Mission of Mercy

Author's Note:

I wanted closure on "The Intimate Photo Session" because it was nagging at me. Plus, I have had several very positive comments so I wanted to bring this one to a poetic conclusion. It may frustrate some, but I hope it at least provides a brief relief from reality. Hope you enjoy.

All persons, places, events, or organizations mentioned are purely fictitious.




I could see Hassad's profile as the smoke billowed around his cheek like a grey veil. Hassad was allowed to smoke; he had earned that privilege but I had not. We crouched close together, yet separated by metal bars and a world of indifference, a world of war.

"Am I boring you, Hassad?"

He shrugged and smiled, showing off one gold tooth, yet missing several across the front. "Go on, my friend. Go on."

I let out a long sigh and settled back against the hard concrete, with broken brick and mortar jutting out and poking my back. He seemed interested enough and I needed to talk, so it was a good enough exchange. We had time now, time enough to talk of trivial things. Time enough to talk of life-changing events and decisions that scarred the skein of time, scarred the soft flesh of hearts and souls. I rubbed my chin and felt the stubble growing. I was unwashed and crusted, but my spirit still soared with my decisions.

"And so let me continue, my friend...

The following week after I had taken those photos of Heather and we had shared the most intimate moment, the most forbidden moment between father and daughter, I had plunged myself back at work. Projects had come up and deadlines had to be met. Every day, Heather would call and ask if I could come over to either take more photos or have a nice dinner. Every day, I found a reason to not be able to. It broke her heart, I know, as it broke my own. Yet guilt and shame and remorse had settled in, churning in my soul. I had cheated on my wife! I had committed incest with my daughter! She was grieving for the loss of her husband and I had violated her trust by seducing her. I took advantage of her fragile state and satisfied my own lust. Sinful. Taboo. Guilty. I was a criminal.

So I avoided her. I avoided the situation. Several times, my wife, Claire, had visited with Heather. Each time Claire reported that our daughter was not doing well. When Claire mentioned that Heather had been in touch with the Department of the Army and had been refused on several occasions about details of James's death, she had gone higher. Heather had made contact with the State Department and was actually getting some semblance of cooperation. This alarmed me, of course, because one method the therapist had advised was for her to move on, to accept that which the government had reported, and to just move on with her life. It had been six months since James's reported death and so Claire and I had tried to pick up the pieces. When Heather announced that she would be flying to the Middle East to conduct her own fact-finding mission and investigation, Claire and I realized she was serious.

It had been nearly three weeks since our "incident" and I finally came over to Heather's house. She greeted me coldly at the door and returned to the kitchen to wash her dishes. I leaned against the refrigerator and watched her back for a long time. I could see the stoop in her shoulders, the resignation. I had seen the dark circles under her beautiful eyes, now so red from crying endlessly. Was she upset about the Army's responses or my having stayed away? Perhaps both.

"I don't think you should be going to the Middle East, Heather. It's far too dangerous for a...an American. A white woman. A beautiful, white woman. Okay, I said it. It might sound racist, I know, but you could easily be kidnapped, taken for ransom. Worse." Of course, I didn't need to say it. I didn't need to talk about rape or murder. But those thoughts instantly swirled in my head. I did not want to see anyone touching my daughter. I didn't want to know that she was in harm's way and that I could prevent that.

"You need to accept certain things about the world, Heather. It's a bad place. James went off to war to fight for our safety. He would not have wanted you to risk your own life by running after him. Honey, the army said that...well...James is gone."

She was crying now. I could see her shoulders shaking and her hands were not moving, yet they held the same mug under the faucet for some time. Slowly, I walked over to her and placed my hands on her shoulders. She seemed to cry even more, letting out a long, mournful wail. Heather tilted her head back onto my shoulder and my arms instinctively wrapped around her lithe body.

I kissed her face and licked the tears from her eyes. She closed her eyes and moaned softly. My hands roamed up her stomach and onto her covered breasts and I was instantly hard. I could not control myself. We could not control ourselves! Our mouths met in an open, desperate kiss, our tongues lashing for intimate contact. My hands kneaded her breasts and then, not having enough, tore her shirt open. The buttons on her blouse pinged off the counter and the sink's metal, and I ripped her bra down, exposing her breasts to me.

I spun her around and we embraced while my hands roamed over her soft, supple flesh. We were kissing frantically and both of us knew what we had to do, what had to be done, what had to be. We would not make it to her bedroom. I lifted her up and sat her at the edge of her kitchen table. She hiked her skirt up and I reached on to tear off her cotton panties. Heather helped me with my belt and trousers as our eyes looked hungrily into the other's. We were animals again. Savages. It was as if the call to mate was so instinctive, so primal. It could not be denied.

I plunged into her tightness and she threw her head back in a scream of pain and remembrance. I filled her completely and elated at the grip of her soft, moist pussy. "Oh God!" I groaned. "Oh God, Heather!"

