My hands slipped but I remained in place, hovering above the ground. There was no sense holding onto his body, so I gave up and reached down his pants instead. I wrapped my fingers around his cock.
It was warm, big, throbbing, growing. I wrapped my fingers around its girth and massaged it, up and down, feeling it become bigger and bigger. Within moments, the tips of my fingers couldn’t reach my thumb. The damp spot grew in my panties.
He adjusted his hold, transferring all of me into just one of his powerful arms. Then, with his newly freed hand, he reached around my back, beneath my panties, and under my ass. Still holding me up off my feet, he started to rub my wet pussy.
“Oh shit,” I heard myself mutter.
He was probably just showing off, trying to impress me. If he was, it was working. I couldn’t bare the thought of him letting me go, of his fingers being anywhere else. His body was all around me, and inside of me.
Warm, safe, powerful.
His fingers pushed deeper inside of my pussy and he started to finger me. His first few movements were slow, careful, then he went off, driving his fingers into me with intensity and power.
It hurt at first. “Be careful.”
“No,” he said.
It was like my words only egged him on. He started to finger-fuck me faster and harder. But it suddenly didn’t hurt—it felt incredible.
“Oh, fuck, Gage—that feels so fucking good,” I moaned into his ear. My free hand slipped off of his arm but he didn’t flinch, still holding me a half a foot from the ground.
He started sucking my neck while he fingered me. It didn’t seem like he even noticed I’d stopped holding on, like I weighed no more than a blow-up doll to him. So I reached my free hand down to join my other hand at his cock. I pulled his pants down just enough for his member to spring free.
His cock was massive—a rigid, beating, hot weapon in my hands. I gently swivelled my hand around it, wondering how it would ever fit inside of my body—or would it fit? If it did, would I be able to walk afterwards? My pussy already felt tight around his two fingers, but his cock was nearly as thick as his whole hand.
All my worries were obscured by my approaching climax. I could hardly focus my mind on any thought, any anxiety, any fear. All I could think was, thick or not, I want it inside of me. I want to feel every thick muscular ridge and bulging vein pressing against my tight lips.
I was about to come when Gage pulled his fingers out of my slit suddenly, leaving me in an elated daze. “Don’t stop,” I begged.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, giving my panties a tug. The panties were tight and stubborn, and he wasn’t in the mood to fumble with a pair of stubborn panties. He gave them a sharp tug, ripping them off of my body.
He pressed the tip of his cock against my clit. It was warm, and I could feel it throbbing, even as it teased the outside of my pussy. The tease was enough to bring me back onto the edge of climax.
“Be gentle,” I whispered into his ear.
“No.”
He pushed into me. The pain was sharp as my pussy stretched wide to accommodate his size, but the pleasure was greater, quickly filling my body and overwhelming my senses.
As if he was doing a test run, he slowly pushed himself in and then pulled himself out a few times. One of the veins that trailed the top of his member massaged my clit perfectly, like the notches of a key slipping into a lock. My legs wrapped around his waist and tried again to hold onto his sides. I had to dig my nails in just to stabilize myself, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he liked it.
After his trial round, he took off, thrusting himself into me in short, powerful bursts. My body became tense and then it relaxed, surrendering completely. I became like a ragdoll in his arms—limp and completely subdued. I was his to fuck however he wanted.
I could hear myself beginning to moan, but it was outside of my control. I could watch, hear, feel, but I couldn’t act. Some other phantom entity was in control of my body as it was filled completely by Gage’s massive cock.
Without stopping, he tried to pull my shirt over my head, but that too was being stubborn so he opted instead to give it a few swift tugs and he ripped it clean off my body. I was completely naked, being fucked senseless out in the open, moaning, tits bouncing, and warm juice running down my legs.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I cried.
His free hand found my mouth and he muffled me. I started to come. Once I stopped screaming into his hand, he slipped it down, over my throat, reaching his fingers around my neck. He tightened his grip and I couldn’t breathe.
The orgasm wouldn’t stop. The tighter he squeezed at my neck and the longer I went without breathing, the more I came, the harder I came. My entire body was filled with swirling euphoria, pure ecstasy. He had complete control, complete domination over me.
His thrusts were becoming impossibly stronger, slamming my ass against the tin wall behind me. His grunts became louder and louder until he was screaming.
My vision became a blur, my body became numb, and my mind a haze. One final time, he forced himself deep inside of me and unloaded his beautifully hot seed into my pussy.
He released me and I nearly fell to the ground—had he not caught me, I would have.
When the coast was clear, we snuck back inside and into his room. He was smiling. I wondered if I’d ever seen him smile before. Maybe briefly, after a joke, or when he was making a jab at me, but I couldn’t remember a time when the smile stuck around, when he looked so happy.
