by Dani Stowe
“I wouldn’t do that,” shouts the girl who’s obviously paying close attention. “We are miles from the nearest town and we’re in bear country.”
Graham finishes getting dressed and looks down at himself. “I look like a middle school douche who’s about to run laps for P.E.,” he says and the girl comes around the corner.
“I think you look fine,” she says twiddling her ponytail again. “You look like me.”
“Hardly,” I laugh. “You look like a guy who’s about to taste his own blood, sweat, and tears,” I tell him. Graham gulps as I step forward to take his designer clothes, which purposefully have shreds and holes.
We follow the young lady, walking across the campground scattered with outdoor obstacles and combative training areas. When we get to the men’s side, they are already lining up in formations led by their assigned counselors. The young lady stops and turns to Graham. “I can’t go any further,” she says. “Graham, it was nice to meet you,” she smiles and reaches out her hand to shake his.
Graham looks as though he’s about cry. “Wait a sec,” he says as his mind is scrambling to make sense of what’s happening. “Am I going to see you again?”
“Probably not,” she smiles, “unless you make it through camp and decide to join the Navy one day. Then maybe we’ll run into each other.”
“You’re joining the Navy?” he asks looking more dumbfounded than surprised.
She gives him a stern look. “I already did. Time and tide wait for no man, or woman,” she says and makes a turn, flicking the end of her ponytail in his face. Graham looks at me with disappointment.
“Don’t worry, Cracker Jack,” I say. “Contrary to what people think, the military is a relatively small community. You’ll see her again.”
“Jones!” yells a young man, another camp counselor who looks nineteen and Polynesian with biceps bigger than mine and standing over six feet tall. “Get your ass in the lineup.”
Graham skims the rows of gray outfitted fuckups like himself who have found the courage to line up uniformly. “This is bullshit,” Graham whines.
“No,” I correct him, “bullshit was in the toilet water I made you drink last week. This is where you come clean and rise above all that.”
“Graham Jack Jones!” yells the counselor again. “What do you think this is? Congress? You don’t make the laws here like your sister does on Capitol Hill. So, get your ass in the lineup before I show you how we deal with overprivileged brats like you who think they are above the law.”
Graham looks back at the girl walking away as she quickly disappears through wooded trees. Without any more argument, Graham picks up his feet to skip forward, taking his place among the other young men.
As I head to my car, I see a trash can and toss Graham’s ratty clothes in it when my phone rings. I feel a tingle in my chest—it’s Senator Jones.
“I’m beginning to think you’re more of a stalker than a senator,” I tell her.
“Hi Sergeant,” she says politely. “I’m sorry; I completely forgot. I have some paperwork I need you to work on, which we never had a chance to do, regarding the weapons I came to inspect.”
“Paperwork?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Perhaps I could take you out to dinner and bring the paperwork with me.”
Interesting. She hasn’t asked about her brother, who I just dropped off, or how I’m doing. It’s all about work, but I’m sure it’s not paper related.
“Paperwork?” I know I sound sarcastic. “You’ve called me every day this week and now you want to take me out to dinner and give me paperwork?” The tingle in my chest drops to my balls, which turns into an ache. I’m so frustrated with this woman.
“I apologize,” she says. “I know you must be busy, I didn’t mean to—”
“Paperwork!” I interject as I get in my truck and slam the door. “I don’t think you need me to sign any fucking paperwork, Senator Gemma Jones. I think you want me to eat your pussy.” I hear her gulp, but she doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “Honestly, I think you want to take me out to dinner, so it alleviates any remorse you have about not having to do any of the ‘work’ for whatever is going on between us. You want me to fuck you with my tongue without any reciprocation except to pay for my meal—that’s fine. I’m all for it. But do me a favor and at least make the work easy for me. When you pick me up with your fancy limousine, make sure you’re wearing a dress that is easy to slip my head under and don’t wear any underwear.”
She still doesn’t say anything.
