Dan and the Bottle Ch. 10

"OH God that's good!" she moaned, surprising herself even more than the others.

She was moaning almost non stop now, and suddenly realized she wasn't the only one. Cassie had her head between Doris's thighs, and was sawing two fingers in and out of her hole while fluttering her tongue over her clit, and Doris was obviously in the throes of a huge orgasm of her own, chanting "Eat my pussy!" over and over.

Doris reached over, taking Billie Jean's hand in her own, and the two of them shared their orgasms as they each came again, squeezing each other's hands almost to the point of pain. Billie was bucking her hips up against Mickey's thrusts now, instinctively, and he smiled down at her, knowing that while she was still far from being ok, she wouldn't think of normal sex as rape anymore.

He gave a final deep thrust, dick pulsing as he shot jet after jet of his cum into the rubber. He kissed her furiously as he came, slowing down only when he was fully spent.

He rolled off her and to the side, sliding an arm around her shoulder and bringing her head to rest on his broad chest. She cuddled up to him, not trusting her voice for a moment, trying to get her ragged breathing under control, and brought her lips to his ear.

"Thank you, Mickey. I never knew it could be like that."

"That's what we wanted to show you, dear. It can be awful, or it can be awfully good. We knew you'd had the awful, and you needed the good to balance it out."

The four of them spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and playing in the lake, not bothering to get dressed until it was time to go home. Mickey emptied the cooler out for a few minutes, using it as a bucket to douse the fire with lake water twice, then put the juice bottles, whiskey, and the plastic bags the hotdogs, buns, and cheese had been in back in and they walked back out of the massive chamber, getting in the golf cart they had driven here in, and headed out.

At Billie Jean's door, all three of them kissed her goodbye, they made arrangements to see each other again the next day, and she went to the door while they backed away, turned around, and drove off to the apartment they shared.

Herb Dixon was sitting at the kitchen table when she came in. "Where've you been, girl? You got out of school hours ago!"

"Doris an' Cassie an' Mickey took me down to the lake building, showed me how to get there... we went swimmin', then Mickey built a little fire, an' they showed me how to roast hot dogs."

"Did you get up to anythin' with them three? I've been hearin' tales 'bout them."

"Daddy! They're good people! They're tryin' to help me get over... well, you know..."

"That's what scares, me, honey... I think they got more on their minds than just helpin'!"

"Daddy! They're my friends!"

"You just make sure they're just friends, girl! I don't want you comin' home in the family way!"

"They ain't like that! They're nice to me... a lot nicer than them damned soldiers was!"

"Watch your mouth, girl! You ain't too old for a spankin'!"

"It's the truth, Daddy! Them soldiers is Damned, an' I hope they're all burnin' in hell right now!"

Herb looked sadly at his daughter, knowing, deep down, that she was right, and justified in every word she'd said, but still, he and Martha hadn't raised her to be the vengeful sort. It was a good thing the Cave dwellers had killed all of the soldiers; otherwise, she might have been tempted to get one of the many guns in the cave and hunt them down herself.

And he wasn't sure that he would have stopped her. Come to think of it, he might have helped.

Phil Huett climbed back down out of the tree slowly, looking back to see if he'd positioned the camera correctly. He knew he had, but he was nothing if not a perfectionist. He thought, for a moment, that he heard the growl of a truck engine. He keyed the throat mic and murmured "Ok, guys, that's the last of them. Let's head home."

"No can do, Boss... hold your position. There are soldiers pulling in."

'Damn.... well, that's inconvenient' he thought as he settled by the tree trunk to wait, looking around, finally spotting the truck. It was a deuce and a half with a canvas cover, just like the ones they'd taken from the base the day they'd trashed the place.

Two Chinese climbed out of the cab, and went around to the back, untying the cover flaps and revealing the occupants.... two more soldiers and about a dozen civilians, all dressed in very old clothes. The two soldiers jumped out first, took up guard positions, then the one who appeared to be in charge started shouting at the civilians to get out and start stacking up the boards.

Phil was surprised to hear the officer shouting in passable English; perhaps they could use this. He clicked his throat mic...

"Jackson, do you have any bean bag rounds for your shotgun?"

"Yes Sir! What are you thinking?"

"What's the effective range for those things?"

"A hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty feet. What are you thinking, Sir?"

"I'm thinking that officer would make a good prisoner.... If we can take out those other three, can you get close enough to knock that guy down, so we can take him alive?"

"Sir, our orders are no contact, remember?"

"I know... but we can use what's in that guy's head.... and I think I recognize some of those civilians. Remember that village with the thrift shop?"

The other four people with him looked at the civilians and Jim Partlin nodded to himself before answering. Clicking his mic, he confirmed it. "You're right, Sir.... they're from that village to the north of us... which means these soldiers are likely from that base north of there."

