Action, Reaction and Consequences Ch. 06

Welcome to this short story which could be read in isolation but is really part of the a Series titled Action, Reaction and Consequences. For those that have been following it and commented I've decided to take one of the characters and write a lot more regarding the back story. This is the back story behind Mr. Jones and for those following the story you already know he's a walking hand grenade with the pin pulled.

At the end of Chapter five I did say we would open with Tanya's story from the point she walks away from her husband at Lyon Airport but I hope you see that this leads us quite nicely into the next few scenes that are going to play out.

Mr. Jones partner Mr. Smith will have a little back story down the line, but that will be introduced at the pertinent time in the story. Next up will, I promise, be Tanya's story from Lyon airport until she walks away from Matt after drugging him.

I hope you enjoy this next segment as we roll towards the end.

Couple of last points I'm a Brit. so it's written in English, English so to speak. I'm not involved in any of the professions that are encapsulated in the stories but hope I've made a good enough job for the average reader to feel it's realistic enough.

There is some sex here but once you read through I've tried to leave large parts of those scenes for your own mind to fill in the details. Some readers will, some of you won't.

And please, please remember - this is fiction! :)

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Eleven-year-old Paulie Tomlinson sat at the family dining table trembling. His eight-year-old sister sat at the table looking vacant as if she was already trying to block out the inevitable. Paulie's mum was frantically dishing up the Sunday dinner she'd been so desperately nursing for over an hour on the stove since it had been ready to serve. The sound of the battered Ute arriving followed by the slamming of doors signified his dad had finally arrived home.

He stood swaying drunk as his vile slurred words fell from his mouth.

"What's this you dumb bitch; do I need to give you lessons on telling the time now? I said I expected my Sunday dinner on the table at 3pm. So where the fuck is it? Is there one thing in your pathetic life you can get fucking right!"

"Bill, I've tried, look it's 4pm not......"

She never finished her statement. Bill walked across the kitchen and punched his wife in the kidneys hard. She collapsed to the floor, dropping the glass jug she was holding that shattered into a million pieces.

"Not only are you a dumb bitch, you're a clumsy one too! Now get off the fucking floor and sort this mess out, feed your starving family and be a proper wife and mother for once in your life!"

Shelia Tomlinson gingerly got up from the floor. The pain from the punch was excruciating and she saw a trickle of blood from her ankle from a glass cut but she knew what she had to do. She quickly served the dinner, leaving hers whilst she swept up the broken glass from the floor. She felt the shattered jug summed up her marriage -- something that was once whole and useful but now smashed into thousands of small sharp nasty pieces which can hurt and cut. Unlike the glass she was sweeping up to put in the trash bin, she couldn't escape so had to live on as a piece of broken glass.

They lived on a farm out in rural Australia and she was alone -- so very alone. Her own family were hundreds of miles away and her husband's family were spread across the area that they lived in. Once, and only once, she took council with Bill's sister over her husband's behaviour and what she should do. That resulted in a beating so bad she thought she was going to die. She so desperately wanted to run, but she couldn't. No money, no car and two small children that she couldn't leave behind made it an impossible dream that she longed to turn into reality one day.

After dinner Bill Tomlinson walked over to his son, ruffling his hair as he spoke to him.

"Paulie, I've just given you an important life lesson. Never, ever, let a woman tell you what's right because the minute they think they've got the upper hand there'll be no turning back!"

The statement didn't really sink into Paulie at the time, but in later life the toxic household he was living in would help create the monster steadily breeding deep within his soul.

Not long past Paulie's sixteenth birthday he came home one evening to find his mother sitting dazed on the kitchen floor. A missing tooth, two half closed eyes and a bloodied face. He started walking towards the sound of shouting from the living room to find his dad screaming at his sister that she was as much a useless cunt as her mother whilst he had her pinned against the wall by her throat, her feet frantically kicking at the void below her where he had lifted her up.

Paulie picked up a tall standard lamp and smashed it across the back of his dad's head instantly sending him crashing to the floor. He promptly kicked him hard in the torso winding him. His dad looked up putting his hand up to signal Paulie to stop but he didn't. All those years of watching the physical and mental torment that the monster inside him had digested showed themselves as the real Paulie his parent's had created.

