by Dani Stowe
“I know,” I tell him and I let him go because I really do understand. I would be nothing today if it wasn’t for my family—my brothers and my adoptive parents. “Listen,” I say as I unroll some toilet paper and give it to him so he can wipe his face. “How about we talk about it afterward?”
“Talk?” he smirks. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he asks sarcastically. “You just put my head in a toilet and now you want to talk about my drug problems?”
“Yeah,” I tell him looking him straight in the eyes.
He studies me for a minute with his face crinkled in the same way his sister did and I don’t know what he sees when he looks into my eyes, but his face softens as his sister’s did earlier.
“I shouldn’t get you involved,” says the kid. “I don’t want to put anyone else at risk for my stupid mistakes.”
I take a big breath and exhale slowly. The kid has more potential than I thought; it pulls at my heartstrings. “That’s one of the best things I’ve ever heard anyone say in a long time.”
The kid studies me again.
“The only thing I’d like to hear more than that,” I mention, “is an apology to your sister, the woman who shouldn’t have had her nose bleed or get injured in the first place. But I understand you might not be ready for that, so I’ll talk to your sister. I’m sure I can set something up for you. I want you to learn to protect yourself from whatever shit you’re in.”
The kid shakes his head. “You can’t help me, man. And besides, you’re not really going to talk about my problems with me, are you? You’re going to lecture me and tell me how men should treat women. You’re going to feed me a bunch of crap the military has fed you about pushing forward, overcoming your battles, and being the best you can be,” he smirks while making a funny face and bobbling his head. “Do you really think that bullshit makes you that much of a badass to the point you actually believe you’re going to win every fight against any asshole that comes at you?”
I laugh and the kid looks at me funny, so I point to my name tag hovering over my chest—Badass, it says and I’m surprised the kid did not notice before, but he’s certainly noticing now.
“Yep,” I say. “I sure do.”
Chapter 2
Of course, the demonstration did not go as planned. Senator Jones hardly paid attention. I might get in trouble later, but I’ve had my superiors scream in my ears before to the point I went deaf for a day, so I know how to handle that.
When it was time for the senator and her entourage to depart along with her brother, the private jet they came in was having engine problems. As they waited around for an hour, she eventually decided to send everyone to a nearby hotel. Before she walked off, I was able to discuss with her an opportunity for her brother to attend a military camp for kids and young adults. I wasn’t completely surprised she resisted. The two siblings act as if they hate each other, creating grand displays of animosity and torture that blowup all over television and social media for the entire world to see.
But after having met the two, I realize they are completely normal. Graham is the bratty baby brother who is just looking to get some attention, while Gemma is the older sibling whose been conditioned to care for the younger and finds it easier to simply give him what he wants to alleviate the guilt of watching her brother grow up parentless.
Senator Jones did not agree to the camp, but she was open to have a meeting to discuss it further. She wanted more information. For some reason, I’m pleased with myself, despite the demonstration going poorly.
After I finish my report in the office in the next building, I decide to come back to the hangar and let my soldiers go home early while I stay to finish cleaning up and storing things away. My soldiers all have families to go home to and they deserve what little quality time they can get since they already gave up their entire weekend.
All of the weapons have been secured, but the tables and chairs need to be collapsed. I pick up a few papers lying on the first table and stack them into one pile; these papers were supposed to go with Senator Jones. I’m glad I have a meeting scheduled with her; she’ll need these.
I reach for the cloth covering the table that needs to be folded when I hear a whimper. Turning around, I don’t see anyone and the hangar doors are closed so I check each corner. Still, no one and nothing out of the ordinary; besides me, it is just the tank, the tables, and the chairs.
I hear another whimper and it sounds like it’s coming from near the tank. I walk over to it—quietly and slowly. Walking around the rear, I peek around the corner to the other side. Nothing.
I walk along the side and up towards the front. Still nothing.
I hear another whimper and it sounds like it’s coming from the long gun of the tank, which Cracker Jack mislabeled as a cannon, stretching out above me. I reach up and put my hand on the long gun.
I hear another whimper and my fingers sense the slight vibration of the whimpering noise echoing through the barrel from inside the tank.
Someone is in there.
I climb up the side and make my way to the top hatch, which is open, and I peep inside. Below, I’m met with steel blue eyes flooded with tears over bright pink cheeks smeared with mascara. Super Senator Jones has been crying.
“You okay?” I ask.
She closes her eyes and tilts her head down so all I can see is the top of her head. “I’m fine,” she says. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be in here.”
“You really shouldn’t,” I say, “so move over.”
“What?” she asks looking back up at me. “I can’t move over. There’s no room in here.”
“There’s room and I’m coming in,” I tell her as I swivel and drop my legs into the hatch. “There’s another seat right next to you,” I tell her, “so move over.”
I hear her fumbling beneath me as I lower myself into the driver’s seat.
“You should let me out,” she says, smearing more mascara over her cheeks as she wipes her face.
