Keywords: MF, MFF, Mult, violent, slow Part: 6 of 8 Author: Knave of Hearts
Title: Grim Fairy Tales
Chapter 19: After the Rebellion The Shoremen's Rebellion had collapsed
like a paper tiger once the Palladium was no longer there to shield them
from the government's overwhelming firepower. Once the Federal
government's power had been re-established, all that was left was for
President Patterson to make his victory as public as possible. Elaborately
stage managed trials were televised for the Rebellion's surviving leaders.
Against the backdrop of prisoners shuffling into courtrooms, faces pale and
haunted, the President had made speeches about the restoration of respect
and civilization. Soon, anyone that had criticized the government's
policies was quietly arrested, swiftly tried, and publicly sentenced to
"Detention Centers" where their "reeducation" would enable them to rejoin
society as contributing members.
The country was reemerging from chaos but only at the cost of
overwhelming government control. The freedoms listed in the Bill of Rights
were suspended or squeezed until they might have well as been revoked. The
press, in particular, felt the heavy hand of martial law. Government
censors ensured that the "people were not unduly disturbed" and "criminals
were not encouraged" by reports of lawlessness. Reporters and newspapers
that didn't tow the official line soon found themselves out of business, in
a re-education camp, or dead.
One of the most visible tools of the "Rebirth of Federalism" was the new
Federal Police force, the Public Guard. Brutally effective and heavily
armed, they slowly restored both trade and travel along the ravaged I95
corridor. Reporting directly to the President, the PG vigorously
campaigned to restore order through managing every aspect of the nation's
citizen's daily lives. The very sight of a dark green and black PG cruiser
was enough to send fear into every citizen's heart. Only those that had
connections within the PG were safe.
With the help of a massive media barrage, the fall of the Shoremen's
Rebellion increased the public's confidence in the government. Hoping to
build on this surge of enthusiasm, the President announced a Special
Election, to be held at the end of July. In an impassioned speech, he
declared that these elections would "provide the people with a platform
from which they can deliver their mandate." High sounding words. Cynics
pointed to a quote from the early 20th century New York City
politician, Boss Tweed.
"They can vote for who ever they want, as long as I get to fill the
ballot."
Chapter 20: Bobby Triumphant Bobby looked at the half naked woman who
knelt in front of him. The petite, tan energetically on
Stuart's cock, her ass bobbing in time with her mouth as she swallowed the
chief of staff's impressive pole. Bobby reached forward and slid his
finger under her thong panties. He found her squishy and wet. The
woman moaned and pressed her hips back, encouraging him to put his finger
deep inside her.
Ignoring her silent request for the time being, Bobby pulled the thin
material out of his way and took a good look at Ms. Felicia Thompson. Her
nicely rounded ass cheeks showed no signs of sagging despite the fact that
she was in her mid-30's and had led a less than comfortable life. Bobby
teased her with his hand. Tracing his finger past her pouting labia, he
gathered some of her oily wetness and smeared it around her tightly
puckered asshole.
Felicia took Stuart's cock out her mouth. "I like it in my ass," she
whispered hoarsely to Bobby before turning her attention to Stuart's hairy
balls.
Bobby smiled and obliged her by sinking his index finger into her little
brown rosette. He could tell that she had plenty of experience taking
things into her backdoor by the way he slid inside her up to the first
knuckle without any problem. She groaned appreciatively and pressed back
against his hand, driving his finger deeper into her anus.
Bobby allowed himself to enjoy finger fucking her ass. He was delighted
by the way her ass was like a little mouth, his finger as he pulled
it out in preparation for the next stroke. He added a second finger
without difficulty, feeling her muscles squeeze and grasp his fingers as he
penetrated her.
"Smart money would just have her killed," he thought. People like her,
made desperate and rootless during the Troubles, were cheap. "But what did
she know and whom had she told?"
=)0(Bobby's morning had started off so well. He had held his weekly
staff meeting at his palatial Norfolk home. He had sat at the head of the
table as each of his carefully selected team briefed him on their part of
the plan to get him elected as one of Virginia's Senators in the coming
Special Election. Every part of his plan had gone like clockwork to this
point. The incumbent had died of an unexplained malady; Bobby had given
his eulogy. Endorsements from all of the major political blocks had been
received; payoffs, blackmail, and a few "accidents" had made sure of this.
His bank accounts were well stocked. The list of people who owed him
favors was full of people with the right sort of connections.
"Nothing stands in my way," he thought with a smile.
The meeting ended as Bobby congratulated each staff member for their
work, reminding them all that they still had to actually win the election
before the celebration could start. That had gotten a good laugh all
around. They all knew that Bobby was a shoe-in for the election. The
staff had all left in high spirits, sure that they were on their way to
Washington with their boss.
After the team had left, Bobby sat back in his large leather chair and
casually picked a cigar from the humidor on the table and rolled it around
on his fingers. He was already looking forward to an afternoon on his boat
with a couple willing playmates. Looking up, he had addressed his chief of
staff.
"Well Stuart. What's on your mind? You look like an woman who's
just smelled piss."
Ignoring Bobby's jibe, the had tossed a manila folder across
the table. "Stepped in shit is more like it," Stuart said. He ruffled
through a sheaf of folders in front of him. "We got too many loose ends.
