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  1. lil_kimmy

    lil_kimmy Porn Surfer

    Oct 5, 2010
    I look at Gwen with such fascination. What was once a job for me has become a joy. I cry when we are apart because during those times I have to face the reason we are together. The actual circumstances of our being lovers was not an accident. My handlers chose her and I did as I was ordered to do. She curls into my own body, her warm, soft breast laying over my own, her breath still wet with the trace aroma of my own pussy. It is hard for me to consider her "the enemy".

    I am, and have always been, a patriot. I didn't have to go through the massive amounts of conditioning that were necessary in this job. There was no need to make me a "Manchurian Candidate". I had such fervency to serve my country that I considered that greater purpose of the safety of my people as more than any individual life I might be required to take... even my own. I remember when I was recruited at all the faces of doubt that people had about me. There were a series of tests some physical, some emotional, some unbelievable. The final test was the one that has been preoccupying my mind over the last year as I have grown to see Gwendolyn Marie Collins as more than an asset.

    I was sixteen years old and sent to meet a slightly older young woman, who was also sent there by my recruiters. Neither of us knew anything about each other except our names and our challenge codes. Her name was Katya. Each of us received a similar instruction. When we arrived at the designated place, a pleasant cabin on a lake, we were to go in undress and make love with each other without conversation. These instructions were explicit for both of us. We walked in and smiling weakly at one another, we obeyed our instructions. Sexually, it was amazing for both of us. I had one instruction that my partner did not have. As instructed, I opened the nightstand drawer and found a note.

    In printed letters it had two words: Terminate Katya. The note was folded over a silenced Makarov 9mm pistol. I looked over my shoulder and smiled at her as I withdrew the pistol and gambled that the gun had a round chambered since the safety was off. I rose and turned without hesitation or rushing, raised the weapon and fired a round into the body of the nice girl I just made love with. The bullet burst into her upper belly with a little explosion. She had training as well and despite the probably mortal wound, rolled quickly off the bed on her side. I calmly walked naked around the bed. She was curled up in a position that didn't give me an clear kill shot, though her being wounded made it difficult to for her to defend herself at all. I knelt down next to her. She seemed to have a knowing look about her face and realized that she had not passed her training and that this was the result of that. Not a punishment... just a safeguard. Katya relaxed, the epiphany that were she even able to escape me and get medical attention that her life was already forfeit.

    "Sorry," she managed. "It's just instinctive to roll away." She looked around the room weakly and then back at me. "I guess you passed the test." I reached over and daintily moved a wisp of hair from her eyes.

    "Not yet," I said softly without threat. She nodded and let herself lay back. Katya took a very heavy, resigned sigh.

    "We were really nice there. Amazing for someone so young."

    "I appreciate your sacrifice for your country; and for my training" Katya barely made note of what I spoke as I rose to my feet. I pointed the gun first at her chest, firing a quiet shot into her right breast and blood burst from her mouth. The second I raised the level and shot her through the throat and the final shot went through her left eye which brought her to a sudden stillness. I sat the still smoking gun on the nightstand on Katya's side. I don't know what caused me to look but I opened the nightstand drawer on her side. In it there was a note and another silenced Makarov. That note instructed Katya to terminate me in two hours from the time I was now reading it. If I failed the test to terminate Katya, she would pass it by killing me for not terminating her. It was brilliant and I felt no ill will towards my handlers for this. If I didn't fulfill my instructions, I needed to be killed. I already knew too much and I would have been a security risk had I not killed her. I was completely at peace with the process. It was on that day that I realized that I would never survive my job, much less live to old age.


    God was the love of my life and my country was the Priest of His purposes. There has never been room in my life for anything else... until now.

    Gwen Collins is affluent and relatively young for the life she leads as wife of the Secretary of Defense. When we were looking to get into a place in the US Government where we could compromise internal information without the risk of suspicion, it became clear that the SecDef's wife was a prime target. As a wife of a high government official, her latent lesbianism before they were married was not only the portal to which I got into her life, but the security blanket by which to stay under the radar. I was the silently tolerated other woman. It wasn't exactly a scandal, but in Pentagon and Washington political circles it was an unspoken given that the Secretary and his younger wife weren't the closest of couples sexually. However, they genuinely liked each other and she was his muse when he discussed the stressful things about his job. She was really the Secretary of Defense because he would not move in any way unless he felt like he was aligned with what she thought was right. Her gender and her gregarious personality overshadowed her own splendid military career that would have carried her past her husband into the Secretary's chair were she equipped with a penis.