I take off my cap and toss it aside. “What are you still doing here?” I ask.
“Why do you care?” she huffs.
“Because for today, it was my job to care about you, Senator Gemma Jones, and what you thought about my guns. But I’m afraid my guns and I did not make a very good impression. Were they not safe enough for you...or maybe...not big enough? Because I do care about what you think of my big guns.”
She finally smiles with a little chuckle. It’s a bright beautiful smile. “Don’t patronize me,” she laughs.
“In all seriousness, I really do care,” I tell her. “I care about all that shit that happened with your brother, which is why I acted the way I did.”
The Senator stares me down. “You shouldn’t care so much,” she says. “Most people don’t, but don’t quote me on that—I’ll never get re-elected.”
“You’ll always have my vote.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything.”
She sneers as she laughs, but she’s still damn sexy. “Everybody wants something. So, what do you care about that you think needs my attention?”
“Right now, I only care about you.”
She shakes her head like she’s in disbelief. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“I care because I can’t understand how the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen who is known to be uncannily strong and uncompromising in her beliefs could be crying.” Her lips pout. She looks like she wants to cry more. “But in all honesty,” I continue, “I care because you’re getting teardrops all over the interior of my tank, and this is not the place to be hiding a sobbing face. This is a place where soldiers are made into heroes so if you want to cry, I’d be happy to take you somewhere—wherever you want to go, and I’ll even let you cry on my shoulder. You might have to clean up the mascara on your cheeks though,” I smile. “That stuff looks like it stains worse than dirt.”
Senator Jones’s sho
ulders bounce a few times as she laughs to herself and wipes her cheeks. She looks at her fingertips, which are now smudged with black makeup. She looks up at me. She’s stopped crying and she’s got that superhero stare of steel blue eyes and I’m marveling at them when...
They come at me!
She leans forward and kisses me. Her lips are heated from crying and they taste like salt.
I stick my tongue in her mouth and she nearly falls over as she hits her arm against the walls of the tight space within the tank. I grab her face to help her balance as she bends down over me and grabs the front of my uniform jacket.
I reach forward between her thighs and move my hand up her skirt. She whimpers, but it’s not the same whimper I heard her make when I found her crying. She whimpers again when my hand finds its way to the heated folds between her legs and I slip a finger under her panty. It’s not spandex, but it’ll be an easier win for my teeth when they’re ready to fight with them. The fabric is as silky as the wet mess that slides between my fingers and the lips waiting to engulf me between her legs.
“Wait!” she says grabbing my hand, and pulling away as my dick throbs.
Fuck.
“What are we doing?” she asks.
“I’m about to fuck you,” I clarify.
She tries to stand straight up and she knocks her head on a piece of metal equipment above her. She bites her lip and rubs her head as she sits back in the chair to face me. I reach forward to rub her head, too. She looks me in the eye, but only for a second; her superhero powers seem to be gone.
“I can’t do it,” she says. “I like you. I want to. But I just can’t.”
I take a big breath and exhale slowly. “What’s the matter?”
“If I do you, if I fuck you right now, things will get complicated and I don’t do complicated because it feels like work. I promised myself a few years ago I would avoid complication at all costs. I especially promised I would not fuck anybody anymore at work, for the sake of work, or to move myself ahead in my work.”
I scratch my head. “This doesn’t feel like it has anything to do with work.”
She sighs, “But it does to me. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up feeling miserable because I can’t ever give myself to anything but work.”
“Miserable,” I smirk. “You really know how to make a guy feel great.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she whines making eye contact with me again. “That’s not what I meant. Not at all! You’re adorable,” she sings and stops herself to look away. She clears her throat, “I mean you’re very handsome...I like the green eyes and short hair and...the camouflage uniform.” She clears her throat once more and bats her eyes. “I mean you’re attractive.”
“So, let me do all the work.”
The senator’s eyes squint. “What are you talking about?”
“Switch places with me,” I say and I pat her on the leg as I get up.
“What?” she asks as I gently pull her up and help her to turn to sit her in the driver’s seat.
I repeat, “I said, let me do all the work.” I bend over to give her a quick kiss then I sit my ass in the gunner’s chair and pull her knees towards me as I spread them open.
She gulps. “Even if we decide to fuck and it turns out to be good, it’s still going to feel like work, because sex always gets so damn...”
I kiss her knee softly.
“Complicated,” she mutters.
“So, don’t complicate it,” I tell her as I look up into her steel blue eyes. “I’m a soldier. Just give me the command and let me work. It’s really quite simple.” This time I can see straight into her soul as I stretch my hand back up between those superhero thighs. “Do you want me to work on you Senator Jones?”
She hesitates. Behind her eyes and beyond those thighs, I see the real person that she is hiding behind the mask. I see nothing other than an ordinary girl who needs more than a good fuck. She needs love, which I take it she’s never had before, at least not while having sex at the same time. Because love never feels like work.