To start with we still haven't found that bitch of Paris Mawbry's or those
disks."
Bobby wasn't in the mood to hear bad news. He didn't open the folder.
"Listen Stuart. There was so much shit going on after the Federal troops
rolled into the Shore, so many people moving or missing. Shit, man. She
could be dead for all we know."
"Or she could pop up in the middle of the election with a microphone in
her face and ruin our day." Stuart had the bit between his teeth. "And if
that weren't bad enough, now we got a reporter running around the Valley
digging into the 'plight of the refugees'."
"Well that should be good news." Bobby lit the cigar and settled back in
his chair, wreathed in a cloud of smoke.
Stuart ignored his boss. "Her name's Penman and she's been
real interested in The Reverend Lot's Hostel." Stuart slid another folder
across the table. "You remember the Reverend. He was one of our better
donors in the early days. He also ran a little slave trading outfit up
around Afton Mountain."
"There ain't nuthin' that would link that to us." Bobby's eyes narrowed.
He was starting to see where Stuart was taking this conversation. "The
Reverend died in a bandit attack. I seem to remember that we used that as
an excuse to increase the police presence in the area. It was a big PR
coup."
"That's what we all thought at the time." Stuart picked up the phone
next to his chair. "Send her in." He hung up the phone and turned to the
door. "Bobby, I'd like to introduce Ms. Felicia Thompson. She's got
quite a to tell."
Bobby didn't say anything for a moment. The that stood at
the end of the long conference table looked to be another lawyer. The only
thing out of place was the worried look in her wide blue eyes.
"What did you have to tell us, Ms. Thompson?"
"A reporter came asked me what I knew about you and the Reverend Lot."
"So what did you tell her?" Bobby started to get impatient but
remembered that Stuart never wasted time on trivial matters. This woman
had to know something important.
Felicia licked her lips before looking up. "She wanted to know about
the Farm."
Bobby struggled to keep his face stoic. The had been where the
Reverend had taken the younger, better looking refugees to be sold as sex
slaves, organ donors, or whatever the market in human flesh called for.
Stuart slid him another folder.
"The reporter said she was looking for some government link. She wanted
information. She said that someone had to have been protecting the Farm."
Bobby's voice cut her off smoothly. "And what do you want Ms.
Thompson?"
Felicia, a sense of panic raising in her throat, spurted out, "A job.
Security. A home. Same as everyone else."
"And what did you do for the Reverend?"
"I fucked the cops that came around. Kept them happy."
"So how would you know about the secrets of the Farm?"
Felicia snorted, a dry cynical laugh. "Men like to talk after they
fuck, Mr. Tyler."
Felicia's expression didn't change as she unbuttoned her blouse. She
folded it and her skirt carefully over a chair. Standing in front of the
two in her clean but darned underwear, she made her final offer.
"I can show you."
=)0(And she had. Stripping off her bra, Felicia had swallowed Stuart's
cock in a trice. Bobby had enjoyed the show, even participating by running
his hands over her tan, firm body. But he knew that this was business.
She was selling information. Information about him. Information that
could be used to ruin him.
He fondled Felicia's ass as he tried to figure out what to do with her.
The answer came to him in a flash of inspiration. "Keep your friends close
and your enemies closer," he murmured as he unbuckled his pants.
Aiming his stiff cock at her ready ass, he flashed his chief of staff a
broad grin. "I think we can come to a satisfactory arrangement, Felicia,"
he said as he placed his cock against her asshole and pushed.
The sight of his cockhead disappearing into Felicia's tight sphincter
gave Bobby a sense of power. He felt her rectal muscles relax as she
pressed her hips toward him, taking more of his cock into her ass. Bobby
let Felicia set the pace as she bobbed back and forth, first swallowing
Stuart's cock and then riding back to take more dick in her nether opening.
When Bobby finally felt his balls rest against her firm thighs, he let out
a small groan. Felicia, still holding Stuart's glans in her mouth, looked
back at him. She smiled as she played her tongue across the Chief of
Staff's pee-slit.
She removed the prick from her mouth for only a moment. "I like it when
men in my ass," she said in a coquettish voice that was absurd under
the circumstances. "Will you shoot your in my ass, Mr. Tyler?"
Bobby smiled broadly. This was a woman who understood how to give a what he wanted.
"Oh yes, Felicia," Bobby replied, " I'm going to fill you up with my
jism."
He put his hands on his hips and slowly pulled himself out of her
asshole until only his cock's helmet remained inside her. The friction of
her ass as she squeezed his cock was incredible and Bobby pushed forward
with more speed. After only two or three more strokes, Felicia's ass was
more than ready to take Bobby's cock and he began reaming her with long
hard strokes. Stuart pulled his manhood out of her mouth, afraid that she
might accidentally bite him when Bobby's prick bottomed out at the end of a
stroke. Her face looked as if she was lost in between intense pain and
indescribable pleasure as Bobby's prick filled her ass.
Stuart held Felicia's face in his lap by her hair. He pumped his cock
with his fist, growling about how he was going to paint her face with his
sperm. Felicia, her eyes closed as she concentrated on the butt-fucking
she was getting, didn't answer Stuart but opened her mouth to receive his
seed. Stuart roared as he felt his balls fill with cum. He shot his load
over her face; jets of cream that struck her on the cheek and painted
her with shiny cum. Bobby couldn't last much longer and rammed his body
against the blonde's, his cock erupting inside her. Felicia collapsed
against Stuart, still holding his cock as she milked the last of his
orgasm.
