Becca silently fading back out of the way. Rhuno smiled, glancing up, his eyes meeting hers for just a moment and giving her a nod of gratitude before turning back to the table. Her cheeks flushed as she lingered nearby, close enough to listen in.

Devin shook his head again, still chuckling. “Well, I s’pose that’s my cue.” he commented, planting his hands on the table and pushing himself to his feet. “I best stumble home before tonight becomes another story.” he grinned, nudging one of the unconscious warriors beside him. A murmur of agreement rolled through the remainder of the militia and some of the other patrons. After offering some final gratitude to the hero of the night, they collectively staggered out the door, carrying their fallen brethren out into the night on unsteady legs. Before Rhuno was even finished with his mug, the inn was all but empty. He sighed, swirling the last of the porter around the mug before knocking it back. It just wasn’t as good without company.

“Um… Sir?” Came a small, feminine voice. Rhuno glanced over, eyes settling once again on the petite human girl that had been serving his drinks all night. Becca’s gaze shifted side to side, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her serving tray as she held it in front of her. “The- the bar is closed after last call… But, if- if you’d like, I could, um, get you something to eat. If you’re hungry, I mean.” She managed to offer, even as she wilted under his gaze, her feet carrying her backward in short, mincing steps.

Rhuno shook alanya escort his head. “Oh, that’s not necessary, no need to wake the cook for me, I’ve got provisions…”

Becca’s expression lit up as she stepped forward once again. “Oh, no, I can do it! I help in the kitchen all the time, it’s no trouble at all!” she explained. Her cheeks suddenly flushed as her own boldness sank in, and she began to mince backwards again, averting her gaze. “I mean, um, if you wanted… It- it’s the least I could do… to, you know… thank you…” she finally managed, the serving tray coming up like a shield again.

Rhuno smirked at the shy human girl for a moment before nodding. “Alright, then, if it’s no trouble, I’d love something to eat.” he replied. Becca’s face lit up with a smile, but held up a hand before she could do anything. “But! Only if you do two things first.” he warned, and Becca looked nervous. “First. You’ve gotta stop calling me ‘sir’.” he said, smirking. “And second, You’ve got to make yourself something too. I’m sure you’re hungry by now, and I’d feel terribly awkward eating all alone.” He finished. Becca’s smile returned full-force, and she turned on her heel and darted off the the kitchen, passing behind the bar.

Donna glanced after her barmaid as she passed, then turned her gaze to the tauren, brow furrowing for a moment. Rhuno could feel her gaze on him, and it made his fur stand on end. But then, without a word, the older woman sighed softly, putting up the last of the mugs and heading up the stairs to her room, leaving Rhuno alone in the main room as Becca bustled about the kitchen preparing a meal for two, humming quietly to herself.

—

“I… I had no idea…” Becca slumped in her seat, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Rhuno replied, shaking his horns. Firelight cast his face in flickering orange light and deep shadow, pools of darkness emphasizing his scars.

“I still am… I’m sorry it happened to you. I’m sorry I ever brought it up…” Becca returned, her eyes never rising from the table. “I’ve never even heard of the Grimtotem…”

Rhuno sighed. “It’s a tauren matter. Others don’t see clans, just tauren. Which is why they’re so dangerous…”

Becca shook her head. “It’s not that. I’ve never heard of anything you talk about. Northrend, sunwalkers, dragons… My family never left Gilneas until the cataclysm. The rest of the world was always just… places on a map. Nothing to worry about. Then we came here. I thought things would be different outside the wall, but the world’s still just… places on a map. We’re out of the way here, nobody comes through Surwich on the way to someplace else. We’re isolated. Occasionally an adventurer will come fight the demons, but they never stay long before they move on to the portal… We fish by day, hide by night, and just.. survive. Nothing happens. Nothing changes…” She sighed.

There was a moment of silence as Becca stared down at the glass of water in her hands. “…I wish I could be like you.” she finally whispered.

Rhuno blinked. “Me?”

Becca nodded. “I wish I could just… go. Leave this behind, see the world, go on adventures, make stories of my own… Nothing’s keeping me here, not really. It’s not like my parents would kill me if I tried to leave, or I could never come back afterward…” she explained, then shook her head. “…But I still can’t. I’m… just too afraid. It’s a big world, and it’s full of great big dangerous things… And I’m just… me. I’m small, I’m weak, and even thinking about it makes my heart race… I’m a coward. How could I ever fight a real monster?” she asked, eyes tearing up, then gave a derisive laugh. “I can’t even manage to kill the rats in the cellar…”

Rhuno was quiet for a second. “I’m afraid too.” he replied. Becca looked up at him. “When you’re up to your neck in ghouls and they just keep coming, of course you’re going to be afraid. Fear’s good. Fear tells you something’s dangerous, and gives you the speed to run or the strength to fight.” he elaborated, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table. “The hard part is being afraid and doing something anyways. The way I see it, there’s always going to be problems standing between you and what you want. They might be monsters, or people, or bigger things. And you’re going to have to deal with them, no matter what you do. We all do. But we don’t all do it the same way.”

Rhuno shook his head, straightening up. “Me, I take my problems head-on, because I know I can take the hits as they come. Of course, I tend to get hurt a lot along the way, but I survive. But you’re not me. You’re different. And you have to deal with your problems your way. It sounds like you’re the type to consider all the possible angles before you make a move. And that’s great, that lets you make the right move at the right time. But you have to make the move. Part of you wants to, from the sound of it. But you’re holding yourself back of some reason. Whatever it is, you’ve gotta rent a car chisinau let go, let yourself do what needs to be done. You have to act, and act decisively.”

“I… I don’t think I can…” Becca muttered, biting her lip

Rhuno leaned forward again, gesturing for her to look him in the eyes. “If any advice I give you sticks, let it be this: You always have a choice. Always. You can’t control much in this world, but you control YOU. You make all the decisions. You can choose to do nothing. You can choose to obey others. You can choose bad ideas. But they’re your choices, and you have the power to make a new decision, every second of every day. And if you’re not happy with your life, not really, truly happy… then you’ve got a choice to make.” he finished, letting the statement hang in the air.

There was silence for a moment, the soft crackle of the fireplace the only sound in the room. Rhuno’s intense sapphire eyes held Becca’s gaze as she chewed her lip. “…Decisive…” She muttered under her breath, just barely loud enough to be heard. Suddenly she moved, rising out of her seat and reaching forward, hands coming up to cup the tauren’s jaw and raise it up as she leaned in, suddenly kissing him with every ounce of determination in her small, trembling body.

Becca’s lips, puckered as hard as she could, crushed against Rhuno’s, her eyes squeezed shut as she held his chin, her entire body trembling with barely-suppressed panic, unsure of where to go from here. Rhuno blinked twice in surprise, then he smirked against her lips. He reached forward, a massive, calloused hand gently cradling her head, guiding her as he took the reigns. His lips pressed to hers, warmly, tenderly, the tension melting out of her body as they kissed. The kiss lasted for what seemed an eternity, and only when he pulled his lips from hers did she realize her lungs were burning for air. She gasped for breath and Rhuno gave her a warm, comforting smile and pulled away, rising to his hooves and stepping out from the table. It was her turn to blink in surprise when he extended a coal-black hand to her, palm up.

