Mike & Karen Ch. 10

Disclaimer: All characters are 18 years of age or older while actively engaging in sexual activity. This story is a prequel/sequel (sprequel?) to my other work, Alex & Alexa. As always, many thanks and gratuitous panty shots from Freja and Jeanie to my long-suffering editor and beta-reader for their assistance in polishing up and improving this work. Reviews are welcome; flames will be snickered at and deleted with extreme prejudice. Enjoy!

Please Note: There are incest themes with a secondary couple in this story. Just a forewarning.

Chapter X -- Just Killing Time

Karen strode into the kitchen, a rather impatient expression on her face.

"Alex? Alex!" she called out.

"Yep!" he said hastily, popping up from behind the kitchen island, bare-chested and probably not wearing anything else. "Yep yep yep!"

"Get out from behind there," Karen said tersely, trying to not frown. "Whatever unspeakable thing you're doing to my baby sister can wait."

Alex seemed hesitant. "Well, you say that ..."

"Yes, I do," his mother announced, done with his stalling. "Now get out here and help your father start loading up the vehicle. We're not made of chronons, I'll have you know."

Knowing better than to dispute his mother, Alex covered his groin with his hands and quickly shuffled by her to find some clothes. Karen rolled her eyes and followed him out of the room. There was silence for several seconds after they left.

"Damn," Alexa sighed from behind the island. "I was so close ..."

***

1986 ...

The October weather was starting to become bracing, although there were still pleasant days quite often where one could wear what virtually amounted to summer apparel. Karen had taken advantage of the mild weather to wear a sundress, royal blue, with what looked like a pattern of ivy creeping around it in white. A broad-brimmed hat protected her patrician face from the sun as she walked down the street. The small clutch she carried matched her attire, of course. The skirt of her dress swirled about her playfully in the breeze, and she was ready to clutch the front and blush if a strong gust blew it up. Heavens, what a giggling scandal it would be if she exposed her derrière to anyone passing! The thought gave her a tingle.

She was feeling rather accomplished, because she'd chanced to ride on the subway for most of the day and familiarize herself with the routes and stops. Soon enough, she'd memorize the bus and streetcar routes. She had an eidetic memory for such details once she'd resolved to learn them. Now she was walking down a street, simply taking in the sights and enjoying herself.

She heard someone crying.

Pausing, she looked around, trying to discern where it had come from. She heard it again, coming from behind a building. She looked up to see that she was standing near a mission and soup kitchen. A woman was crying in the alley just ahead of her. Without another thought, she hurried over, in case the person was hurt or being assaulted. If a man was assaulting her, God have mercy on him, because Karen wouldn't!

She rounded the corner and paused, seeing a rather haggard woman sitting on an orange crate not far away, crying into one hand while the other held the butt of a cigarette.

"Are you all right?" Karen asked, striding down the alley toward the woman, wondering if she needed to call an ambulance. "Are you hurt?"

The woman snuffled as she stopped crying, looking through her fingers at Karen with bleary eyes. She had short, dishwater-blonde hair, and her apron was dirty. "N-no ..." she sighed.

"Can I help you somehow?" Karen continued, walking up in spite of the acrid stink of the cigarette lingering around the woman.

She sniffled again. "Can you cook for a hundred and fifty on short notice?"

"Well, no," Karen admitted, looking at the woman curiously. "Doesn't this establishment have a staff to do that, or volunteers?"

"Nottnymore," the woman almost groaned, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead and closing her eyes as she tried to control her emotions. "They all up and walked out earlier this afternoon."

Karen considered: "Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

The blonde shook her head. "Massive fight with the finance manager, who was being really abusive. They all quit, then he quit, and the only person standing in the building was me, wondering what the Hell happened."

"So your soup kitchen is closed until you find more staff?"

The woman nodded, still trying not to cry. "We feed so many people. The thought of not being there for them, it's ..."

Her restraint failed her, and she broke down crying again. Karen came closer and squatted down, keeping her legs closed in front of her. She made a wry face as she reached out and patted the woman on her stained shirt.

"Oh, hey now ..." Karen said gently. "Do not worry, we'll ... I'll try to figure out how to help you, okay?"