Bobby wiped his cock with a paper tissue. "Miss Thompson, I want to
thank you for joining my team," he said pompously. Felicia rested her head
against Stuart's thigh as the Chief of Staff reached for his cup of coffee
as if he finished every staff meeting with a wild anal orgy.
While he dressed himself, Bobby continued. "This chaos that we're
living in is like cancer. It spreads out of control, eventually killing
everything. And only the most drastic cures work. Hell, sometimes dying
seems better than the cure, but we've got to try." He resumed his place
behind his huge desk. "I'm going to team you up with a surgeon. A true
professional who I know you'll give invaluable assistance. This will be
the last time we speak or meet, Ms. Thompson. Do you understand that?"
Felicia slid to the floor and looked up at Bobby from her knees. Her
face was sticky from Stuart's and her ass was beginning to ache but
she knew that she'd been successful. Not trusting her voice, she looked
Bobby in the eye and nodded.
"Good. I don't need to tell you that if you do your job well you can be
assured of getting everything that you deserve. Now if you'll excuse me, I
have other matters to deal with."
Felicia scooped her clothes into her arms and allowed herself to be led
from the office to an adjoining meeting room. Without saying a word,
Stuart handed her a card with a phone number and then left. She pulled a
handkerchief from her purse and tried to clean some of the from her
face, a task made easier by her tears.
Chapter 21: The Maze Match Since returning to Norfolk after Simon
disabled the Palladium, he and Arabella had been confined to the Little
Creek Amphibious Base housing area. The days had been fairly calm; a few
hours at work, early afternoons at the beach, and then enjoying warm nights
together in the exciting city sprawl of that Norfolk and the rest of the
area had become.
As martial law had tightened its grip on the massive military and
industrial complex in the Hampton Roads area, what had been a collection of
autonomous cities was consolidated into a single political entity called
Atlantica. What had been seven cities, each with its own government, had
become one sprawling metroplex under the iron fist of the federally
appointed Atlantica Board.
Citing a housing shortage, the Board started a number of building
projects. Huge self-contained towers, called arcologies, combined the
sprawling suburbs and apartment complexes into spires that seemed to pierce
the clouds. As part of the civil works programs that the government used
to put people to work, elevated roadways and monorails were built to
connect the spires, fashioning an ultra-modern city while the rest of the
area slid into bedlam.
As he wandered the huge arcades in the arcology spires of what used to
be Virginia Beach, Simon's thoughts dwelt on the future. He was still
searching for a place to call home, only now he was sure that he wanted to
share his future with the slender redhead that stood next to him, Arabella.
His thoughts simmered as he caught the monorail back to the apartment he
shared with Arabella. He had been trying to out process the Army, a
lengthy process that was further complicated by his previous desertion from
his unit in Washington D.C. over a year ago. Simon plugged away at the
bureaucracy, waiting in lines and filling out forms, for over a week but
was finally taking a day off to help Arabella do some shopping.
Simon was part of a large number of troops that were being sent home
after the end of the rebellion. While there were a large number of
officers being demobilized, Simon was surprised to meet Madeline Altarby,
Bobby Tyler's military aide, in the line ahead of him one day. Having seen
her on television and at different briefings, he struck up a conversation.
They chatted as they waited and he found her disappointed and somewhat
bitter that Bobby had dismissed her so quickly after the Rebellion was
over.
Trying to be polite, Simon tried to steer the conversation away from
work. "Well, what about the weekend? I can't believe the city council's
going to stage a Grand Prix race this soon after the rebellion."
Although the race had been the popular headline, even though it was
always carefully placed below the transcripts of the Shoremen trials,
everyone seemed to have picked a racing team to cheer for.
"Who are you going to be rooting for?"
"No one," she muttered, withdrawing into her shell. Simon saw her chew
on her bottom lip, fighting the tears that filled her eyes. "I'll just
pack and write a few letters."
Knowing that there would be a big party on base for the race Simon
invited Madeline, but she continued to refuse. Finally, at a loss for
words, Simon was grateful when Madeline's name was called and she said
farewell.
Arabella tapped him on the arm and dragged him from his daydream. "This
is our stop."
Returning his attention to the present, Simon gathered their packages
and walked with Arabella to their tiny apartment. He bumped into her as
she bent to retrieve a small envelope that had been slipped under the door.
Simon ignored it, letting her open the note, and walked through to the
kitchen for a drink. "What's it say? Somebody organizing another barbeque
on the beach?"
Arabella's brow furrowed in confusion. "No. It's weird. Handwritten
on a piece of notepaper. 'I am researching the activities of Reverend
James Low and would like to interview you.'"
"Anything else?"
"Nope." Arabella tossed the note and its envelope on a table. "I guess
she'll call or come over."
After reading and discarding the note, Arabella stretched. Simon
although he still had a worried look on his face, couldn't help noticing
how her pressed against her thin white cotton dress.
She swept her hair up, holding it off her neck. "Damn, I'm hot and
sticky."