“Senator Jones, would you like to take me out for pizza so I can work on you tonight?”
“Uh...yes, sergeant. I’m sorry if I—”
“Ma’am,” I interject again, “You can pick me up at 2100 hours and don’t apologize. Like you said, let’s not make this complicated.
Chapter 5
This is going to get complicated.
I’m sure I mentioned pizza when I asked the senator to take me out, but instead she’s brought me to a supposedly fancy restaurant, which I don’t find fancy at all. The place seems nice at first glance—a modernly-designed interior with cream and white coordinated décor among bleached wooden tables, but there are pillows on every seat taking up most of the chair space. Not to mention, the senator and I don’t even get a table with chairs. We are led to sit on large red floor pillows.
The pillows match her red knee-length dress that hangs loosely from her hips. The one-inch straps hanging on her shoulders look like they are about to snap under the weight of her tits hugged by what looks like a brazier top of a swimsuit—it’s sexy as fuck. Senator Jones has her brunette hair pinned up in a twist in the back. I can tell she’s gone out of her way to look nice for me and I can’t help but think she looks like something right out of a comic book, except she doesn’t look like a superhero. She looks more like a pin-up girl you’d find as a bonus spread over a poster at the back of a 1950s comic.
As I adjust my ass to get comfortable on the big red pillow, I catch a glimpse of Senator Jones’s eyes watching me and I know why she brought me here. I’m sure she brought me here to impress me, but I don’t think I impress anyone in this place. The restaurant is not just filled with pillows, but politicians still in their suits and they’re staring. Occasionally, I get a weird smirk, because it’s clear they don’t think a grunt like me should be allowed to feast with the demagogues on Capitol Hill and most certainly not with the most desired sexy billionaire senator who is everyone’s hero.
Two of the bodyguards in the senator’s entourage were chuckling when she showed up at my door to pick me up—they were laughing at my faded jeans and gray Grunt Style t-shirt. Of course, her two bodyguards stopped laughing when they read what my shirt said: You Never Walk into Hell Alone. Then, I got the nod of acknowledgment.
I look at the senator sitting across from me with her nose in the menu. She’s hardly said a word and I wonder if she approves of what I’m wearing; she peeps out every now and then to glance at me, but not in the face, only at my shirt...or maybe it’s my chest. Right now, I think she might have just checked out my biceps hugged tight by my Grunt Style in size Large. Perhaps, it’s wishful thinking.
I look down at the menu; I’d like to tell her I hardly approve of her choice of restaurant—there’s way too much green shit listed everywhere. I know I said pizza. Seriously, who wants to eat chopped steak drowned in seeds and hay?
“Senator Jones,” a man’s voice with a strong southern accent says, “how are you? I didn’t hear back from you on my last proposal. Did you get it?”
I’m peeved to see a man’s shiny black shoes and legs dressed in light-gray slacks right next to me while I’m sitting on the floor. I’m not going to look up from the floor at the motherfucker interrupting our meal because if I do, I’ll be near face-to-face with his groin.
“Hello Frank,” says Senator Jones rather irritably and I’m guessing it’s Senator Frank Backwater, whom she used to date years ago, which I
recall seeing on the news. Senator Jones flashes me a fake grin as her shoulders slump and I’m now aware of another weakness the superhero senator has.
“I’m sorry,” she says to him, “I’ve been rather busy this week, but I need to do more research on your proposal so I’ll get to it soon.”
“Yes, I can see you’re busy,” says Senator Backwater with a chuckle. “Are you doing some charity work with the military? I know these young soldiers need all the support they can get.”
“No, we’re here on a date,” says Senator Jones boldly and she looks me in the eye. I don’t think she really means to call this a date. I certainly didn’t; it felt more like a trade—she’ll pay for my meal while I’ll labor later with my tongue. Plus, if it was a date, I would’ve asked her out. But right now, I don’t feel like this trade is very fair—she’s using me as leverage to piss off her ex.
