TMA: Agent Moon Ch. 03

"Oh, God, Dylan!" the girl gasped, raising her hips. "You . . . you don't have to—Ah!"

Dylan moaned as he tasted her sweet fluid, pressing his mouth to Betty's pussy and parting her lips with his tongue. She was incredibly wet, her labia slick with arousal. The taste was unlike anything Dylan had ever sampled before. It was intoxicating . . . divine.

Betty planted her feet on the mattress and pushed her pelvis out, loving the feel of Dylan's lips, tongue, his rough stubble against the inside of her thighs, the movement of his nose through the hair on her pussy mound. The wet sucking and smacking sounds he made only heightened her pleasure. Rolling her hips greedily, Betty cupped her full breasts in her hands, pinching and pulling on her nipples. After mere moments, she felt she was already close to climax.

Dylan pushed into the girl with his tongue, feeling the contractions of her inner muscles, tasting the thick cream as it oozed from deep within. He braced his hands upon her belly, keeping her in place as he serviced her. Betty gasped and moaned, pulling at his head as if wanting more of him within. Dylan did not let up for a moment, especially once his questing tongue lavished her clitoris. He sucked on it tenderly at first, then with more urgency. Betty all but screamed as she came.

The young woman bucked and thrashed, tossing her head back and forth, digging her fingers into Dylan's scalp to keep his mouth firmly affixed to her pussy. She had never experienced a real orgasm before; the pleasure was unimaginable . . . heavenly.

One orgasm blended into another, then another. Dylan's tongue was tireless within her sex, digging deep to taste her orgasmic fluid again and again. It seemed an hour and a day before he finally moved up over her, offering his slick lips. Betty kissed him hungrily, uncaring that she was tasting herself upon his tongue. The act only seemed to bring her closer to him.

"My turn," she said at last, her voice husky and determined. Dylan let himself be pushed onto his back, stared up at Betty as she straddled him. They sucked hungrily on one another's lips; the passion of the moment had overtaken them, demanding satisfaction. Consumed by animal passion, Betty ripped open his shirt, casting buttons in all directions, and buried her face in his chest. Amid purrs, moans, growls and sighs, she kissed and nipped at his skin, making her way downward.

Dylan groaned, lifting his hips once the girl had his belt undone and the button of his slacks freed. Betty hissed with feral desire upon the sight of the dark hair around the root of his cock, then cooed once the object of her attention was released. She grinned, sighing in appreciation at the length and girth of the cock she now held, pressed her lips against the thick, purplish head. The taste of his precum was sweet, and she lapped it away with loving swipes of her tongue.

She engulfed him once, sucking hard, drawing out the sweet manly flavor from the skin of his cock, then released him. Her eyes blazed, admiring the magnificent phallus thrusting up at her. "I wanna taste you," she whispered, then slid her mouth back down, bathing his cock in warmth and wetness. She breathed heavily through her nose, sucking up and down, squeezing the base of Dylan's cock with her hand.

Oh, God, this is incredible, thought Dylan, his body tensing. He could feel every movement of Betty's tongue, the slick firmness of the roof of her mouth, the insistent stroking and squeezing of her hands. Of all the women he had known, not one had elicited such pleasure as this incredible young woman.

"Betty!" he grunted after only a few minutes. His body tingled, his toes curled, his thighs tensed to rock-hard firmness.

"Mmm! Mmm!" She sucked harder, pulling on his cock with her mouth, her lips dripping with saliva. One hand stroked his shaft firmly, the other gently squeezed and massaged his balls. Her muffled murmurs were needy, almost desperate. Dylan could not help but believe that the angel servicing him wanted to devour him to the fullest.

He grunted and shook, pushing his hips off the mattress as he came. Betty stayed with him, keeping her mouth locked around the head of his swollen cock, sucking out the river of warm, tangy, salty fluid that gushed into her mouth. She sighed at the flavor, the realization that she was sucking out the most precious gift a man could give. She held the fluid in her mouth, sucking gently as the spasms in the cock between her lips slowly subsided.

Dylan shook with aftershocks as he relaxed, slowly, almost painfully. Betty nursed his spent penis, bathing it in the warmth of her semen-filled mouth. She hugged his hips, settled her head to his thigh. A single trickle of fluid escaped the corner of her mouth, running along her cheek to Dylan's thigh. The rest flowed down her throat as she swallowed.

