Houston: The Girl Of His Dreams Pt. 01

"John Smith. This is my wife, Houston. Pleasure to meet you," he added with an extended hand. Roisin ignored his offer of a handshake and gave a noncommittal grunt as she regarded both John and Houston.

"We'd better get going," she said. "Car is this way." They picked up their briefcases and followed her out to the dark blue vehicle that sat in the parking space. John saw a man was waiting for them in the driver's seat. As they approached, the hood opened.

"Car?" John asked. "Why don't we just walk on over to your office? It's just right over there, isn't it?"

"Yes it is, but we're not working from there," Roisin said. "Go ahead and put your cases in the boot." John and Houston put their briefcases in the trunk and closed it. They got in the car and headed out. Roisin turned in her seat and regarded the two of them in the back. She shook her head in disgust.

"What's the matter?" John asked.

"We sent you two of our best and what do we get in return? Feckin' Ken and Barbie," Roisin said with a snort. "You think I'm supposed to be impressed because you can pronounce my name correct without having to be told?"

"If you're offended because I can pronounce your name properly, I'll be sure never to do it again," John said. "What would you prefer I call you? Bitch?" The driver snickered at that. Roisin glared at him.

"Wind yer neck in, Derek," she told the man behind the wheel before turning back to John and Houston. John figured that was her way of telling the driver to shut the hell up. "Roisin is fine," she said.

"I don't know," John said. "Personally, I like 'Bitch' better. Seems to suit you. Don't you think, sweetheart?" he asked, looking at Houston, who chuckled.

"Whatever. I hope you understand the seriousness of this case," Roisin said as she turned to them in the back. "The last thing I want to see is a story about the two of you in the tabloids."

"This isn't our first rodeo," John said. "We know what we're doing."

"We'll see. Speaking of rodeo, I hope you two left your six-guns back on the ranch. You do know we have laws here about carrying firearms," she said.

"We're well aware of your gun laws," John said. "And for the record, I prefer to carry a Glock." She snorted and turned back to face the front. "You have a problem with Americans or something, Ms. Callahan?" The driver of the car snickered at that. She turned around to face them both.

"I don't have a problem with Yanks," she said derisively. "As long as they stay on their side of the Atlantic." She turned back around and looked out the window as they drove down what their hosts called a 'motorway.' To them, it was a freeway. John looked at Houston and shook his head. This was going to be a long assignment, he thought to himself.

When they got to their destination, the driver stopped the car and popped the trunk. Roisin got something out of the glove box as John and Houston got out of the car. After getting out of the car, Roisin deliberately shoulder-checked Houston, nearly knocking her over.

"What the fuck is your problem, bitch?" Houston yelled, getting everyone's attention. She saw Roisin reach into her jacket for something and prepared herself. They were all shocked when Roisin turned with a semiautomatic pistol in her hand.

Houston reacted faster than anyone imagined, slapping Roisin's wrist with one hand while taking the pistol with the other. For a second, she held it at Roisin's face, then ejected the magazine. Keeping her eyes on Roisin, she disassembled the pistol, dropping the pieces on the ground as she went.

Roisin looked at her disassembled weapon on the ground, then back at Houston. Then a slight smile crept across her face.

"I guess the rumors I've heard about you are true," she said.

"What rumors?" Houston asked.

"That Houston Smith may look like a tart, but she has the temper of an Irishwoman. And the claws to match. Would you please be so kind as to reassemble my weapon?"

"Your weapon, your responsibility," Houston said. "It's not my fault you can't hold on to your own gun."

"Are you two quite finished with your playground games?" a man's voice asked from the front door of the building.

"Quite finished, sir," Roisin said as she picked up the pieces of her pistol, reassembling it as she went. John and Houston grabbed their briefcases and the four of them made their way inside. When they got inside, the man who called out to them extended his hand to John.

"Ross Carter," he said. "You've already met Roisin. She's the lead on this team. She answers to me. Your office is in here." He directed them into a side room with cardboard boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling. There were two small desks, one of which contained an old out-of-date computer with a 14-inch CRT monitor. John hadn't seen anything like that since high school.

"What the hell is all this?" he asked.