Senator Backwater huffs. He doesn’t respond immediately and the moment feels awkward. “Forget my proposal, Gemma,” says Senator Backwater. “You look like you’ve got your hands full with much needed charity work. Grunts like this have always needed a little extra boost to keep them motivated. I’m sure you’d love to motivate thousands of young men by allowing them to dip their hands into your donation basket.”
This motherfucker. I stand up. “Let’s go,” I tell Senator Jones.
Senator Backwater starts laughing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” he says.
“Sure, you did,” I affirm without looking at him. I don’t want to look at the older senator with slicked black hair and a big nose who I’ve seen on television a million times; he has always looked more like a comic book villain parading as a do-gooder to me.
“Now son,” says Senator Backwater as he puts his hand on my shoulder, “don’t be upset. You know I used to date Gemma. If you need a few pointers, I’d be happy to share those insights with you.”
Senator Jones doesn’t move. She’s just watching us and I can’t help but get the feeling she was hoping this would happen. I can’t help but think she brought me here not to impress me, but to get me into a fight.
“I’m not your son,” I tell Senator Backwater as I remove his hand from my shoulder without turning my eyes away from Senator Jones. “We’re leaving,” I tell her.
“But we haven’t eaten yet,” she says.
“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” chuckles Senator Backwater. Then he leans his head to speak in my ear with a low whisper. “She’s always got to be in control. I don’t think you’re ready to play with a pussycat like this. You should leave her be. Leave her to play with big boys.”
I turn to face Senator Backwater and I find myself peering down at the sleazy villain and I’d like to tell him off—or kick his ass. But I decide not to address him. I know my anger is contaminating the upper-class air as people all starting to stare when I decide to address Gemma instead. I give her a directive with the firm I’m-not-taking-no-bullshit voice I use when I command my soldiers. “Get your fucking ass in the car right now, Senator Jones.”
I keep my eyes on Senator Backwater who appears to be baffled as I hear Senator Jones gather her things, stand up, and walk towards the exit.
Senator Backwater turns to me to speak, but I interject, “Don’t say anything else, senator. You might be one of the big boys—boys who like to play with their pussy, but I’m a Badass and a trained killer, which means I get to eat pussy for dinner.”
I walk away and head towards the exit. Through the glass doors, I see Senator Jones shuffling her feet as she stands on the sidewalk in front of the open limousine door next to her bodyguards. She’s waiting for me.
“Get lost,” I tell them as I come through the doors and she nods to the guards so they walk away.
I grab her by the back of her neck—not too hard, but I want her to face me. “What the fuck was that?” I snap, but she pushes my hand away and climbs into the limo. I get in and shut the door behind me.
She’s leaning over the opposite door with her face in her hand as the limo takes off and I swear to God I want to punch something.
“What the fuck, Gemma?” I ask again, my tone rising. “Did you set this whole thing up because you wanted to see your ex get his ass kicked?”
“No,” she mumbles, staring at the floor and it’s so unbecoming of a superhero.
“Did you bring me to this restaurant to make him jealous?”
“No,” she mutters again.
“Then why the fuck did you bring you bring me here? Did you want to see how far he’d go to try to get you back?”
She just shakes her head.
I yell, “Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you!”
“No!” she shouts back finally giving me some courtesy as she looks me in the eye. “I wanted to see how far you would go.”
I’m perplexed. “How far I would go to do what?”
She shakes her head and looks back out the window. “To defend me.”
I can’t believe it. My superhero thinks she needs a defender. “You don’t need anyone to defend you,” I chortle.
She takes a big breath and sits up straight. “I know,” she says, “but for some reason, I just wanted to see if you would.”
“So, let me get this straight,” I laugh. “You want me to do all of the work, defend you without question, and do all of that while I’m starved?”
“You are a soldier,” she laughs smiling at me and she reaches over to rake the fingers of her hand through my short blonde hair.
