Desert Rose - Book 01

How a trophy wife finds happiness & orgasms story (sort of).

(c) 2017-2019 All Rights Reserved.

This written work is Not Safe For Work! You have been warned.

Fictional Disclaimer:

i. This is a work of fiction. This work is intended for adult audiences above the age of 18. It is prohibited to provide access to any portion or entirety of this work or any information or description of the contents to any minor. This work is not intended to be read, provided to, or accessed by anyone under the age of 18 years old, age of majority, or the age of consent whichever is greater. All the names, places, businesses, incidents, characters, locales, and events herein are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. (Unless you have video that proves otherwise, then I want to see it.)

ii. This work contains descriptions of acts that may be sexually graphically descriptive, erotic, immoral, illegal, condemned by some church, politician, state, or just unsafe.

iii. These acts may result in injury, castration, death, impotence, marriage, or worse if attempted in real life. Your admission into the Darwin Awards due to any act based upon this work is your fault.

iv. Do not take the events in this work as proof of the plausibility, legality, sanity, or safety of any particular description or practice.

v. The content of this work may not be considered or read as a depiction of the desires, opinions, or fetishes of the author.

vi. By reading, accessing, or otherwise utilizing this work you agree to wave all compensation in the event of any loss, inconvenience, damage, injury, or death to any person or property because of or while making use of the information in this work. The actions and events in this work shall not be construed as promotion or approval of those actions in real-life situations by the author.

vii. All acts, actions, and descriptions in this work are whole cloth fiction; said acts, actions, and descriptions appearing in this work may be illegal if performed in real life and can result in prosecution by law enforcement. It is your responsibility to comply with all laws, rules and regulations that are applicable.

viii. This work is not intended to be used as an instruction manual.

ix. Do not drink-drive while snogging or fucking.

x. Drinking while fucking may increase risk of pregnancy.

xi. Drinking to excess may result in injury, death and YouTube videos that you can never live down, or live to see.

xii. Drinking to incest is just bloody wrong and you deserve to be in dock. (I hope your solicitor sucks.)

xiii. Any legal ramifications are completely and totally your fault due to your actions or inactions and are not in any way the problem of the author, this includes the introduction by prison staff of any cell mate named Bubba that may have designs on your arse-hole.

xiv. Any god-like, tree-based, or blue life forms were not harmed in the making of this work.

xv. Several politicians, and the managers, accountants, and solicitors of said god-like, tree-based, or blue life forms were tormented mercilessly and left to rot following a vicious ostracising by a dull ostraciser. But they had it coming.

I am Groot.

Authors note: This work is complete and unabridged (I sold my bridge to a stupid Socialist. (Of course that is an oxymoron, all Socialists are stupid. Why do you think every country that tries Socialism turns into a bug and rat infested shithole being run by a couple of bloody rich dictators subjugating a nation of poor people with no freedoms and fighting over the rats to have food to eat?. Don't believe me read up on the 'socialist utopias' of Russia, China, Cuba, Venezuela, North Korea, and a dozen others. Don't drink the University Kool-Aid, it went badly for Jim Jones' followers and the mental floss version your professor is feeding you is even worse.)) Portions of this work have been previously released. Some edits have occurred between the previous released portions and this (likely) completed work.

Prologue

(You can skip this if you want to get to the good stuff, but it's an interesting read. At least I think so. And, you may see this later on your quiz.)

The day was cool and clear, a wonderful change from the typical cold and wet Scottish and Welsh weather I had been living in most of life. My decision to take a long-term contract location job in 'the colonies' that my employer could not get anyone else do was having some nice benefits. Granted, I was living a working in a small California town in the middle of the Mojave Desert for three years, a two hours drive from anything that most would call civilization. But, just as when I was in the Queen Mums military as a pilot and Operator in the SAS, working as military contractor sometimes ended you up in distant lands. It was the nature of the job. At least in this desert the pay was worth it, no one was shooting at me, and there was a pub nearby at the end of the day. Now if I could only get them to order-in a keg of decent ale, but alas I don't think that's to be.