Slowly, hesitantly, Becca placed her hand on Rhuno’s palm. The calloused hand closed around hers slender digits, and he tugged, pulling her in. She stumbled forward in surprise, only to strike against an unyielding wall of warm, granite-hard muscle. One hand came down, wrapping around her waist and pulling her in tight, lifting her off her feet, her supple body flattened against his muscular chest. Her heart was thundering in her chest as he smiled down at her, then craned his neck down, kissing her again. Her eyes drifted closed as their lips locked, his thick, muscular tongue gently yet insistently probing her lips. She let it in, and it swiftly pushed inside, coiling sensually around her own tongue, and she melted into his arms. She had to admit, this kiss was much better than the first one.

—

The timbers groaned with complaint underhoof as Rhuno made his way to his room. Becca’s toes barely touched the floor during the trip, literally swept off her feet in the tauren’s embrace, their lips still locked in a passionate kiss. All she could do was hold on, clinging to fistfuls of his sapphire silk underclothes as he carried her along with long, powerful strides. It was almost like they were dancing. Their tongues danced too, coiling and uncoiling over and over. Without a moment’s pause, he threw open the door, carried her across the the threshold, and kicked it closed behind them

As the door latched shut, Rhuno paused. Slowly, he pulled his lips away from Becca’s, straightening up and loosening his grip to set the petite human girl on her feet. Her eyes fluttered open, slowly, as he pulled away, emerging from the kiss like she was emerging from a trance, and she looked up at him. Bright, silvery moonlight poured through a window and flooded the room in a pale, dreamy light. Rhuno’s massive form loomed over her, a wall of pure tauren might, half again her height and perhaps ten times her weight. Every inch of his broad-shouldered frame was layered in slabs of granite muscle. She realized, suddenly, that she was alone in the room with him. He could effortlessly overpower her if he wanted to. Nobody would be able to stop him. She should have been terrified… but she wasn’t. When she looked up into his brilliant blue eyes, she just felt… safe.

Rhuno raised a massive, calloused hand to Becca’s chin, cradling it between finger and thumb, holding her gaze locked onto his. “I want you, Becca.” he told her, his voice deep, gentle, warm, and sincere, the sound rolling through her. “You’re a kind and beautiful girl, and I know you’ll go on to do great things. I wish I could stay and see you do them. I wish I could be with you, even for a little while. But I know I must leave tomorrow, and I know we will walk different paths. I know there’s no future for us together…” he explained, pausing for a moment, a note of sadness in his voice. “…But we can still have tonight.” he added, on a more hopeful note. He leaned in closer, pressing his lips to hers once more in a tender kiss. When he pulled away, he looked deep into her eyes once more. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, when he spoke again. “Stay with me, just for tonight?”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

*****Hi dear readers, this is the new chapter of the Crystal series. I am absolutely sorry about the long wait you guys had to go through; I had stuck with writer’s block for the past couple of months so I took the time to think of news ideas after I get finished with the Crystal series. I hope you enjoy it because I myself think the last chapter wasn’t the best that I could make it. Don’t hold back on the criticism, it helps wherever I need improvement. Thanks. –DM23*****

*****

Heroes/Heroines

Commander Shinobay – Force fields, Eye vision

Osprey – Bird-like abilities

Ghost – Invisibility, Intangibility

Zipper – Enhanced Speed

Shell – Bulletproof, Enhanced strength

Jasper – Pyrokinetic, Flight (Temporarily Suspended)

Max (Dark Matter) – Dark Matter Manipulation

Crystal – Cryokinetic, Hydrokinetic

Hyper – Flight, Hyperbeams

Cherry – Teleporter, Martial artist

Dot – Cat-like abilities

Dr. Walton – Multitasking

Parents of Heroes/Heroines

Solarium – Light Manipulation, Flight (Hyper’s father)

Icicle – Frosting, Minor Weather Manipulation (Crystal’s mother)

Reaper – Healing Factor, Super Strength (Shell’s father)

Raptor – Enhanced Speed, Throwing Knives (Zipper’s father)

Cinnamon – Teleporter, Martial artist (Cherry’s mother)

Sorceress – Illusion Manipulation (Dark Matter’s mother)

Villains/Villainesses mentioned:

Dictator Jones – Mind control

Asphalt – Concrete-like skin, Enhanced Physical Abilities

C4 – Ninja, Explosives

One-Eye – Sniper, Intangibility

Acrobat – Echolocation, Flight

Dr. Genie – Mad scientist specializing in splicing

Ruthless – Enhanced strength, Martial artist

Mistress – Telekinetic, Flight

Giggles – Invisibility

Crystal woke up from a very much needed slumber in a panic. First of all, she wasn’t intending to sleep that long to begin with, just only a few hours in case Max’s body needed anything. Speaking of Max, the second reason she woke up was because Max was no longer in bed. This normally wouldn’t have bothered her, but with Max’s current state, it was highly unusual for him not to be in bed since that was the standard place Crystal was keeping him. The last thing was something subtly out of place that it took Crystal a good while to notice it: someone was cooking.

Hope coursed through her as she bounded out the bedroom and into the living room. No one was in the living room or dining area, so Crystal just whizzed on through and rushed to the kitchen. Standing in an apron like nothing usual had happened to him for an entire week . . . was Max.

“Max!” Crystal yelled, running and hugging him from behind.

“Oof!” Max grunted as they crashed to the floor. Max did his best to keep the spoons in his hands from touching the floor as he felt Crystal’s weight smother him.

“Max, I missed you!” Crystal cried, kissing him all over his face. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you, too!” Max replied.

The two lovers were suddenly raised off the ground by a ramp that Max made until they were back to standing. Crystal hugged him tightly as her tears soaked his shirt.

“You looked so lifeless!” Crystal sobbed. “I thought you were dying!”

“Let’s not worry about that now,” Max smiled. “There’s something more important that you need to know.”

“What is it?” Crystal asked.

“My name is not Max,” came the reply. “It is Dark Matter.”

For a split second, silence had completely taken over. Right after that, Crystal pushed herself out of Dark Matter’s embrace and back flipped out of the kitchen. The moment she stopped, she had lowered the temperature as cold as possible and was wielding her ice hammer.

“Crystal,” Dark Matter cautioned, taking a step towards her.

She flung the hammer at him and he was forced to make a shield to deflect it. When he dispersed the shield, Crystal was right there to strike him down and attempt to pin him to the floor. Realizing she wasn’t joking, Dark Matter pushed her off him, via his powers, and made his powers wrap around Crystal to constrain her. Surprisingly, Crystal evaded his attempts and was still able to get a couple more punches on him.