My dick gets hard. It’s so fucking hard it makes my balls hurt once again and I accidentally let out a soft yelp.
“What the matter?” she asks.
“You can’t touch me,” I say as pull her hand away from my head.
“Why not?” she asks turning towards me and reaches to put her hand on my forearm.
I flick her hand away again and she huffs.
“You don’t look so good,” she says as I squirm in the seat. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I see her reach with both hands as her fingers graze my shoulder and I yell at her once again. “I said don’t fucking touch me!”
Senator Jones retracts her hands and I’m thinking I’ve scared her, but she’s not intimidated because, just as a superhero would do, she comes back at me. “Tell me what’s wrong!” she demands.
“My fucking balls hurt!” I blurt. “All this teasing and touching and fucking your cunt with my tongue has got me so Goddamn horny it hurts.” The limo comes to a stop in front of my building and I exhale; I’m so relieved. I need a cold shower.
“Driver, take us for a spin around town,” she commands.
“What? No!” I snap as I reach for the door and she pulls at the waistline of my jeans.
“Let me help you,” she says as she scoots in closer slipping her hand into the front of my pants.
“I thought you didn’t want to do any of the work,” I say.
“I’m feeling charitable today,” she says coyly and smiles.
I look down to see her hand migrate under my boxers. I undo the button and zipper to my jeans to help her. My dick pops out through the fly of my boxer brief and her hand stops moving. I turn my head to look at her; she’s staring at my cock, which is standing at attention and staring back at her with its one eye.
“It’s bigger than you thought it would be, isn’t it?” I ask.
I see her gulp and she doesn’t deny it, which makes me feel good; it’s confirmation she’s been thinking about me.
Her fingers make their way towards my balls. She massages them. I’m sure it’s supposed to feel good, but there’s no relief. Instead, I ache worse. “That’s not helping,” I tell her.
“Why not?” she asks.
“Because I need more than charity,” I say. “I need relief; I need saving.”
I gently grab her by the wrist and move her hand towards my shaft and help her wrap her fingers around my rock-hard dick.
“Is this really wha
t you need?” she asks as I watch her hand stroke me, giving me magnificent relief; yet it’s also causing the rest of my body to ache. I have my cock in a senator’s hand. It should be enough, but it’s not.
I look at her. I want more than relief. I want pleasure.
I reach to the back of her neck and pull her closer. She doesn’t make it easy. She tries to resist, so I kiss the corner of her mouth where there is always a hidden smile at play whenever I’m around, whenever she’s forced to put away her superhero façade because I know I’m her new weakness. I lightly slip my tongue between her expensively stained ruby lips as she closes her eyes and jerks me harder. Her hand on my shaft feels so fucking good so I kiss her harder, covering her lips with mine. Senator Jones pulls her mouth away, trying to catch her breath as her body jerks from the work of jerking me off.
I grab her bucking face to try to settle it between my hands as I speak sweetly and softly into her gaping hot mouth, “Are you working too hard, baby? Do you want me to fuck you? I’ll do all the work.”
Senator Jones stops stroking as she opens her eyes wide to look at me. I slip my hand between her thigh and her lip quivers, but she doesn’t look away from my gaze. I watch her face as I slide my fingers up her thighs to find a pool of wet silky essence that would’ve saturated her underwear if she had worn any.
I smile. She did exactly as she was told; she does want to make this easy.
But Senator Jones’s eyes get beady; she can see right through me. She can see the danger lurking inside me, the dirty bomb hidden in my gut that could drop on her at any moment. She sees the villain I really am, the temptation I’ve laid out before her and I’ve already got her hand on my cock—making her work to please me. She’s strayed from her path of self-righteousness and onto the path I know she wants to walk with me by not wearing any underwear as I told her. She’s let down her guard; she’s put away her mask and I’m about to crawl between her legs while she’s weak and vulnerable.
I lean in on her and spread her legs.
“Wait!” she cries.
Ah fuck! Not again!
