A Hunting We Will Go!

"I am game, Jack! I like where you are going with that tongue idea!" I managed to say as I found his face planting a kiss that rocked and caused my legs to jerk inward as he licked up my slit.

"Yes! Right there!"

The words came out as an involuntarily gasp. Long and drawn out just like Jack's cry came as I sucked his cock as he leaned against the doorway.

I felt the electricity running from my slit to my nipples. The thrill of his tongue gliding up my groove to thrust against my clit was enough to have my hips buck upward for more. My head rocked back into the pillow. My sloe-eyes closed as my legs opened involuntarily. In the twilight of the nightlight beside us, he proceeded to build my emotions until those first tremors roared through my core. He certainly could keep up a stiff tongue! It worked well enough on the outside and just as nice as it dove into my interior.

"God! Yes! ... Right there!"

"Liked that, did you, Jackie Wilson?" he murmured as he continued to feed upon my first release, building it back into another series of orgasms one after another.

For the first time in months, I felt free to buck and thrust against a man's face. He drew up that lust by sucking in my clit and plunging his tongue into my soaked cunt. When he added his finger and found my G-Spot I was in heaven again. It reminded me of my night with Jimmy after he rescued me in the rains. It reminded me of my using Jimmy's body to overcome the fear of death. I had used him like a fuck-stick, a living dildo, as I rode him to exhaustion.

I shook my head against the pillow. Struggling to drive away those thoughts. Yet, they came back tonight, to try and steal away the pleasure I wanted out of Jack. The demon stayed watching me cum for Jack. He didn't want to leave.

It took Jack's sliding his cock up into my wet cunt and the tsunami it created inside of me to drive the fears back into hiding. He rode me hard. I fought back, bucking against him to get every inch of his cock thrust into me; riding the forward edge of the massive tidal wave washing over me as my body gave itself over to him.

His voice roared within the room as loud groans escaped his lips with each succeeding stab into my cunt—until the last groan; the final stab. The tremors of my cunt clutching his shaft, pulling him deeper, matched his forceful lunges. I felt the euphoric waves radiating outward from my cunt, rippling through my tummy muscles. The electrical currents flashed through my nipples bringing them to a firm peak. Amid the frenzy building within me, I realized my hands had moved to grasp those buds and squeeze. That familiar sense of sparkling lightning strikes behind my eyelids lit up like fireflies before I felt darkness closing in.

Amidst all of that euphoria, I felt him collapse upon me as his last plunge yielded up his seed. His body pressed me into the mattress until I could just barely breathe. I felt my body shutting down as it broke under that intense climax. I didn't feel him pull out. Just the ease of being able to breathe as I resurfaced; becoming aware of my surroundings again.

I rolled onto my side with what little energy I had left in my spent body. The blur in my vision cleared as I blinked away the remaining sparkles behind my eyelids. Jack's spent body lay at my side, watching me as I slowly recovered. His hand reached up to brush the hair out of my eyes, letting the back of his hand stroke my cheek and glide down to cup my breast. Just to hold it, absorbing its softness and its weight in the palm of his hand. In kind, I stroked his brow with my fingertip and scrolled down over the bridge of his nose to end by pressing my finger against his lips. He kissed it then took it into his mouth to suck on it for a moment.

"You left me! Blacked out, didn't you? G-forces or—was it that good for you, too?" he smiled, as he asked.

I couldn't help but smile back, "Yes. Maybe...yes. I think it might have been a fluke though. Are you sure you two, your tongue and this," I asked, as I squeezed his semi-flaccid cock, "lasted twelve minutes?"

"I forgot to set the timer!" he smirked. "Remind me when you are ready for the next round," he whispered as he leaned over to kiss me—on the lips.

'Why does a man do that after sex? I thought that only happened when you loved someone?'