    I like Gwen Collins. I like her personality which is infectious. I like her views on geopolitical things though she is normally careful about sharing them. Her American views towards my country and how to deal with it are mirrors of how I feel about hers. I like that she likes me. She doesn't like me because I have a talent or a particular level of education (my cover was a common Bachelor's in English from the University of Florida). She says that we make each other laugh which is true and I hadn't realized how narcotic that can be. When we finally made love, it was so unstressed and perfect, like an inevitability.

    I am 34 years old now. Gwen is 39 but looks younger than me. Her muscular, athletic frame looks as if she is still serving active duty. She still wears shorter hair as she did during her days in the Marines. Though she is a powerful figure, she is only 5 foot tall, and now as she dozes in the afterglow of lengthy late afternoon session of 69 at the Watergate hotel, I feel like I am cuddling a child. She is even toned, neither tan nor pale. Her nipples which are still turgid are darker than one would guess before seeing her undressed. She is incredibly immodest and will often carry on lengthy conversations with me or others at the club showers or locker room completely naked. It was the club where we arranged for me to "meet" her for the first time.

    Though I am a Euro, I have more conventional Nordic features which help me pass as an American. I am attractive enough and it guarantees me no shortage of male suitors. This is good for a few reasons. First it makes the ruse of my vulnerability by my promiscuity more convincing. Much truer to the point however, is that I needed to fuck regularly, especially as I went through the long, slow, arousing process of getting Gwen Collins to seduce me. Even in the early days of my starting to enter her life more and more, I was terribly excited by the deliberated brick by brick method that she went about seducing me. It was during this time that I realized that she no longer wanted a "trick" female liaison once in awhile (I had seen her coming out of her house with a young female army corporal in her camoes. I never asked Gwen about it but I saw in the face of the soldier that she felt as if she was caught doing something taboo. The point being that we were in relationship for almost five months before we became lovers. I realized that while being my lover was an indulgence for her, she was also being diligent in making sure that someone so close to the Secretary of Defense was a safe person. My handlers and I both agreed. In fact, instead of trying to get her to consummate the relationship, I played a little hard to get. I insisted on just being friends... that I really liked guys and dicks. I did such a good job, that I soon discovered that there were other enlisted females who visited the Collins' residence while the kids were in school and her husband was busy making the world safe for democracy.

    Still, even in my physical rejection, she never stopped liking me. So she continued to seduce my spirit which no one had ever done. I have had sex with 30 or 40 women and hundreds of men. Only she had been able to pique my interest on so emotional a level. Frankly, I was intimidated by how a sexual experience with someone who had already made such an imprint on my life would be. All the time, my training was also trying to make sure that my position in her life was capable of prying carefully into the secrets that she undoubtedly shared with her husband, the Secretary of Defense.

    Making love with Gwen happened as organically as a weighted fruit falling from a tree. We were sprawled over her bed like two high school girls, barefoot, browsing through her old military and college photos. Since all of my 'past' was in Florida, I couldn't share mine with her. As we laughed at what now seemed humorous hair and unflattering uniforms, our feet touched each others. Probably with deliberation on both of our parts, we continued laughing about the pictures but left our feet touching.

    I enjoy sex and, as I have shared, it is not only important in my health, but often necessary in the clandestine service. However, I wasn't prepared for how the shock of our feet touching caught me so off guard. Had I not had the considerable training I accrued, I wouldn't have been able to keep my demeanor so even at that moment. Yet, the fact that we let the moment pass and then linger, only increased the electricity of the sensation, especially when she innocently let her her other barefoot cross mine and hers. Still, we were diligent to not make it as intimate as it was, bursting out laughing at a photo of her being hazed in her barracks with a wedgie. Finally, we reached the end of the pile of pictures and as we returned them into the accordion folder, we found ourselves sighing from the lost energy of just laughing together. She put the folder on the floor, her face seemingly etched with the round cheeks her laughter produced. When she looked at me routinely, I leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. One could have interpreted that it was like it was in Europe where girls kiss more intimately without necessarily having a sexual connotation to it. The kiss was soft and lingered just a hair beyond being casual while still providing me with plausible deniability. At first nothing came of it because we got up and and went to the kitchen to get food. I thought that afterwards I would have no reason to stay. Perhaps she was still honoring my protestations. Sitting on her kitchen counter as we ate hastily made ham and cheese sandwiches, Gwen considered her evening.

