Superf***er Vol. 09

"I didn't realize we'd be going this far," I commented. "I didn't check out at the nurse's station..." I hadn't even considered, until now, whether Dr. McGuire might not be a spy or something—but we were still on the base...

"Nurse Carmen knows where we're going... in fact, she's going to join us."

"Oh," I said, pleasantly surprised. Nurse Carmen was my favorite—long brown wavy hair (when it wasn't tied up in a bun), nice legs, skin that appeared perpetually tan--I think she was Puerto Rican. I seemed to spend the most time hanging around the nurse's station when she was on duty. "So where ARE we going?"

"Top secret," she said, but turned towards me and smiled broadly in a non-threatening way.

"Oh?" I asked, a little more concerned.

"These tunnels connect all the buildings on the base—those visible above ground as well as those hidden below" she added.

"So you're taking me to a top secret, underground building?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, not a building exactly," she started to explain, but then stopped by a nondescript door. My sense of direction wasn't anything special, but I thought that we must be under the hill that ran behind the wing of the compound where I was staying. The door appeared to be solidly bolted and padlocked on the right-hand side—but she made no effort to open the lock. Instead, she walked a few feet to the left of the door, where there was innocuous-looking light switch on the wall. She flipped up the entire face plate of the switch, revealing a keypad. She punched in a code, and suddenly an entire chunk of the wall, including the door, swung out from theleft. It turned out that it was a steel blast door, disguised to look just like the rest of the hallway. As the door swung open, a single soldier quickly stood up from a small table and chair where he had been sitting and reached for his rifle. An open laptop sat on the desk; a hole had been punched in the ceiling tile and an electrical extension cord and a Cat-5 cable hung down through it. He had been playing some sort of MMORPG, passing the time in what must otherwise have been an excruciatingly boring assignment.

"Good, it's you Dr. McGuire," the soldier said, moving towards a keypad that hung next to a second blast door. "Carmen said you'd be coming." He keyed in a code, and the second door began to open. He glanced at me, and commented "you two having some kind of party down there?"

"Nah, just grabbing a pizza," she said breezily.

"Sure, there's plenty down there," he agreed.

"Say, Seth..." she continued, apparently knowing his first name. "Do you suppose you could keep the second door open while we're down there? I get all claustrophobic when the outer door closes and I'm locked in." She gave him a sweet smile and batted her eyes once or twice.

"Uh, sure, Dr. M," he said uncertainly. "No one else should be coming through on my shift. If someone does come in, though, I'll have to close it."

She nodded. "That's fair. Thank you, Seth," and stepped through the door. He eyed me suspiciously as I followed, but forgot about me as he returned to his game. Inside the second door there was a small platform, then a steel ladder heading down. The ladder was ringed by steel bars to keep you from falling, so it felt rather like climbing down a steel tunnel. At the base of the stairs, there were two more blast doors, open but which could be closed quickly if needed. I lived on Earth through all of the Cold War, so I had a pretty good idea what I was looking at. "An old fallout shelter?" I commented.

"Not just any fallout shelter," she "one of THE fallout shelters. There are three like this, all within a short distance of Washington. They were built to house the US government in the event of nuclear war. Congress, the White House, the Pentagon—key people were to report to these shelters to be able to continue to operate the government even after nuclear attack. But since the fall of the Soviet Union, they've been pretty much neglected."

We had passed through the blast doors and found ourselves in a communications command post of sorts. There were a dozen stations, each originally outfitted with equipment that appeared to be of 1950s vintage set in fine wood cabinets. Some of the equipment had been updated, either by being replaced or in some cases with newer equipment simply set in front of obsolete ones. None of it seemed to be current. "Wow. This is like a museum," I commented.

"You'll find a lot of that. This facility is still technically functional, but this room has been replaced by a single communications server on the bottom floor," she commented. We had crossed the communications room and found ourselves at a narrow staircase that ran down the middle of the bunker. On the other side there was a storeroom that held, among other things, haz-mat suits.

