by Wade, Vixen
His knuckled went white as he pulled the trigger and hosed the area behind the door jam. The Swedish sub-machine gun instantly fell silent and tumbled away to land in a lake of the dead chauffeur’s blood. The final Cambodian gunmen pirouetted like a ballerina, his chest and stomach a bloody mess, tripped over the feet of the other KIA and fell heavily to the floor.
Snatching the M3's stock tight in against his shoulder, Sten snapped the barrel back and forth in a tight pattern as he looked deeper into the room. There was a moment of silence while he took in a small alcove complete with china hutch showing Hummel figures from a Summer Day On The Seine, a reading chair next to an informal humidor, and a door which hung open, revealing stairs leading down.
There was a pause that seemed to last improbably long after the furious gun battle. Slowly, Sten uncoiled and lifted himself to one knee, his hearing still compromised from the close in report of un-baffled firearms. Behind him however he easily heard the rattled breath of the unconscious opium slave as blood bubbled through her nose.
Marty yowled in a questioning manner from much further back. Sten worked his jaw, weapon at the ready, and his ear drums popped, returning some of his hearing. He heard the sound of heavy feet thundering up wooden stairs and he had just a moment's warning to tense.
Boupha came through the door, weapon blazing.
Jane cried out in pain.
She tried to pull free from Javacovitch as the sound of weapon reports rolled back down the stairs, but he was relentless. She struck his face with an open palm blow while trying to weave her leg between his ankles for a pseudo Judo-trip, but he casually shifted with the blow and automatically popped his hips back, easily keeping his balance.
“Knock it off!” he warned.
He shoved the barrel of Sten's .45 into her stomach. She gasped and sagged against the iron claw hold he held in her hair. The wind was driven from her as she folded down in pain and she stumbled. He eased up on the pressure for a moment to let her catch her balance. Her hands stretched out to keep from falling as she fought to breathe.
Her waving hand smacked up against the wooden crosshatch of a wine rack. Instantly she seized her chance. Her hand wrapped around the bottle of Merlot and she snapped herself straight, yanking the wine clear of the rack. Her arm whipped around and the heavy glass container smashed into the ex-Green Beret's face.
He made a heavy, almost squalling sound as his nose broke and the impact resonated deep into the bones behind his face. He staggered and Jane yanked her head free from his grasp. Taking the bottle up in a two handed grip like a Viking with a battle axe, she brought it down on the top of his head. The bottle shattered around his shoulders and the DIA agent hit his knees. Grasping the broken neck of the busted bottle, Jane drove the heel of her foot in his face and laid him out.
Hun Sen drove in to get her but she heard him coming and managed to half step out of the way. The Cambodian general struck the table where she'd been bound at a dead run and went sprawling. The feel of the disgusting man's hand on her skin, her ass, her sex, flashed through her in a wave of belligerent revulsion so strong she'd lashed out before she was fully conscious of taking action.
He was pushing himself up, cursing and trying to turn, his hands like the talons of a vulture, clawing for her with his nails from out of the shadows. The smell of his body this close was nauseating and her terror at the feel of his touch was overwhelming.
A long, wicked icicle of curved glass jutted out like a stalagmite from the handle of bottle neck and she plunged it forward once, almost surgically, into the side of Hun Sen's neck. The glass sliver slid without resistance into the muscles under the jaw and sliced through the network of arteries and veins there. Hot sticky blood gushed out over her hand, invisible in the dark.
A hand like a tiger trap clammed over her wrist. She screamed and tried to pull free. Her bones ground together painfully under the pressure and she was jerked down to her belly. Hun Sen's breath washed over face like noxious fumes from an industrial plant.
He said something she didn't understand and it was more of a gurgle as his own blood bubbled in his throat. Then he sighed wetly and the grip on her arm released. Instantly she scrambled backward, feeling her stomach flip-flop.
She had to get out, get upstairs and find David. David! His gun! She began frantically slapping the cellar floor trying to find the Colt .45 Javacovitch had been wielding.
