Choosers of the Slain pos-3

by John Ringo

  “I’m a slut,” Daria whispered, shaking her head as if to try to throw off the cum.

  “I’m going to show you what sort of slut you are, bitch,” Mike whispered. He grabbed her by the hair with one hand and wrapped an arm around her body, lifting her bodily and throwing her onto the bed. “Bad girls get beaten.”

  “Please don’t beat me, master,” the girl whined. “I’ll be good.”

  “I’ll teach you to be good,” Mike said, pulling his belt off his trousers. He untied her wrists, then retied them to the front, stretched them over her head and rolled her onto her stomach. “You’re a bad girl and you need to be spanked.”

  “Please…” Daria whined. “Please don’t…”

  Mike pinned her hands over her head, wrapped a leg onto her body to hold her in place and began whipping her on her gorgeous ass. He wasn’t using full strength by any stretch of the imagination, since he wasn’t sure what she could actually stand.

  Daria bit into the cloth of the bedcover, whining and trying not to scream.

  After a while Mike stopped and lifted her head up by her hair.

  “Have you had enough, bitch?” he growled.

  “Master,” Daria gasped. “Please, I’ve been very bad…”

  Mike twitched an eyebrow up and forced her head back down into the bedcovers. This time, he parked higher, pinning her arms with his leg and began whipping not only her ass but her back as well, carefully keeping clear of the kidney region. He also hit harder.

  She began shuddering and sweating from the pain, moaning into the bed and occasionally screaming. But if she really wanted him to stop, all she had to do was spit out the bedcover so Mike kept at it.

  It was at times like this that he considered the fact that in a “scene,” the sub was actually in charge. Here he was doing all the work and she was getting exactly what she wanted without having to do anything but take the pain, which she actively enjoyed. It was an odd dichotomy and he found that he suddenly wasn’t as into it as he usually would be. Part of that was keeping one eye on the fact that the girl had been recently traumatized. He wasn’t sure if what he was doing was helping or reinforcing the trauma. But Daria, like Anastasia, seemed to be one of those girls who just soaked up pain and turned it into pure pleasure. It was almost disheartening. He really enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering; having someone absolutely and totally enjoy it was a let down.

  He suddenly realized that he’d completely lost his erection. That’s what came of philosophizing in the middle of a scene.

  Mike shifted again and grabbed her hair, turning her face towards his crotch.

  “Lick it, bitch,” he growled. “Lick it and suck it like the little slut you are.”

  She took it in her mouth and began expertly sucking it again, which got him back to a world-class erection in no time.

  “You’re a little fucking slut,” Mike snarled, dipping into a bag and pulling out a condom. “You’re worth less than the price of dog turds. You’re worth nothing.” He pinned her down and spread her ass, shoving his dick into it, hard, as she moaned in pain.

  “You’re a useless little slut,” Mike growled in her ear, clamping one hand over her mouth and wrapping the other around her throat. “You think I’m a nice guy, I’m not. I’m an evil, raping, bastard, just like the evil raping bastards that kidnapped you. And I like to rape my little bitches and then kill them. And that’s what I’m going to do to you, bitch. I’m going to rape you in the ass and strangle you at the same time. Nobody will care about a little bitch like you, anyway.”

  He knew he had her now, since she was struggling against the bonds. But he had her pinned flat with his weight and she wasn’t getting away from either hand. He kept talking to her, threatening her and abusing her as he kept one hand clamped over her mouth and the other applying light pressure to her windpipe. He pumped hard on her gorgeous ass for a few minutes and finally came.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, withdrawing both hands and easing out of her ass.

  “You really scared me,” she said, breathing hard. “I wasn’t sure…”

  “It’s called edge play,” Mike replied. “Creating a condition of doubt in the mind of the sub. You weren’t sure if I was serious or not.”

  “Yes!”

  “I wasn’t,” Mike said, rolling over and undoing her hands. “Seriously.”