The woman sniffled and looked at her. "How? I need a full crew for tomorrow's rush! I can't do anything on my own."

"I ... freely admit, I don't know just yet," Karen admitted. "But the first thing to do is pick ourselves up, get out of this dingy alleyway, and try to think clearly. Can you do that?"

The woman shrugged, but stood all the same. Karen rose and nodded. "Okay now ... let's go inside, so that we're not making a scene, shall we? After all, I thought you were hurt or something."

The woman nodded and led her back inside through a door just back a little farther in the alley. Karen tried to keep the grimace off her face as she ignored the smells and the squishing sound beneath her pumps. They entered the kitchen, which was cramped and rather greasy-smelling. All the machinery had been turned off, and it seemed depressingly quiet somehow.

The blonde woman gestured around helplessly. "I need ... I dunno ... at least thirty people to do this. People to cook, people to run the front room and hand out the food. And everyone is gone. Just ... fucking gone. I mean, yeah, I'm the kitchen manager and it's my job to organize all this, and now everyone's gone, because of the abuse. But I really cared, and now I'm the only one who didn't walk out."

Karen nodded as she pondered the dilemma, tapping her finger against her chin and staring at the dingy floor. "Well, the first thing is to clean this place up, it's filthy."

The woman snorted: "Yeah, like I've got time for that and to cook and serve."

Karen then looked around. "Phone?"

The blonde pointed at the far wall. Karen walked over to it and dialed a number, reaching her dorm and asking to speak to Janet. She tapped her foot impatiently while she waited for the law student to answer.

"Hello?"

"Janet, remember how you conned me into participating in Oktoberfest and you said you'd love me forever and be my bestest buddy?" Karen asked.

"Yyyyyyyyeah ..." Janet said uncertainly.

"Well, I'm calling in the favour," the bronze-haired goddess said with authority. "Meet me at the Scott on Spadina."

"But ... I- I was gonna get laid!" Janet protested.

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Karen iterated, not surprised that her friend was proving reticent. "Get ... your ... ass ... down ... here ... to ... the ... Scott ... Mission. You promised me."

"Now?" Janet whined. Karen could almost hear her stomping her foot.

"Would I waste calling in a favour on something trivial?" Karen pointed out. "Bring Red and Mona. And wear clothes you don't mind getting dirty."

"I ... okay."

"See you soon," Karen said simply before hanging up. She looked around at her environs again and placed a call to a cleaning company she knew of, telling them what she wanted done to a commercial kitchen. Once that was done, she placed a call to a church group she knew of. She pondered the numbers, knowing she was still coming up short.

She pulled a tiny black phone number book out of her clutch, looked up a number, and then began a long-distance call to Kapuskasing.

***

Mike, Alex, Freja and Jeanie all waved and then watched quietly as Karen and Alexa went through some doors and disappeared into the waiting area for departures. The sisters were off to Quebec City, allowing Alexa to meet her Blackwell family, but also to fight what was quite likely to be an ugly boardroom battle about the future of the companies and industries the family owned, and in which Karen was the controlling executive. They'd be gone for seven days, but to the four the sisters left behind, it would feel like seven years.

They all said nothing for several seconds, just staring at the door, as if expecting the sisters to come back. They didn't, of course, but they stared all the same.

Mike finally nodded and looked down at the youngsters. "Well, I dunno about you lot, but I think we should get you back to campus and then meet up afterwards. We'll grab dinner and then go for some paintball. How does that sound?"

"I'm in," Alex said, grinning. "I haven't been to paintball since last summer."

Freja shrugged. "I have played the laser tag, which I assume is similar, if less painful. But bruises that are not from sex might be a refreshing change, ja?"

"I ... haven't ever played paintball or laser tag," Jeanie confessed, blushing. "D'you guys think you can teach me? I'll just watch, if you like."

"Nah, we'll teach you," Alex said easily. "The teams at the paintball course are usually about twelve people, so there'll be other people on our side as well. It'll be fine."

"Okay, but I'm told getting hit with those paintballs hurts, so I'm lining my clothes with super-maxi-pads, just so you know," Jeanie warned.