Simon smiled, appreciating her double entendre, but his mind was still
wrapped up in worry.
Seeing that he was still in a funk, Arabella fixed Simon with a
slit-eyed, smoky look. "You've been tiptoeing around me for the last two
weeks." Starting at the neckline, she unbuttoned the front of her dress as
she walked across the room, her hips swaying as she closed the distance
with her lover. "I'd offer a penny for your thoughts, but I don't have
change. You seem to have some emotional baggage and I'm ready to do some
unpacking."
"Huh?" Simon tried to think of something to say.
"Bullshit. I'm a child."
Simon's eyebrows shot up. Arabella had rarely showed her temper since
he'd met her and had been quiet, almost submissive since coming back from
the Eastern Shore. She walked toward him, her dress unbuttoned, flashing
glimpses of her firm body with each, exaggerated, hip swinging stride.
Arabella stopped just out of arm's reach, her dress fully unbuttoned. She
placed her hands on her hips, throwing the dress back and exposing her
scant white lacy underwear.
"Bury the past. Now. Today we wipe the slate clean." Arabella saw
Simon's cock raise a tent in his pants. She stepped closer. "At least one
part of you agrees." Softly cupping his bulging crotch Arabella sank to her
knees. "I'll just wait down here while the rest of you decides."
She looked up from his lap, massaging the growing lump with her hand.
Simon knew that he couldn't stay preoccupied with problems when he looked
into her big blue eyes. The furrows on his brow smoothed as he unbuckled
his trousers and started unbuttoning his fly.
Arabella accepted her victory silently and licked her lips as she helped
Simon pull down his trousers and briefs.
"That's it. Come to momma." She pushed him backwards, tripping him with
his clothes. Quickly shedding her dress, she climbed over his lap and on
to the couch.
Simon smelled the tangy musk of her as she lowered her face into
his lap. Looking over her shoulder Arabella smiled at him and Simon found
that he was focused on her bright blue eyes rather than her pink
pussy that was inches from his face.
She held his cock tightly by its base and licked it like an ice cream
cone. "I'm going to get this all wet and then I'm going to let you fuck
me. You'd like that wouldn't you?"
It was almost impossible to keep from laughing at her coy, little voice as she swallowed almost half of his eight inch cock in a single
slurp. He ran his hands over her taut thighs and ass cheeks before leaning
forward to kiss her smooth-shaven pussy. She was already wet and his
tongue lapped up her sweet tasting oil from the folds of her snatch.
Simon groaned as he felt his cock nudge the back of her mouth and then
enter her throat. Her throat muscles constricted, increasing the friction
against his steel-hard member.
"Shit, I love it when you do that."
He softly caressed her head, pushing her hair away from her face so that
he could see her work as she and licked the entire length of his
manhood. Her head sank again, until her nose rested against the soft skin
of his scrotum.
Simon's mouth returned to her slit. He kissed it with his whole mouth,
softly at first and then harder. Using his tongue he parted her delicate
lips and ran his tongue through the folds of her labia, consciously
avoiding her clit. While she swallowed him over and over in slow, steady
strokes, he straightened his tongue and carefully licked around the inner
rim of her love tunnel before darting his tongue inside her.
Arabella was forced to remove his cock from her mouth as she moaned and
spread her legs wider to allow him to tongue fuck her deeper. Teasing her,
Simon lifted his tongue from her and flicked it across her little
pink rosette. She returned to his cock, determined not to let him distract
her and gain control of the steamy scene.
Arabella held his cock tightly, enjoying the throbbing feeling as she
constricted the blood from flowing out of his hard pole. She moved lower
and took one of his testicles into her mouth, on it like a piece of
candy. The intense sensation made him abandon his efforts to tease her
clit and she knew that it was time to put his cock inside her.
Arabella swung her body off the couch before Simon could recover and
quickly straddled his lap. With one hand, she offered him her left breast.
He eagerly took the swollen pink nipple into his mouth, rolling it between
his tongue and teeth. With her other hand, Arabella guided his turgid
prick into her dripping love box. She was so wet that he slid into her
silken passage with little preamble.
"God, I love how you fill me up," she said. "I can feel your cock all
the way up to my throat when you're this hard."
She ground her against him and kissed his forehead. They began
moving together, urgently seeking release. Both of them were close to
climax and Simon's hands held Arabella's hips as she bounced up and down on
his cock, taking the entire length of his pole inside her with each
stroke.
Simon threw his head back and bellowed her name as he felt his cock
spurt, sending hot jets of deep inside his lover's womb. As he flooded
her love tunnel with his seed, Arabella felt her shudder and spasm
around his pulsating member. She pitched forward, resting against him as
her orgasm washed through her like a tidal wave. She felt her loins
convulse, milking his phallus of their milky white cream.
Arabella lay against him and Simon felt her heart pounding against his
chest. He held her gently, nuzzling her neck with his kisses until she
regained her senses and moved her lips to return his caresses. Slowly,
Arabella lifted herself from the couch. Simon's cock slid from her
well-fucked with a soft pop and Arabella quickly grabbed a tissue to
dam the flood of that ran out of her sex. Simon rose from the couch to
walk toward the kitchen when the phone rang.
"Hello," he said.
