Deep Secret Ch. 29 - ExtremesbyGlobal Carol©
Thirty-some-odd men were relaxing, spread eagle on chairs, most at or near the very long dining table. Although most had shot their loads several times during the past hour or two and their limp dicks were just hanging out, a few of those selfsame dicks were still being gingerly stroked.
The two mostly naked women, after licking up whatever each could of the loads of semen covering the other's face, neck, shoulders, and extraordinary breasts, were slowly beginning to make some coffee in the kitchen. There had been talk of pancakes. Anticipating a carbohydrate-laden breakfast, everyone was pleasantly enjoying the blissful stupor of post-climactic – more like, post-multiple-climactic – bliss.
That was when it happened, suddenly and with what felt like a thunderclap – reminiscent of the storm in King Lear (Act III, Scene 2, "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!") – came the intruders. It seemed that all the large plate glass windows that we could see shattered at once and immediately the enormous house was filled with a blast of cold air as well as dozens of men who looked like they were from SWAT. Their clothing said nothing, however. It was just dirty beige, apparently better to blend in with the snowy environment.
No one had a chance to take any evasive action or even to move. Well, one or two, seemed to have the chance, but it was foolish of them to try to take it. There were three or four muffled shots and that was it. After that no one moved.
We were ordered onto the ground, face down.
For me, this was something out of an action-adventure movie. My id or ego or whatever it is that wants to fight or take flight, faced with the fact that it could do neither, put me into "This is not happening" mode. This could not be real life. Could it? How could this be happening, I thought to myself, uncomfortably facing to my right as I saw a boot walking past my eyes, the carpet burning into my left cheek.
My heart was racing. It felt like I might pass out. This is not the way movies make me feel, so maybe this was real life – and Simone, Joa, the guys (the ones still alive), and I were goners. Not a pleasant thought.
In retrospect it's easy to see how I got to that place. At the time, however, I was just one scared guy wondering why I'd paid the last installment of the tuition for the fall semester when I began to doubt ever seeing another day – much less walk into a classroom again.
After scrambling heavily around the house in their bulky gear and assuring themselves that the place had no one else in it, they put plastic slip-on handcuffs on us all and threw blankets on us to keep us warm given that we were all half to mostly naked.
No one tried to say anything or make any kind of move. After hearing the shots fired at the few guys who had tried it, I assumed even the most macho among them was content to sit still.
Twenty minutes later, after going person to person and matching our faces with pictures on a laptop they had brought, they announced that they were a special operations unit: they were going to put all of us on a bus and then take us to an undisclosed location.
That struck me as odd. If Simone, Joa, and their team (the currently handcuffed guys) were a special operations unit, then who were these guys and where were they going to take us? I was about to ask when one of the masked invaders walked to Joa and Simone in the kitchen. I listened carefully as a somewhat heated discussion ensued, lasting for a few minutes. I wish I could have heard what was said, but we were all in the dining area. Simone and Joa were in the large kitchen itself.
Straining to hear what was going on became an exercise in futility as the sound of at least one diesel engine came from the front of the grand house. Although it wasn't visible from where we were sitting, a bus must have pulled up outside. Next, one by one we were taken to get our belongings and eventually, after putting something like gaffer tape over our mouths and black hoods over our heads, shuffled onto a large bus out front.
I had attempted to speak to my captor while gathering my stuff upstairs. He completely disregarded anything I had to say. He didn't even respond when I asked about who they were, that I was a citizen and had rights, or that my two female friends downstairs worked for the government.
Driving away I contemplated what the house might look like to a passerby with the lack of glass in the large open holes where dual or triple panes of glass used to be. Then I remembered that you could not see the house from the road, nor could you see any of the neighbors' homes from the house.
No one would even know we were missing.
With nothing else to occupy my time and desiring to at least momentarily forget my fears of the worst, I tried to remember in detail all the events of the past 24 hours. Actually, it was more like 18 hours since I had arrived in Mountain Creek. I realized I was exhausted. If I had just one wish at that moment it would have been to go home. I had not seen Joa or Simone since the first moments of the invasion. I hoped they were OK and that we'd get this mess straightened out soon. It must be a miscommunication issue I kept telling myself.