"Yes!" she panted, trying in vain to catch her breath. "Oh God, Dad! Please! Love me! Don't leave me! Don't ever leave me!"

"No baby! I won't. I'll never leave you. I love you. I want you. I need you. Oh God."

I started to thrust in and out of her like a desperate lover, so full of desire and lust. Heather wrapped her legs around my waist to help me get deeper and I laid on top of her, our mouths meeting again in mutual gasps and kisses. It would not be long. We did not expect to hold back after being apart for so many days.

"Oh God, baby, I have to come," I grunted.

"Yes, Dad...please...come in me. Go ahead. I want you to."

My eyes looked into hers with love and lust, yet concerned. "But honey...we're not...protected. I could...I could get you..."

"I don't care, Dad. Please. Just do it. Come in me! I want you to." Her eyes were loving and full of understanding. I released into her again and again, both of us joined in the gasping and thrusting, and coming, and crashing.

After a time, my climax subsided and I slumped off of her. I helped her off the table and we shared a tender kiss. She smiled up at me and I kissed the back of her hand.

"Did you want dinner?" she asked.

I shook my head and took her hand. I led her to her bedroom and this time, we took our time. I made sure to eat her pussy until she was shrieking enough to alert the neighbors.

In bed, we cuddled and Heather continued to speak about going to find James. I wanted to continue to refute her claims, but she was adamant. She could not be deterred. After having made love to this exquisite creature, how could any man refuse?

I left Heather and promised to never stay away again. She seemed happier at this, but I knew she was still pining to find her dead husband. When I got home, I told Claire that I could not sway Heather from going to the Middle East. Claire's lips pursed and said with finality, "Well then, I suppose you should go with her."

My mouth dropped and then I began to reason with Claire on how foolish this all was. Impossible. Unheard of. Unthinkable.

Claire said, "You have always been Heather's knight in shining armor. She's in pain now. A lot of it. This may be the one thing that allows her to let go. This may be the one, therapeutic event that convinces her that James is gone. And I know you wouldn't want her to go alone, right?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Then you must go with her. It's the only thing I can think of."

I took Claire into my arms and held her for a very long time. I was secretly glad that I had showered at Heather's before returning home and my loins gave a lurch to the prospect of being alone with Heather during this trip.

I will not bore you with the details of our contact with the State Department and the U.S. Army. But suffice it to say that nearly 24 hours of planes, trains, and automobiles, we were at an undisclosed outpost near a dusty village at the edge of the neutral zone. It was deemed Yellow, by the armed forces, because it held a significant threat to U.S. and allied personnel. It was not until we were ushered into a large tent that the gravity of the situation finally hit Heather, as well as myself. We were in a war.

To my lustful regret, Heather and I never found ourselves alone. We were always escorted by our Arab translators and State Department officials. We were guarded by Marines or army soldiers. Our tent was small, yet surrounded by other soldiers at all times, and there was no opportunity for intimate contact.

At the third village we visited, word had finally reached our translator that a handful of U.S. soldiers had been captured several months back and were still being held for ransom or trade. We did not believe this at first because there had been no official reports in the media. The translator explained that the mission that the soldiers had been on was secret and had potential for damage to U.S. interests if it failed and was exposed. The mission did fail, according to the informant, and the translator stated that the U.S. was denying all claims to the rebels' accusations. It did not make the media.

Heather clamped on this information of course and, after several desperate and demanding meetings with U.S. officials, finally concluded that "perhaps Sergeant James Mason was one of those soldiers captured."

Several days later and after a number of bribes and deals, our translator and official were able to get an audience with a minor warlord who promised to secure an exchange. The meetings confirmed that U.S. troops were in fact being held, but that no amount of bartering resulted in a possible release. The rebels wanted a trade of personnel or significant information. The U.S. official tried several more options, but the rebel leader did not want to hear of it. The one shining light in all of this was when the rebel showed a proof of life: James's military watch and a torn picture of Heather. On the back of the photo, he had written about how much he loved his wife and dated it. It was in his handwriting and it was in blood.

Heather cried all along the bumpy and dusty Humvee ride back towards camp. She could not be consoled. As we neared the army outpost, I asked if the track commander would allow me to speak with my daughter in private, outside of the gates and barbed wire. He said absolutely not. The only safe zone was within the perimeter.

"Sergeant," I said, "Can you see us from the gate and tower?"

He nodded his head.

"Can you see us with your infrared and can you cover us with your small arms fire?"

The sergeant nodded.

"And are we not in running distance to the safety of your post? And if you needed to, could you not deploy your vehicles in seconds?"

The sergeant sighed and nodded.

"Then please, allow us this one opportunity to talk. Let her grieve in privacy for once. She needs time to process all that we've learned today. Please."

The sergeant looked at his driver and pressed his lips together. He turned back to me and nodded. "Fifteen minutes, sir. Then I come looking for you myself."