"Major Woodsman, please. Major Simon Woodsman." It was a woman's voice,
soft and whispery.
"This is Woodsman," he said curtly. Dread rose like bile in his throat
but he forced himself to be calm.
The voice replied in a rush. "Major Woodsman, I am Penman and
I'm a reporter for Network 3 news. I am researching a on the lives
of some of the refugees that traveled through the Valley early last year. "
The hair on Simon's neck stood on end. His own past was mixed up in the
lives of those refugees, a past that he had tried unsuccessfully to bury.
After he had deserted from his unit outside of the ruins of Washington
D.C., he had survived only because a government agent named Juliet had
given him a new identity. This favor had come back to haunt him when the
government had demanded that he pay them back.
"I'm not sure that I can help you," he said finally.
"I have some information that you can help me investigate the activities
at a refugee hostel run by the Reverend James Low."
The name of the pederastic preacher made Simon's gut churn. He could
still see the Reverend's body as it slid down the wall to lie in a crumpled
heap.
The voice on the phone continued. "I know that this is coming rather
fast. Why don't we meet?"
Simon worried that he was being lured into a trap. He tried to think of
people who would wish him harm, enemies trying to even some scores.
Taking his silence for agreement, the reporter continued. "I'll text
you the instructions," explained. "We have to be careful. But I
promise that you're doing the right thing." Without waiting for an answer,
she hung up.
"What was that all about?" Arabella asked.
"Somebody named Penman wants to talk about the Reverend Low."
Arabella looked scared. The last time she had seen the Reverend, Simon
had just shot him dead. "This isn't good," she said.
Simon took a deep breath as his phone beeped, signaling the receipt of a
message. He keyed the phone and read the message. 'Take a walk on the
Boardwalk at 2000.'
Simon stood next to the phone, his face as white as a sheet. Arabella
called his name softly several times before he answered. She stepped close
to him, a concerned look on her face.
"Whatever it is, I'm coming with you."
She kissed his cheek and turned to put the shopping away.
"I guess we can have dinner out tonight," Simon tried to sound cheerful.
They traveled toward the beach and joined the crowd of people that were
heading toward the large brick walkway known as the Boardwalk. Simon and
Arabella relaxed slightly as they walked past the bars and souvenir stands
hand in hand. They had walked to the end of one of walkway when
they reached a crossroads. Simon paused, looking down both of the tree
lined walkways.
He had turned to say something to Arabella when a thrust a flyer
into his hands. "Maze Match tonight," the yelled in Simons ear.
"What?"
"You've won two tickets to the most bodacious night of full contact
entertainment in the entire city, all courtesy of Penelope." Before Simon
could ask what he was talking about, the had faded back into the crowd.
"I guess that's where we're supposed to meet her," Arabella said.
They took a cab to the City Arena. Entering the stadium, they let
themselves be swept along by the flow of the crowd.
"I don't know why she just didn't ask you to come to her office,"
Arabella complained as they maneuvered through the crush to find their
table on the terraces above the area floor.
Simon looked around at the crowd of screaming fans. "I don't think that
she's gotten censor clearance for the story," they took their seats and
scanned the stained and folded menu. "Well if it's fried they have it."
"All washed down with watery beer." Arabella smiled across the table.
"You sure know how to show a a good time."
Simon looked around. Two tiers of steep concrete terraces overlooked
the arena. The seating of the stadium had been ripped out and replaced
by benches and booths, all facing the playing area.
Simon quickly flipped through the program that they'd been given at the
door. The club's special event of the evening was a "Maze Match", a "grab
the flag" contest pitting two teams of gladiators against each other in a
sunken maze. One team tried to get through an obstacle course to the other
team's "temple" and carry off their opponent's "totem." Each obstacle was
called a "combat zone" where cameras projected the action on to huge
video panels. Both sides were armored and carried exotic-looking weapons.
Even though the Simon was sure that the weapons were blunt or padded, there
weren't many rules and the match promised lots of blood.
The crowd was loud and definitely ready for the show. Simon, realizing
that their booth was at the bottom of the upper tier, hoped that the
patrons in the cheaper but higher seats didn't feel like participating in
the match. He had no desire to be pelted with chicken and rib bones when
the booster club got drunk.
And they were getting drunk. Waiters and waitresses carrying beer,
chicken wings, and spare ribs poured out of the stairways, flowing up the
steep stairs carried in small plastic buckets that were placed on each
table. A harassed looking teenaged stopped in front of their table
and Simon ordered the ribs and some beer. Before he and Arabella had a
chance to dive in, the stadium shook from the loud speaker's announcement.
"Laaaaydieeees and Gentlemen. Tonight, for your entertainment pleasure,
the Olympic Group is proud to present . . . Maze Match Monday!!!!"
The group roared its approval, quieting only when the lights dimmed. A
spotlight focused on a slender, dark skinned woman in a toga. She stood on
a platform above one end of the stadium field. Speaking slowly and clearly
for the crowd's benefit, she introduced the evening's playing area.
Floodlights illuminated the obstacles in the playing area as she mentioned
them, each applause. The course featured walls that had to be
climbed, a ropewalk over water, and "the Temple of Doom" where the "home
team's" token, a leather mask, hung.