***

The huge, empty warehouse had been a paintball gaming venue for years, one of the biggest and most popular in the city. Dark and festooned with plenty of obstacles that blocked long lines of sight, it had a decidedly post-apocalyptic feel to it, perfect for blowing off steam. Alex had called some friends, who now stood with them, along with some other guys who had been assigned to their team. Everyone's spirits were high, for two reasons: Mike was on their team, and he was clearly a monster, along with Alex, and secondly, two very sexy girls were apparently also on the team.

Freja and Jeanie already knew Dave and Ted, who had been playing onstage with Alex and Alexa some time before in a club. Apparently they'd already done this with Mike and Alex a few times, so they were ready. Everyone was wearing comfortable, loose clothing that allowed freedom of movement, although Jeanie was finding herself beginning to sweat because of the strategically placed maxi-pads strapped to her soft and sensitive areas.

The referee was speaking with them now, having just finished going over the rules. The game was 'capture the flag' and the rules stated that once you were shot in the torso or head, you were out for that round. Shots to a leg meant no running. If shot in both legs, you were dead. If you were hit in the arm, you couldn't use that arm. Hit in both, you were dead. Everyone wore safety visors or goggles to protect their eyes.

"Now, once again, is everyone clear?" the man asked, standing away from Mike so that he didn't feel so dwarfed. "The round runs until one side has brought the other team's flag back to their own base, or when nobody is left on a team. To encourage capturing the flag as the goal, it is worth many more points than simple team elimination. And unfortunately, friendly fire counts, so watch what you're doing. Questions?"

No one said anything. Mike looked over everyone menacingly, carrying his own customized paintball rifle, along with extra magazines and two paintball pistols clipped to his pants. Black goggles hid his eyes. Alex wore clear goggles, and had a paintball gun with an elongated barrel, since he was very quick and loved to snipe people. Freja's visor hand an orange tint to it, and with her honey-blonde, breezy hair, she looked more than a little like Tracer from Overwatch, a comparison she enjoyed. In her gloved hands, she had a standard, rented paintball rifle. Jeanie's brown hair spilled around her face, framing her pink visor, and the she held a bright pink rifle loosely in her hands.

"Good," the man said, looking at his watch. "I hope you have your strategy ready. Remember, shooting any refs, even by mistake, is an automatic death, so be careful, we're everywhere. Twelve of you, twelve of them. When the siren goes off, you may begin."

Everyone waited quietly, with Mike and Alex near the front, facing the combat zone. Endless numbers of all barriers were sprawled around the space. Nearly a football field's length away, the opposing team's Home Base could be seen.

"What's this tactic called again?" Dave asked, standing near the back of the formation.

"Geno 52-Chilead," Alex replied, still eyeing the playing area, looking for sniper spots. The large crates around the floor counted as Level One obstacles, while double-stacked crates were Level Two. Crates stacked higher, or the huge metal shipping containers that dominated the space, were considered Level Three. People were allowed up on Level One and Two Obstacles, but not the Level Threes, for safety reasons.

"What's that mean, anyway? Geno 52-Chilead?" Ted queried, making a wry face.

Alex looked back at him and grinned. "It'd take too long to explain how it came about, but it means we're gonna fuck them until they love us."

Freja smirked while Jeanie blushed and looked at her seemingly pink sneakers.

The siren blared, going off right behind them. Jeanie started at the loud noise, squeaking in fright and pulling the trigger on her rifle. Ted yelped as the projectile from her gun smacked him in the groin, exploding in a cloud of pink dust. He looked at her in shock and outrage, while Jeanie blushed furiously.

"Sorry ..." she murmured, not daring to look up.

"Wow, new record for quickest elimination," the ref said, shaking his head. "Sorry, dude, rules are rules. You're out for this round."

Ted shot Jeanie another look and stomped off to the waiting area. The ref shrugged again. "Better get moving, even if you're a man down."

Mike and Alex nodded to one another, sprinting off in opposite directions, while Freja, Jeanie, Dave and the other team members scuttled forward, down the middle, covering one another.

Except for Jeanie, who had already killed her flanking partner.

"Fuckpumpkins ..." she muttered to herself as she moved through the long aisles of crates and storage containers, doing her best to remember her instructions. "I offered to watch, didn't I? But noooo, everyone just had to be inclusive. Now I'm assassinating my own team members. Could this get any worse?"