This particular contract was far better than some I had worked. The U.S. Navy worked a flexible week schedule, so while the 10+ hour work days were long, and compensation holiday time was used in place of overtime pay, the three-day weekend every other week was a nice change from the usual six and seven-day work weeks I typically had. I didn't really miss overtime pay; location and travel bonus more than made up for it. Leasing out my personal flat in Cardiff for 12,000 quid a month to a company that provided short term secure residence (AKA safe house for you Colonists across the Pond) for people that needed a place to keep them out of harms way when things went sideways was a bonus, so cash was not a worry. I could have demanded 40 or even 50 thousand, many smaller places with less amenities went for more, but I have enough money for my life needs. Besides, I can always renegotiate on the next contract and no doubt get it.

The flat was something that had just sort of happened. I had bought an empty warehouse in the Canary Wharf district as investment after leaving military service in the UK's SAS. I'd earned an MEng degree in Electrical from Oxford while I was in the service and by the time I had left I was finishing my MEng in Mechanical so most of the expensive engineering I was able to do myself and hired contract to do the works. The building was a multi-story storage facility on the edge of the Cardiff Quay that was offered for a low sale price with a property no-tax scheme for 15 years as part of a zone improvement scheme in the late 00's. I had it converted it into mixed use flats on the ground floor and apartment flats and tele-comm rooms on most of the remaining floors. Finally I built a large 4-bedroom, 3 1/2 bath, 480 sq./mtr. (about 5,170 sq./ft for you colonials) flat on the top floor for my own use. The top level was the real reason I wanted the building. The floors were mostly open bay, with 4.5 meter-high ceilings on the top three floors. I had designed my flat with a dedicated secure elevator, one of the three in the building. In addition to the four bed-rooms, each with an en-suite, I had installed a large kitchen with high end Smeg fixtures, and formal dining room. An isolated office area with a library including a full height book shelf along two walls, formal living room, formal drawing room. Additional bonus areas included a two lane 15 meter weapons range, four-person sauna and a game room with a full size snooker table, dart board and shuffle-board for amusement.

Aside from the creature comforts I had added a weapons vault (well-hidden, with complex electro-mechanical and bio-metric locks to keep the riff-raff out) and a safe room that will withstand breaching by most anything short of a thermite lance or GBU-31 JDAM. (Or a nearby nuke, but if it comes to that do I really want to live in the aftermath? I'm not much for the post-fallout world, although the games are enjoyable, save the latest Fallout 76. (Don't waste your money on this one. No, really, don't.) Come to think of it, running around in power armour with a gauss rifle waxing anything or anyone that annoys me might be fun.) About the only things I was not able to include in the flat was a swimming pool and hot tub. The upper three floors were only dead-load rated for 800Kg Sq./mtr. and the reinforcing needed to support the loads for the hot tub water weight were more that I was willing to spend.

(You're thinking 'Yea right mate. Water can't be that heavy.' Well I'm the engineer and one cubic meter of water weighs 1,000Kg, or one tonne, or just shy of 2,205 pounds for you Yanks. Don't believe me? Try lifting it. I remember ages ago I was at some science museum and they had a one square foot clear poly box with part of a handle on the top full of water sitting in a slightly larger clear poly case. I asked a nearby guide where the rest of the handle was and she told me it was supposed to be an applied physics exhibit to show how heavy one square foot, about 7.5 US gallons, of water was. But they were in the process of taking that display apart because some bloke had herniated himself trying to lift the bloody thing. OK for all of you who are slow at maths the simple answer is 62.4 pounds or 24.3Kg.)

So, unless I wanted a 4 person hot tub with just 60cm of water in it, or a full 1.2 mtr deep tub and a fast one-way trip to the basement, I was stuffed. I am still considering adding the pool and additional covered, and secure, parking stalls if I can obtain a piece of property adjacent to mine, but so far the city had been reluctant to sell for some reason that my solicitor and I have not been able to fathom.