We walked down four flights of stairs. The first two floors we passed appeared identical--rows of bunk beds were all you could see. The third flight down held a large lounge on one side of the stairs, on the other we could see a narrow conference/war room; something else lay behind a door in its far wall. Going down one flight further, there was a large bathroom/shower facility on one side, and a large kitchen in the other. "This is our stop," she said, heading for the kitchen. "There's two more floors below--housing for the soldiers and engineers to run the place, an infirmary, plus all of the life support systems. But the food is here."

One wall of the kitchen was lined with huge walk-in freezers. Dr. McGuire made a beeline for one and headed inside. I peered in through the opened door; it was stacked floor to ceiling with rows of frozen, packaged foods. On one shelf on the left, there was a large cylindrical bag that had been opened; she took a pizza from a stack that had once been probably 24 high but now less than 10 remained.

"So we're stealing from Congress' food rations in case of nuclear war?" I asked.

"I suppose you could look at it like that," she admitted, "but if they really want to use these things again, there's a lot of things that would have to be restocked." She pointed to a small black box on the bottom of the plain, black-and-white label; it saidBest if used by: June 1995. "The pizzas have held up pretty well, but there's some things in here I wouldn't try to eat anymore even if there WAS a nuclear war."

She tore the wrap off the pizza and placed it in one of a row of industrial microwaves hanging above counters on the opposite wall. She pressed one button to defrost it, then a second to cook. As we stood there and waited, though, she started asking me much more personal questions than she ever had before--things that didn't seem to fall into her domain of expertise. She asked me about my relationships with my kids. I told her I had been dad to my four with Amy, but had little contact with the others--their sheer numbers hadn't allowed it. She followed up by asking about Amy, who by now was well-known coast-to-coast, having been seemingly constantly on TV since the funeral. I told her I wished I knew; between being gone and unable to communicate home and then losing Billy, she seemed to be very clear that she had no interest in seeing me anymore.

"Are you sad about that?" she asked.

"I am," I said mildly, "but as much because it's harder to stay in touch with the kids as anything else. On my planet, we don't form life-long partnerships like you do--as I told you the other day, we live a lot longer for one. We stay with one partner long enough to raise children, then usually split up and repeat the process with someone else. So while I'm sad that it seems to be over, especially ending with no warning like this, I think we were already starting on the path of growing apart before any of this happened. It's just really hard when one partner ages 20 years while the other ages like two."

She nodded, recognizing how that could be a problem even if she couldn't begin to relate to it personally. Then the oven dinged. She pulled out the pizza, now steaming hot on its cardboard tray and for the first time looking like a pizza instead of a block of ice. She opened a drawer and quickly found a pizza cutter. She must have known it was there. "You've done this before," I commented.

"Hmm? Yeah, a couple times... the commissioned staff don't dare do it, but most of us civilians have been here once or twice. Especially if you're stuck working a holiday." Pizza cut, she washed off the cutter and carefully replaced it in its drawer. Then she opened a cupboard that held an opened mega-bag of paper plates from a local discount store. "I don't think anyone is going to care too much so long as we leave it the way we found it." She picked up the pizza with both hands, the paper plates held under the cardboard and headed for the stairs. I followed her up. Instead of turning to the left and the lounge, though, the turned to the right and the conference room. "Can you open the door for me?" she asked. I stepped ahead of her to open the door in the far wall of the conference room. Behind it was a small room full of desks, with bunks attached the north and south walls. "This is the Presidential suite," she explained. "Each of bunkers has one, and the President was to be taken to the nearest one to his location in the event of attack. But since this is the closest to the White House, it was always expected that THIS would be where he would go if there was a WWIII."

She kept heading through the room towards yet another door as she spoke. Again I jumped ahead of her to open the door. I was surprised by what I found. It was a bedroom, outfitted much like a better hotel room might have looked circa 1970. The furniture was all dated, dark wood, but there were dressers and even an old TV. There was also a queen bed, with a dark orange bedspread. Another surprise; lying on the bed, lounging comfortably and paging through a fashion magazine, was Nurse Carmen. Her white uniform shoes sat neatly at the foot of the bed, and her uniform white hose were tucked into one of them. She lay sideways at a 45% angle to the bed, resting her head on her hand. Her nurse uniform hemline was just above her knee, and smooth bare legs with bright red toenails jutted out underneath. She had loosened the zipper running down the front of her uniform, so as she lay there a hint of a satiny bra in bright red peeked through the gap.