“Crystal, just listen to me,” Dark Matter pleaded.

“Why?” she demanded. “Every time you show up, you attack somebody. When Dictator Jones mind controlled you, you attacked us. When we was at the White House banquet, you showed up and attacked us. When we was trying to recover Max from his comatose state, you woke up and attack us.”

“To be fair, I was mind controlled when Dictator Jones had me attack you guys,” Dark Matter stated. “At the White House, I was trying to get Pollen, and in the Recovery Wing, that agent shot at me.”

“I still don’t trust you,” Crystal glared. “For all I know, you could be under Dictator Jones’ control again.”

“If you give me a chance, I can prove to you that that is not the case,” Dark Matter suggested.

“Okay,” Crystal accepted. “Prove amatör porno to me that you aren’t controlled by Dictator Jones.”

“You being alive is proof enough,” Dark Matter said. “I know it’s a crude thing to say, but I think Dictator Jones would take a chance and force me to kill you if I was under his control.”

Crystal knew that was true. Crude or not, the whole time Dark Matter was making breakfast could have been used to kill her. Even when she rushed up to hug him, Dark Matter could have been forced to make a deadly move on her, since she clearly wasn’t thinking about being attacked.

“I guess I’m convinced . . . partially,” Crystal said, crossing her arms. “What are you going to do now?”

“Eat, get dressed, and meet up with the Commander and the other heroes to clear up any confusion,” Dark Matter replied.

Not trusting him fully, Crystal sat opposite of him and they both ate breakfast. Despite her wariness, Crystal couldn’t help but savor the delicious flavor of Dark Matter’s skill, which evidently matched Max’s own skill. Before she knew it, she finished her plate and was actually hoping for another helping of food. But she held back and quickly changed into her uniform while Dark Matter cleaned the kitchen. Once he finished cleaning, he changed into his uniform as well and they both left the room and went to the elevator.

“Do you think they’ll have the same reaction like yours?” Dark Matter asked.

“I wouldn’t blame them if they did,” Crystal shrugged. “Not to be offensive, but we don’t exactly have good memories with you in them.”

“Then I hope we can make them,” Dark Matter replied.

The elevator arrived and both of them got on and went up to the floor of the Meeting Room. As much as he wanted to let the heroes and heroines know what happened, Dark Matter’s heart was loudly thumping against his chest as nervousness took hold of him. It felt like his decision to inform the heroes would be futile but virtuous at the same time. And before he knew it, Crystal opened up the doors and pulled him in.

“MAX!” Commander Shinobay yelled in surprise.

Every hero and heroine in the room, including the members of the Superior Six and Dr. Walton, looked at the heroes coming in and cheered. Each of them stepped up to greet him and congratulate him on his return. Even Jasper paid his respects to him, though he was the last in line.

“Alright, alright, let him breathe,” Commander Shinobay said. “Come on up to the front, Max. We need to hear how you got out of this one. Were there illusionary traps that Sorceress placed in your mind that you had to overcome? Did you have to fight any evil clones of us? I’m sure whatever the story is, it’ll definitely be interesting.”

“Well, to make sure everyone is on the right page, my name isn’t Max,” Dark Matter began. “It’s Dark Matter.”

Just like with Crystal, everyone froze as what Dark Matter said ran through their minds. The members of Superior Six glanced at the Commander for orders but he discreetly gestured for them not to make move yet.

“If I may,” Dark Matter requested, “I would like to show you, instead of going through a detailed explanation, of why you met ‘Max’ and not ‘Dark Matter’.”

“Crystal, did you know about this?” Commander Shinobay asked.

“I found out this morning,” Crystal answered. “While there is evidence that he could be telling the truth, I’m still . . . skeptical of him.”

“You said you would like to show us instead of explaining what happened,” Solarium spoke up. “How will you do that?”

“I’ll be taking everyone into my mind,” Dark Matter said.

“Is that even possible?” Cinnamon asked.

“Yes, Mom,” Cherry answered. “He’s done it before.”

“Is it safe?” Raptor asked.

“It is,” Osprey replied.

“You’ll be depowered, helpless, and completely at his mercy, though,” Jasper added.

“That is, if you antagonize him,” Commander Shinobay added as well, glaring at Jasper. “Regardless, it’s worth seeing what happened to him and I, for one, am curious to see what his past was like.”

“If you trust him, then so do I,” Solarium said.

One by one, the members of the Superior Six agreed with Solarium while the current heroes and heroines, disregarding Jasper’s opinion, agreed with Commander Shinobay. Dark Matter placed his hands on his head until a dark sphere covered his head. As he extended his hands outward, the dark sphere began to expand until it covered the entire room.

Each of the heroes and heroines saw that they were still sitting in their chair at the table, with Dark Matter standing at the head chair. Looking around them, they saw the planets, galaxies, and deep space of the universe on the walls, the floor, the table, and even the chairs.

“This is astounding,” Icicle said, awestruck.

“I like space because I was named after the actual dark matter in space,” Dark Matter stated. “Since it still is unexplainable but covered a large portion of the universe, I feel like there are liseli porno a lot of possibilities, just like me and literally everyone else. Now, let me show you what I wanted to explain.”

A screen came up in the form of a square where each and every hero and heroine could watch what was happening in the memory. The memory started out dark, but everyone felt the sense that they were moving towards an opening. Soon, a dim light filled the square and everyone could hear the sound of an infant’s cries.

“Before anyone asks, this memory is of when I was being born,” Dark Matter informed.

They looked at him incredulously as they couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Looking back at the screen, the screen was then filled up with an even greater light as the infant opened his eyes for the first time and looked at a young woman.

“Hello, little baby,” she cooed to the infant. “Do you know who I am? I am your mother, Sorceress, and you are Dark Matter.”

“That is not all,” Dark Matter said as the memory ended.

Various images of the growing Dark Matter being with Sorceress filled the screens as the heroes and heroines watched him grow throughout his life. The life that Sorceress and Dark Matter was living was essentially that of a mother doting on her child.

“Around five years old, Mom put me in the care of some ill-trusted individuals, the Potenti couple,” Dark Matter narrated as the memory scenes showed two strangers no one but Dark Matter and his mom met. “The life I lived with the two individuals was a stark contrast of the life I lived with Mom. They tried to restrict me from using my powers, they weren’t interested in me as a person but as a silhouette of a child they could never have, and . . . they kept calling me ‘Max’.”

“But you didn’t have a problem with us calling you Max before,” Crystal noted.

“I know and that will be explained as well,” Dark Matter assured her. “As of this moment in my life, I will admit, I wasn’t a ‘well behaved’ child like my mother told me to be. But they started this whole mess when they insisted that I answer to being called ‘Max’.”

More memory scenes came up where it showed Dark Matter against the Potenti couple, doing a tug of war in some scenes, Max throwing things during his tantrums in some others, and with Dark Matter winning overall in the end.