  “It was scary,” Daria admitted, sitting up and untying her ankles. “But I liked it. I was sure enough that you weren’t going to do it that I wasn’t panicking, but…”

  “Well, let’s try something else,” Mike said, standing up and walking to the bathroom.

  “You mean you’re not done?” Daria asked, surprised.

  “Oh, hell no,” Mike said. “Be right back.”

  He came back with a hot wash cloth and gently wiped the cum from her face and breasts.

  “You’re gentle,” she said, lying back and sighing, then gasping a bit as she hit a sore spot.

  “How’s the back?” Mike asked, caressing her breasts a bit more than was strictly necessary.

  “Sore,” she admitted. “But not as sore as my ass. You hit me very well.”

  “Thanks,” Mike replied, sliding the washcloth down her stomach and taking one of her nipples in his mouth.

  “Oh, that feels good,” Daria said sighing.

  “Should,” he replied, blowing on it lightly to get it to stand up. “You have a gorgeous body, did you know that?”

  “It is okay,” Daria said, shrugging.

  “It’s absolutely exquisite,” Mike replied, lowering himself on the nipple again. He’d eased the washcloth down her stomach and now slid it between her legs, giving the area a thorough cleaning. He wiped the outsid,e then slid his finger, encased in the rough cloth, into her vagina.

  “Oh,” Daria sighed. “Oh… god…”

  “You like it rough, huh?” Mike chuckled, biting on her nipple lightly. “I’ll give you rough…”

  He rolled onto her and pinned her legs open, biting on her shoulder and thrusting his fingers into her vagina repeatedly. She began panting and sighing so Mike kept at it, thrusting with his fingers and biting her on her neck, shoulder and chest, appearing to lose control as she bucked under him and moaned. Finally, as she appeared to be nearing climax, he slid another condom onto his dick and thrust into her.

  She settled a bit at first but the continuous hard thrusts warmed her back up as he growled in her ear and continued to pinch, bite and twist her nipples roughly. He pulled her legs up and grabbed her sore ass, eliciting a half scream of pain. Finally, she panted and moaned her way into a screaming climax that had him clamping his hand over her mouth to save his ears as much as for decorum. Hell, Sawn was in the next room and it was going to be obvious that the Kildar was up to his old tricks.

  The girl didn’t seem to be a multiclimax type, so he slowed just enough to let her get her wind back and then drove in, hard, getting his third orgasm of the encounter. It had to be the tits.

  “That was…” she whispered, then moaned as he carefully withdrew.

  “Decent?” Mike asked, cleaning up and then pulling her in to cuddle on his shoulder.

  “Very nice,” Daria whispered. “I did not think it could be that way.”

  “Welcome to the real world,” Mike said, yawning. “I’m for a nap, how ’bout you?”

  “I think I could use a nap as well,” Daria admitted. “Can I sleep here?”

  “Just try to leave,” Mike said, curling into her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “None of them have left,” Ctibor said, as Yarok walked into the apartment. “They usually stay at least two days in one place, by the look of the previous data.”

  The Albanian hit team had taken up four apartments in the building. It was owned by the Albanian mob, so getting the apartments had been simple enough, if rough on the previous tenants. But the tenants had left behind some nice furniture. Unfortunately, it was not going to be in very good condition when the team
left; the “shooters” Boris had turned up were mostly gutter scum. What was it that British general had said? “The scum of the earth enlisted for drink.” That was what Boris had found for him when he asked for professionals. Yarok wondered, briefly, which general it had been. Montgomery, probably.

  “I’m not happy with taking them down in the hotel,” Yarok said, rubbing his lips with his fingers. “Is the team all here?”

  “The ones that are sober,” Ctibor said, spitting on the floor. “You’d think the Albanians could round up better men than this.”

  “It would have been better if we’d caught them in that hotel in Kosovo,” Yarok admitted. “But around here all you can get is gutter thugs. Even the veterans of the war mostly have real jobs. Or they work for rival gangs.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Ctibor asked, shrugging.

