Guardian Program Ch. 01

Written by R.C.PeterGabriel, All rights reserved.

I was barely awake when I realized that Toni was making use of my morning erection. She was straddling me with her head thrown back making cute little animal noises deep in her throat. I was instantly enraptured with her body. Five feet, zero inches, one-hundred-five pounds, with short blond hair. I love her perfect B-cup breasts, with their small reactive areola, and hard jutting nipples that seem to have a direct connection to the pleasure center of her brain.

I quickly took hold of her hips and thrust only once.

Her orgasm broke over her and she cried out. The erotic dream I was having, coupled with her body clamping around my shaft, was enough to bring me along for the ride. I came hard and could feel my seed pumping into her with each spasm of my shaft, but I came down as fast as I had arrived. She however continued to orgasm for almost a minute.

When she could breathe again, I tilted her head up, so that I could see her beautiful face. She allowed me to look into her bright blue eyes without comment, but her smile was a mixture of contentment and 'oh-so-smug.' I wanted to feast on her very kissable lips as my hands slid back from her hips so I could clutch her firm heart-shaped ass.

"You turned off my alarm again, didn't you?"

"Mmmmm hmmm," she replied with a smile that was no longer contentment and smug but straight out smug. "Are you mad?"

"No, but now I have ..." I sat up to see the bedside clock, as a pair of smooth, lean legs wrapped around my waist and she pressed the front of her body against the front of mine. Her hand snaked up my back and neck, before running her fingers through my hair. I almost gave in to the distraction. "... less than twenty minutes! Toni, I have to be on that plane!"

I stood up, still clutching one of the finest asses on the planet, and carried it and the rest of her clinging self into the shower...

"Robert, you do realize that you're booked on a chartered flight and that you're the only passenger? I think they'll wait a couple of minutes for you." My gorgeous sexy wife argued her case for keeping me a little longer, all the while soaping my back. Then to make things that much harder on me she started using her breasts to wash my lower back leaving her hands free to soap my genitalia.

I reluctantly separated myself from her, rinsed off, rushed into the drying booth, and was dry in under twenty seconds.

Stepping out of the booth, I was greeted with a very wet hug and a pleading gaze. "Please stay."

"Sweetheart, these people consider exactness to be the only acceptable trait. If I show up as much as thirty seconds late, and I can't blame it on the pilot, I can assume that while they're shaking my hand they'll be trying to find a way to replace me."

"They can't do that, can they?"

"No, but they don't know that. I wouldn't put it past them to make me disappear, then figure that detail out afterward." I kissed the top of her head and ran for the closet.

Toni pouted. "I don't even know where you're going, or when you'll be back."

"I can no more tell you that than let you see a completed data file. I will tell you, however, that I'll be flying to a military base north of Las Vegas. The flight should be just over ninety minutes southbound, just under that northbound and I should be on the ground no more than forty-five minutes. Due to drive time, you can expect me back at approximately ten-thirty this morning. At which time you can finish ravishing me, but don't forget tonight is Jessie's concert.

We should be ready no later than four-thirty if we're going to take her to dinner beforehand."

Exactly twenty minutes, and thirty seconds, after having been so pleasantly awoken, I walked out my front door just as a black Lincoln MKC with smoked windows entered my drive. I waited the thirty seconds it took the car to arrive at my stoep, strode forward, and got in the back without waiting for the driver to open my door.

"You're late David," I stated somewhat curtly before ignoring the expected apology and his attempts at small talk that followed. Instead, I opened my briefcase and activated my personal 'Black Night' even though the car was already equipped with one. Knowing the car was protected from any surveillance or tracking devices, I relaxed and spent the rest of the drive watching the sun begin to peak over the mountains.

Arriving at the airport, we drove out onto the tarmac, and up to a black Gulfstream C-37A with no markings except a small American flag under the cockpit's window. It had a pleasant-enough-looking pair of greeters waiting for me.

A female Air Force Major with a small showing of ribbons on her blouse. She was a bit too tall for my taste at about five feet, seven inches, with dark red hair, pulled back and hidden under her cover.