"THERE you are," she noted as she heard us enter, sitting up. Dr. McGuire headed towards a small round table with two chairs to the right of the bed, as any hotel room would have had back then. There was even a curtain hanging on the wall, giving this very much the appearance of a Nixon-era hotel room. I wondered why there would be a curtain here, since there clearly would not be a window; I peeked behind it and found a large chalkboard.

Dr. McGuire put down the pizza on the table, next to some sort of cloth bag (or maybe a big purse) that lay on the table. She whipped off her lab coat and the jacket of her suit before sitting down in the chair nearer the door, leaving me to take the one in the corner. Nurse Carmen sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs femininely. Dr. McGuire handed each of us a slice on a paper plate before sitting back herself, crossing her own legs and balancing her plate on her knee. Her skirt was shorter, and I noticed that her legs too were bare in her heels. I tried to remember if she'd been wearing panty hose during the day, simply because I was sure I'd have noticed legs like that had I seen them earlier.

I took a bite. It was an ordinary frozen pizza, a bit bland actually, but compared to what I'd been eating it was heavenly. "Mmm," I said, "this is SO much better than anything I've had to eat all week. Thanks for inviting me, Dr. McGuire..."

"Fiona," she said, "call me Fiona."

"OK, FIONA" I teased, "I will try to be better about calling you Fiona than you are about calling me Bill. "

"OK, BILL," she teased, mimicking my tone. I just KNEW this girl had some spark to her outside of her official duties. I smiled at her, and my eyes verified what I'd surmised earlier--her breasts were quite ample, full and round. I felt my eyes start to sweep down the length of her neckline, searching for... I forced myself to look down at my pizza.

"So... I heard on TV that you can't use condoms because they just pop... is that true?" Carmen asked as innocently as possible. Dr. McGuire glared at her. I almost choked on my pizza.

"Um, yes," I coughed.

"So what do you do for contraception?" she asked pointedly.

"We don't much on my planet," I explained, "intercourse is rare, and generally procreative in intent."

"So you only have sex when you are trying to conceive?" she pressed.

"Not necessarily by design, but it often seems to work out that way because the success rate is so high."

"But didn't you live like for years with that author woman? Why didn't you have like 15 kids with her?"

"Amy? We discovered that while condoms don't work, diaphragms can be very effective," I volunteered.

"Told ya!" Carmen burst triumphantly, addressing Dr. McGuire. "I heard it on TV. You owe me five dollars." Fiona's face turned bright red.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were betting on the outcome," I said, feeling bad for Fiona somehow. "Do you want me to change my answer?"

"Too late," Carmen crowed jauntily, "I've already won. Are you ready for the double or nothing question?"

"Um, I guess," I said, a little taken aback and yet energized by Carmen's easy forwardness. This little firecracker sure never acted like this at the nurse's station (darn it!).

"When Dr. McGuire asked if you would provide a sperm sample, you said no, correct."

"Kind of."

"Kind of? What do you mean kind of?"

"I think I said I wasn't willing to provide the sample."

"Aha. So you never said that you didn't want us to HAVE one, correct? You just didn't want to have to collect the specimen. If you had someone to assist in OBTAINING a sample, you wouldn't have any objection to us studying it, correct?" Carmen concluded triumphantly.

"That is correct, your honor," I said, responding to her legalistic analysis. She must have heard the story from Dr. McGuire, unless maybe she had been listening in--although, why would she? I glanced over at Fiona, but she was staring down into her plate, pretending to be concentrating on her pizza and not listening except that her flushed cheeks her away.

"A ha! I KNEW it," she crowed. She also put her plate of pizza down on the table, hopped off the bed and sat herself on my right knee. She gently put her hand on my plate, which I surrendered and she placed it next to the other. "You see," she purred vampishly, "Fiona really, really wants to be able to study your sperm. She was really disappointed that you wouldn't give it. But when she told me the story, I told her you didn't say she couldn't have it. You just didn't want to have to be the one to go get it. Well, I told her, I thought that was a job that we should be able to handle." She leaned in close to me, and I felt her hand gently touching the crotch of my trousers. "Dr. McGuire was WAY too embarrassed to ask, though. She's a doctor and all, she's got a reputation to protect. But me... I'm a nurse. Isn't it every man's fantasy that a nurse will comfort her patient in ANY way she can?" She was rubbing me now, and my dick was responding strongly. She leaned closer to me. "Besides," she breathed, "I want to know for myself if the things they say on TV are true..." and with that she started kissing me. Not expecting any of this, I just sort of sat there in surprise, kissing Carmen. Her hand remained busy, however, and after feeling some fumbling I felt warm fingers touching my meat. She kept stroking me as I pointed towards the ceiling.