Suddenly a man was screaming from behind her and she heard the unmistakable thudding of a body going down steps the hard way. She turned and felt her heart quicken as she heard the unmistakable yowling of Marty. Then, in the next moment--
“Goddamn cat!” David Sten yelled. “Get out of the way!”
Boupha, Ocelot on his head like a living hat, somersaulted into the room. He was screaming in agony as the animal mauled his face, turning skin into bloody ribbons that hung in tatters from his scalp. The Cambodian bodyguard staggered to his feet, striking his own head with his fists as he tried to dislodge the thing. Back lit by the light from the stairs, it was like watching a slapstick comedy performance on the stage of some off-Broadway production.
Sten, M3 up and ready, stood framed in the doorway. His face held a look of equal parts revulsion, fascination and...satisfaction, as he watched the little jungle cat rip the Asian mercenary to shreds. Abruptly, the Ocelot leaped free. Boupha stood for a moment. Hesitantly, unsure, Sten lifted the grease gun.
Boupha toppled like a tree. He struck the ground hard and rolled out of the light until only one blood splashed boot remained in the beam of weak illumination. The Ocelot padded into the light, sat regally and began licking its paws coolly.
“Marty!” Jane gasped in pleasure.
The cat instantly spun and bounded toward her.
“Marty?” Sten sputtered. “Marty!” He began walking forward. “What about 'David'!”
Jane sprang to her feet and scooped the purring cat up into her arms. She showered the kitty with kisses, laughing with relief. She turned toward the big detective and ran forward.
“Jane!” he howled. “Jesus, are you okay?”
“Oh, David--”
Sten stepped forward and swept his left arm up. He struck her and shoved, tossing her to the side and forcing the Ocelot to jump free. The M3 came up like a gunslinger's pistol in his right fist. The suppressed weapon flashed in a star burst pattern in the twilight illumination of the cellar.
A four round burst of .45 ACP slugs hammered into Agent Javacovitch as he stood, handgun raised. The bullets struck the man in the chest and neck in a loose Z-pattern. He staggered back and triggered the modified M1911A1 into the ground. It sounded like a burst of thunder but the rounds hammered harmlessly into the floor.
He staggered backward, trying to raise the pistol again.
Sten let the sub-machine gun cycle a double tap. A section of Javacovitch's skull came loose and spun off like a deformed Frisbee. There was no stagger this time. The man simply dropped and hit the dirt to lay motionless.
Sten threw the grease gun down and rushed to where he'd knocked Jane clear. She came into his arms as he scooped her up. He was drunk with relief and crushed her naked form to him. He could feel the swelling of bruises on her lips, taste the blood she had bled and pulled away from her embrace.
“You're hurt!”
“It's okay,” she laughed. Her small giggle was like ice in a highball glass, nearly lyrical. “I'm going to be fine. I'll just need some makeup and a whiskey sour. Where's Chau, the code?”
“Where's Ho Chi Min’s lovechild?” Sten scoffed, bitter. “Upstairs sleeping off a haymaker. We need to get back up there and turn her over to Dawson for 'restorative memory therapy' before she tries to murder her rescuers again.”
“I still don't understand everything, David,” Jane said in his shoulder.
“How can we?” he replied. “Half the back story is classified and another quarter of it doesn't make sense unless you're an expert on espionage and Southeast Asian politics.
There was a girl, she needed rescuing, whether she knew it or not, and she knew something people were willing to kill to learn. We helped. We lived. You're getting a nice retainer. You can take me to dinner.”
Jane's hand found the crease of Sten's trousers. He almost jumped in surprise then settled himself comfortable into the pressure. “Are you sure?” he asked, hesitant. “We're they...horrible?” He obviously didn't know how to ask what needed to be asked.
“It wasn't as bad as it could have been, as bad as Hun Sen wanted it to get,” Jane told him, hand still in place, teasing the detective. “But I'm going to need to remind myself that my body is my own, that I do with it what I want. You're going to have to help with that.”
Marty purred like an aircraft engine, rubbing himself against their legs so hard it almost knocked them over. Laughing the pair disentangled and Jane scooped up the cat. She put a hand on Sten's shoulder and he looked up into her blue eyes from the sleek lines of her naked body.