***

Alex smiled wickedly, kneeling between a surprisingly small space between two crates, his rifle raised. He could hear someone coming, and he was certain it wasn't one of his teammates. His finger rested easily on the trigger while he sighted down the barrel.

Someone from the opposite team, identified by the yellow armbands they wore, sprinted into view from around a shipping container, making a mad dash down the middle to try to reach the flag. He yelped and grunted at the stinging pain as Alex struck him dead-center in the chest with a single paintball, the air in front of him blossoming in blue dye. He skidded to a stop, looking around in frustration to see where his killer was, but got shooed off the field by a nearby ref.

First kill to me, Alex thought to himself, before his smile faded. Well, except for Jeanie taking out Ted less than a second into the damn match ...

This was a good hiding spot, but he couldn't stay here, he was needed elsewhere. It was funny to call the tactic they were using Geno 52-Chilead, but there was indeed a certain poetry to it. Alexa had referred to the lovemaking technique Freja had used on Jeanie their first time in that way. Freja didn't just concentrate on one part of Jeanie's anatomy, but pleasured her in several places at once, using her whole body. To that end, Alex and his teammates were ready to hit the enemy everywhere at once, hopefully eliminating everyone except the foes left behind to guard the flag.

He wasn't terribly worried about losing a teammate instantly, since eliminations were inevitable. It just meant they had to play a little tighter and more defensively, until they evened out the numbers or got an advantage.

He stood and raced off to his next pre-selected position.

***

Mike found himself almost pinned down, and he wasn't terribly surprised -- his sheer size had been noted by the other team, and they had doubtless declared him their primary target, for his intimidation value if nothing else. Eliminating him would not only boost their own confidence, but doubtless shake his team's morale as well.

He could hear them calling over other players, trying to box him in, keeping up a pattering fire he dared not expose himself to. He dodged between obstacles, determined to not be hemmed in. His tag-team partner, one of the other players who'd been assigned to them, was some distance away, also pinned down and seeming to falter. Mike scowled and looked around for options.

Not far away, a line of crates could be seen. He wasn't being shot at from there, and he assumed that meant it was outside the box they were trying to form around him. He glanced behind at the sound of muttering and saw two more of his teammates heading to the waiting area to join Ted. Not good.

He surged out suddenly, and panicked paintball fire trailed after him. With a grunt of effort he hurled himself up over the crates, rolling across them and tumbling off the other side. He recovered quickly, sprang to his feet and began firing. His foes scattered, but not before he pinged one right in the stomach. He'd put the run on them for now.

Damn, he thought as he moved forward quickly and warily, looking for foes. I don't remember that sort of maneuver taking that much effort before. The joys of nearly being fifty, I guess.

He might've been older than any two of the other twenty-three players combined, but he wasn't about to let that stop him from winning. Winner's circle or death.

He pressed on toward the opposing team's home base and the coveted flag.

***

1986: Inside a soup kitchen ...

"Gawd, this is grody," Janet groused as she scrubbed mercilessly at the tiles in a corner of the kitchen. "Didn't you hire these other professional cleaners to do this work, princess?"

"They're handling the truly 'grody' work, if you must know," Karen replied, scrubbing away at the grease caked onto the surface of a stove. Long rubber gloves protected her nail-job and skin, but there was no denying that she was putting in as much physical effort as anyone. Janet would never begrudge her friend that. "They're working on areas beneath the appliances, not to mention using chemicals we have no business messing with."

"How much ... is this gonna cost you?" Lisa asked, slopping a mop around nearby. The redhead was slightly flushed from her efforts, since she was the smallest of the four girls and probably exercised the least, her vigorous sex with Karen aside.

Karen shrugged without stopping her scrubbing. "If my mother's church group covers it, nothing. But if they don't, it's just over two grand, nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about," Janet muttered, imitating her friend's tone. "I can't believe you can say that with a straight face."

"I don't know why; I paid more than twice that for DeBourne's suit," Karen said, overlooking Janet's gripe. The law student knew this was important; she was just complaining to keep herself occupied.