I wrapped my arm over his chest and snuggled against him; twirling my fingers through his wiry chest hairs. "I think you, the two of you, Mr. Tongue and Mr. Cock, do just fine without a timer, GI," I whispered. We grew quiet. Just the sound of soft breathing, then slow breathing, then the absence of sounds as I drifted off to sleep in his arms.

Light breaking through the window and the muffled sounds of traffic brought me out of my sound sleep. I jolted up sensing something was out of place. I felt a bit sore, 'down there' as my mother used to remark some mornings as we sipped tea together. That usually happened when my dad returned from a tour at sea. "Watashi no musumé, my daughter, one day you will feel the same when you chose to pillow," she would say with a smile. It took a few years to learn the meaning of 'to pillow.' I figured it out after a long night awake listening to the sounds of bedsprings in my parents' room as my hand wandered down beneath the bedding.

Yeah, pillowing sounded a lot like fucking—but perhaps, not with the same feelings.

Perhaps, there is a difference. Pillowing brings happiness to my mom. I'm not sure what fucking brings for me—liberation from demons it seems. What fucking brings for 'El Mas Loco' as he lies awake after sending another woman to the hospital or the morgue is beyond comprehension. But, I'm willing to help put an end to his vile treatment of women—the drug cartel thing is a secondary mission for me. For JW it may be the other way around. In either case, I expect the outcome to be the same.

a hunting we will go,

Heigh ho, the dairy-o,

a hunting we will go!'

When JW is on the hunt for your ass; it becomes like the old saying, "Your ass is grass—and motherfucker—I am the lawnmower!"

JW and I had spent a week debriefing Achara Sanouk after the CIA picked her up in Italy and flew her to Gitmo. We had learned enough, more than enough, about her and all she knew about Nazario Moreno. At times, she lapsed into Thai, not wanting Jack to take in what she said. I understood her reasons. The intimate violation was not something she wanted a strange man to hear. What she had to say made my blood boil. Enough to hone my short blade sword to an extra fine cut—surgically sharpened. In the back of my mind where the demon slept, I just knew it was going to get used; called for or not.

I smiled up into those aviator sunglasses, and on tiptoe, I kissed Jack Wilson, number two, for possibly the last time. Giving him the keys to Lady Nightingale for safe keeping, we locked eyes again. I wanted to memorize that face, to hold our time together as a treasured experience. There are, really, no good-byes in my profession; just 'see you when I get back.' I had wanted to tell him my real name; just in case—I knew if JW, one day didn't make it back, not knowing his name would leave another tear in my heart. I didn't want that to be the case for Jack Wilson, number two. But protocol doesn't allow for that. For the same reason, I didn't ask his real name either. I didn't want him to break protocol, again. I was finding it—habit forming.

I looked over the Phenom E Series twin engine jet, 'Song Bird,' for the last preflight check. Lifting off and doubling back over the runway, I did a slow motion barrel roll to salute JW and Jack #2 as I set course for a private runway in Michoacán, Mexico.

It would be to pick up Nazario Moreno for what he expected to be a fun week in Brazil. The soothing drone of the sleek Phenom E series twin jet did little to mask the emotional turmoil within me as I thought about the mission JW laid out. In his mind it was a ruse for a snatch and grab to spirit 'El Mas Loco' out of the country and into the USA justice system. The government would plead for an extradition with Mexico, claiming the craziest bastard of all drug lords was captured in US territory while on route to Canada.

Yim's details were chilling as I thought about how I was going to greet the crazy bastard. He always liked her naked when she landed, and kneeling in the doorway as he leaned down and came aboard, naked as well, through the low entryway. 'Ah! Such a lovely mouth,' he always began and then would grasp her long hair, pulling her face in for the beginnings of a token thrust into her mouth. He would laugh then and pull his dick out, proceeding to strap into the seat as she closed the door. 'Nice ass, chula!' would be his next predicable words as he stuck his fingers into her rear end before she could finish closing the door. Yim said she would laugh to just make him happy; he would laugh louder as she scurried to get the jet off the runway.