“Give me the command,” I tell her as I gently rub my fingertip on the outside of her silk panty. “It’s as simple and as uncomplicated as that.”
She nods.
I slip my finger underneath the fabric and get between her folds. She continues to stare at me straight in the eyes and I hold her gaze as I dip my head to kiss her knee again. Her body trembles.
I slip my middle finger into her pussy and she moans. My thumb becomes wet from the juices pouring out of her as I feel around for her clit. When I find it, I rub the small hard nub. I rub my other hand up and down her leg as I keep kissing at her knee. She closes her eyes and her body tenses. She’s about to come quick.
“You going to come for me, baby?” I ask and rub her clit in circles a little faster as I wiggle my middle finger inside her.
She starts to pant heavily and I rub my lips softly back and forth across her knee as I look up to watch her eager, needy face until it relaxes with an open mouth that lets out a holler as she comes.
I just made a fucking superhero come.
I watch her body shake as I bite between her superhero thighs and suck on it while she comes. I keep sucking as her body gets past her climax.
She looks at the mark I’ve left on her leg. “What did you do that for?” she asks.
“I did that for you,” I say.
“For me?”
“I already told you—this is a place where heroes are made. I couldn’t let you leave without a battle scar.” In truth, I did it because I want her to remember me—remember the sacrifice I just made.
She looks at me with beady eyes and I suck my fingers clean. I get up to reach for the opening above her and squeeze between her and the walls of the tank. As I pull myself up through the hatch, I make sure my hard cock bumps her in the face.
“So, that’s it?” she asks and I look back into the hatch as I pull my feet out to see her glaring up at me. “You’re not expecting anything else?”
“That’s it,” I say and I’m not about to explain to her how I just made myself a Goddamn hero for not expecting anything more, except to tell her, “Close the hatch, please ma’am, after you get out. That shouldn’t be too complicated.”
Chapter 3
I got a call this morning from Captain Javon Lewis, my commander. He mentioned Senator Gemma Jones requested to see me today to follow up with yesterday’s demonstration, but she could not clear her schedule to come to the hangar, so I’ll have to meet her in her office at noon.
As I make my way through the streets and sidewalks of Washington D.C. via taxi and then on foot, I realize I’m not too thrilled about all the concrete between highways and waterways. This city doesn’t reach as high into the sky as most cities do, but it’s still the city and it’s busy as hell.
Of course, I can’t help but pause my mind for a moment each time I pass something of significant historical value. Every monument or memorial was built to honor people who made substantial sacrifices before me.
Honor. My father believed it was the thing that would replace my anger as a boy, which it does most of the time, but that beaten, angry boy is still inside me, and he would love to do nothing more than fuck shit up sometimes. To be honorable is to commit to something all of the time. It’s difficult to be expected to always do the right thing even when no one’s looking with no expectation of reward. It’s even harder to be honorable when you have no idea what is the exact right thing do.
I think I did right by Senator Jones last night and I wouldn’t mind doing right by her again. The thought makes my balls tingle.
When I get near the Capitol Building, I check the address on my phone and head towards Senator Jones’s office building. I take off my cap before I check in with security; once I get through, I take the elevator up to her office.
As I feel my body float upwards in the enclosed elevator car, I think about the senator in the tank and my hand floating up her inner thigh. As the elevator doors open,
I think about the tip of my finger wedging its way between the folds of her pussy to the open hole of her insides.
I had my finger in a senator’s pussy.
I follow the glaring marble tiled hallway down to her office and the senator’s assistant takes note of me before asking me to wait in a stiff leather chair.
The office doesn’t look like it belongs to a woman. Unlike the other offices I’ve passed, the walls are bare and covered in a dark gray. But when the senator emerges from the office door behind her assistant’s desk, the senator is all woman.
She looks different today than she did yesterday and at any time I have seen her on television. She’s dressed less conservatively than usual, but she still looks like a superhero. She’s wearing a bright blue fitted dress that’s shorter than yesterday’s red one; this one dips low enough below her neckline for her full breasts, squeezed between the fabric, to create just enough cleavage space for me to slip my hard dick between them.
I stand up and cover my crotch with my cap as I reach out to shake her hand.
“Sergeant, how are you?” she asks and shakes my hand.
“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you,” I reply.
She looks down at my cap in front of my fly and grins. “This way,” she says and I follow her into her office, which is as dark and plain as the other room. “Shut the door, please,” she orders and I follow her instruction.
“Please, sit down,” she says as she settles with her spine erect and her hands folded across the surface of her large and finely detailed cherry mahogany desk.
“You look stressed,” I say as I plant my butt into another stiff chair. I notice the woman has gone from superhero to sad in less than a millisecond as her eyes water.
“We have a problem.”
I assume she’s talking about the firearms from the demonstration. “Whatever issues you have with the weaponry, I’m sure—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she says and the senator picks up her phone, punches in a few things, and tosses it at me without warning, but I catch it anyway.