"Exactly.... we can kill two birds with one stone, here... take him for intel on that base, plus take these villagers back with us to the Cave, get information on their place, who to talk to and so forth, and as a bonus, we won't have to walk home... they brought us a truck. Partlin, you take the one furthest out, Miller, you take the next one, I'll take the third, Jackson, you know which one is yours.... let's move in as close as we can, in the next minute, then open fire."

Over the next sixty seconds, they all belly crawled into shooting positions, intent on their respective targets.

"Everyone in position?"

A quartet of "Yes Sir's!" followed, and he quietly breathed out the words "Take aim... Fire!" Four silenced rifles spoke, and one shotgun gave a muted roar, and three soldiers dropped to the pavement, while the officer collapsed, writhing in pain.

The civilians looked around in confusion, having heard the shotgun blast, thinking it had been one of the soldiers, shooting at one of them. Realizing they were all still healthy, they looked around at the dead soldiers, wondering what had just happened.

Huett and his team stood slowly, stepping forward and taking control. Jim Partlin stepped over to the officer, drawing out a pair of zip ties and tying the enemy officer's hands behind his back before searching him thoroughly.

The others searched the dead bodies, taking their rifles, sidearms, ammunition belts, and tossing the corpses into the back of the truck. Huett stepped over to the civilians, looking them over thoroughly. They were decently dressed, but the clothing seemed to hang on them.

"I'm guessing you folks are from that village northeast of here, with the Thrift shop?"

Most of them just stared at him, but one older man, who looked to be in his late forties, nodded.

"You seem to know a bit about us, stranger.... who are you?"

"We're friend's of Bob Gunderson."

This startled several of the people, and the older man looked sharply at him.

"Are you, now? Then maybe you can tell us what happened to him and his folk? We drove past his place on our way here, and I didn't see no one in his fields, nor his village, neither. The soldiers weren't none too tidy with the cover flaps on that there truck, Y'see."

"He's living with us, now, in our city. If you folks would like to go see him, we can take you with us. We're headed back there now.... If not, well, we won't force you, but we'll ask you not to talk about us to the rest of these punks." he concluded, pointing at the back of the truck, where the dead bodies and the tied up officer were piled up.

"Why are you takin' the bodies with you?"

"We don't want the Chinese knowing about us, just yet. We'll get rid of the bodies where they'll never be found, and take that officer in for questioning. We'd like to take you folks with us, so we can find out more about your folks, how we can help them and all... We're gearing up to start driving these bastards out of the country."

The older man looked at him as if he'd just grown a second head.... and an ugly one, at that.

"Are you serious, young man?"

"Yes Sir. This is America. We don't take to invaders too much. If it takes us the next fifty years, we WILL have our country back."

Art Perry looked long and hard at the young man before him. He wasn't loud, nor brash; but he spoke with conviction. He meant every word of what he said, of that Art had no doubt.

He nodded as he looked from the young man to the truck they'd been brought here in, that now held three dead Chinese and one prisoner. "Where are you from, young man?"

"We have a small city, not far from here. It's safe; the Chinese don't know about it. We've got food, warm beds, hot showers, and clean clothes. We could use whatever information you folks can give us, and if you want, you can stay there with us as long as you want. All we ask is that you find a way to help out, whether it be helping out on the farms, taking care of the animals, whatever needs doing. We'll get you back to your homes afterward, if you want, but if you want to stay on, you can do that, too... we've got plenty of room."

Just under an hour later, the big truck pulled in to the motor pool, and Archer was there to meet them. He was mildly pissed, at first, but when Huett explained his reasoning, he nodded and accepted it.

"Ok, good call. Get those bodies down to the composting area, tell Mickey to run them through the big chipper. Take their uniforms down to the boiler room, have 'em burned, and get their weapons and whatnot down to the arsenal. Take that 'officer' down to one of the detention cells--no light. Oh... strip him, too... we'll let him stew, naked, in pitch black, for twenty four hours. Nothing more vulnerable than a blind, naked man who realizes that he's completely powerless to do anything."

Turning to the civilians, he addressed them directly.

"Greetings, folks. I'm James Archer, and if you'll follow me, we'll see about getting you something to eat."

He and Jim Partlin led them through the complex to the Great Hall, and he called ahead to have food and beverages brought for them.

When they got there, there were several trays of sandwiches, a large coffee pot, and several pitchers of assorted juices along with cups, plates, and pastries on one of the side tables.

Selecting a turkey sandwich and a cup of coffee, he sat down to wait, watching them each eat several sandwiches apiece, as if they hadn't seen food in a month, trying the different juices and sweet rolls and turnovers, while he chewed on his sandwich, deep in thought.