When I told him that I was leaving the next morning, catching a ride with the weekly supply chopper, the smile disappeared from his face.
“For Baghdad?” he asked after a few seconds of silence.
“No. The other girls are going to Baghdad. I’m going home.”
“What about the press tour?” His eyes were distant, his mind was elsewhere. He stared down the feet and wouldn’t look me in the eyes.
Watching that smile disappear was soul-crushing, and filled my heart with guilt. “It’ll go on without me, I guess. I’ll wait for you, back home.”
“Two years is a long time.” He continued to stare down.
“I don’t care. I’ll wait.”
There was something else bothering him, but he wasn’t saying it. The issue wasn’t the long-distance, and it wasn’t the two years.
I put my hand on his thigh. “What is it?” I asked.
He continued to stare blankly down at his feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I didn’t know how to tell Ashley she was at a military outpost filled with ghosts. I didn’t know how to tell her that we were just a bunch of expendable, low-ranked cannon fodder, waiting for the first chance to be killed.
We all knew when we shipped out, there was a good chance we would never go home. Hell, most of the guys stationed at our outpost had no intention of going home. A lot of the guys came out here to die.
“I’ll wait for you, Gage. I will,” Ashley kept saying, not realizing that it didn’t matter one way or the other. “It’s just two years.”
“I might not be alive in two years, Ashley.”
She became silent and her eyes became wet. Her lips parted and she shook her head as if to say no, but she remained silent.
She must have known I was right—it was obvious. She’d met the other men. She’d seen the way the army treated us, like every month was our last. Each night was its own last meal because there was a good chance it was.
The Hajjis were making their way back to our region. There were reports of bombings in nearby towns. The war was finally making its way back to us, after two long years.
“Just go home. Forget about me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Too bad,” I said, my voice loudening into a roar. “We barely know each other. What you’re feeling isn’t love, Ashley, it’s just lust. It’s just a fling. That’s all this was.”
She looked so small, sitting on the edge of
my bed with her hands clasped in her lap and her shoulders sunken. Iraq was no place for a fragile thing like her. This was a place for brainless cannon fodder, emotionally-numb Barrel Cleaners, and poor, misguided terrorists.
She stood up and left and I went to bed.
The next morning was strangely quiet and still. Most of the other Joes were away, hanging out in the bunkhouse main area, but saying nothing to one another as they sat and sipped their coffee.
None of the trucks were running, all the engines were dead. Whoever was on watch wasn’t listening to the radio, and there wasn’t any classical music permeating Major Richards’s office walls. Even my footsteps seemed to make no noise as I walked across the compound, towards the outdoor gym.
Midway into my morning routine, Major Richards approached. “Good morning, Corporal,” he said, waving at me. It was almost noon, and the place was still silent. The Playmates were starting to wake up and migrate outside to tan.
“Morning, Major. What time’s the supply chopper coming in this morning?” I asked.
“They’ve already left. You must have slept through it. Don’t blame you—you had one hell of a day, yesterday.”
“They’ve already left, sir?”
“About an hour ago. Miss King’s probably halfway to the Baghdad airport by now.” He hold me that I not only slept through one pickup, but two. A second bird came in for Hastings and Lyon. Apparently, they both needed X-rays after the beatings I dished out.
Major Richards smiled, nodded, and continued towards his office.
My heart sank into my stomach as reality hit: I would never see Ashley again. I thought I’d feel relieved when she was gone—relieved that I could finally forget about her and move on—but there was no relief, just a cold, emptiness that lingered inside my chest.
I continued my set, moving to the chin-up bar.
Some of the Playmates were completely naked, laying out on the sand. Every time I pulled myself up, I could see everything—tits, pussies. The girls knew it, but didn’t care. They smiled and waved. One of the girls blew a kiss and winked.
“I’m all yours if you want me, big boy,” one of the naked girls called out. She spread her legs and bit her lip with a playful giggle. Her friends all laughed as if it was a completely normal, sane thing to do. It made me sick, so I turned around and looked the other direction.
They whined and made some comments about me being a homo but I could have cared less.
As soon as the Joes realized there was pussy on display, they were all out on the gym, taking turns on the chin-up bar, not bothering to hide their diseased hard-ons.
I was nothing like the other guys. All they cared about was fucking. As long as there was some cunt to make them come, they were happy—happy being ignorant to everything else in the world, because everything else scared them. They were terrified of their hometowns and their families. They would all sooner die than have to get real jobs, or interact with real people who thought of more than just pussy.
They were scared of love—they wanted nothing to do with it.