He promptly started to severely beat his own father in a rage that blanked everything out. Long after his dad became unconscious, he was dimly aware of his mum and sister pulling him back screaming at him. As the rage subsided, he looked into his mother's face. Even though her eyes were almost closed from the beating she had received he saw fear, fear far greater than he had ever seen in her face from all the times she knew she was about to face yet another beating. But the fear wasn't because of her husband's actions, it was because of her son's actions. She stumbled away from him, pulling her daughter with him. If she had lived fearful of her husband then the young man standing before her simply filled her with utter terror. She knew then he was set on a life of causing people to suffer at his hands and she vowed to find a way to send him as far away from herself and his sister as she could.

Within months Paulie was shipped out and into the Australian Army and with it, left his family behind forever. The discipline, way of life, knowledge that he could wield power let him flourish within the army and by twenty-six was a sergeant in the elite clandestine Special Air Service Regiment Squadron four. He found himself in his element, deployed in Afghanistan on operations that the public would likely struggle to stomach, but they were simply just one more piece of unpleasantness that war brings.

His four-man team were on a mission to make contact with a supposed informer but walked into a trap. As they arrived at the handful of ramshackled buildings it was quiet, all that was noticeable was a young girl in a burka sat playing with a toy doll. As they walked up to her, she looked at them and smiled then dropped the doll, pressing the detonator she had in her hand that was connected to the explosives on her small body belt.

There was a flash, bang and a roar which threw Paulie to the floor. Standing at the rear of the group he saw two of his colleagues' bodies go up and over him landing several yards behind him dead. The fourth Team member had been knocked down as well but, like Paulie, was already bringing his weapon around for whatever was going to follow. Five men charged from one of the buildings, Kalashnikovs spitting bullets towards the two fallen SASR soldiers. Between them the cut the five men down in a hail of fire. When it all stopped Paulie crawled over to his fallen colleague- he was dead, a bullet had hit him in the face.

Paulie started to quickly take stock of the situation. A woman was on the floor clutching the remains of the doll where the young girl had sat moments earlier and four small children were crying, pulling at her burka. A handful of women stood in the doorway of a building wailing at the scene before them. Paulie put another clip into his SIG-Sauer MCX then stood up. Calmly, he levelled the gun at the lone wailing woman and cut her and the children down in a short burst of gunfire. The remaining women shrieked in horror as they retreated in vain back into the building.

He swiftly kicked the door open. And elderly woman stood at the front shakily waving an old hand gun at him. He simply shot her dead. Waving the gun at the remaining four women and shouting quiet at them restored some order. He got them outside, had them lay face down on the ground before taking some zip times from his pockets to fasten their hands behind their backs. He sat drinking some water thinking what should he do next when the monster bred from his childhood took over.

He remembered his dad's advice about not letting woman get the upper hand. He'd just witnessed that for himself when the stupid girl blew herself and his colleagues up. He then remembered the day he beat his dad. He remembered his sister's face, eyes bugging out as her face turned blue where his dad had her pinned and held up by her throat against the wall with her legs frantically kicking.

He laughed, he had a great idea.

After bundling the women into the Land Rover he remembered from the pre-op brief there was some derelict buildings a couple of clicks away. Once he arrived he made sure that the site was empty with no sign of hostiles before bringing the women in. Taking them into a room he cut all of their clothing away with his knife as they protested then sat three of them on the floor, running rope through their bound arms joining them together making it almost impossible for them to escape or try and attack him.

He dragged a table to the centre of the room and walked the fourth woman up until her hips touched the table. He bent her forwards so her upper torso was laying on the table surface. He kicked her legs out and zip tied each leg to the legs of the table. He then fastened some rope around her neck in a noose leaving the other end dangling over the end by her legs so he could tug on it at the opportune time. He needed one last prop.

In another room he found a dusty mirror. Wiping it, he propped it up on a chair in front of the woman bound over the table so he could stand behind her and see her face reflected in the mirror plus look into the eyes of the other three. He let his experiment get under way.

Six hours later he was exhausted. He had found his new calling and that was to fill another human being with an inconceivable level of fear and loathing towards him. The pleasure from staring into someone's eyes as they are about to die, or know they are next to die, surpassed the high any drug could give.

To top it off he had just witnessed five mind bending orgasms, four of such intensity he'd never felt anything like it before. Four of the orgasms were his, the fifth the last of the woman likely brought about because he tried to eek out his own pleasure for as long as he could and her body finally, at the last minute, betrayed her. He chuckled -- at least she died happy.