I helped Heather out of the Humvee and the convoy drove off, leaving us in a cloud of sand and dust. Before the cloud settled, I took Heather's hand and led her over a couple of sand dunes and rock formations. The tower and gate guards would not have seen where we settled into nor in which direction we had gone. They could not pierce through rock and sand with their infrared now. We were alone.

Heather cuddled into my shoulder as we sat against a low hillside. Despite this land's war-torn cities and villages, the landscape was quite stunning. Soft, rolling hills of sand and rock framed the setting sun. It was actually beautiful. The glow of dusk was romantic and yet, held so much sadness and suffering. I held her tighter and she whimpered into my shirt.

We were silent in our thoughts and lost in a sea of emotions. But I knew we were short on time. The sergeant would be sure to look for us when they realized we were out of sight. I moved gently, but purposefully. Heather gazed up and opened her mouth to speak. Yet I filled the void by pressing my lips firmly onto hers. Slowly, her arms snaked around my neck as she got into the kiss.

Then I broke our lips apart and held her waist. I moved her around and made her get on all fours. She looked back at me inquisitively while I pushed her desert robes up and exposed her naked flesh. Her legs were still so white, despite the sun's rays, having been covered in the traditional garb of Muslim women. I pushed her panties down and exposed her succulent pussy.

She gasped out as I pressed into her, my throbbing cock invading her soft and yielding flesh, her soul. I took her body now, pumping in and out in desperation. We grunted and moaned loudly, not caring if the others could hear or not. It was not my concern. I knew the end was near and I needed gravely to be with her, to be joined to her, to be one with her.

"Oh God, Daddy...do you think...do you think James is truly alive?" The question disturbed me. Not that I no longer believed it to be so—James was probably alive, I conceded—but that I would be losing Heather. I came here with her, with thoughts of finally relieving her grief and loss. Instead, she had found hope. She had probably found her husband. And I would lose my baby.

I continued to pound into her for all I was worth. "I don't know, honey. But the translator said it was possible. Oh God! If it's true, you and James will be reunited."

She groaned and bent forward more, seeming to hug the sand in front of her. She smiled then. "Yes, we'll be together again. I will have James back. We can be a family again. We can have our...family..."

Realization was kicking in. Heather got back up while I continued to fuck her. She turned slightly to me then, her hand softly caressing my face. "Oh God...Dad...that means...we..."

"I know, baby, I know. We will no longer be together. We can't. James is your husband. He will need you. He will need you to be his wife."

Tears once more spilled out of Heather's eyes. "But...Dad...I need you too. I need you. I need...both of you..."

"You can't, honey. You can't have both of us. It's wrong. It just can't be. I..." I pushed her back down as I thrust into her harder and harder now. "I don't want to share you! Oh God, baby! I love you and I know you have James, but I don't want to share you with any other man! God!" I fucked her harder and harder, knowing I was about to come.

She was weeping now, gripping the sand and watching it slip from her clenched fingers. "But Daddy...I'm...I'm pregnant. I have a baby in me. I have...your baby...."

With that, I came harder than I had ever come before in my life. With the realization that Heather and I had gotten pregnant from our dangerous liaisons, I released all of my love and lust for my daughter. I roared loudly and shot my hot, demon seed once more into her womb.

Eventually, we came down from our high and held each other, cocooned in the hot sand. We were dressed by the time the sergeant and his men came around to find us and they led us back to the safety of the outpost. Heather and I did not speak a word throughout the night, only exchanged several loving glances.

In the morning, after convincing the official, the soldiers, and our translator to make one last attempt, I had decided what I had to do. She never knew what was coming. She never could have imagined my actions. But when the trade was made and James once more held her in his arms, I kissed my daughter's hand one last time.

She panicked, of course, screamed and shouted. The officials and soldiers took her away and I watched as their convoy lumbered off through the clouds of dust and sand. I would never see Heather again. Not in this life, at least.

I smiled and reached for Hassad's offered cigarette. "You know you could get in trouble for this, my friend."

Hassad chuckled softly in his raspy voice. "How you Americans say it? Fuck 'em." He giggled some more and I took a long draw of his Marlboro.

"Thanks, Hassad. Thanks for listening."

"Is all true?'

I nodded. "Yes. Unfortunately, it is. What we men do for love, eh? What we do for our families."

"Your daughter, she have baby soon? She have your baby?"

I looked him in the eyes. "My daughter and her husband will have their baby, yes. They will have their family and they will live happily ever after."

"Ah yes," Hassan said satisfactorily. "That is how you Americans like to end your stories. 'And they lived happily ever after.' Yes?"

"Yes, my friend. Yes we do. And they lived happily ever after."

The End

Author's End Note:

I know, it was NOT a happy ending. Well, for the loving couple perhaps. But dad got to save the day in the end. Isn't that good enough?

Oh well, hope most of you liked it. Please vote and favorite the story or the author! Thank you all for reading!