“Eventually, after a few years of this, they put me in an adoption center,” Dark Matter continued. “In the short moment of me being there, Dictator Jones kidnapped all of the children, just to get to me.”

They saw they eight year old Max fight back Poacher, Mismatch, Pirate Pyro, his wife Madam Dynamite, and Nocturnal and only succumbed when Dictator Jones attacked and made him lose consciousness.

“I remember this,” Raptor spoke up. “Someone had called and informed us that Dictator Jones was holding a bunch of kids’ hostage.”

“I thank each and every one of you, Superior Six, for saving me and the kids of the adoption agency,” Dark Matter smiled. “However, the damage that Dictator Jones did to me mentally had already been done. When I regained consciousness, I had no idea who I was, or why I was surrounded by the worlds’ evilest villains. The Potenti couple soon found out about what happened and came back to readopt me. Unfortunately, they still didn’t want Dark Matter and they continued to call me ‘Max’, which resulted in something like a split conscious, with ‘Max’ having control over the body and me having control over the powers, as well as being locked away with my memories.”

In the memory scenes, they saw that Dark Matter, now known as Max, was living a very peaceful lifestyle with the Potenti couple. Everything they asked him to do, it was done quickly and correctly. Over the course of the years, they saw Max grow into the person they knew and were quite fond of (excluding Jasper). Eventually, the memories came up to when he attempted to defend Crystal from Ruthless and Dark Matter cut the memories off.

“And what happened to the ‘Max’ that we know of?” Commander Shinobay asked.

“We merged,” Dark Matter answered. He showed them the two minds of both personalities and how they grew closer and closer, overlapping until they were one and the same. “We were not two separate minds in one body, we were just a broken conscious that was fixed back together. However, there was something he wanted to say before we merged; I’d appreciate it if you listened to it.”

Another screen rose up as he finished and brightened until they could see Max.

“If you’re watching this, I guess you already know what the situation with me and Dark Matter is,” Max began. “Honestly, I didn’t believe anything Dark Matter said. I thought this power was given to me before and I had forgotten it after my amnesia, which during that time it would’ve developed its own conscious. But finding out that he was actually the original and I was the fake one was a huge blow to me. But it’s all good because nothing changed. We have the same mobil porno personalities and attitude, so I hope everyone sees Dark Matter the same way you’ve seen me, because I am Dark Matter and he is me. But we’re merging now so this is goodbye.”

“So, now that we’re on the same page, are there any questions?” Dark Matter asked as he brought everyone out of his mind.

“You conscious is completely merged, right?” Jasper blurted out. “There aren’t any other psycho personalities hiding up in there that we need to be aware of, right?”

“Of course there’s not,” Dark Matter frowned. “I’m sure if there was, you would’ve been the first to know.”

“How do I know you’re not the psycho personality and got rid of ‘Max’? Jasper glared. “I mean, you could’ve altered the memories; we wouldn’t know.”

“Jasper,” Commander Shinobay warned.

“Honestly, I don’t care if you think I’m psycho or not,” Dark Matter shrugged. “And I don’t have time to stoop to such a degree to make you realize I’m not. So, I guess you’ll just have to convince yourself and everyone else here that I’m psycho if that’s the mentality you think I have. Good luck.”

“If there are no more questions, this meeting is adjourned,” Commander Shinobay said, looking at both of them.

Contrary to what he said, none of the older heroes or heroines moved as the current heroes and heroines left the meeting room. It wasn’t until they were all out the door that they sensed something was wrong and went back to go inside the Meeting Room only to find out it was locked.

“Oh come on,” Cherry grouched. “They can’t keep treating us like kids. We’re adults and heroes too.”

“Ghost, could you go in and see what they’re talking about?” Osprey asked.

“Would that be a smart move?” Ghost asked. “We’re locked for a reason and I don’t want to be the scapegoat just because I can turn intangible.”

“I don’t know what you guys are fretting over,” Jasper said as he walked to the elevator. “Since it’s locked, that means we’re not invited. And since there’s nothing for me to do, I’m going back to bed.”

“Any idea what their talking about?” Cherry asked.

“Most likely it’s me,” Dark Matter answered.

“But even then, they’d have to speak with us,” Cherry replied. “They may be our parents, for some of us, but we’re still heroes. We have the same status as the rest of them.”

“We really don’t have time to worry about that right now,” Zipper stated. “We need to start patrolling soon.”

With no other option, the heroes and heroines disbanded and went to their different ways. Crystal led Dark Matter went back to their room as she ran over what Dark Matter said. If what Max said was true then Crystal could continue living with Dark Matter since he and Max were the same. Happily, she went in the bedroom and was surprised to see Dark Matter packing his things in a bag.

“You’re leaving?” she asked worried.

“Well, I don’t have a choice,” Dark Matter said. “I mean, you love Max, not me. And like you mentioned before, the last few times we’ve seen each other wasn’t exactly friendly.”

“But that was because I didn’t know,” Crystal replied him. “Now that I know, I don’t feel any animosity towards you. Max said you two were the same now.”

“Yeah we are,” Dark Matter replied. “I just don’t know how you feel about all this so I’d rather leave than overstay my welcome.”

“This is your room too, you know,” Crystal stated. “We’ll have to change it from Crystal and Max to Crystal and Dark Matter, but this is still your room.”

“And what about you?” Dark Matter asked.

“I’m no different,” Crystal insisted. “I’m still your girlfriend. That hasn’t changed one bit.”

“That’s good,” Dark Matter smirked. “I’d win your heart again in a minute if I had to, but that would be one less minute for us to do some ‘interesting’ things.”

“Ooh, looks like someone’s all talk and no game,” Crystal grinned.

The door suddenly closed and she turned around reflexively to open it back up. To her shock, she found it locked. Even when she unlocked it, the door was relocked before she could even turn the doorknob. She immediately put two and two together and turned to face Dark Matter, who as she expected, was waiting for her with a devious grin on his face.

“Is this the best you can do?” Crystal taunted.

“No, the best is yet to come,” Dark Matter winked.

“Then bring it,” Crystal said.

He pressed her against the door and kissed her softly on the lips. Crystal knew it was foreplay, but just the touch of his lips against hers was making her wetter than ever. She clung to him as he pushed his tongue in her mouth, taking dominance and claiming her mouth as his territory. His saliva even dominated her own, to the point where all she could taste was him. Not that she minded, of course.

As she was too focused on kissing Dark Matter, she didn’t notice his hand make a subtle descent to her crotch until she felt him dig in her pants and panties to get to her pussy. She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold her up as her knees began to lose their strength. Without much effort, Dark Matter parted her legs for better access and stuffed his hand down her panties. She moaned in delight as two fingers instantly found her hole and plunged themselves right on in.

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WARNING: This fic can be correctly categorized as smut, and as such will be operating based on porn logic, with characters occasionally acting OOC. It contains themes of cheating, adultery, betrayal, and netrorare. If none of these themes are for you, I suggest you turn back now. For those that are turned on by such sinful taboos, I believe you are in for a real treat.