"The files your people requested," Ross said.

"Don't you have them digitized?" John asked. "It'll take forever to get through all this."

"Yes, but your network access hasn't been fully provisioned yet. Could take a while for that to happen." If ever, John thought to himself.

"What about Internet access?" John asked. Ross pointed to the old computer. John moved the mouse and saw it ran Windows XP. Terrific, he thought to himself. Probably has an old 14.4K baud modem attached to it as well. He looked at the back of the system and saw a phone line going into the wall.

"You can access the Internet on this," Ross said. "It may be slow, but it'll do the job. You have access to all the Metro PD files you may need. Roisin or one of the others can show you how that works."

"Thanks," John said in a neutral tone of voice.

"Anyway, there's tea out here. You can help yourself. I know you Yanks probably prefer coffee, so we have some of that as well," Ross said. "If there's anything else you need, just let Roisin know and she'll pass it on to me. I like to hold team briefings every morning at 0700. Any questions?"

"Not yet," John said, holding Houston back. Ross nodded his head and left the room. Houston was about to climb the walls.

"This is bullshit," she said. John nodded his head as he set his briefcase down. "Look at them out there, laughing and joking like this is some kinda party or something. What are we gonna do?"

"We're gonna do our jobs, dear," he said. "Remember, this is their country and we're guests here. I'll report this to Alpha One, though."

...

The large winged creature flew over the cartoonish landscape with ease. It took John a while to get used to the feel of flying on something like this, and he kept a firm grip on Houstonia's bare breasts. Even though she looked like a 3D cartoon fresh out of an animated movie, he rather enjoyed the feel of her soft flesh and he couldn't help but notice that her nipples remained hard and erect the whole time he maintained contact.

Houstonia seemed to like it as well and maneuvered her barely-covered buttocks so they were right up against the crotch of his trousers. As a result, he found himself getting hard. Careful, he thought to himself. The last thing he wanted was to fall off this flying steed so high over the ground.

As they flew, he looked at the strange landscape below. He had never seen anything like it in his entire life. One large hill looked as if it was pulsating, or breathing. He saw long red rivers winding their way through valleys. He expected to see signs of other life -- houses, towns, something. But he saw nothing to indicate anyone actually lived here. They banked to the right and Houstonia pointed at a large walled compound on the top of a hill.

"My fortress," she explained. He held on as she descended to the compound. Finally, the winged creature they rode made contact with the ground and came to a stop in front of a large set of double doors. Two scantily-clad women came out as they climbed off the large bird. Houstonia handed the reins to one of the women and motioned for him to follow her.

The doors opened as they approached. Walking inside the building, John was amazed at the sheer height of the structure. Houstonia pointed to a table that sat low to the ground.

"You need nourishment," she said. "Wait here." He sat at the low table and looked around. A few minutes later, she appeared, carrying a tray with two bowls. She placed one in front of him and handed him a spoon. He looked in the bowl and tried to figure out what it was.

"What is this?" he asked. She looked in his bowl and shrugged her shoulders.

"It's... blue," she said. "Eat. You need your strength." He took the spoon and ladled some of the thick blue liquid to his mouth, taking a tentative taste. Strangely enough, he liked the flavor. It reminded him of bacon. He suddenly realized that he was very hungry and quickly finished the bowl. When he set the bowl down, he found that he was full.

"That was very good," he said. She smiled as she finished her bowl.

"I'm glad you liked it," she said. "Perhaps you would like to bathe?" He couldn't remember when he had last taken a bath, so he nodded his head.

"Yes, that would be nice," he said. "Please."

"This way," she said, standing up. He followed her up a long curved stairway to another set of double doors, which opened as they approached. She led him to a large tub that had already been filled with water. Suds from the bath soap created small hills on top of the water. He put a finger in the water and found the temperature was just perfect. He looked at her and wondered if she was going to stand and watch as he disrobed.

"Please, go ahead and remove your clothing," she said. "It will be cleaned and made ready for tomorrow. It's okay. You haven't got anything I haven't already seen," she added with a slight smile. Nodding his head, he removed his clothing and laid it on a chair next to the tub. Houstonia snapped her fingers and a scantily-clad woman came in to retrieve his clothing.