The preliminaries over, the toga-clad mistress of ceremonies
dramatically pointed to one side of the stadium and introduced the first
team of combatants. Two huge athletes strutted down the ramp and on to the
course.
"Queen Sheba accompanied by her consort, Mohammed the Nubian Prince."
Simon had to admit that the showmanship was good. Both Sheba and her
consort were attired in flashy pseudo-Egyptian costumes, subtly altered to
allow them to compete. Mohammed was a huge black man, his head covered by
an Egyptian Pharaoh's headdress. Sheba was a burly, big titted brunette,
almost as tall as Mohammed, who was dressed in a revealing costume of white
and gold lycra. The crowd greeted them with loud yells and whistles.
The spotlight slewed over to the other side of the course as the
announcer introduced the "home team."
"And tonight's defenders of the Maze. Raz the Flesh Eater and his
bitch, Dee-monica." The crowd erupted in a frenzy of screams and obscene
epithets. Simon's jaw dropped as the little lady sitting in the booth
next to them jumped to her feet screaming, "Yeah Baby! Kill that black
bastard! Rip his cock off!"
Raz's long black dreadlocks made him look freakish; like a huge pale
Rastafarian, but he was obviously a crowd favorite. He pranced around the
edge of the maze, the lights glaring off of his contact lenses, while
Demonica, a tall, slender brunette, showed the crowd flashes of her ass as
she climbed to her position on top of the wall obstacle.
The crowd fell silent in anticipation. When the bell rang, the match
began. While the object of the contest was for one gladiator to capture
the other's flag, the crowd seemed more interested in the fighting. They
roared their approval as the two muscular women sparred with staves and
kick boxed on platforms. There was a tremendous outcry when Sheba was
thrown from the platform into a sandpit, but she received a polite ovation
as she bowed out of the competition.
"I guess this is the modern version of bread and circuses," Simon
commented as he tried to catch the waitress' eye.
His attempts to get another round of beers were thwarted by the swirl of
the crowd as people wandered the terrace during the intermission between
matches. People bumped and jostled each other as they went in search of
restrooms and souvenirs. Someone bumped their table, causing Simon to grab
his glass.
"Another mysterious message." Arabella held the slip of paper that had
been dropped on to the table. She sat back in the booth and read the
handwritten note. "Meet me in locker room B," she said. "I think you need
to blow this woman off. This is becoming more of a pain in the ass than it
is worth."
Simon considered it for a moment. "I've got to see what she knows." He
finished his beer and sat the glass back on the table with a thump. "I'll
be back in a minute."
Simon walked through the concrete arches to the entrance to the locker
room. Faced by two security guards, he boldly walked up to the doorway.
"You're expected Mr. Woodsman," the one guard said as he opened the
door. "Take a right and then it's the second door on the left."
Simon's suspicious mind went into overdrive. Either this reporter was
extremely well connected or he was being set up. "Might as well get this
over with," he said to himself.
He entered the locker room, a brightly lit maze of dingy blue lockers,
and slowly walked down the center aisle looking for the paranoid reporter.
As he reached the end of the aisle, he heard water running in the shower.
Simon stuck his head around the corner to see who was inside the shower
room. To his surprise, a tall muscular exited the tiled room,
meeting his gaze with a bemused smile. Once Simon tore his eyes from her
firm melon sized breasts, he recognized the woman as Sheba, the fighter who
had just been knocked out of the competition.
"Well you must really want an autograph," Sheba said as she toweled
herself dry.
Sheba seemed more bemused than embarrassed by his presence. Simon
noticed that the gladiator was as tall as he was but had obviously spent
more time in the gym. Her tight, well defined muscles rippled under her
tan skin as she dried herself.
Seeing his interest, Sheba took her time dabbing the terry cloth around
her shaven pussy. Without warning, she threw the damp towel at Simon,
catching him in the face.
"Dry my back," she ordered. She turned around and held her shoulder
length brown hair up off her neck. Arching her back, Sheba presented her
firm, round ass to him. "You gonna stand there like a statue or what?" she
taunted.
Simon stepped forward, the towel held in front of him. Just as he
stepped into reach Sheba turned and grabbed him, using a wrist hold to
force him to the ground.
"I'm kind of particular about who I give autographs to, you know."
Simon tried to raise himself from his knees but she twisted again and
the intense pain in his wrist spread to his arm. He stayed where he was.
"Why don't you make yourself useful while you're down there," she tilted
her hips forward.
Still holding on to his wrist, Sheba used her other hand to spread her
full, tan labia to expose the dark pink petals of her to him.
"Look." Simon felt the bones in his wrist grate against each other and
grimaced in pain. "I'm looking for a Penman. She told me to meet
her here."
"My name is Sheba," the Amazon smiled. "We haven't even been introduced
and you're already talking about other women," she chided. "Say your
sorry, lick my pussy, and I'll forgive you."
"But. . ."
"Lick," she tightened down on his wrist once again, "or I'll snap your
arm off."
Simon leaned forward and lightly kissed her twat. She smelled of the
cheap industrial soap that she'd used in the shower. Flattening his
tongue, he plowed a broad furrow from her to her clit but Sheba wanted
more.
"Suck me, boy," she ordered. "You're eating pussy, not painting a
fence."