I felt her start moving even before she stopped kissing me. Before I could even figure out what she was doing, she was kneeling between my knees and sucking my dick. I closed my eyes momentarily and moaned in spite of myself; she was very attentive, and using her tongue to excellent effect. It seemed like it had been a long time since I'd had my dick sucked by such a skilled practitioner. Amy used to suck pretty good, but after 15 years of "marriage" it's not the same, and back on my planet, well, most girls consider it beneath them. Mmmm. Fond memories of fornications past returned, accompanied by the calming pleasantness of a mouth on my dick. I opened my eyes for a moment and peeked sideways to see what Dr. McGuire was doing. She had quietly cleared all the dinner debris from the table and was fumbling through the bag on the table. I re-closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of warm tongue stroking my penis.

Carmen was fully engrossed in her sucking. She didn't look up, focusing entirely on my penis. At first she sucked slowly, like she wanted to taste my every inch as she reached as far down my shaft as possible. Then she sped up a little, but as she sucked me down I could feel my tip pressing against the back of her throat. Then she quickly released me before she began to gag, only to slurp me back down again. All of a sudden I felt like I could fill a jar with spunk, and the way she was sucking it wouldn't be very long either. But, it turned out, Carmen had other ideas. She must have felt me twitch, a warning spasm that climax was not far away. Suddenly she was standing, bending towards me--and slipping her knickers down her legs. "I think he likes me," she said with pride, "but I didn't come here to get you off and have nothing to show for it. Let's see how this outer space monster feels!" She crawled up onto the chair, pressing one foot on each side of me, squeezed between my leg and the arms of the chair. Then she lifted her uniform; she had a tiny patch of fine dark hair above a bikini wax. Grasping my penis with one hand, she expertly pointed me towards her opening. I thought it might take some work to get in, seeing as she had received minimal foreplay, but she settled herself onto me and on the second or third go she successfully impaled herself on my spike. She was already nicely wet inside--damn, she must have gotten hot just from sucking ME. What a woman!

"Oooh," she sighed with satisfaction, rising up and down on my lap, "now THAT'S what a man SHOULD feel like." Her pussy squeezed me exquisitely as she bobbed up and down. Man, I can't deny it--I love human pussy. Designed for a dick half-again smaller than mine, they grip me so tight, yet I can still slide it in so easy. I'll never get tired of fucking them. I looked up at Carmen's face, but she wasn't even looking at me. Her eyes were closed, and her head tilted slightly up, her hair cascading down her back. She was focusing on the feeling of my dick filling her to the brim. She oscillated up and down in a steady rhythm. I noticed firm muscles tightening in her legs with every stroke; she appeared fit enough to continue this routine for as long as was needed. That was fine by me, but I found myself a little frustrated at being able to see little but a field of white polyester. Ah, but there was a zipper conveniently running down the front of her uniform, right in front of my nose.

With a devious little grin I moved my hand to catch the zipper as it went past. I caught it, and pulled it; it zipped down to her hips. I held the two sides of the open zipper and pulled them apart to better see the toned torso beneath. She had a flat belly and smallish breasts held by that red satin bra I had caught a glimpse of earlier. She opened her eyes from her reverie for a moment, saying "you see something you like?" She grasped a small clasp between the cups and popped the bra open, then resumed her closed-eyed concentration. I ran my hands up the length of her torso, sliding them under the two halves of the unclasped bra and parting them like the Red Sea. They may not have been huge, but her breasts were proud and firm. They were the same light brown color as the rest of her, with dark brown nipples. I let my fingers slide over to touch her nipples, but was careful not to touch them with my thumbs... not yet, anyway.