We did not drive far, probably to some facility in Mountain Creek itself, because in no more than fifteen or twenty minutes we stopped, were led out, and into some sort of building with hallways that echoed. A public school, maybe. After stopping momentarily, we were ushered into a cavernous room.
I was moved to a chair, pushed down into it, and, after they undid the temporary plastic bands that had been cutting into my wrists, handcuffed to the chair. There I sat for at least a half-hour. From what I could hear, all the others were addressed first and little by little the din began to decrease. Eventually the room was silent.
After even more silence I heard a door open and footsteps echoing around a large room. I was guessing it was a gymnasium, but not being able to see made that just a guess.
The footsteps got louder until at least two people seemed like they'd stopped close by. They took off my hood and I looked around. As I'd guessed, I was in a large gymnasium with portable screens on three sides of me. I was staring at two men in suits, each with a badge clipped to his waist.
They began to ask me questions. With the tape over my mouth still in place, I could only answer by shaking my head yes or no. After it appeared that my answers confused them, they (kindly) gently removed the tape. I took that to be a good sign: Why would they be nice to someone they thought was expendable?
"Mr. Spectere, why were you at that house?" the taller one said, walking over and opening a folder.
"I was up here to visit my girlfriend," I responded.
"Is this your girlfriend?" he asked, taking out an 8 x 10 photo of Simone in street clothes, sitting at a cafe table, and showing it to me.
As soon as I nodded in agreement, he looked at his partner. The eye contact they made told me that I had said something that had them stumped.
"How long have you known her?"
"A couple of months," I told him. "I started seeing her in September."
They both walked out of the makeshift booth. I heard them speaking to another person not far behind me, but I couldn't hear what was being said. Then one made a phone call. After a few minutes more a third person came to me and uncuffed me from the chair.
As I walked with him out of the enclosed space I looked around at the gym. It was empty except for a few folding tables with some other men in suits at them, staring into computer screens. He escorted me out the door to another room down the hall where I encountered the first woman I'd seen since losing track of Simone at the house. She provided me with some paperwork and instructed me to read and sign it.
"This swears you to secrecy about the events of today. If you ever reveal to anyone what happened, you agree to enter voluntarily the witness protection program or, possibly, be locked up for up to 15 years. This is non-negotiable..." she droned on for many more minutes about the privacy act and the national security act, and some other acts about which I'd never heard. (She did not mention the third act of King Lear, however!) I signed the forms and left. I was surprised to see my car had been moved to the school's parking lot.
I did as I was instructed: I threw my stuff into the back, got in, and drove directly home. The two-hour drive back gave me time to try to consider what exactly had happened. Yet, by the time I pulled into the garage in my building I still had no idea what had happened. I had questions about which team were the good guys? Who was Davidson working for? Who was Joa? What happened to Hastings and the General? What about Orm? And Arty? Who were all the guys getting their rocks off at Joa's house this morning? What happened to them?
In fact, I still had no idea what exactly had happened to me. I wanted to see Simone to ask her a million questions. I phoned her number and got a recording that said the phone number is no longer valid. Hmm.
After unpacking and trying to watch some college football, I drove over to Simone's place. I knocked and rang the bell but I got no answer. As I was leaving, a middle-aged woman came out of another apartment. I asked her about Simone's apartment.
"No," she said. "I haven't seen a soul come out of or go into that place in a couple of weeks." As she walked away she added, "Too bad. I wanted to fix my nephew up with that nice young woman, you know, the one with the big..." She held her hands in front of her chest as thought she were hefting cantaloupes.
"Oh, OK," I mumbled. There was not much to add, "thanks."
I called my neighborhood pizza place to place an order, stopped by the market for some beer, and then picked up the pizza. By the time I got back to my place I still hadn't heard from Simone. The set of events of the past 24 hours was as enigmatic as ever. It was as though Simone had disappeared – or maybe never existed.