“I'm going to need clothes at some point.”
“That's too bad,” he said. “But probably true. Let's go collect our little girl and get the hell out of Dodge. There must be something you can wear upstairs.”
“Good, but grab a couple bottles of wine. I'm sure they're expensive and I feel I earned a bonus.”
In her Malibu bedroom, Jane lay back on her bed and watched Mark Stern undressing. She was healed and showered and naked. Her hand trailed slowly down her belly until it slid onto her pussy. Slowly, gently, she began rubbing her finger across her clitoris.
Her free hand found her heavy breast and she pinched her own nipple. It stiffened and grew between her fingers. Stern didn’t hurry, eyes eating her up as stripped off his clothes.
“I’ve been wanting to do this a long time,” he said. His voice rough with wanting her.
“Come get it,” she invited.
Her finger slipped inside herself, pushing past her swollen lips. She curled her finger and stroked her G-spot, shivering as the pleasure washed through her. Stern had his cock in his hand, jacking himself as he watched her.
She looked up at him, finger fucking herself. “I know what your problem is, David.” She told him. “You’re angry at how much you want me, it’s messing with your head. You don’t think you shouldn’t want me, but you do.”
“It’s not professional,” he admitted.
“It is for me,” she laughed.
She held out the hand on her tit for him, and he walked toward her, cock at attention. She took hold of it like a man drawing a sword, and pulled him closer. Her fingers moved faster inside her as she took him in her mouth.
He moaned as her lips closed around his dick and she began to suction suck the head. Mouth still working, she began jacking the shaft. Her hand moved up and down in rhythm with her bobbing head.
She pulled back, spit on his dick and then smeared it down his length with her hand, lubricating it. He got up on the bed and pushed her head down into the pillow. Pinning her there, he began sliding his dick in and out of her mouth past her full, pouty lips.
She moaned, mouth sloppy with spit and began rubbing her clit furiously. He pulled his dick out and pushed his nutsack toward her face.
His balls were the size of a mule’s, smooth and full, perfect globes stretching the skin. She leaned in willingly, turning her face upward. Her lips rested against the testicles and she felt their warmth as she kissed them. She felt a stirring in her cunt, knew she was getting wetter.
“Lick them,” Stern instructed. “Lick my balls.”
She went to work, tongue caressing the heavy balls like a cat cleaning its fur. She bathed them in her spit, leaving them glistening and wet. Stern held her in a firm grip, guiding her head.
She stretched her lips wide and sucked in one perfect testicle. His taste was masculine, utterly male. The big ball filled her mouth, forcing her cheeks outwards in a bulge as she attempted to accept it all. Her tongue found the seam of the nut sack and worked at it. This close to the junction of his powerful thighs, nose buried in his groin, the scent of him, a heavy, almost barbaric aroma, enveloped her.
It made her drip with wanting.
Vaginal secretions oozed in honey streams down her thighs, her clitoris swelled, engorged and aroused to an almost painful state of need. The fingers of one hand continued rubbing the button under the hood of her labia, and she moaned.
Looking up from his balls, all she saw was cock jutting straight out, thick and covered in veins. She wanted it, she wanted to touch it, to suck it, and feel these great balls now in her mouth, contract as he shot his load past her lips and into her, the taste of it, how warm and thick it would feel, as it jetted down her throat.
Her body shuttered suddenly as her fingers continued working her clit to an orgasm. She reached out a hand to steady herself. She gasped, the heavy nut slipping out of her mouth, a line of glistening drool stretching from it to her lips. She closed her eyes, goosebumps rippling across her flesh. Her pussy gushed and more drops of her secretions leaked on the sheets.
“Suck me off.”
“Yes, Officer Stern,” she answered instantly.
Jane heard the strain of desire in his voice. And she ached with longing to do as she was told, to not just suck the big cock, but to feel David Stern fuck her face. She relaxed, stretched her lips wide.
“Stick out your tongue,” Stern told her. “Relax your jaw, let it slid in.”
She knew how to suck a big cock, but she liked being told what to do in the bedroom, and her mouth carefully enveloped the head. She stuck out her tongue and Stern eased his hips forward, placing the hefty weight of his shaft there.