Once again, Simon did as he was told and fastened his mouth to the top
of her slit, on her sensitive clit. Sheba supported his head with
her hand, holding him close to her pussy. Moving his target slightly,
Simon gently and nibbled on her pussy's inner lips as he worked his
way toward her love tunnel.
He soon discovered that he couldn't bend his neck enough to get his
tongue inside her cunt, so he reached up and teased the rim of her love
tunnel with his thumb instead. Simon looked up and saw that Sheba was
watching him through the valley of her big, firm breasts. His mouth
returned to her clit and he in hard, using his tongue to tease her
little nubbin from its hiding place.
"Well who ever you are, you've passed the first test." Her hips rocked
slowly against his chin, as if she were fucking herself with his face.
"Now get your clothes off."
She released his wrist and stood back. Simon saw that her lips
were glistening with excitement.
"Oh you'll get more of that, don't you worry none." Sheba laughed
sharply. "But if you're not buck nakkid before I count to five, I'll just
rip your clothes off."
Simon did as he was told, sure that he looked comical as he fumbled with
his shoes and unbuckled pants. He tried to protest once or twice, but she
just ordered him to keep undressing. Finally he sat naked on the locker
room bench, his cock pointing skyward and throbbing uncomfortably.
"Now what?" he asked.
"At least you look like you're big enough to satisfy. Now lay back.
I'll do the work."
Straddling his body, she grasped his prick and rubbed it through her
slit, lubing it with her juices. Supporting herself against his chest, she
guided his stiff prick into her wet snatch.
Simon was amazed at how snug her was. He felt as if his cock were
penetrating a tight, slick glove. She hovered over him, squeezing his cock
with her muscles as she worked her hips closer to his, taking more and more
of his manhood inside herself. Once he was completely inside her she
slowly rode him, sliding his entire length in and out of her pussy. The
friction of her love tunnel was intense, like a small mouth and
pulling against his cock head at the end of each stroke.
He reached up and cupped her huge, heavy but could do little
more than hold them as she threw her hips up and down on his cock. Simon
cried out as her seemed to grab him. Sheba slammed her hips against
his, grinding her against his pubic bone as she came. The feeling of
her as it rippled around his cock almost made Simon but Sheba
quickly grabbed his cock at the base and climbed off of him.
"I don't want to have to take another shower," she said half-seriously.
She started to stroke his slick cock. "I don't think you'll take too long,
will you stud?"
She lightly massaged his balls with one hand as she jerked him off with
the other. Using her fingertips, she tickled the area underneath his
balls, making Simon squirm. She could see his balls swell and felt his
seed start to fill his cock.
"Cum for me. Let me see you cum," she urged.
The rest of the world disappeared; all that mattered to Simon was his
cock. One stroke, two, finally he exploded, spraying his on his
stomach. Tasting a dab of his seed on the tip of her finger, Sheba got up
and walked away before Simon could regain his breath.
Seeing that he was alone, Simon climbed off the table and went into the
shower room tried to clean the sperm off his skin. When he returned to the
main room, there was a well dressed black woman sitting on a bench in front
of the shower room.
"Ms. Penman I presume?"
"Yes." She had a bemused smile on her face as Simon tried to hide his
nakedness. "I apologize for all of the precautions but I had to make sure
you weren't armed."
"Most people would have used a metal detector."
"Anyway." She dismissed the comment and pulled a pocket recorder from
her purse. "I was telling you that I am investigating James Low."
"What's the angle?"
"Excuse me?"
"The Reverend," his voice dripped with sarcasm, "is dead and gone. He
died in a car accident in the Valley over a year ago." That had been
Juliet's to cover up the Reverend's sudden demise.
She consulted a hand held computer for some notes. Simon scrambled back
into his clothes, surprised that his fingers wouldn't obey his commands as
he buttoned his shirt. tapped the small screen a few times,
finally looking up at Simon.
"Let's just say that I have reason to believe that everything isn't that
cut and dried. The Reverend was running a slavery market called the Farm.
I think that he was getting protection from the government."
"Who?" Simon was astounded. "Who would have had the pull to cover that
up?"
"I think that Bobby Tyler was taking kickbacks from the Reverend,
directly linking him to activities at the Farm. I need you to help me
track some people down." She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with
excitement. "We've only got three more weeks before the special election.
If we can expose Tyler as an accomplice to organized slavery, we bring him
down."
"And if we can't find the people or we're too late?"
"Then he's Senator Tyler and we're probably dead."
"Why would he worry about me?"
"He's not the type to leave loose ends."
Simon sat on a bench across the aisle from and began telling
her what he knew about the Reverend and the refugees in the Valley as he
tied his shoes. They had talked about fifteen minutes when they heard a
sound from the corridor. Both and Simon froze.
"That's it for now." shoved her things back into her purse.
Standing, she grabbed Simon's hand and led him into the bathroom part of
the locker area. "We'll go out the back way." She produced a key card and
unlocked the maintenance door.
led Simon through the dimly lit passageway back to the main
concourse. Calmly, she stepped out of the maintenance door and entered the
moving stream of people without releasing her hold on Simon's hand.
"Collect your girlfriend and meet me in front of the arena in fifteen
minutes," she whispered. "We need to finish this up."
"But I've told you all I know."