Please remember, fantasy should be correctly interpreted as just that. A fantasy. It should go without saying that I do not morally support the actions represented in this story, and they should not be practiced by anyone for any reason.

However, I do find these themes to be sexually appealing, and know that many others do as well. As to whom I identify with, the seducer, the cheater, or the cuckold, that unfortunately will have to remain a mystery. As to whom the reader should identify with, that I will leave up to you.

Enjoy.

*****

The Master Chief moved through the broken landscape, his mind on full alert. He stepped quickly over each pile of rubble, the remains of a desolated colony all around him. Destroyed buildings casting long shadows by the light of a burning flame colored sky, their dark interiors the subject of his suspicion as he moved past them cautiously and in complete silence.

John glanced up at the sky, the destroyed hull of the Infinity hovering overhead like a wounded Titan. He tightened his grip on the assault rifle and continued moving forward, eyes warily checking his motion sensors for any hint of movement.

He passed the body of a Crimson clad Spartan IV, the young soldier’s body lying motionless in the ruins of a window, shards of glass glittering on top of his Mjolnir armor.

John paused for a moment. He had been here before, and remembered this Spartan IV well. It had been him who had smashed the young inexperienced Spartan through the window, pushed a pistol underneath his chin, and pulled the trigger.

A small part of John felt bad for him. Some young kid fresh out of training who thought he could get a lucky jump on the Master Chief and make a name for himself.

Chief shook his head. He had to keep reminding himself that not everyone who graduated from Spartan training nowadays were indeed Spartans.

Some of them were, however, and that’s what made him wary.

Somewhere he knew Cortana was watching him, her electric blue eyes examining his every movements. That was something he was used to. Even after her transformation from the digital into the corporeal Cortana still watched every mission and training session with analytic precision. It was useful to figure out faults in his combat methodology and increase the efficiency in his training, but he still found himself missing her guardian angel like presence with him on missions.

Nor was Blue Team with him this time. No, this time he would have to rely solely on his own abilities and skills.

That was alright though. The greater the challenge the better overcoming it felt, and John loved to win.

There was a slight blip on his motion sensor, a brief flash of red that momentarily lit up his HUD.

The hairs on the back of John’s neck stiffened and he crouched down low, preferring to take a conservative approach to what he was sure was an imminent encounter. Suddenly the red blip flashed in his HUD again and the ground next to John erupted in a shower of bullets. John’s reflexes kicked in before his brain even processed what was happening, the aged Spartan rolling swiftly to the left, a trail of bullets following him.

He rolled into a nearby building, posted against a wall, and began to return fire at the roof of an opposite building. He saw a flash of blue followed by a familiar shape, the thruster packs propelling the Spartan IV along the rooftops.

John gritted his teeth. “Spartan Locke,” he muttered.

The Master Chief pounded down the street, legs turning into a blur as he sprinted as fast as he could. Still, Locke with his thrusters remained ahead of him. After a hundred yards Locke unexpectedly turned around, the Spartan IV using his thrusters to propel himself back towards Chief faster than anticipated. The Master Chief brought up his assault rifle, letting off several controlled bursts as Locke rocketed towards him.

Spartan Locke collided with the Master Chief, forcing the older Spartan backwards. John attempted to bring his assault rifle up again, but Locke tore it out of his hands, the rifle splashing in the mud as the two continued to fight.

Locke immediately went on the offensive, attacking with a strong right hook. John easily blocked it and counter attacked with his combat knife, the blade singing through the air and narrowly missing Locke’s helmet. The Spartan IV danced away and withdrew his own combat knife.

The two combatants circled around each other, their heavy armored boots sinking deep into the mud. They came together in a flurry of thrust, counter thrust, and parry. Sparks flew as their blades collided together, the mud underneath hd porno them churning into a thick brown semi liquid as they continued their dance.

They broke apart just long enough for both to catch their breaths.

Locke nodded at John. “You’re getting slow in your old age.”

John readjusted his grip on the combat knife. “And you’re too inexperienced.”

“Hmmph,” Locke hummed, bringing his knife up, its edge pointing at John’s face. He brought up his free hand and motioned for John to come closer.

The Master Chief did not have to be told twice. He lunged at the younger Spartan, intent on finally putting an end to it. The two grappled, matching strength for strength. John put all his weight and strength behind his arms, willing his body past its own limitations, but much to his surprise it was Locke who was winning the struggle.

The danger alarms in John’s head sounded and he attempted to pull away, but the attempted retreat merely provided an opportunity for Locke. The Spartan IV pushed his advantage, a sudden surge of reserve strength forcing John down on one knee and into the mud, Locke standing tall over him.

Somewhere in the bowels of Infinity, Cortana watched the death struggle on screen, the dim light glowing on her pale white face.

“Come on John,” she quietly urged. Locke stood tall and proud, his posture a full display of male dominance. He forced John even further down into the mud. John attempted to rise again but was met with only more pain as Locke twisted both of Chief’s arms at an angle that made Cortana cringe.

It was like watching two males fight for dominance, and Cortana willed for her chosen mate to find some reserve of energy.

“Get up,” Cortana urged again, a little louder this time. “You can do it John.”

But for once Cortana was wrong. When for the third and final time John attempted to get back up off his knees, Locke head butted him savagely, causing John to sprawl fully on his back. Locke stood on his chest, pressing the Master Chief further down into the thick brown mud like a conquering king.

Cortana felt a shiver roll up her spine. Something she interpreted as fear, but her subconscious saw as far more different. Something far more primal.

Locke took out his pistol, aimed coolly at John’s face, and fired.

Cortana thudded her forehead on the screen in frustration as Roland’s voice echoed on the speakers overhead.

TRAINING SIMULATION 249-ED3 OVER. THE WINNER IS SPARTAN JAMESON LOCKE. GOOD JOB TO ALL OF YOU SPARTANS.

“Well, that was surprising,” said a slightly cocky feminine voice from behind Cortana. Palmer raised a slender eyebrow at her. “I was expecting a IV to beat a II eventually, but I never expected it would be him that lost.”

Cortana huffed and blew a stray strand of short raven black hair out of her face. She knew that she should not be angry at Palmer, but her naturally protective nature towards John made it hard not to. “And to think, it only took twenty-two of your Spartans to take him down. I’d like to see any one of them take on the odds Chief has.”

“This was Elimination Deathmatch though,” Lasky said standing a few feet behind Palmer, his chin cupped in his hand and his brow furrowed in thought, watching the display screen as the holographic arena reset. What was once a destroyed city now because an almost painful plane of bleach white. Throughout the arena, the scattered bodies of the fallen Spartan IVs began to stir, as well as one very disgruntled II. As the others realized what had happened, they began to crowd around Locke, slapping his armor and bumping their helmets against his. Cortana watched with a frown as John firmly shook Locke’s hand, and then slumped off on his own.