'I could last that long, maybe,' I thought—at least until the door was closed and locked! Naked with the Crazy One, for a minute before the door shut, was all I would need.

I brought a few long-necked bottles of Mexican beer for him; he wouldn't be drinking it in the normal manner. My plan was for him to receive it the Mayan way. Archeologists have found Mayan clay enema tools for introducing drug laden alcohol via their victim's rectum. Kids call it 'butt-chugging' today. From the medical reports I read 'El Mas Loco' liked to use the whole beer bottle approach on his women. Shove the whole bottle in and watch the fun as they writhed in pain and eventually became drunk as the alcohol absorbed into their systems. His fun would just get started then.

He wouldn't be needing any suntan lotion on this trip—just some sutures and a plastic straw for....well, the doctors would explain that to him in Gitmo when he woke up and needed to piss. Then he could explain that to Jack Wilson, assuming I was still employed, and we made it back to San Antonio.

Like JW, when I set my sights on righting a wrong, the perpetrators often wake up in the dead of night, in a cold sweat, feeling a cold steel blade pressed down upon some precious part they treasure most. Right now, my sights are set on 'El Mas Loco.' Given a choice, I'd bet Nazario Moreno would be choosing to face JW as the shit ran down his underwear verses what I had in store for him! I wasn't planning on him having a choice. My moral code, the one I lived by when I first signed on to the shadow group, just got bent.

Thirty minutes from the Mexican border, I turned off the Phenom's transponder and went dark losing altitude to avoid ground radar detection points. The flight plan Yim provided would be invaluable for future incursions tracking down infiltrators into US airspace. Yim gave me the coordinates for the rendezvous point. I would land at those just after nightfall, to meet my ... 'mile high lover' on a flight to Brazil's best nude beach resort. Yim's words about her greeting ritual with the drug lord, his pet names for her, what he liked to be called, and in detail how he liked to recline the seats and have her ride him while the plane was on autopilot keep droning through my mind. It felt like a knife in my heart thinking of all the girls and women the bastard had ruined. There would just be enough darkness to get El Mas Loco settled into the cabin and secure the hatch, before he would suspect anything. Time enough, too, to call him a few pet names of my own. Mexico was about to have one less drug lord—courtesy of 'The Fixer.'

Please, rate and favor my story, if it held your interest. If you have a few moments, kindly make a comment on this work for me. I use constructive comments to improve my writing! Certainly, Kenjisato's keen eye made improvements in my writing. I appreciate his time and effort to make this a good read for all of you as well.

Reference Notes:

"A-Hunting We Will Go" is a popular folk song and nursery rhyme composed in 1777 by English composer Thomas Arne. Source Wikipedia.org

The storyline locations and places are real. It's the actions described herein that are fictional.

Nazario Moreno Gonzalez, a major Mexican drug lord died by Mexican police gun fire in 2010; then he was shot dead again in 2014. The Mexican newspapers carried both stories. The second one was the correct version. The government's announcement in 2010 was a bit premature; wrong man. I don't know if what is attributed to my character's personality, Nazario Moreno, in this fictional account is close to reality either, but it seems it could have been, just as good a source as the first time a real drug lord died, I suppose.

The SkySafety Flight Academy at Stinson Field does avionic training; just not for jets. Jack Wilson, well, I'm not sure he works there, or that the place is really a government front. I swear on a stack of training manuals it damn sure looks like it could be from the pictures of the place. It just sounded good for this story anyway!

Supper is a really nice restaurant on Grayson Street; you do need reservations, according to a web-search, so call ahead if you are planning a Riverwalk tour. JBSA, Joint Base San Antonio, is an active military base.

Please, rate and favor my story, if it held your interest. If you have a few moments, kindly make a comment on this work for me. I use constructive comments to improve my writing! Certainly, Kenjisato made improvements in my writing. If you note something that would improve this fictional work, I'd be willing to incorporate it into a revision and repost it.

Dmallord