    "Bob's going to be home around 7 tomorrow." She said it without any suggestion of agenda.

    "That's fine," I tried to say idly, "I have an early day tomorrow anyway. I should leave by then." It was understood that she kept her lovers discreetly. Gwen hopped off the counter onto her feet and extended her hand still covered in crumbs.

    "Let's go make love." I smiled back at her but not mischievously. Just enough for her to know my ready ascent. I took her hand and we walked silently up the stairs. Gwen and her husband slept in separate rooms. Hers was a Master suite with a luxurious four post bed. She walked me to the side of it, and quickly peeled completely out of her clothes. I did the same and we climbed in, pulling the canopy closed behind us. We sat naked on the bed looking at each other and for the first time since I had known her, I saw a subtle hint of vulnerability.

    "Are you ready?" She asked me softly. It wasn't if I was ready for sex. This I knew by the tone and gravity she gave the question. I sighed with new resolve and nodded to her. Laying down in each other's arms, our mouths met with incredible passion. We never left the room until 3 the next afternoon. The maid brought us food.


    That was three months ago and not only was I getting huge amounts of subtle yet crucial intel from Gwen, I was also getting in too deep. I probably was already. I found myself lying to my handlers with the same skill I do to an asset. They marveled at how smitten Gwen was with me. How could they not? We had moved beyond the boundaries of sex for pleasure. I had to constantly remind her that seeing me too often was going to be too obvious even for the SecDef to turn a blind eye. It was clear that both of us had each crossed a Rubicon. There was a place where deceit from each other was impossible. Why doesn't that terrify me? Soon both of us will find ourselves at a place where we would have to question our priorities again.

    I feel her rustle in my arms, her bare leg slipping between my own, which causes me to catch my breath. She has a wide smile on her face which draws an affectionate expression from me. Words seem so superfluous to what we are feeling.

    "Are we in love yet?" she asks breaking the quiet. My expression fades slightly.

    "Are you divorced yet?" I didn't intend to sound mean. She sighed impatiently.

    "Cart before the horse. Are we in love?" She sat up on her elbows and her face, though farther from mine, now had my complete attention. "I know you love me. But are you in love with me?" My face falls like the commander of a fort who just surrendered the ramparts. I nod.

    "Why so long faced about that?" Her voice still clinging to the tenderness of the moment but what comes from me is so naturally passionate that I didn't have to fake it.

    "Jesus, Gwen!" My voice rises a full octave. "You're married and you're not just married. You're married to the fucking Secretary of Defense. I don't want my life to become tabloid trash."

    Gwen looks startled as if she had read something and now interpreted it to mean something completely different. For the first time since I have known her, I see tears welling in her eyes. She blinks hard and one reluctantly trails down her cheek onto the sheet.

    "Do you not want to be with me? I mean... " Her voice trails off. I have hurt her without intention. Though I am completely earnest in my conversation with her, my training reminds me that I am about to lose my asset. I pull her close to me with urgency, something that is rare in our relationship, but my older lover seems to genuinely and willfully shrink from it.

    "You know the answer to that," I hiss, half in anger; half in passion. "You are all I think about."

    "You are all I ever think about," she parrots and then pauses. "I just can't leave Robert while he is in office." She only called him 'Robert' when she was speaking to him as SecDef and not her husband. "What we are doing is important for our country. It's something I believe in. This is why I married him." I could feel my ears heat with rage.

    "My motivations are more selfish, I guess."

    "Not so much more," Gwen allows a small smile. I feel a pall on my face. The words coming out of me were too automatic to be staged.

    "Do you love Robert?" I manage. Gwen looks down at her bare breasts and then back to me.

    "I love him, yes. I like him a lot," she confesses. "But I don't ever think I have been in love with him and never like I am with you. And it's not just a sex thing though the fact that you have a pussy is so much better. It's not about that with you. I don't think it ever has."

    I am at just as much of an intersection as she is. I am fighting the conditioning of a lifetime to embrace this sweet, forbidden love. Was that what was making this so powerful to me?

    "Please don't leave me," she finally starts sobbing lightly. "Wait for me like I have waited my entire life for you."


    The Excellent Journey is an almost decrepit fishing factory ship out of Seattle. It's primary fishing areas were the north Pacific Ocean and the Bering Sea where they processed cod brought aboard by catcher boats that chased the fish around the expanse. I know this from information that my handler's gave to me after I had shared intel that Gwen inadvertently provided about how the Navy and NSA had turned it into a surface listening post over China, North Korea and Siberia. It was also capable of tracking Chinese and Russian submarine activity in the area.