Lasky sighed heavily. “The Master Chief has never participated in a Deathmatch simulation with only Spartan IVs. One of the theories bouncing around HIGHCOM is that the IIs work together during their Deathmatch session to ensure that they are always the last ones standing no matter who wins. I’m really not looking forward to seeing Osman’s smug face when I told her the outcome of this match.”

Cortana folded her arms across her chest, the wrinkled and lightly stained lab coat doing little to hide her curvaceous figure. “And I suppose they’ll conveniently ignore that Fred, Kelly, and Linda all won their matches?”

“Bingo,” Palmer said. “Never underestimate HIGHCOM’s ability to cherry pick data they like and ignore all the facts they determine inconvenient.”

Behind her Lasky muttered, more to himself than to them. “If it was any of the others I might have made a case, but Chief?” He shook his head. “I’ve got to go make a call. Ladies, if you’ll say a prayer for me.”

“Always, Thomas,” Palmer smiled, her eyes lingering on him as he walked out. She then turned back towards Cortana. “You know how much I respect the Master Chief, but can you at least try to see things from my perspective?”

Cortana glared at her. “How exactly?”

“You sarışın porno might not like the outcome, but the bottom line is that this is a big deal for the Spartan program. Chief losing gives the Branch a lot more legitimacy in a lot of people’s eyes.”

“By taking it away from John,” Cortana said stubbornly. “He is the best Spartan that ever lived.”

“Was the best,” Palmer countered. She spared a glance at the viewing screen, Locke just now making his way out of the arena. “Looks like there might just be someone else who will be able to claim that title.” She smiled at the younger woman, and gently bumped Cortana’s shoulder on her way out of the room. “Not that bad to look at either.”

Cortana silently fumed, but forced herself to regain control of her emotions. It clouded her logic. John was the best, that much was without a doubt.

It was twenty-two against one, she thought, but immediately dismissed that as a reason. It was a melee after all. A free for all Deathmatch. While Cortana remembered at least a few times during the match that Chief had to take on multiple opponents at once, the nature of the simulation did not allow for much cooperation or coordination between participants.

Unless you’re a Spartan II that is, Cortana thought, remembering the ONI criticism that Lasky had mentioned. She dismissed that thought as well. John was not a man who cheated, Cortana remembering well his insistence on Reach about completing their first mission together within the rules set up by the ONI Testers. She had found him frustratingly stubborn at the time, but it spoke volumes about his overall character, and one of the things that had eventually made Cortana fall for him.

No, Cortana reasoned. There had to be something else. Some sort of ONI armor upgrade they had secretly given Locke to increase his odds of winning, or perhaps subtly sabotaging John’s armor. Even making the Mjolnir one percent less effective could have enormous consequences for the user.

Cortana determined herself to find out, walking swiftly out of the observation room with her head held high and a newfound sense of purpose.

Her path towards John took her through what Roland had affectionately dubbed Spartan Land, the other Spartan IVs busying themselves with taking off their armor, support technicians scrambling around to run diagnostics and make the necessary repairs and tune ups. Cortana had to admit to herself that the Spartan IV area was impressive, even if the solid white coloring of the room gave it a sterile and overly clean feel to it.

Out of the corner of her eye Cortana saw several of the Spartan men hitting each other on the arm as she walked past, their eyes following her. Sexual, and sometimes raunchy comments coming from underneath their breath just quiet enough to where Cortana could not make out what they were saying.

Cortana did her best to conceal her smile, and made her hips sway just a little bit more as she walked. That she took such enjoyment out of the male gaze was her little secret, something that she guessed not even John knew. There was, after all, a reason why she had chosen as an AI to take the form of a young, beautiful, attractive woman. There was power in her looks, and a secret thrill of knowing just how desirable she was. She could have any man that she wanted, but they could never have her.

None of them will ever be good enough and they know it, Cortana thought evilly. The ability to indulge within her own fantasy of being that bad gave her a secret thrill. It was part of the reason why sex with John was so fulfilling. He was the best, and Cortana was so attractive that she could claim the best. That she was so irresistible that even the Master Chief was seduced by the temptation; years of conditioning and sexual repression being thrown away the moment he saw her naked, vulnerable, and human form splayed out for him on his bed, her sex parted and waiting for him.

Cortana imagined all those young and eager Spartan IVs watching as John fucked her. She imagined the dismay on their faces as they all realized how inadequate they were. She imagined looking at them, arms wrapped around John’s muscular back, his hips slamming away at hers. Cortana smiled cruelly at them and said No, none of you will ever have me. None of you will ever be good enough. I’m the best, and I deserve the best. You little boys just don’t measure up.

A tingle went up Cortana’s spine as she continued to daydream about how John would show those little IVs what a real Spartan looked like. How she could revel and berate them about how much better he was than them. It truly was bad, Cortana knew, and that was what made it so thrilling.

Cortana got so lost in her daydream that she failed to pay attention to where she was going. The inevitable happened when she collided with a wall of hard muscle. Cortana collided so hard that she nearly stumbled off her feet. Two strong hands grabbed both her shoulders to steady her, and izmir escort a deep smooth voice asked, “You alright there little lady?”

Cortana looked up to see Spartan Jameson Locke smiling down at her, and her eyes immediately narrowed into harsh slits as sharp as daggers. “I am not your little lady,” Cortana said in a voice so harsh that she almost growled. She sounded most like Halsey when she was angry, but Locke seemed unfazed.

“I’m sorry,” Locke apologized, sounding genuinely polite, even gentlemanly, though his hands remained firmly on Cortana’s shoulders. “But are you alright? You seemed kind of dazed walking through here.”

Cortana brushed his hands away from her shoulder’s roughly. “I’m Infinity’s lead scientist. I’m allowed to let my mind wander if I wish.”

“Fair enough,” Locke conceded, taking a step away from her. He was out of his armor, his black bio suit clinging tight to his heavily muscular body. It was difficult for Cortana not to look, and immediately she noticed a difference. John was indeed muscular, but his was a more practical looking build. Stout, strong, and bulky. A body built for work rather than for looks. Locke, on the other hand, and a physique that could conventionally be considered far more physically appealing. The augmentations had bolstered his strength, but not at the cost of his form. He was imposing certainly, clear raw power in his arms, but was also very easy to look upon.

Cortana’s eyes briefly wandered downward, and widened suddenly when she saw the very large bulge at his crotch. The suit certainly did not leave much to the imagination. Cortana’s eyes immediately shot back upward again as she pretended not to have noticed anything, but Locke gave her a knowing look.

“Like what you see?” he asked quietly so that only she could hear.

“Excuse me?” Cortana asked, unnerved at how forward he was being.

“You know what I mean,” Locke said. He gave her an obvious up and down look, and it was clear that he was mentally undressing her. “You’re not bad to look at yourself.”