Dylan panted, staring at the ceiling. He petted Betty's head, gently urged her to move up atop him. She did so with a dreamy smile upon her face, her lush, full lips glistening. A smear of cum made her right cheek shine. Dylan smiled back, pulling her head down for a kiss. But she resisted.

"Um, wait," she said, then smiled sheepishly, wiping her mouth. "I should, uh—"

"No, you shouldn't," Dylan said, pressing his lips to hers. The lingering taste of his orgasm upon her lips and tongue inspired and refueled him. Betty yielded easily once more, allowing herself to be rolled onto her back. Her fingers clawed at Dylan's body as he positioned himself between her thighs. Although not entirely hard, Dylan's cock pushed against the furry lips of her pussy. The seeping wetness allowed for entry.

Betty gasped, holding her legs open wide as Dylan pushed within her. Her rouged face glowed with passion. Her hands caressed the face of the man atop her, the only man she ever felt truly close with.

"Dylan . . . oh, Dylan . . . ."

His cock swelled, growing inside the caressing depths of her snug tunnel. Dylan kissed the girl's lips, then her neck and the tops of her breasts. He felt his cock thickening within her, began moving back and forth. Never had he recovered so quickly. Never had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted Betty.

He straightened, holding her legs apart with his hands, watching the thick, hairy lips of Betty's sex bulge around the girth of his cock. Betty's clit glowed like a beacon, extending out from the shroud that protected it. Dylan let go of her left leg and massaged the slick button with his thumb. Betty trembled, gasping within that state that bordered between pain and pleasure. And then she exploded.

"Oh, God! Oh, GOD!"

Her pussy squeezed his cock tightly, spasming in orgasm. Juices squelched from within her, coating Dylan's thrusting cock like milk. Betty heaved and convulsed, slapping her hands to the mattress and shoving her pelvis up, burying Dylan's cock to the hilt. The sensations were all too much, and Dylan joined her, feeling his cock erupting within the womb of his young lover. Every contraction, every spurt of seed, was felt by both.

Exhausted, Dylan all but fell upon the girl, only his shaking arms keeping his weight from crushing her. He buried his face in her neck, panting for breath. Betty held him tight, curling arms and legs around him. She smiled sublimely, kissing his shoulder. She never wanted to let him go.

***

Dylan awoke with a start, his eyes flashing open as he lay upon the dirty mattress. Betty remained curled against him, head and arm upon his chest, a leg draped over his thighs. Gently, so as not to wake her, he slipped from beneath her body. His slacks were bunched up around his legs; he pulled them up, affixed the zipper and fastened the button. He did not bother with his shirt, which had been discarded to the floor. Instead, he reached for one of the pistols. A quick inspection told him the .45 was fully loaded.

He stepped to the door, feeling a strong, chilly draft. Pulling the door open, Dylan stepped out. The moon seemed brighter, casting the landscape in a pure, pale glow. Not twenty feet from the front door stood Foster Reece, alone.

Dylan glanced around quickly, then smiled crookedly, tapping his pistol against his leg. "Just you?"

Reece nodded grimly. "Just me," he said. His eyes were unwavering as they held Dylan's. "Seven minutes. Seven minutes, and I complete my mission. The demands of time are . . . pretty stringent, you know. The moment has to be just right."

Dylan nodded. "So I'm learning," he said. His eyes hardened. "You know I won't let you through that door."

Reece allowed himself to soften a bit as he smiled. Like Dylan, he, too, held a pistol at his side. "You know what the universal law of time travel is, Dylan?"

The TMA agent narrowed his eyes. "I'd love to hear your take on it."

Reece chuckled, shaking his head. "Everything happens for a reason," he said. "That's the universal law. It's not maintaining history, it's not righting wrongs. You and I, we are able to travel through time for a reason."

"So what's the reason?" asked Dylan, humoring the man.

A slow, knowing smile stretched Foster Reece's lips. "To set certain things in motion," he said. "We are here to insure that particular events happen. Events that do not seem to have much impact upon the world. At least . . . according to our limited perceptions."

Dylan sighed, annoyed by the vague pompousness of Reece's words. "You know what gets me?" he asked.

"Oh, pray tell," chastised the Rectifier agent.

"You guys go back in time, change history," Dylan said. "Yet, the moment you do, the TMA figures it out and sends someone to stop you. After ten years, you'd think the Rectifiers would realize that there's nothing you can do that we won't see."

Reece's smile remained. "Indeed. We should just give up. You've thwarted us at every turn, after all. What's the point?"