"Fifteen minutes. I'll be out front in a cab." She let him go and
walked away in the crowd.
Simon stood amidst the crowd. He needed to get Arabella and get out of
here. He wasn't sure yet if he would meet in front of the arena,
but he decided to figure that out later. His detour in the maintenance
passage had taken him to the other side of the arena and it took some time
for him to work his way through the crowd around the broad concourse.
Spotting a restroom, Simon stepped inside to pee. He stepped up to a
urinal when someone pushed him forward and told him, in a menacing whisper,
"You shouldn't shoot your mouth off."
Simon didn't have the slightest idea of what the was talking about
but the feeling of a pistol's muzzle in his back was definite. Time seemed
to slow but, before the assassin could do anything else, Simon heard
another voice say, "What the fuck are you doing?"
The pressure of the muzzle was gone for a second when the gunman turned
to reply. Simon pushed off the wall and sent his elbow toward where he
hoped the assailant's face was. Elbow connected with nose, spraying blood
and making the gunman fall away. Simon hesitated only long enough to kick
the pistol from the man's hand before running for the door, his dick still
hanging from his trousers. Simon ran for the ramp leading to his table.
Tucking his cock back in his pants, he yelled at Arabella, "Grab your
shit. Someone's trying to kill me."
Fighting back the panic, his eyes swept the area. He knew that the
gunman would be back and would probably have friends with him. Simon led
Arabella through an archway, constantly looking over their shoulders for
pursuit. Ahead of them, they saw the front entrance and thought that
they'd made it but Simon spotted his assailant, blood still bright on his
shirt, standing with a group of security officers.
The assailant saw them, pointed, and yelled, "There he is. Stop that
man!"
Grabbing Arabella's hand, Simon turned and ran back into the stadium,
hoping to lose the guards in the crowd. A well meaning bystander tackled
Simon as he ran past one of the archways but Arabella came quickly to his
aide by kicking the in the back. Feeling the grip on him loosen, Simon
lashed out with his boot, crushing the other man's instep. Escaping, they
changed course and headed directly toward the service exit.
They wove their way through the media staff as they ran through the
backstage area and out on to the street. Reaching the sidewalk, Simon
glanced once over his shoulder and saw that their pursuers were still
behind them. He looked around, near panic stricken, and then led Arabella
toward the tram station at a run, hoping to lose the security staff in the
crush of people.
Suddenly a cab screeched up to the curb. The door flew open and Simon
saw Penman's smiling face.
"Hurry up and get in."
Chapter 22: Captain Hooke Bobby's secretary looked over her desk at the
tall, well-built standing in the lobby waiting for his appointment.
Few things surprised her anymore; she had worked for Mr. Tyler for several
years and was very good at judging people. But this scared her.
He had been pacing around the office like a caged wolf, pausing at the
apex of each circuit to check his appearance in the mirror at the end of
the room. While his hand-tailored suit spoke of refined tastes and high
quality, the scars on the hand that straightened the tie and smoothed the
hair told of a more violent past, one that was only lightly wrapped in
Armani silk and Savile Row culture.
She shivered as he looked at the wall clock over her head and tugged at
his gold and diamond cufflinks for the tenth time. A soft chime in her
headset let her know that Mr. Tyler was ready for this mysterious guest.
Relieved, she keyed the intercom and spoke into her headset. "A Mr.
Paulus Hooke is here to see you sir"
The heavy oak door slid open silently and, without a second glance at
the secretary, Hooke walked into Bobby's richly appointed office. His job
as a "solo", a hired gun for the rich and immoral, had led him to
appreciate the finer things in life. His practiced eye casually appraised
the understated opulence of the politician's office. He relished the smell
of expensive cigars and the way his footfalls were smothered by the deep
pile of the carpet. Without giving any appearance of being impressed,
Hooke turned the corner and came face to face with his employer.
Bobby Tyler sat behind his immaculately clean desk, his fingers pressed
together and his mouth drawn into a thin, bloodless sneer.
"Who says crime doesn't pay?" Hooke said with a swagger.
"Shut the fuck up." Bobby was in a foul mood. "I ain't got time for
your failures." He sat back in his chair; annoyance written all over his
face.
"I gave you a simple task. Take care of a nosey reporter, I said. You,
however, not only don't take care of her and you start a riot."
Hooke looked unperturbed but his eyes never left the smaller man. "The
target had assistance from other subversives."
"Bullshit. You fucked up. Don't try and whitewash it with some ten
dollar words and attitude."
Suddenly changing tack, Bobby unclasped his hands and smiled. He knew
that he had pushed the assassin as far as he dared and it was time to
change tack. Bobby pushed a large envelope toward the edge of the desk.
"But now I have another job for you." Bobby flashed his trademark grin.
"I want you to find this and baby-sit her for a few weeks. Until
after the election."
"Why not just kill her?"
"Paulus. My dear Paulus. I can't have you leaving bodies all over the
Valley, I'm running on a law and order platform." Bobby smiled at his own
joke. "Besides this would be missed. Just entertain her and deliver
her to me in one piece after I'm a Senator. Think you can handle it?"
Hooke nodded almost imperceptibly. Bobby knew that no one called him
Paulus. Hooke stood for a second, silently glaring back at Bobby's self
satisfied smirk, before he turned and left.
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