He climbed into the tub and enjoyed the feel of the warm water. He looked up at Houstonia, and watched as she removed the two strips of material from her torso. Then she unsnapped the short "skirt" and laid it aside. The tiny thong underneath was next to go, followed by her sandals.

She stood before him totally nude. He gasped as he took in her exquisite nudity. Even though she appeared to have been drawn by the hand of an artist, she looked quite appealing. There was also something about her that was very familiar to him, but he still couldn't figure it out.

"May I join you?" she asked.

"Of course," he stammered. What else would he say? This was her place, after all. He watched as she got into the large tub with him.

"I love the feel of a hot bath at the end of a long day, don't you?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," he said a bit nervously.

"Would you be so kind as to wash my back, please?" she asked, turning around in the spacious tub.

"Sure," he said, taking the wash cloth she offered. He washed her back and a part of him felt that he had done this before. When he finished, they switched places and she washed his back, massaging his muscles as she did so. It felt so good and he found himself relaxing into her arms.

"You are quite strong, John Smith," she said. "Much stronger than you appear under those clothes you wear."

"Thank you," he said.

"I only speak the truth," she said as she completed her washing. When they finished, they climbed out of the tub. She handed him a thick towel and dried herself off with another. He dried himself, keeping an eye on her.

"Perhaps you should lie down now," she said, making her way to a large bed in the middle of the room. The covers had already been pulled down, and he had to admit, it looked very inviting.

"I don't have anything to wear," he said a bit nervously.

"You don't need to wear anything," she said with a smile. "I'm here to take care of your needs. All of them," she added, looking as his growing cock.

"You're wearing a ring," he said. "Are you married?"

"Yes," she said. "My husband is the master of this realm. It is part of him and he is part of it. But he is not here and he would be very upset if I did not take care of you."

"You do this sort of thing often?" he asked.

"Oh good lord, no," she said. "I usually take care of myself at night. Truth is, you're the first man I've had in this bed in a very long time. It's alright. Lay down. Let me take care of you." He laid down and found the bed to be quite comfortable. She got on top of him, straddling his hips. "Just relax. Let me do all the work."

As he laid there, she took his cock in her hand and deftly guided it into her. She may have looked like a cartoon, but she certainly felt like a very real woman. He gasped as he entered her. All of this seemed so very familiar to him. Everything about this woman -- her smell, the way she felt, everything -- seemed so familiar, but he still couldn't place it. He felt like it was right there, on the very tip of his brain, but he was unable to connect the dots.

She rode up and down on him, moaning in ecstasy as she did so. He moaned with her. She felt so good, so right. It was as if he was right where he belonged, and he never wanted it to end. Eventually, he felt the urge and apparently, she did as well.

"That's right, John Smith," she moaned. "Cum inside me. Fill me up. Please." Their orgasms hit at the same time and they held each other tight for the longest time. Finally, he looked into her eyes and she stared back into his. They stayed like that for a few seconds, connecting on a different plane. Finally, she slid off him and laid down next to him.

He considered her body as she lay there. It was a bit strange seeing his semen inside her, but he felt no regret.

"Hold me," she whispered. "Let me be the girl of your dreams." He smiled and laid down next to her, taking her in his arms before falling asleep.

...

Houston sat next to her husband and watched him thrash back and forth on the bed. She couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind right now. He relaxed for a bit and she began to breathe easier. Then she saw him start to get hard. Instinctively, she reached under the covers and under his hospital gown.

She took his hardening cock into her hand and slowly stroked it, wondering what it was that had excited him.

"Are you dreaming about me, baby?" she whispered. "That's alright, sweetheart. Let me take care of you. Just relax. Let me do all the work." She kissed his forehead and watched as he moaned in pleasure. She smiled and kept stroking him, gently. She looked at the door and had a wicked thought.

Pulling the covers down, she bent over and took his hard cock into her mouth. She sucked on it as he moaned in his sleep, not stopping until he filled her mouth with his seed. She licked him clean and put his softening cock back down, straightening the gown over him. She covered him back up and kissed him on the forehead.