He laid the bodies out around the room and gathered as much evidence of the abuse together before torching the building to cover his trail. As he left the site and was a hundred feet or so away, he parked up and walked back, brushing out the tyre tracks in case his side came snooping first. Returning to the original site he called in the ambush to base and left it to play out.

The accusations were made against the SASR operation as breaking the protocols of the Geneva Conventions and a closed-door investigation took place. To provide impartiality the Australian Army requested the hearing was overseen by a senior British ex-operational officer familiar with the grey area of work that the likes of the SASR or SAS worked in. Whilst the speculation was that Sergeant Paulie Thomlinson had committed a series of heinous crimes against some of the local population there was simply insufficient evidence to prosecute him.

At the end the Englishman, Mr, Smith, who had headed the hearing recommended that Paulie was given an honourable discharge from the Army for services rendered. As the court began to empty Mr. Smith walked up to Paulie and discreetly passed him a business card titled 'Mr. Smith & Associates' with a phone number and on the back a hand written restaurant name and time.

"Don't be late, I have an interesting business proposal for you Paulie."

This British guy typified how Paulie saw the military leadership over there. The stiff upper lip, ex-public schoolboy gently nudged through the right colleges, places of work until they sit exactly where the people that run the country believe men like Mr. Smith can best serve them.

Within a week Paulie was in London, a new identity and his UK passport being fast-tracked through the special channels that made it possible. He was relishing this new opportunity. Mr. Smith had promised him that his line of specialist skills would be put to good use -- including those that Mr. Smith was well aware Paulie had been on trial for using them at the end of that last fateful operation.

Over the next few years their relationship blossomed to the point they were simply known as Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones with a business card declaring just that. They were the men that that made bad things go away in the United Kingdom, especially where it could upset the natural order of things.

And that leads to this morning.

Mr. Jones lay in his bed stroking his cock whilst watching a short video clip play over and over on repeat on his tablet. Every time he got close to a point of orgasm he would slow and let his thumb rub over the eye of his cock where copious precum continued to bubble, rubbing it in to give him some natural lubricant as his hand began to jack away yet again.

He had watched this clip countless times since it came into his possession well over a year ago. It was her face, the eyes as she willing takes the cock into her mouth; it drove him wild to do the same, well almost the same, as the idiot Ben Webb had done in this clip as the lead in the SophistiDate sex ring scam that Tanya Andrews had brought down. And it was Tanya Andrews he wanted. The key point was that, later today, he would finally get his wish feeling like it would be Christmas and his Birthday all rolled into one.

He often thought had it been him and not Ben Webb in that video he would have fitted a ring gag to Tanya's mouth and repeatedly had her choking on his cock until her eyes almost popped from her sockets as her fist would pound his thighs. He would look into those eyes as she gave him that next euphoric orgasm again and again that he was always chasing.

He became so transfixed by her that, about a year ago, he came close to abducting her to use as his own sex toy for a day before disposing of her used body, but he resisted that urge. Mr. Smith had a key operation lined up for her that would be the defining point in both their careers but likely, at the expense of Tanya's life. Mr. Jones would do all he could to be able to step in at the end and turn the sick dreams he had about Tanya into his reality.

Like one of those four Afghanistan women from his past that had put him on the path to where he was today, he wanted to feel Tanya reach her own peak simultaneously with him as he would send her mortal being off to another final place during that last orgasm in life.

With those thoughts, the image and sounds from the video clip, he finally erupted. After laying in the mess for a minute or two he got up to get showered. In a few hours he would be meeting Mr. Smith at London Airport to board the private jet registered to 'Smith, Jones and Associates' to fly down to Lyon to join Tanya who would be directed away from her holiday by Mr. Smith later in the morning.

He had never taken anything like Viagra in the past as he didn't feel he needed it. But today, yes today, he would make sure to take a large dose as they arrived at Lyon. He wanted his first time with Tanya to be memorable for both of them.

If her delusion idea of a life with her husband ever did, by some million-to-one chance, ever survive the coming months he wanted Tanya to have had such mind-blowing experiences every time he took her, that every time in the future she'd have sex with her limp- wristed husband she'd be longing for him, Mr. Jones.

He looked at his watch. It would be happening in hours, and later today he would be counting down the minutes. As he stood in the shower his cock stiffened again, damn that fucking woman! he resisted the urge to come again.

By tomorrow morning it wouldn't be his imagination of fucking Tanya making him hard. It would be real memories and he planned to make sure his mind was filled with as many images of her as he could possibly make in real life before this short window of opportunity would close.

God, he fucking loved his job!