Next to her was a young woman seemingly civilian, but far too close to my 'type' to be a coincidence. She stood five feet two or three in her low heels, medium-length brown hair, green eyes, and just slightly too much leg and cleavage showing to be considered professional but not so much as to be called out for it. Her tasteful makeup was adorning cute 'girl next door' looks.

The major stepped forward and extended her hand as I approached. "Mr. Smith, I'm Major Henson and will be your pilot. The plane has been inspected, prepped, and cleared for takeoff. We can leave on your word."

"Consider it given, Major," I responded, shaking her hand.

"Very good, Mr. Smith. This is Ms. Thornton, she'll be seeing to any need you may have during the flight," stated the Major, while indicating the other half of the greeting party. "Your co-pilot is Lieutenant Williams. If you'd be kind enough to board, we'll be on our way."

Both of my caretakers waited as I boarded but no sooner had I entered the cabin proper, the hatch was closed and the engines began to spool up. I chose a seat in the obviously customized interior and was greeted almost immediately by Ms. Thornton. She was kind enough to provide me with a much better view of her cleavage, C-cup I believed, as she leaned forward to inquire whether or not I needed anything before takeoff. I had to smile at her warm voice, with its understated southern drawl.

"No, thank you, Ms. Thornton," I replied as a voice, Lieutenant Williams' I assumed, indicated that I needed to shut down any devices I had as they were affecting the electronics of the plane.

I stood and walked to the cockpit, introduced myself to Lieutenant Williams, while both of the crew remained seated, then asked Major Henson if she had ever flown with an instrument blackout. She indicated that she and the lieutenant both had, but only in simulators.

"This is how we're going to play this," I informed them, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out a magnetic compass. "You're already cleared for takeoff, so you don't need the radio. You're going to use this compass to navigate and your eyes to survey the terrain.

"When we're within fifteen nautical miles of our destination you'll let me know and I'll allow you to communicate with their tower. On the return flight, you'll have only ten nautical miles to communicate, as the risk of being shot down over Poison, Montana is very unlikely. Are there any questions?"

Lieutenant Williams began to state the risk of such an unnecessary breach of protocol when Major Henson started to interrupt. I however placed my left hand on her shoulder to quiet her and held up one finger in front of the Lieutenant. "First choice, fly this plane as I have indicated or," as I held up a second finger. "Choice two, you go sit with Ms. Thornton, while I fly the plane. If you refuse both of those I'll simply walk across the tarmac to my plane and get there on my own. Of course, that will leave the two of you trying to explain the situation to your superiors. Which will it be Lieutenant?"

Like a good little junior officer, he looked to the Major for her take on the situation, and when she gave a slight nod, he indicated choice 'one' without any further complaint. With that, I leaned over and placed my compass on the control panel above the throttle where they could both see it and returned to my seat. The plane began to taxi as I sat down.

Ms. Thornton had chosen a seat at an angle facing me across the aisle. This of course allowed me a nice view of the back of her right thigh as she sat with her legs crossed at the ankles and her knees turned demurely away from me. She smiled as if I were a long-awaited friend returned from parts unknown, and asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine Ms. Thornton."

"Miss, and call me Julie."

I smiled at the exemplary acting job she was doing.

"May I ask you a question, Julie?"

Her smile brightened even more at my use of the name Julie. "Anything, Mr. Smith," she replied while leaning forward in anticipation but covering her cleavage by placing her elbows on her knees.

I leaned forward to match her movement as if her body language had drawn me in. I looked into her eyes and asked, "FBI, or CIA?"

Her smile slipped but she continued to meet my eyes so I elaborated. "My guess is CIA, you don't have the cop feel to you that most FBI agents have, possibly because you're too young and not jaded. However, you're an exceptional actor. College thespian?"

"You are good, Mr. Smith. I was told you'd be difficult." Her smile returned, not quite as bright, but far more genuine.

"Criminology and psychology dual major, recruited as a junior by the Department of Homeland Security, sorry to disappoint you about the CIA, and yes a thespian. Got four leads out of six plays. I really enjoy acting."