"Sleep tight, John," she said. "Sweet dreams." She saw him relax and noticed the slight smile on his face. It was the smile he always gave her after they made love. She took a sip of the cold tea that had been sitting on the counter and heard a tapping on the door.

"Come in," she said. The door opened and a nurse popped her head inside. She came inside and checked John's chart, making notes.

"How is he doing?" she asked. "I noticed some activity on his monitor and thought I should come check."

"He seems to be resting now," Houston said. "Any word from the doctor?"

"We just heard from the doctor. He's been in the lab and he's on his way up. He should be here any time now. Is there anything you need?"

"I'm fine, thank you for asking," Houston said. The nurse nodded her head and left the room. About a half-hour later, a middle-aged man in medical garb came into the room carrying a folder. Houston stood as he entered.

"Mrs. Smith," he said. "I'm Doctor Jenkins. Sorry for keeping you waiting. How is your husband doing?"

"He seems to be resting peacefully now," Houston said. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"

"I believe so," the doctor said. "Your husband has received a very large dose of what looks like an extremely potent psychotropic drug."

"A what?" Houston asked.

"It's a drug that affects the central nervous system. The problem is that it's a compound I've never seen before. Because of that, we're not really sure how to treat it," he said. "What concerns me is the lasting affects of this drug. I'm concerned that if something isn't done soon, your husband may never wake up. Or if he does, his brain and nervous system will be so damaged that he'll be left in a vegetative state. It may become necessary to consider taking him off his life support."

"That's not acceptable to me, doctor," she said. "Can't you synthesize something to help bring him out of this?"

"It's not that simple, Mrs. Smith," he said. "For one thing, I don't believe we have the time. For another, I'm sorry to say, the funds for that type of thing just aren't available."

"Then can you get me everything you have on this drug?"

"I'm not sure what good that would do, Mrs. Smith," he said.

"The company I work for has... resources. We've dealt with things similar to this before. If you can email me everything you can on this drug, I can forward it on to them. It can't hurt to try," she said. He thought about it for a moment, then nodded his head, sighing loudly.

"Alright, Mrs. Smith," he said. "We'll try it your way for now. But time is of the essence here."

"I understand," she said, writing down her email address on a business card. She handed him the card, which he put in his pocket. "Get that to me as fast as you can, doctor. Please," she said.

"Very well, Mrs. Smith," he said. "I'll send you everything I can. In the meantime, we'll do everything we can to keep him comfortable. Let me know what you find out. Good luck."

"Thank you, doctor," she said. A bit later, her phone buzzed. She looked and saw that the doctor had kept his promise. She quickly composed an email message and forwarded the information to Alpha Sector's medical facility, the researchers at Fort Apache and Regis. Hopefully, an answer could be found soon.

...

Brent Cavanaugh, the current Secretary of State for the Home Department, sat in the overstuffed high-backed chair he usually occupied when he visited the prestigious gentlemen's club. He sipped his drink and looked up in time to see the large, one-eyed man walking up to him. He noted the man's swagger and smiled to himself.

"Americans," he thought to himself with a certain disdain. "They all think they're John Wayne."

Out of courtesy, he stood as Regis Carlisle stopped in front of him. Regis extended a hand, and he accepted it before inviting him to sit down across from him.

"Mr. Carlilse, I presume," Brent said. "I've always wanted to use that line." Regis smiled and nodded his head.

"Please, call me Regis, Mr. Secretary," Regis said. "And thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

"It's my pleasure," Brent said. "Anything to maintain good relations with our American allies. May I offer you something to drink?"

"Coffee would be good, please, Mr. Secretary," Regis said. Of course, Brent thought to himself. Americans would probably eat the stuff raw if they could. He motioned for a waiter, who nearly ran over to find out what the high government official wanted.

"A cup of coffee for my American guest, if you would please," Brent said.

"Yes, sir," the waiter said. "How would you like it, sir?" the waiter asked Regis, trying hard not to wince at the sight of Regis' craggy face and large eye patch. He wondered what the large American had done to lose an eye like that, then quickly decided he really didn't want to know.

"Black, please," Regis said.

"Yes sir," the waiter said. "One black coffee, sir." The waiter turned and left.