Cortana folded her arms across her chest defensively, though it made her look more vulnerable than defiant. She tried to ignore how stiff her nipples were getting. “Apology accepted Spartan Locke,” Cortana said as formally as she could. “You should watch where you’re going next time.”

Locke chuckled warmly. “Sure thing little lady.”

Cortana decided to ignore the comment that time and instead brushed past Locke, continuing to cover her chest as she did. She adjusted her posture to look more natural, but she could still feel Locke’s eyes staring at her as she walked away.

“Make sure you tell Chief no hard feelings,” Locke yelled after her, but Cortana ignored him.

There were more tingles up Cortana’s spine, and this time she knew exactly what it meant.

Calm down, Cortana thought. You were already horny when he showed up. It’s nothing. Cortana thought back to what Palmer had said about Locke being attractive.

Well, she was right. Cortana could not deny that.

But he wasn’t the best.

He wasn’t her Spartan.

He wasn’t John.

Cortana attempted to slip back into her fantasy. Tried to imagine John pounding into her as Locke watched on in dismay. Tried to imagine the look on Locke’s face as he realized he could never hope to match John. That he was simply an inferior mate.

Much to Cortana’s surprise, and much against her will, she instead got a brief image of Locke pounding in her, his dark skin contrasting sharply against her pale white figure, his form that of pure dominance.

The thought shocked her, as if some unknown force had placed it there against her will. She pushed it out of her thoughts, returning from her secret fantasy world into the real one, and focused again on making her way towards John.

Cortana could ignore what her mind was telling her, but she could not ignore her body. Underneath her plain lab pants that clung suggestively to her hips, Cortana’s panties were soaking.

…

The Master Chief slammed the assault rifle down on the table, taking it apart for at least the third time since Cortana had walked in to the Spartan II armory. Being a Spartan aboard Infinity gave you special privileges. Being a Spartan II or III gave you even more. Private quarters, if you chose, and an armory, equipment, exorcise facility, and mess separate from the other, more numerous Spartan IVs.

“It’s not the rifle John,” Cortana said patiently.

“I know it’s not,” John said, though he continued to disassemble it. His armor was off and was currently laid out methodically on an equipment table, various tools, equipment, and diagnostic machines scattered around it. Cortana had taken it upon herself to make sure that all Blue Team’s equipment was properly maintained and upgraded. It may have given her extra work to do, but Cortana found it soothing to work on something she was so intimately familiar with. It gave her an excuse to take a break from her normal daily work, and an excuse to spend time with John.

Cortana sighed. John was clearly agitated, and she really couldn’t blame him. “Losing once is meaningless. HIGHCOM is going to want to see the match repeated I’m sure of it. We have plenty of time to figure out how to beat him.”

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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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In Cecil’s early days at the Bull and Mare, before crowds filled the inn, she often found herself bored. The few visitors they did receive were exceedingly dull, farmers going to market and the like. One spring afternoon, as she prayed for more excitement than her fingers could provide (Richard and Georg had since been watched very cautiously by the innkeeper’s ogrish wife), her ears twitched on hearing the clink of heavy armor.

Cecil’s nipples perked at the sight of a tall and incredibly handsome man in the doorway. His shiny plate armor had nary a scratch, but the wench was far more interested in the body inside the metal. His skin was rich like coffee, youthful and smooth. A profoundly strong jaw, high cheekbones and a wavy plume of thick black hair lent an appearance more of a young noble than that of a battle-hardened warrior as his suit of armor would suggest.

What a treat, perhaps I can encourage this young knight to stay awhile, Cecil thought to herself. She squished her small but full breasts high into her dress and pulled an errant lock of curly brown hair from her face and waved to the guest. “Welcome, can I get you a drink?”

“No drink for me, madam, just a room,” said the man, his voice carrying an overabundance of confidence Cecil knew could only belong to someone who had never been tested before.

“Of course, we have a few rooms available.” Such a shame all the good looking ones are in such a rush. “Might I ask what brings you to the Bull and Mare, sir…” Cecil held the last word as to ask him to share his name.

“I’m not a sir yet,” confided the young knight, his deep brown eyes locking with Cecil’s green eyes. “I’m on my way to capture that title in fact. By tomorrow evening, I will earn the favor of Princess Petunia and be knighted Sir Gallavan, Cockatrice Slayer!”

Cecil paused to evaluate the man, twirling a bit of her hair around a finger. She’d much rather have a tryst with his cock than hear about him slaying a cockatrice, and felt he’s completely deluded thinking he could slay such a beast. Not a scratch on his armor, clearly the impulsive young man would end up a snack for the monster. She leaned close and inhaled slowly, the would-be knight smelling of lilacs. “Well, Gallavan, I’m Cecil. You’re welcome to call for me should you need anything. You can take the room at the back of the inn, it’s the biggest. Fitting for the knight-to-be!”

*****

Cecil told herself it was the right thing to do as she approached Gallavn’s room in the early evening. It just wouldn’t do to have such a handsome face spoiled by such a nasty beast! Cecil was also quite convinced the young man had never seen Princess Petunia, as if he’d seen the horror that was the not only ugly but also incredibly mean princess, he’d be as likely to slay the woman as he was a Cockatrice.

Standing in front of the door, Cecil adjusted her top and pressed it smooth against her toned stomach, having forsaken the dress for a lacy green bustier and silken underwear to match. She silently cursed the Witches of Clendol, wishing they had boosted her tits from their modest size to something a bit more ample while they were enchanting the rest. “Too demanding,” they had told her, but to Cecil it was erzurum escort just a small ask, wanting enough to comfortably wrap around a cock. Still, she was satisfied with her presentation and knocked soundly on the door.

“Yes, who is it?” came Gallavan’s voice.

“It’s Cecil. I forgot to mention, we have a special offering for knights such as yourself,” she said as she let herself into the room.

Gallavan stood armorless in a simple linen shirt and pants, his rippling muscles visible through the sheer top. “Eh, madam, I’m not yet a knight,” he said flatly, clearly eyeing Cecil, from her pert breasts to her exposed stomach and down her bare legs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let it pass just this once, a secret between us. Just enjoy the package,” she said, gaze landing between his legs.

“But what of the glasses, you have only a bottle?” the would-be knight questioned.

“Oh it’s no worry, just sit.”

Gallavan heeded her command, sitting in a rough wooden chair by the bed. Cecil blew out all the candles in the room, leaving the space lit just by a low burning fire in the hearth. In the golden light, she pulled the cork from the bottle of warm mulled wine and took a large swig. She straddled the man, rubbing from his abs to his chest and resting her hand on his neck as she leaned in. Bringing her lips to his, he hungrily opened for the drink.

As Cecil released the warm liquid, she pressed her tongue into his mouth, meeting Gallavan’s in a deep kiss. As his body melted into the chair she pulled her head back abruptly. The man reached for the wine but Cecil kept it from his reach.