  “We will hit them tonight,” Yarok said, decisively. “Before dawn.”

  * * *

  Mike blinked and opened his eyes at the ring from the cell phone and started to roll over only to find that he was totally tangled in sheets and covers. He managed to untangle without disturbing Daria and snagged the phone.

  “Jenkins,” he growled.

  “Kildar, it is Gurum.”

  “Gurum?” Mike asked, rubbing his eyes and wondering why the brewery manager would be calling him while he was on an op.

  “I am in the city of Las Vegas, Kildar,” Gurum said. “The booth for the convention is well prepared and the company is in the process of installing. But you said that you wanted some of the Keldara here for the booth. I had left the choice up to you, Kildar, but when I called home they told me you were… on business.”

  “Shit,” Mike snapped, sitting up. “I completely and totally forgot.”

  “I can hire local models, Kildar,” Gurum said. “They are not cheap and I will have to hurry to find Keldara dress…”

  “No,” Mike said, thinking rapidly. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  * * *

  “You want what?” Pierson snapped.

  “We need to meet,” Mike said. “About the other thing. And I need to get some people into the U.S. Now. We have what is called a win-win situation here.”

  “You’re joking,” Pierson said, sighing. “You want visas for thirty something complete unknowns?”

  “And I’m going to need some passports, too,” Mike said. “I can get the photos, but I’m going to need them by the time the plane lands in the U.S. And the visas on file.”

  “Why don’t you just fly back yourself?” Pierson asked exasperatedly.

  “Because we’re in Indian Country,” Mike pointed out. “I’m not going to just drop my team in Indian Country, Bob.”

  “Shit,” Pierson replied tightly. “Okay, okay. But you’ll need to go to the embassy. What kind of passports?”

  “Georgian, I guess,” Mike said. “No, scrap that. I know a better way to get them. But we’re going to need somebody in the States to receive us that knows not to ask too many questions. The thing is, we’re going to Vegas. That’s right next to Nellis, which has some really good secure rooms. Oh, and we’re carrying about seven hundred pounds of print intel on the op that’s going to need some Albanian translators. Very closedmouth ones. I’ll drop the original electronic EEI with you as well. That’s in half a dozen languages, including Romanian.”

  “I’ll get you a secure fax number to send the information on the girls to the embassy,” Pierson said, relenting. “I need to start making some phone calls, though, right now.”

  “That’s fine,” Mike said, sitting up and slapping the still sleeping Daria on the rump and eliciting a yelp. “We’re going to have to move like lightning to make the convention.”

  * * *

  “The stakeout just called,” Ctibor said. “They’re packing up.”

  “Shit,” Yarok muttered over the phone. “Any idea where to?”

  “No,” Ctibor admitted. “We couldn’t get a mike into the rooms. The stakeout has a shotgun mike, but the men who are loading the vans don’t seem to know. The stakeout said that one of them said something about a convention.”

  “That tells us a lot,” Yarok snapped. “Find out where they are going.”

  “Perhaps we can hit them enroute?” Ctibor suggested.

  “Maybe. Tell the stakeout to follow them. We’ll need more than one car to follow.”

  “I’m on it.”

  * * *

  “Vanner,” Mike said, slipping the intel specialist a note. “Call this number. It’s a chartering company I’ve dealt with before. Tell them I need a large plane as fast as possible. My usual pilot if he can fly it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vanner replied, grinning. “How are we going to get the girls into the States, sir?”

  “I’m on it.”

  * * *

  “This is highly irregular, Kildar.”

  “I know, Minister,” Mike said, rolling his eyes. “And I am sorry to place this burden upon you, knowing that your time is extremely valuable. But it is most urgent and very important. I know that aspects have the attention of the President of the United States. While the situation does not directly affect Georgia, it has very wide-ranging implications. And it is imperative that I take the full team to the United States as soon as possible. Tonight if we can.”

  “I will call the embassy in Croatia immediately,” the Georgian minister for external affairs said with a sigh. “But I will want to know that this is for an important purpose.”