Even though it was Saturday night, I couldn't think about doing anything. I couldn't even figure out what I was feeling. All I knew was that I kept having more questions.
I hit the sack before 10:00. (Some big Saturday night, huh?) I was a little drunk and full of pizza and beer – and exhausted. And I still had no answers.
In less than a minute I was out cold.
Sleep came as a needed tonic. At times I slept soundly, but then the heavy pizza sitting in my gut would complain loudly and I'd awaken for a moment or two before falling back into the arms of Morpheus. (Too much? I figured that someone would ask: When did Laurence Fishburne's character in The Matrix show up and why is he falling into his arms? Well, duh: It's a metaphor.)
After a few hours, some slight movement awakened me. As I stirred awake, I became aware of soft skin pressing next to mine. It felt great. I knew I was dreaming because Simone had disappeared.
Or had she?
When I realized that the two breasts pushing against my back were hers I wanted to turn around and make love to her. But, I didn't. In fact, expecting that I was still dreaming, I didn't respond at all, except for a small moan when her hand reached around and began to fondle my balls.
That felt real.
My mind was a sea of conflicts being tossed around like a ship entering the strait between Scylla and Charybdis. I wanted to ask her a million questions. I wanted to get one of her indescribable blowjobs. I wanted to know if she was back for good. I wanted to know how she avoided whatever happened today. I wanted to know why the men who interrogated me had her picture. Blah! The list of questions just continued to grow.
So did my dick.
She moved herself down to my crotch and began to lick under my cock, just where her hands had been playing. My cock was at nearly full length and we were both happy to see her.
My thoughts in my brain were still spinning when she said, in between licks at my cock and balls, "So, you're OK?"
I had to think for a minute exactly how best to answer her. Finally I said, "No, not really. Well, yeah, I guess." I paused to think for a moment. "I'm OK."
"Very convincing," she kidded. "I'm sure you have even more questions than you did when you found out about my undercover work. What was that? Just a month or so ago?"
As soon as the last word came out of her mouth, my cockhead entered it. She did the amazing suck thing she did often – and of which I never tired – and within ten or fifteen seconds I felt like I wanted to come. Damn! She was amazing.
She began then to slowly lick my cock as she continued her work on me, I began to have my doubts about, well, everything. Why was she here? Why wouldn't she tell me what was going on? What had happened? Why had I been "run in" by guys with guns and badges?
While ruminating on my list of questions she had successfully gotten my entire cock in her throat and was now vigorously licking my balls with her tongue. Her hands were busy with my ball sack and playing around the underside of it. (I said "successfully," but it was never anything she had to work at. In fact, I had no doubt she could deep throat a yardstick.)
In almost no time I forgot all the questions. I even forgot that I had a list of questions. I could smell her perfume and found myself stroking her short blonde hair and the back of her head. Her skin felt incredibly smooth and very sexy as I felt her throat giving my cock a workout.
Not having thought much about sex since the morning's mountain mélange, I now, to my surprise, was ready to come. She was able to control my orgasms, at least so it always seemed. If she wanted a mouthful, but wasn't ready yet, she'd keep me on the edge for a long time. This generally provided her with more in the way of quantity.
If she wanted my semen ASAP, all she had to do were the kinds of things she was now doing and I was ready in no time.
No time was here. She pushed me even further back into her throat as her tongue put pressure on the underside of the base of my cock and that did it. I could feel the climax coming down the lane at a breakneck speed.
When my first shot of semen sped to the cock head I could feel her throat tighten around its business end. That first shot must have gone right down to her stomach. Knowing that I was coming set her off. She began to have these small twitches that I could feel in her neck as her muscles tensed for a moment before seeming to lock into a taut position. She remained that way for the rest of our mutual orgasm.
Except for one detail: she moved my cock out of her throat so she could taste my cum. It was one of the many things I loved about her. She loved my cum. She always wanted more. If some spilled onto my leg or the bed sheet or the kitchen table, after making sure that I had no more to give and dutifully cleaning off every drop she could find on me, my cock, her face, boobs, and hands, she'd go after any semen that might have escaped her.