    One of the skills I have is that I can feign a great deal of ignorance and make it seem genuine. I am, in fact, very well versed on Naval activity in both the North Pacific and the North Atlantic. All of the military nations in those regions have used the ruse of factory vessels to spy on their adversaries. We did so. It is no surprise that the US did as well. It was a little trickier for the Americans because their open society means that there has to be a real believable infrastructure to the deception. The ship has to really process fish. The company that it represents has to be a real one that does business because all of these facts can be discovered by a simple use of the Freedom of Information Act.

    One night, she was concerned over her husband's agitation. There were something to do with the Department of Defense buying old fishing boats at rates that were above the value of the vessels. Apparently, the GAO was looking into the irregularities in the purchase two years before of Excellent Journey. It was a witch hunt she said, trying to count pennies. She clearly didn't seem to think it was as serious an issue as her husband did. To me, the intel was clear and I could forward the information that Excellent Journey could be added to the list of vessels considered spy ships in the Pacific. It wasn't Earth shattering intel but it would be valuable because all surface ships in the ocean have transponders where they are tracked. Anyone with Internet access could track Excellent Journey. As insignificant as it seemed, I passed the intel on anyway.


    It is almost Christmas. I take a short trip to meet with my handlers, ostensibly to go to Florida to meet my Mom on a Disney World trip. It is a very good cover because even if I am tracked or tailed, there are so many people crammed into such a small place that it is easy to disappear. I finally meet up with them in their room at the Contemporary Resort. When it was built, the hotel was one of the most luxurious in Florida. Now, despite the attempts to keep the decor updated, it still resonates with its conception in 1974. When I come in, it is clear that something is amiss. Still, Hannah, the epitome of a Mid-American young grandmother, pulls me into her arms, hugging me warmly and kissing each cheek. I don't move afterwards though. They have trained me well and I can sense when something has happened. I am not in danger but now there is darkness over the room.

    "What's wrong?" I ask in a whisper. I was wondering why the Disney meet was necessary. I thought they were bringing me a new assignment. Instead, they want to talk about an old one. Dmitri, young looking despite the fact that he is bald and had a deep voice, reaches into a 9x12 envelope and hands me a glossy photo.

    "Do you remember this?" I take the photo and see an old ship with two of my country's war ships flanking it. My heart begins to slam in my chest.

    "Yes," I answer. "This is the Excellent Journey. It's a spy boat. Dime a dozen." Dmitri shook his head.

    "Agreed, but as you can see, the secret is out of the bag. Excellent Journey reported they had an 'engine failure'," he said raising his fingers into parentheses. "They drifted into our waters and were boarded as you can see." He looks around to gather each word carefully. We like each other and we are true believers about our jobs. He has fucked me many times and, up until meeting Gwen, it has been an easy thing.

    “There was absolutely nothing on board except a former Navy intelligence officer who was serving as Captain. The boat was full of Jamaicans, Egyptians, Japanese, Mexicans, and had a factory full of hake. No spy equipment."

    "So, it wasn't a spy ship. What's the problem?"

    "Excellent Journey is a spy ship. We confirmed that after you provided the intelligence from the Secretary's wife." Hannah's voice was even almost mild, like my mother's just before she would whip me for some childhood offense.

    "However, it's purpose was never to spy on vessels. It's soul purpose was to discover leaks in the US government." My eyes widened.

    "They sent it into our waters on purpose."

    "Of course," rejoins Dmitri. "And because of your intel, we quickly intercepted it but found nothing. Now they know they have a leak. Excellent Journey's soul purpose is to be a mole hunter."

    I feel genuinely dizzy and grab the wall to steady myself. Hannah comes alongside and leads me to sit on one of the two beds, having me put my head down between my legs. As I gather my disorientation, I realize what this fully entails. I have to die. I cannot be found out to lead them back to Dmitri and Hannah who are handlers of the most important assets we have in Washington DC. Suddenly, all I can think about is my love for Gwen and how this will destroy her. Then a horrifying thought enters my head and I look up at Hannah wild eyed.

    "She couldn't have known. Her husband probably hates her for how she loves me and sent the bad intel through her." I feel embarrassment as I finish saying it. Hannah is leaning back on the hotel desk looking at me with no small amount of empathy. I ask the question.

    "Are you going to kill me?" All three of us have openly talked about the quantified value of each of our lives. Dmitri had the highest value to be protected, then Hannah and then myself. All of us understood without hesitation or equivocation that we would gladly die if circumstances required it. I have never shrank from that. Hannah honors that with candor.