  “I will convey that to the President, Minister,” Mike said, rolling his eyes and wondering how many favors he was going to owe by the time the night was over.

  “Mike,” Adams growled over the radio.

  “Go,” Mike said.

  “I think we have a problem. I’ve spotted the same white Lada four times since we got out of town. Either the guy’s going to Zagreb just like us or we’re being followed.”

  “Crap,” Mike said, shaking his head. “We knew it had to happen sooner or later. Okay, evasion plan Alpha. Sawn, you monitoring?”

  “Yes, Kildar.”

  “Follow the agreed routes and meet at the agreed rally point. Adams, you have pick-up. Everyone go to scrambled cell at this time.” Mike pulled out his map and studied the roads. “Yevgenii, take the next left…” So much for making good time.

  * * *

  “Yarok,” the security specialist growled. He’d had a hard time getting all the vehicles for the assault team, most of whom were half or all the way drunk. While the American had taken less than fifteen minutes to get on the road, it had taken him over an hour.

  “Ctibor. They’re splitting up. I think the trail car was made.”

  “I told you to use more than one car!” Yarok fumed.

  “I had a hard time getting more,” Ctibor complained. “And we never caught up. The stakeout car is still following one group that is on the main highway to Zagreb, but the other vans all have pulled off.”

  “Follow the group on the main highway,” Yarok said. “They have to rendezvous somewhere.”

  * * *

  “Okay, Garold, they’re still on us,” Adams said over the radio. “Break it down. I’ll stay on the highway.”

  He watched as the other vans pulled off the main road to Zagreb and then shook his head.

  “That’s right, little lamb,” he crooned. “Stay right on my tail.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Hello, Mr. Jenkins,” Hardesty said as Mike reached the top of the rolling ramp. “Larger crowd than normal?”

  John Hardesty was a tall, slender and distinguished looking former RAF fighter pilot who had gotten out with the fixed intention of becoming a pilot for British Airways. The problem with that being that, like the RAF, BA had been having cutbacks for years. Unable to get the job of his dreams, he’d settled for flying rich bastards around in private jets.

  One day he’d gotten a charter that looked to be the usual, flying a rich American bastard around Europe. However, it
had turned out somewhat differently than he’d imagined. The first odd note was that the rich American had turned up with just one suitcase and a small backpack instead of the loads of business suits the pilot had expected. And the destinations had been… odd. Small towns in Russia, rather notoriously dangerous towns in Serbia. And instead of the usual “I’ve got a business meeting tomorrow morning, we’ll be taking off at noon,” the passenger had required that he and his copilot to be on-call twenty-four hours a day. And had usually turned up in the middle of the night, reaking of cordite, his clothes spotted with bloodstains. At one point he turned up with what was clearly a low-class Russian hooker and carted her around for the rest of the trip. Hardesty tastefully ignored the fact that she had recent bruises from a beating.

  The passenger also turned out to be travelling under at least three false names, and clearances for entry to countries had been remarkably smooth. He might be a hitman, but if so he was a hitman for a government, which made him almost respectable.

  The various flights had culminated in Paris where the passenger had advised him to get to an airport well away from the City of Light and choose a hotel room that didn’t look in that direction. The news the next day that a nuclear weapon had been found in Paris, and been disarmed, came as no real surprise.

  Since then he had carted “Mike Jenkins,” AKA Mike Duncan, AKA John Stewart, AKA whoknowswhat around to various spots in Europe, the United States and Southeast Asia. Since that first wild charter there hadn’t been a hint of gunpowder. Until tonight. Tonight he had the feeling things were going to get wild and wooly. Again.

  “A bit,” Mike said. “And documentation is following. We’ve also got a bit of luggage.”

  “Plenty of room in the compartments,” Hardesty said, leaning down to glance under the fuselage as the Keldara began unloading. Some of the bags looked suspiciously long. “I take it none of it’s going to explode?”