Dylan narrowed his eyes. "What are you after?"

Reece laughed shallowly. "At the moment, I'm just like you. I have a mission to accomplish."

"Over my dead body," growled Dylan. He snapped up his pistol, just as Reece did the same. The still air echoed with the sound of two hammers being cocked back. Both men stared down the other over barrels of steel.

"If it comes to that," Reece said.

"But it won't, will it? We can't kill each other, after all. Not without knowing if this is our last meeting. And it can't be the last for me; we've already established that. So the question comes down to whether it's the last for you."

Reece ground his teeth, his eyes flickering back and forth from the pistol Dylan held to the man's face. "If you kill me now, then everything you know disappears," he said. He lowered his weapon, held his arms wide. "Go on, take the chance. Take the life of every living thing in the universe in your hands. Take the opportunity to pretend you are God."

Dylan was silent, feeling the weight of the tiny lever against his finger. A quick squeeze, a blink in the eye of time, and it would be over. The mission would be saved, Craig and Betty would be safe. Yet . . . yet . . . .

Slowly, Dylan lowered his pistol, straightened his back. He tossed the weapon to the ground. "I don't need to kill you to stop you," he said. "There's one way into that house. And that's through me."

Reece's smiled broadened into a grin. He, too, threw his weapon away, then unbuttoned his jacket before sliding the garment from his shoulders. "Mano a mano, eh? It's been a while."

Dylan relaxed into a defensive stance, hands raised and knees slightly bent. "So, did I kick your ass last time?" he asked with a cocky grin.

Reece cracked his neck as he approached slowly. "Actually, we almost killed each other," he said, raising his hands in readiness. He stopped once the two men were only a few paces apart, and winked. "Hell of a fight."

"I'm looking forward to it," Dylan said, then lashed out quickly, the open palm of his right hand intended for Reece's jaw. It was a swift move that often stunned an opponent, giving Dylan an early advantage . . . and often, a decisive one.

But Reece was quick, unnaturally so. His left hand shot out, slapping at Dylan's wrist, and the man pivoted, spinning about and slamming his elbow into the TMA agent's chest. Dylan grunted, stumbling backward. He had never seen a man move so fast.

He barely managed to duck beneath a secondary backhand of the same arm that had hit him, and pummeled his fist into Reece's midsection. The man stiffened slightly, but was not as affected by the blow as Dylan had hoped. Indeed, Reece appeared relatively unfazed, clapping both his hands over Dylan's ears. Dylan cried out in pain, backing away quickly. He blinked, looking upon his laughing opponent.

"Come on, Dylan, you move like a snail. You're better than that," Reece taunted.

"Maybe I'm just warming up," Dylan shot back, shaking his head briefly. He felt a trickle of warm fluid leaking from his right ear. The blood muffled his hearing.

Reece grinned in confidence. "Or maybe you haven't figured a few things out," he said, and rushed forward. His hands struck with speed and power Dylan had never before experienced. Grunting and wincing with each impact to his torso and face, Dylan found himself staggering back. Then came a powerful kick to his abdomen that sent him flying back, into and through the wooden support of the tiny front deck. The thick beam cracked in half, jagged wood digging through the material of Dylan's shirt and into his skin. The rickety cover fell around him.

For a moment, Reece shook his head, grinning ruefully. He dusted his hands as he kicked away the trellis-type cover over Dylan's body. The TMA agent lay panting on the ground, blood oozing from his mouth. "It's really too bad I can't kill you, Dylan," Reece said. "Because right now, it would be ridiculously easy."

Dylan sputtered, trying to sit up. He grimaced as Reece reached down and grabbed a handful of thick black hair, hauling Dylan to his feet. The Rectifier agent sneered in triumph. "Guess I'll just have to be happy with beating your ass into the ground," he hissed viciously. "And then having some fun with that little whore you brought."

Betty? Don't you fucking dare . . . . Dylan's eyes flashed open, suddenly lucid and fierce. "I don't think so," he growled, then hammered his palm into Reece's chest, mustering all the force he could into that single blow. The power behind it seemed supernatural as Reece was lifted bodily into the air, flying back several feet.

The Rectifier lay stunned a moment, but not half as astonished as his foe. Dylan looked to his hands, wondering where the sudden strength had come from. Then, as a moment of clarity intruded upon his mind, he smiled and looked to Reece. He could feel the sudden flood of power in his limbs, decided it was best not to wonder from whence it came. "Time to play."