“This is your treat, I’ll serve,” she said and began rocking her hips in his lap. Cecil could feel his muscular thighs tense beneath her as he tried to hide his erection, but she reached behind her back and between his legs, pressing the throbbing cock against her. Looks like I have my own cock to slay, she thought, appreciating the girthy member. Gyrating back and forth, she fed him another sip of wine.

“Come, you should get more comfortable,” said Cecil, standing up and taking Gallavan’s hand. She abruptly pushed him to the bed, leaning in with another sip of wine as her free hand explored his chest. “I mean really comfortable, let’s get that shirt off.”

Gallavan eagerly pulled out of his top, by the time the shirt was free Cecil was ready with another wine-laden kiss, leaning him back into the bed as their tongues explored each other.

“Do you want to know the real trick to freedom?” she asked.

“Yes,” he whispered back.

“Restraint. I’ll show you, stay there.” Cecil stepped into the hall and returned with a set of irons. “I promise you if you keep these on and let your self control go, you’ll feel pleasure unlike any you’ve experienced before. Do you assent?”

“Yes,” he stammered.

“Then lay back on those pillows and put your hands above your head. Oh and should you feel uncomfortable you can tell me and I’ll unlock you, no question.”

With Gallavan propped up against a stack of pillows, he slowly raised his hands. Cecil took a long draw from the wine bottle and set it on a nightstand before crawling on top of the still-tense denizli escort man. She ran her hands up his arms, enjoying the nervous tensity she could feel in them and leaned in for another kiss.

Lips locked, Cecil bound his wrists in the irons, the chain looped over a bed post. She leaned back and resumed exploring his body with her hands, running from his fingertips, down his forearms, caressing his biceps and shoulders. She dug her fingers into his chest and traced down his toned abs until her hands rested on his hips. Her body quivered, appreciating his excellent and youthful physique.

Cecil tugged his pants off, revealing his erect cock, rigid and full. I’ll get to you soon, she thought, but not just yet. Instead of grasping the prize, she continued her thorough exploration, squeezing his calves and embracing his thighs, letting her hands graze just beside his penis without actually indulging him with a touch. She smiled as Gallavan released an involuntary groan and his toes curled.

“Can’t go thirsty,” Cecil said, stepping away and bringing another sip of wine. She was cautious to not touch him at all, the tortured man trying to follow her with his body as she leaned away. “Perhaps something for your eyes.”

Cecil stepped away, close to the warmth of the fire. With a smirk she slowly loosened the cord to her bustier and inched the garment down, pausing before fully revealed. She faced away from Gallavan and removed the garment, letting him see only her exposed back. Careful to keep her legs tightly squeezed, she slipped from her underwear, nude in the orange glow of the fire. She cast a look over her shoulder and offered a sultry smile. Eyes locked, Cecil turned to face Gallavan, exposing her breasts. She strode back to the bed, pussy glistening with anticipation and served another mouthful of wine to her bound quarry.

Gallavan struggled against the chains, wanting so badly to take her in her arms as he was used to being in control. Cecil pushed him back into the bed and rubbed her chest on his, her nipples firming against his skin. She positioned his thigh between her legs and pressed hard, grinding her clit against Gallavan’s powerful leg. Cecil moaned, her wetness lubricating his thigh as she slid against the muscle. Turning her attention back to Gallavan, she grabbed a sash from the nightstand and fed him more wine, whimpering as they kissed.

Cecil leaned back again, wrapping the sash in loose circles around Gallavan’s arms, then neck, across his stomach and around his cock. She teased him in stride with the gliding of her pussy on his leg, the knight squirming and wanting nothing more than to unite his body with hers.

“Please,” Gallavan started, unable to state what it was he desired.

“Of course,” Cecil responded, wrapping the sash around his eyes. “Relax, let go of your need for control, be free.”

She slid back on the bed and took the base of his cock in her hand. Gallavan expected to feel the depths of her mouth but instead Cecil continued her tease, kissing as softly and gently as she could along the shaft, gently caressing his balls with her fingertips. She ran up and down the length with brief kisses and flicks of her iskenderun escort tongue, giving only the lightest lick on the tip to taste his precum.

“Perhaps a reward is due,” Cecil said on seeing his tortured expression. She brought him yet more wine and positioned his cock between her legs.

Gallavan had to endure yet more as Cecil slid her labia along his shaft, denying entry. With his cock shimmering wet, Cecil began to grind from clit to asshole, continually slowing when the tip was by her entrance, only to slide away again.

“I… I beg you… please…” said Gallavan, faint with anticipation and burning with desire.

Cecil positioned her pussy just above his cock, the tip barely grazing her entrance. As Gallavan raised his hips, fighting to enter, she kept her depths just above. When his hips were off the bed as high as he could raise them, Cecil bore down hard, taking the entirety of him in and slamming him back into the bed.

Gallavan very nearly came that instant, only his desire to experience more of the most perfect pussy he had ever felt kept him from finishing so quickly. Cecil rewarded his patience, squeezing, twisting and gyrating so every inch of his cock experienced the warmth of her embrace. Again and again she brought herself down, taking his full length with every thrust.

Soon he began to shake, attempting to alert her but he was so enthralled he could not speak. Cecil felt the tension in his groin and quickened her pace, grinding her clit hard against the entire length of his cock. In moments Gallavan orgasmed, exploding and filling Cecil. The rush of hot cum sent her over the edge as she continued grinding through her orgasm, whiting out and collapsing on Gallavan’s chest.

*****

The sound of a dropped bowl and Richard cursing at Georg jerked Cecil and Gallavan awake.

“Fancy another special?” Cecil asked, still laying on top of Gallavan she reached for his groin.

“I overslept!” he squeeked, hastily attempting to jump from the bed but he was yanked promptly back.

Cecil laughed as the poor man was still chained, his blindfold covering one eye. She took her time removing the chains, Gallavan rushing from the bed the instant his hands were free.

Cecil stretched lazily, intentionally exposing herself and distracting the poor young man in every way she could with visual treats. Gallavan eventually pulled himself into his armor, squeezing in a near-full erection as his body told him to stay with Cecil. The poor man looked a mess, half of the straps too loose and the other too tight as he hastened his preparation. With his armor more or less on, he rushed through the door.

“Your sword?” Cecil lazily asked when she knew he was most of the way down the hall.

A few moments later Gallavan appeared back in the room and retrieved his weapon. “Yes, probably helpful when I face the Cockatrice. M’lady.”

“Go well, soon-to-be knight, I wish you all the luck of the Bull and Mare Inn!” Cecil followed. She knew he was far too late to reach the cockatrice in time, with other more capable hunters sure to have claimed the prize. Though she was smug knowing that Gallavan, in his youthful confidence and inexperience, would have certainly perished and wasted his delectable body away. Cecil silently hoped the would-be knight would recover the damage to his pride and might one day return to the inn.

Cecil stretched on the bed and smiled, ignoring calls from Richard, wondering when another such enjoyable guest might arrive.

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