"Homeland Security? Were you hoping for the CIA?"

"No. The CIA is too political, even most of the players inside the agency don't really know what's true, and what is a complete fabrication. With Homeland Security, it's about stopping the bad guy." She paused momentarily, shook her head slightly, then furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "What did I do wrong? How did you know?"

I contemplated whether I should answer or let her squirm but decided doubt in a job like hers could get her killed, so I chose to give her a partial answer. "Honestly, you did nothing wrong. The fault lies with your profiler. Whoever he or she is, chose you because you look like my 'ideal type', hoping I'd take an instant liking to you. They, however, also chose to ignore the fact that I'm naturally cautious around strangers and found you a bit too good to be true, as the saying goes." I smiled gently and let my eyes survey the landscape sitting across from me. "I have to ask, is the accent real? My wife is from Louisiana."

She abruptly sat back and covered her mouth as if she'd been caught saying a naughty word, then surprisingly started to blush. When she thought she had herself under control enough to look at me again, she noticed my smirk and blushed twice as hard.

"I didn't realize I had an accent anymore. Yes, it's real, I guess. I was born in Mobile. I lived there until the age of twelve, then moved around a bit. My family settled in Winfield, Kansas of all places."

Once she'd started to talk, it was as if a dam had broken. "Now don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful little town, and the people are extremely nice, but I enjoy the water. "My favorite memories are being out on the gulf fishing and tubing."

Her eyes started to sparkle and her smile grew. "I remember when I was eight, my dad helped me bring in a small blue marlin. I thought it was huge!" She chuckled at herself and her eyes lost focus as she lost herself in the memory. "I guess for an eight-year-old it was. It was much bigger than I was ... technically it still is. Six feet-nine and three-quarters inches long and one-hundred sixty-one pounds, four ounces.

We fought that fish for over three hours. My father swears to this day, that I brought it in all by myself. He was so proud of me, he had it mounted. It has adorned every home my parents have owned to this day. He gushed for years about it, even to perfect strangers on the street."

Her eyes lost a little more of their light as she went on. "My brother grew to resent that fish but my dad never noticed. He never made the connection as to why Cory distanced himself from the rest of the family. None of us have spoken to him in over two years."

Her eyes refocused and she looked at me. "I bet you one hundred dollars, if you show up on my parent's front porch, ring their bell, and say you're there to see 'the fish', that not only would you get to see it but that you'd be invited to dinner before my dad even knows your name."

"What prompted your choice of degrees?" I probed.

"My dad. He was constantly watching the news. Always pointing out the horrible things people did all over the world. 'Someone should stop them', he would repeat two or three times per broadcast. Then he would realize I was in the room and would say something like 'Hey squirt, want me to push you on the swing?' Then he'd scoop me up onto his shoulders and take me outside to play with him."

"Sounds like a great dad."

"Oh, he is. My mom is great too. She never complains about anything. Never missed my dance recitals or Little League games for my brother. Always had food ready for us at just the right time, no matter what the schedule was that day, and our house was always clean. I never worried if I needed to talk because she was always ready to stop whatever she was doing and listen to me." Julie paused to laugh at herself. "Neither of them is afraid to set you straight if need be either. I had my rear blistered more than once. I guess I'm lucky in the parent department."

"Boyfriend?" I probed.

"No, not currently. Hard to have a relationship when you're in London one day, and Phoenix the next. Not that I'm opposed to one. I'd love to find someone, but until I get a long-term post, that's probably not an option."

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me about yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm trying to get to know the real you, instead of the character you're playing."

She looked down at her hands for a moment, then met my eyes. "Well if that's true then you should probably call me Samantha."

She started blushing again, and we lost eye contact. "My real name isn't Julie. Sam ... My friends call me Sam."

She started studying my face openly like it was the first time she'd seen it, smiled, and let her eyes wander for a moment. "Something tells me, you already knew that. Which means you know I work for the NSA and not Homeland Security"

"You're right. I know most things about you, Sam. I was testing to see if you'd be honest with me. You must be quite good, as the NSA has very few field operatives. I'm flattered that they find me worthy of your attention. I assume you've read my file, tell me what you know about me."