It was the weapons range that gave me the most trouble. To cover up the noise I had to make a tel-com and mechanical space on the floor under my flat in the area of the building that had the pistol range. It lost me enough space to cost me a couple of flats, but as the population increased in the area and I was able to split it into separate rooms and arrange for Vodafone, Orange and Virgin mobile, and a government communications contractor to move in and put various antennas around the roof line. It amazed me that losing two apartment flats of space ended up providing 5 flats worth of lease income. The constant hum and thumps of the chiller compressors cycling and condenser rack fans on the roof, noise from air handlers, and whine from the electronic equipment racks in the cellular radio rooms more than covered the sound from the weapons range, even when shooting my historic .45 Colt 1874 Ainsworth SSA revolver.

That was another nice thing about having a good income stream, in the UK you need to be quite wealthy and have a few friendly (i.e. paid off) council connections to get permission for owning a single round rifle or an over/under shotgun. Getting a license for owning a handgun or a semi-automatic rifle is a feat that most Coppers can't pull off outside of N.I.s RUC if you're not assigned to a Force Firearms Unit or a Specialist Operations squad. I, on the other hand, had a collection that most Americans would drool over. I was also one of the few civilians in the U.K. that could legally carry a firearm most places, if it was concealed, thanks to my ongoing concerns with the government.

Amazingly though, I was prohibited from having my trusty Emerson QCQ-7 Tonto-tip clipped in an ready-to-hand but exposed position in my pocket if I was anywhere near London thanks to the current political Socialists policy of disarming all citizenry, save the criminal element and politicians guards. I am firmly convinced that the Lib Dems are working to force a societal collapse so that they may impose martial law and accomplish a coup for permanent power. I can see no other reason for the constant decrease of police protections while simultaneously legislating removal any possibility of self-defence from the common man or woman. Remember what I said about Socialism before?

I had been considering recently about driving out to Pahrump, Nevada, a small town an hour West of Las Vegas, and seeing an old USMC SOCOM buddy who worked at Front Sight teaching long distance rifle tactics, rope and rappel, and fully automatic weapons classes. (If you are ever serious about learning how to safely and effectively use a firearm, master a 'ropes' course, or just defend yourself using your hands and whatever is close-to-hand, look them up. For unarmed defence, blade weapons defence, handgun defence, long range rifle employment, and even fully automatic Uzi's and M-16 employment, this is the place to get real training, short of joining the SOCOM world.)

He had offered me the opportunity to join him on a private range and shoot a few full auto weapons I no longer generally have access to. I kept putting the trip off because I knew I would want to try talking him into selling me one to take home. But I also knew that no matter who I knew, or how much I donated to some political hack in the U.K., I'd never be able to get a license for something like an Heckler & Koch MP-5 or Sig Sauer MPX in the anti-gun Realm. For some reason the Queen Mum does not want her subjects to have a SAW in the cupboard. Buggered if I know why, it would seriously cut down on home invasions. Or at least the number of Dodgers that make it to the Dock.

I feel genuine pity at the plight of the poor English Bobby's. The Lords that New Scotland Yard calls senior leadership are stuck so far in the past they think Dodo's still exist and Pete Best is still the drummer for The Beatles. These blokes are forever dreaming the 'good ol'days' still exist where crime amounted to some petty sloth pinching a loaf off a shop and the copper need only blow his whistle at the crook for the 'great crime' to end. The miscreant was expected to stop and walk slowly back to the copper, his hands out in front of him for the cuffs to go, the paddy wagon to arrive, and have his day in the dock. Unfortunately, as I know all too well, criminals nowadays are as apt to fight, stab, or if they can get one, shoot a copper before they get hauled in.

Much of the problem is drug related, dodgers trying to get a few quid for the next fix and such but a fair amount is directly related to the uncontrolled influx of refugees who have simply ignored any attempts to integrate with what was once the 'Greater United Kingdom'. I've been to far too many bars where there is one more drink on the bar than there are patrons. 'That drink' is never going to be drunk. Perhaps worse, the political types and 'royals' will never discuss it and the liber-press is more than willing to turn a blind eye to the plight of the beat Coppers, and general public that is under siege in their own flats. Especially when some new Page 3 girl is spreading her charms for the cameras or an illegal alien border invader... oh, I'm sorry Madam Prime Minister, I meant 'undocumented asylum seeker'...is having their 'rights' trampled on by 'yet another out of control mob of radical right wingers' who's only fault and folly is the demand for 'Rule-of-law'.