Combat Outpost IQ-UA-14 was specifically designed to keep them happy before they were slaughtered, like the cattle farm that leases land from the slaughterhouse. BCs weren’t kept around for more than five days so men wouldn’t develop feelings. The base remained woman-free for twenty-five days so the men could get over whatever feelings they managed to muster up in the previous five. And they kept the BCs coming, month by month, so their minds wouldn’t wander and stumble onto something that mattered even a little bit, to make them reconsider their lives.
I signed up to be cannon-fodder because I didn’t know what I wanted, but that had changed. I wanted Ashley. I didn’t want to be part of some prostitute-a-month club. I didn’t want to die in the name of American oil and free fucks.
I just wanted to be with Ashley.
But that was never going to happen because, that day that the girls were laying naked in the sun and the men were drooling all over the chin-up bar, we got our first call of duty.
We were being sent into battle.
The Hajjis shot down a friendly chopper. It managed to land safely, fifty miles from our outpost, but the Hajjis were moving in to take hostages. Our mission was to intercept and hold the Hajjis off while a rescue chopper came in for the survivors. For us, it was practically suicide. Once the rescue picked up the hostages, we were on our own, behind enemy lines, with zero combat experience, zero backup, and zero intel. As far as we knew, we were going into a region covered in IEDs and crawling with Ali Baba.
Major Richards pulled me aside and told me I didn’t have to go, that I was still visibly shaken from the false-attack in Shamiya. I would have accepted the offer too, to stay back, had he not added that the downed bird was the supply chopper that had left hours earlier, with Ashley onboard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
We weren’t even an hour from the outpost when a loud bang shook our helicopter. The pilot handled it well, flipping a few switches, and keeping his calm.
The co-pilot wasn’t so calm. “What the fuck was that?”
“I don’t know. I think we blew an engine. What’s the pressure reading on the rear rotor?”
“I—I dunno, it looks fine. Wait. The gas gage is reading empty.”
“I think there’s a leak. The throttle isn’t being fully responsive.”
The smell of burning and smoke filtered into my nostrils and I started to panic, but I kept quiet in the back of the cockpit. Before the rattle, the ride was smooth and the only noise was a loud, consistent humming. Now, the helicopter was going through turbulence, hiccupping sporadically, making a grinding put-put-put sound.
“I’m going to bring it down,” the pilot said, pushing down a lever, tilting the helicopter towards the ground.
It took me a good minute to build up the courage to speak. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine, Miss King,” the pilot said without looking back at me. “Just a mechanical glitch—that’s all.” The co-pilot’s face was white and his hands were trembling. If it was just a mechanical glitch, it was a serious one. The cockpit began to fill with smoke, making it difficult to breathe.
We hit the ground with a heavy thump. The two pilots got out of the helicopter, leaving me alone. “Just wait right there, Miss King.”
Not even seconds after they stepped onto the sand, I heard, “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell happened?”
We were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but dirt and sandy hills as far as the eye could see, in any direction.
“This thing is fucked. We need to call in an EVAC.”
“The casing’s burnt—and look at the metal—this wasn’t no engine blowing up. This was hit from the outside.”
“From the outside? What, like an RPG? We were hit by an RPG?”
“Just call it in. Quick,” I could hear the main pilot say in a surprisingly calm tone. I didn’t know much about war, guns, or aviation, but I knew that RPG stood for Rocket Propelled Grenade, and I knew that that’s what terrorists used to shoot down planes and helicopters.
The co-pilot was in a frenzy now, his hands shaking while he pulled down the radio from above the cockpit door. He was a younger guy, younger-looking than all of the recruits stationed at Gage’s outpost. He had a few blonde wispy hairs over his lip, and acne all over his forehead. “Come in, uh, Outpost, uh, IC… Any nearby outpost, come in…”
By the time he got a response, he was a stuttering, incoherent mess. “H—Hello. W—W—We need an EVAC, at, um, location—We were hit by an RPG, and, uh…”
The main pilot came and took the radio away from him. “Help Miss King down from the bird,” he said to the co-pilot, before addressing the radio.
Once he was finished calling in our coordinates, the pilot went into the back of the helicopter and emerged with an assault rifle. He handed it to the co-pilot. “We’ve only got the one, so make it count.”
We moved away from the helicopter
because, according to the pilot, “it’s an easy target, and it’s full of combustible gas. We aren’t far from where they fired the RPG.” The threat was suddenly real.
We’d been shot down and now there were bad guys coming for us.
I wanted Gage there with me. Gage would have taken control of the situation. He would have taken that rifle without fear, and he would have protected me. He wouldn’t let them take me.
The co-pilot could barely hold the weapon, with his sweaty, shaking hands.
GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance Page 12