    "Yes," she says calmly without malice or pity. "But we need you to go back in first. You have to find out if the Secretary's wife knows about the mole hunt. You are going to go off and be alone with her in the Adirondacks yes?"

    "Yes, we've been looking forward to it. Her husband is going to a NATO summit in Germany for two weeks. Being alone together is all we have talked about." Hannah kneels down in front of me and gently takes my hands into her own, her skin soft and comforting.

    "Are you in love with the Secretary's wife?" I nod without looking up. "If she is part of the mole hunt, she has to be terminated... you know that, right?" The thought of Gwen trying to trap me as a spy seems as incongruous as my being a poor English major from Florida. I nod again allowing silent tears to fall out of my eyes. Dmitri stands and moves over me looking down. There is no threat in his voice but it still is laden with gravity.

    "You will be the one to do it. Then come back to us to die."


    The cabin is beautiful in its simplicity. One would never know that it has maid service if requested. The cabin is snowbound and has tall evergreens surrounding it. Gwen receives me exuberantly and we are peeling out of our clothes, bounding exuberantly onto the bed. We make love and when we part it is obvious to both of us that there is no secret left. She knew. Though nothing was different in our lovemaking, there is an intangible that cannot be quantified but only noticed. She looks at me as well and I know that I have hidden nothing from her either. She starts to sob softly which only causes me to cry. She sits up on the end of the bed.

    "I can't believe this is happening." Then she whirls towards me. "I can't believe you're an enemy spy. Was all of this just a show for you? Did you ever love me?" I lower my head with an ironic smile and then look back at her.

    "That's a rhetorical question. Why do you ask what you already know is true?" Then she measures my eyes.

    "How can you love me and still do this?"

    "Why didn't you leave your husband? So you can continue to do 'important work' against my country. You were the one who set me up. You started the mole hunt. If you loved me, why would you do that?" It was also a rhetorical so I expect no answer. When she lowers her head I can see that she understands.

    "If it turned out that you were the mole, I have been ordered to kill you. I'm going to kill myself afterwards. Lost love gone wrong will make it so no one will know how deep you got."

    "If you started the mole hunt, I am supposed to kill you. Then I will return and be killed myself." Gwen nodded ironically.

    "I'm going to kill myself afterwards anyway." This is an odd conversation for two naked women. "So what are we supposed to do--- fight to death like in the climactic scene of an action movie. The winner is the good guy." I love her so much and yet my years of training and conditioning have me tensed in case she makes a move. I am a little stronger than her and bigger, though she is dangerous and not to be trifled with. What I want to do is kiss her. This thought causes me to start sobbing uncontrollably.

    "I can't believe that this is happening! I love you! I love you more than my life! I love y...." Gwen put up her hand sharply to stop me.

    "But you don't love me more than your country, do you? Just like I don't love you more than mine. I have always known that about each other. That's why I admire you. That's why I still fucking admire you!" I smile in spite of the mounting tragedy that only Shakespeare could have imagined. Without looking back, Gwen reaches her hand back to me. I need to be ready because while I expect it a genuine bridge back to mutual affection, it also could be a ruse to get a physical advantage over me. However she clutches my hand fervently as if to hope that she could rekindle the passion that made us both oblivious to the danger of our relationship.

    "They are going to kill you? No matter what?" She looks at me sheepishly as if it is her fault. I nod.

    "Yes, if I was my handler, I would do it."

    "Do you want to kill me?" Her eyes open somewhat half hoping, half dreading. "I don't want to die. I don't want you to die." I let myself carefully crawl over the bed next to her. When our naked bodies touch, she melts into me.

    "I think we are a little beyond that now. I don't want to. I have to. So do you." I kiss her softly. I don't even care how this will end anymore. The damage to my country has been done. For that, I must die. To protect it from further damage, Gwen must die. I have broken her heart, so she will not wish to live anyway. That is what I see in her, the pain is physically tangible in her flesh. I release her and stand up over her, my hand still in hers.

    "Rock, Paper, Scissors?" she jokes sadly. I feel tension start to fill her arm and I simply react, pulling my love harshly and pinning her to the bed with her arm behind her, nearly breaking it.