It enabled her to have bigger and longer orgasms. Sometimes I'd look at her across the room and I'd want to walk over to her, just to jerk off in her mouth. In fact, there were many times I did just that.
Yes, our sex life was way too fixated on her giving me blowjobs, but that's what she wanted. Who was I to argue?
I continued to shoot gobs of cum into her mouth as I felt her rolling the liquid around, over her tongue and around her teeth. She kept coming as long as I did, in fact, she kept coming long after I stopped.
When she finally let my now-shrinking cock escape from her mouth, I could hear her breathe in a little air. She had told me on several occasions that it enhanced the flavor of the cum. It also made her continue to climax. It was always a sight to behold.
Her gratification satisfied, she swallowed her mouthful in two loud gulps. Even in the dim bedroom I could see her beautiful smile shining at me.
As she moved to snuggle in my arms I began to ask her questions, "Simone, what the hell – "
"Shh," she stopped me. "It's a long story and I can't tell you anyway. There was a mix-up. That's all."
"A mix-up? Are you kidding me? A mix-up that killed people? A mix-up that treated me like a terror suspect?" I asked her a stream of questions, getting so worked up it surprised even me. Finally, I ended my tirade, "Simone, you have to explain what happened today."
"Ed, I don't. I mean, I can't. I'm not able to tell you," she responded.
I persisted, "After all this time, after the basement episode, the party, the file, Orm, and everything you've told me, you can't tell me what this was all about?"
Expecting her to say something, I paused. She looked away for a moment, as though she'd made a difficult decision.
"Ed, I came here this evening to say goodbye. I was unsure if I should or not, but now I realize that it was a mistake."
"You mean you're leaving? I won't see you anymore? What about us?" I was stunned by this revelation.
She didn't respond as she silently got out of bed and began to get dressed. In the semidarkness I could see her put on her white bra with the extraordinarily oversized cups and it brought back so many exciting memories, times that were fun, times during which I expected to settle down with this amazing woman. And now, times that were never going to happen and times that were going to become cherished memories.
"Come on," I urged her. "Tell me what's going on."
As she finished putting on her socks, she sat down on the bed next to me.
"Sweetie, I know you have a million questions and I just can't answer them. I can only tell you that I will always miss you. I loved the time we spent together, the fun, the laughter, the closeness," she paused to kiss my head. "Ed, this is so hard for me. I love you. I think we could have settled down together, but in my line of work it's impossible. I'm so sorry, Ed. I am."
She gave me a hard, long kiss. I could tell that she was crying. It was so unexpected: she was always the stoic. Simone crying was something I'd never seen.
After we ended the kiss – and there were several false endings – she leaned over and gave my cock a few kisses. My cock surprised me by becoming hard in almost no time at all. She must have sucked some semen that was there from earlier into her mouth because she seemed to have a strong reaction, the kind of reaction I loved in her.
Before I knew what was happening, she took my full length deep into her throat, forcing me in and out as though she were fucking her throat with my cock. After a few minutes of that extraordinary feeling we both knew that I could probably come again, even after just having had an orgasm.
"Ed, please let me have your cum. Please, baby. I need it. I need it," she challenged me.
I was so torn by the past half-hour's events that I couldn't say a thing. My cock, however, started thrusting towards her mouth and clearly it wanted to give her what she requested.
My brain wanted answers to all the questions, the big one being "Why couldn't she stay?" I meet the perfect woman and after a string of increasingly more bizarre events, she drops by to say, "Take care. Have a good life."
What kind of crap is that?
Although my focus was on the relationship we had for several months, the focus of my libido was obvious: it wanted another orgasm. And with little further impetus, Simone coaxed it into giving it to her.
While jerking me with one hand, her mouth went down to my balls, sucking playfully on each and then putting pressure with her tongue on the sack and the place underneath it. I could hear her slurping and moaning. It so turned me on that I stopped my useless stewing on what was currently happening in my brain and gave myself over to the orgasm that was obviously in my very near future.