Reece scrambled to his feet, wiped his mouth of the spittle that had formed on his lips. His earlier bravado seemed compromised, but not entirely gone. "Let's."

The two men charged one another, emitting feral cries of rage and desperation. While before, Reece seemed to be the faster and stronger of the two, suddenly, the odds were equal. Dylan moved with speed and efficiency he had never before enjoyed, countering Reece's attacks and delivering his own. Strikes flashed with blinding speed, many only coming close to striking before being batted away. Still, the occasional fist landed upon jaw or cheek, chest or abdomen, and both men, after a few minutes, were beginning to show the effects of the combat.

"Just another minute or so, Reece," taunted Dylan as they circled one another. He licked blood from the corner of his mouth. "Like I said, there's only one way through that door."

Reece glared, then snickered. "Oh, how I wish I could see your face when you learn the truth," he said, then spun about swiftly, bringing up his foot. The kick slammed squarely into Dylan's chest, making him pitch back. But his reflexes were high; he absorbed most of the blow by rolling backward, heels over head, and snatched up a pair of narrow wooden boards as he came up on a single bent knee.

Reece was already charging again, and as the man surged forward, Dylan launched himself out, swinging with both boards as if they were escrima sticks. He battered, whirled, spun and struck again, feeling the grim satisfaction each time a strike found its mark. Reece cried out and fell back, welts and cuts opened upon his arms and chest and left cheek. He fell into a crouch, wavering on weakened legs, and touched his face. Eyes glanced to bloodied fingers when he pulled them away.

Dylan whirled the impromptu weapons in his hands, standing over his opponent. "Like I said, you're not getting through me," he said.

Reece heaved for breath, one of his hands creeping back along his calf. "And, like I said, I have a mission to accomplish."

Dylan saw the movement, heard the snap of the leather loop that kept the tiny firearm secured to Reece's ankle holster. Just as the man shot his hand out and squeezed the trigger, Dylan ducked and spun. The sharp report echoed in his ears, and he felt more than heard a whizzing past his head as the bullet barely missed.

Or rather, as it missed him.

He froze, staring at Betty as the young woman stood in the doorway, pistol held in her hands. Smoke trailed up from the barrel – she must have fired at the same time as Reece, Dylan realized – and shock was evident on her face.

Then he saw the dark stain, growing in the fabric beneath her bodice. His eyes shot to her face. "Betty."

She looked to him slowly, her face draining. "D-Dylan . . . ." she began, then faltered and fell to her knees, the pistol dropping to the ground.

Rage seized him in that instant, and Dylan whirled around, spying Foster Reece laying on his back, pressing a hand to his chest. Blood bubbled in the man's mouth as he struggled to breathe. But Dylan was not about to give the man any more chances at life. With a feral snarl, Dylan squatted over Reece's chest, pinning the gun-wielding hand to the ground with his foot. His eyes blazed into the Rectifier's own.

"You know, I think I will take the fate of the universe in my hands," Dylan growled, reaching for Reece's head. A quick, vicious tug, resulting in the audible snap of bone and tendon, and it was over. The last moment of Foster Reece's life was filled with the vengeful face of his killer.

Leaving the corpse on the ground, Dylan rushed to Betty's side. The girl sat upon her haunches, blinking and licking dry lips, glassy eyes fixed upon a point on the ground. Dylan snapped his fingers before her face. "Betty. Betty!"

She slowly looked to him. "I-It hurts . . . ."

He sighed, gritting his teeth. "Hold your breath a moment, honey," he said, then scooped her into his arms. The girl winced, clutching Dylan tightly as he carried her to the car. She wept into his chest. It took a little work to get the door open while holding her, but Dylan managed, and set her body in the passenger seat. Working quickly, and with apologies, he managed to open her blood-soaked shirt. The bullet had penetrated beneath her right breast. Feeling behind Betty's back, he found no exit wound.

Ripping the girl's shirt into ribbons, he wadded up a handful of fabric and pressed it to the wound. "Hold it here," he told her. "Keep pressure on it."

Mutely, Betty nodded. Tears dripped down her cheeks. "Don't leave me," she pleaded.

Dylan swallowed hard. "I'm just going to get Mr. Craig," he said. "I'm still responsible for him."

She forced a smile, breathing out through clenched teeth. Dylan was glad he saw no blood on her lips; at the least, it seemed, the bullet had missed her lung. Weakly, Betty lifted her hand and touched his face. "I love you," she whispered faintly.