    "OOWWWW!!!" I pin her with my knee in her back. With my left foot, I clasp my jeans with my toes and get it to my free hand, pulling out the belt. She is struggling to reach under the bed, where I am sure she has a gun that she couldn't get to. I can't believe how automatically I am doing this because I know that I will be wailing in anguish when I am done. I will be inconsolable. Gwen realizes that I have the advantage and relents, either resting for a final resistance or lulling me into a false sense of victory. It is the latter because her left foot flies up into the center of my back lurching me on top of her. It hurt and I am having trouble getting my breath back. Gwen jolts to reach for the hidden weapon, but I have the belt of my jeans free and in a swift motion, I have it around her neck and jerk her back into the center of the bed. Like a wrestler, I spoon behind her and pinion her legs under my own. I have only used the belt to hold her and her hands are free. She uses her elbow and drives it back towards my face and shoulder. It hurts but if I let her get a good shot it could turn the tables for me. I hear desperate little sounds coming from her as she tries to strike. I am losing my advantage because a desperate person can summon superhuman strength as death faces them. I roll hard and we roll off the opposite side of the bed, Gwen landing hard on her face and chest with me on top of her. Now my advantage is absolute. Her legs are restrained and this position lessens anything that her elbows and hands could do. It is almost like both of us realize the checkmate and we both pause. We remain there, me holding her about to strangle her, both of us breathing hard. Then Gwen chuckles.

    "We should have wrestled."

    "It was fun." I confess. Then with no pretense I add, "I love you." At that moment, I feel Gwen relax in my grip.

    "I have always loved you," she responds. "Please don't choke me. Use the gun."

    I have already deduced her clever ruse. She really is ready to die... from heartbreak... from duty. Still she is trying to trip me up. If I used the gun under the bed, it would be forensically easy to conclude who killed her. I wish I could give her the easy death she deserves. But I can't. I have to think about afterwards.

    "I'm sorry," I say truthfully, jerking the belt tight with a sudden jerk. I almost kill her right off, so severe was my pressure. She reaches for her throat trying to get her fingers inside to relieve the pressure that has closed off her airway. She gasps and writhes with almost superhuman strength. I keep her pinioned to my body. Then she starts scratching and punching at my body. Now I am on Adrenalin though and it is of no avail. She is gasping desperately in agony and terror. I am starting cry but only increase my grip around her throat with the belt. I feel a last burst of strength but it is a shadow of her original protestations. A moment later I feel her strength start to leave her and her life ebb from her like a spirit. As I become assured that the only person I have ever truly loved is dead, I am left wailing like a baleful banshee as I mourn my loss.


    A week later I have my affairs in order. I return to an apartment in Jacksonville Florida, which was my condo before I met Gwen. Dmitri isn't there but Hannah is with two large imposing black men. I am not afraid. I know exactly why they are there. My death cannot look like an assassination. There has to be a more common, baser reason for my death. They will rape me; they will hurt me. Then I can die. Even as Hannah is explaining it, I am embracing it. All of this is for my country. To not submit to it would be dishonoring to Gwen as well, who died with the soul interest of her country's well being. My death needs to have that same amount of purpose.

    Because I am such a promiscuous person, I thought the staged rapes would be easy. They were not. I have too long centered my sex on Gwen. They rape and beat me for over two hours. One of the black men fucks me so hard in my throat that I think I am going to choke to death. Finally they release me and dress. Laying in the middle of the bed with only a few shards of ripped clothing, semen leaking from my ass, pussy and mouth, I still find the wherewithal to thank them as they leave. They look back at me as if I am insane. Then I am alone with Hannah who is going to kill me. She sits next to me on the bed and pats my belly. There is no goodbyes or reminiscing. Timing is essential for her.

    "Roll onto your belly," she whispers. I want to say something but obediently obey my last act of patriotism to my country. I hear the switch-blade's tell-tale 'Snickt!' as it pops out. Then she punches me in the back and I realize that she has stabbed me and each punch represents a penetration into my body. She never seems to stop and I can't even cry out... only groan and sigh. I feel cold despite that I am laying in a warm cauldron of my blood that is spreading from the myriad of stab wounds that Hannah has made. She pats my bottom as she waits to make certain I am dying. I grow colder and colder and suddenly the wounds don't seem to hurt. As the cold grows, it seems to be snowing as I see tiny white flashes. I am now a hero for my nation, willingly surrendering my life for the greater good. No greater calling. No greater duty.

  2. bigbrother07

    bigbrother07 Kitty Saver

    May 15, 2018
    wow...such a GREAT Read. Sex and a plot, a story having both is rare. Having both at the quality that you have presented is even rarer.