"Where would you like me to start?"

"As if I were someone needing a briefing on a Mr. Robert Smith, then continue until you feel you'd like to stop."

Sam took a deep breath and began. "You were born in Millsboro Delaware, to Robert and Margaret Workman, on the fourteenth of September, nineteen eighty-six, making you twenty-eight years old. You stand six feet one inch and weigh two-hundred twelve pounds, as of your last exam seven weeks ago, in which your doctor noted you as being in perfect medical condition. Eyes blue, hair black, no tattoos, one scar on your right side along the eighth rib due to being slashed during an illegal Eskrima competition.

"You are suspected of having an eidetic memory, Your IQ is at least one-hundred-seventy, and are exceptionally gifted with electronics. You're a pilot, enjoy most sports, and speak at least five languages; English, Spanish, German, Latin, and Tagalog, being the five.

"Your education formally started at age four, two weeks after you entered pre-school, you were tested and advanced to the first grade. You skipped the third, sixth, and seventh grades as well, dropping out just before the end of your eleventh grade. Before dropping out you achieved a perfect score on both the ACT and SAT. You also took and passed the GED at your parent's insistence. Strangely, you passed with the exact number of correct answers needed. Your school's counselor felt that you purposely missed the rest to mock either your parents or the testing process.

"You had multiple complaints of fighting, including one suspension of ninety days. Counselor notations indicated the fights usually started when you could no longer tolerate being bullied by your older and larger classmates. Unfortunately, it's also noted that you only won one fight in which you used a baseball bat. Witnesses defended you, saying that not only were you acting in self-defense but that you threw down the bat after you shattered your advisory's knee, hence the suspension and not an expulsion.

"Socially, you were considered awkward and very shy, until shortly after your only living grandparent died when you were ten, corresponding with your sophomore year of high school. Medical records show that you were seen by multiple psychiatrists, but other than a lengthy list of verbally referenced diagnoses, all of those records have been expunged.

"At twelve, you were approached by Shannon Smith age twenty-one, a new neighbor, to help care for her daughter Jessie, age two. Shannon had refused to abort her daughter to receive treatment for a cancerous brain tumor. Her condition worsened and you took over the household for her, doing the cooking, cleaning etcetera when she was too ill after her treatments.

"When it became legally possible and knowing she was terminal she asked you to marry her so that you could adopt Jessie. Your parents originally said no, but recanted and signed the required permission. Before marriage, you discovered that your parents only recanted after accepting a one-hundred-thousand-dollar dowry, so you burned their permission documents and haven't spoken to either parent since. Instead, with the help of Shannon's lawyers, you had yourself emancipated.

"You married on December twenty-fifth, two thousand one. You took her last name, and adopted Jessie, although legally the adoption wasn't final until January eleventh of two thousand two.

"You moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts less than a week later, where you applied to, and were granted a full-ride scholarship to MIT.

You completed only twelve months, in which time you achieved enough credit to be considered a second-semester junior. You dropped out with a GPA of four-point-oh, sighting, and I quote 'It is not my responsibility to educate your professors'. However, Shannon's condition had worsened two weeks prior, which I suspect is the real reason. It's also possible the reason is that she had just revealed that you were the legal owner of Bridge Security Company, which had been founded by her murdered husband."

"Do you always editorialize when giving a briefing?" I asked.

"Sorry, no I don't usually, uh ... sorry." Sam had become flustered and blushed again. I decided I enjoyed the look on her.

"Should I continue?"

"Of course. If you wish." I shrugged but she paused and wouldn't meet my eyes while she continued.

"Shannon died September twelfth, two thousand four, two days before your eighteenth birthday." She paused again momentarily, then took a breath, gathered herself, and continued.

"You became fixated and allowed only two things in your life. Jessie and your work. You fell off the map socially, except for being seen occasionally at a school function for Jessie. Then suddenly three years later you started dating.

"I can provide you with a list of everyone you dated, but I don't have it memorized. The list seemed to be extensive, with women eager to date you but refused to enter into a steady relationship."