“Mind your teeth,” he whispered. “Ease it in.” She did as she was told and he continued pushing. “Good,” Stern murmured, “good.”
He smoothly inserted the front half of his cock into her mouth and her saliva glans watered, the muscles of her throat clenching and relaxing in anticipation of what was coming as he slid it deeper.
Drool welled up in a pool and spilled out of her mouth in strings of spit. Some of it ran down her neck and onto the slope of her breasts. Adrenaline flooded her body, only serving to heighten the experience. Slowly, mouth stretched to its limits, she began bobbing her head, working along the length, coating it with spit until it shone. She ran her head along the umbrella ridge, of the corona with each backward stroke. Her tongue found the opening at the head and she poked gently there, wiping up the pearls of pre-cum.
On the down stroke, she tried fitting more and more of the cock into her mouth, to relax enough to take it down her throat. She coughed and gagged in her eagerness to please. Stern’s strong fingers wrapped around her lower jaw and at the back of her head, pulling and pushing her face in concert with her rhythmic ministrations.
“Suck it,” Stern whispered, “take it.”
“Your eyes, whore,” Stern growled. “Look up at me.”
From her position, face stuffed with his erection until her eyes watered and drool spilled out of her mouth like wine from a cup, she looked up, meeting his gaze and their eyes locked.
She felt euphoric, ecstatic, energy drilling into her with the same relentless intensity with which he now fucked her face. She gagged, spilling even more saliva out of her mouth. Her chest was sloppy wet with it where it ran down her chin.
Wanting to please him, eager to do so, she willed the muscles of her throat to relax and pushed her face down the shaft. The feeling of resistance gave way, and she slid his length all the way in, deep throating him until her mouth jammed tightly against his body.
His eyes narrowed in pleasure,
“That’s it, girl,” he whispered. “Look in my eyes.”
He fucked her throat hard, driven by the sound of her gagging and coughing. His grip was rough, his thrusting almost frantic. She rode the storm for several minutes and he gave in first.
“Enough,” he told her.
He pulled his cock clear of her throat and out her mouth. It was harder t
han ever, swollen, steel hard. Pearls of spit clung to it and it glistened wetly. Then, to her surprise Stern bent forward and reached for her, hands wrapping around her arms. Her breath left her body as he scooped her to his chest. She gasped in surprise.
She had done this, made him wild with desire and she trembled in his arms as he turned her. She cried out in surprise as Stern dropped into place and her parted legs rested on his shoulders. His mouth opened and his tongue slaved her vagina, parting the lips and licking wetly into her depths then scrubbing her clitoris in long, slow licks. She grabbed hold of his hair and cried out. His breath came humid and hot against her inner thighs.
“Yes,” she sobbed. Then again and again, “ugh, ugh.” It was inarticulate noise, but Stern’s tongue moved inside her tight cunt in hot waves, driving words from her mouth. Her hips came down into the press of his tongue and he began fucking her with it, sliding it in and out with quick thrusts, then lapping at her in broad strokes.
She rolled her head in ecstasy, disbelieving the intensity of the sensations sweeping through her, and her eyes rolled wildly. She felt a burning pressure building low in her belly, a violent need, like a storm. She ground down and Stern worked his tongue into her, his lips wet with the sheen of her pussy juice. In the next moment her orgasm reached a breaking point.
She felt a his finger slid between her asscheeks. The digit pushed its way in and found the opening there. Gently, Stern began rubbing her anus in time to the rhythm of his tongue.
Her eyes, heavy lidded with approaching release, opened wide in shock and the sensation proved too much, She swept over the edge and screamed. Her pussy clenched like a fist and pleasure jolted through her body in wide, hot currents. She screamed again and her vagina released in an explosion of fluid.
Her orgasm sprayed out and she shuddered in spasms so strong they went beyond her ability to control her body and rivers of orgasmic secretions flowed from her. Stern grunted in satisfaction as her hot, orgasmic juices gushed across his face. It ran down his cheeks and collected in the hollow of his throat.