Although gun crime in the UK is mostly unheard of, this is not the same as 'does not exist'. Gun crime is simply not acknowledged by the Lords or liberal political class, nor it it typically published in the liberal press lest they inadvertently admit the gun laws don't work. London, like most of the metro areas in the U.K., are in the midst of a crime wave not seen since that chaotic period before the Tories ran the zero tolerance campaigns. Assaults and knife crimes is off the charts. London is on par with New York City for murders and rapidly gaining on the crime blighted U.S. cities of Chicago, Illinois and Baltimore, Maryland . Whats worse is there is no sign that the current Left-wing Socialist progressive '5-a-day' mayor is going to do much about it.

(Thus endith thy sermon. For now. Where was I before my train of thought went off the siding... Ah, yes. As you were, dear reader.)

The 99 year term-lease of flats on the upper floors had more than paid for the building and renovations. I had kept the others on the first and second floors as flexible lease and the ground floor flats as month-to-month rentals for the income stream and to pay for all the utilities, upkeep, Community Infrastructure Levy, and all the various taxes on the rest of the building. A solicitor friend was able to write an ironclad lease contract that made sure the current owner of the flat, or their estate, was on hook for the maintenance fees until a new owner took up the cost, no matter what. So far, I had never had more than one flat empty at a time and the rental rates continued to rise each year so I was in no hurry to sell the place off.

To be honest, I was making over 65 thousand pounds a month off just my real estate investments, so I really did not need the job. But being an engineer in two difficult disciplines kept my mind sharp and gave me a great reason to get up in the morning. Of course the over 400 thousand pounds I got in compensation per annum was a reason, too. I was always someone who went after that hard target. I usually got what I wanted through hard work and being a bit more (OK, a bloody lot more) determined than the competition.

Part 1 -- Car Trouble

It was a fantastic day to get some work in on a hobby short wave radio aerial I was building and get some meat smoked for a Sunday dinner at a mates place this evening with a few other blokes and their significant others. As Monday was a Bank Holiday (Yanks calls them federal holiday) I could have a few pints and not worry about having to wake at 0400. As I age, I find I can still party like a legend; I just don't recover quite so well, or as quickly.

Going down to the store to pick up a few things for dinner with some mates was my only intention. What I ended picking up was entirely different, and significantly more enjoyable. I rode in to the Save Mart parking lot on my old Harley Classic when I saw her. She was standing outside of a silver BMW X6 at the end of a parking row glancing between car and her mobile phone with a mild frown.

Pulling into the empty parking space next to her I killed the motor and pulled my helmet off my head as I gave more than a glance at her slim and youthful body. She was not tall, perhaps five foot and few inches, but her body was nicely and slimly proportioned for her height. Her light olive complexion and European features reminded me of the women from Italy. Her face was strikingly beautiful, a face that can linger in a man's mind for weeks. She had a small red nose stud in the centre of her right nostril that glimmered brightly in the sun, I guessed it was a real ruby from the sparkle. Her long black hair was pulled into a tail at the base of her long slim neck with a wide pink elastic and fabric band, it gave off a light iridescence as it fanned out from there to her lower back, just above her hips. Her stunning blue-green eyes that are best described as opal like. Her nose and mouth were the smaller facial features, but she had slightly puffy lips that looked nice for snogging.

Her outfit was simple, but it was the simple you can only get with some serious cash mated to the right body. The thin strap-halter V-top was loose at the top then went snug under her breasts and showed off the nice round and firm shape of a C-cup mound. The tops V plunge and flair of the gap gave an attractive view of a fair bit of her cleavage. I noticed there was not any hint of a bra, her nipples were just noticeable through the fabric of her top. I could not help but think that if there was no silicone, these might be the nicest pair tits I had ever seen. Her snug leather and denim jeans were very low cut on her hips but had a 60's flair that reminded me of an old sailor's bell bottoms. She had several rings on her fingers, but a large wedding set with a triple setting of big diamonds on her ring finger told me she was married and likely quite wealthy, or deeply in debt.