Whoever You Want to Bebybashfullyshameless©
Warning: The following story contains explicit sex, explicit violence, explicit shaming of slut-shamers, profanity, nudity, reckless use of illegal weaponry, cheap Halloween costumes, hipsters, police, personal calls while on duty, arson, destruction of public property, lingerie, war criminals, murder, assault with a deadly weapon, break-up text messaging, lesbian demon seduction, poor workplace morale, premarital sex, oral sex, public sex, solo sex, reverse cowgirl sex, sex under false pretenses, sex with malevolent intent, immolation, false identification, ruthless exploitation of personal beauty, unsafe crowd control standards, stereotypical Seattle passive-aggression, vertigo, destruction of evidence, racism (don't worry, he dies), workplace scapegoating, wholly proper use of a detachable showerhead and girl-on-girl grenade fighting.
Readers quick to call women sluts or whores for engaging in sexual relations with more than one male partner over the course of a story are invited to read something else.
The shower revived him, but not enough. He should have slept more last night. He should have put Serena off. Most guys would think it crazy to turn such hot sex down for any reason, and Jack would generally be inclined to agree, but things had been like this for the last few nights.
He almost fell asleep while shaving in the bathroom mirror. He cut himself twice. The second time he hardly even noticed, except the blood dribbled down his thick wrist and marred his "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" tattoo. Jack stared down at it with red, blurry eyes and wiped the blood away.
He kept shaving. He had to make this meeting. What he would tell the assholes from State, he hadn't actually decided. Maybe he'd tell them the truth. He already had immunity. But then again, maybe he'd just decide, fuck those guys, we didn't do anything wrong. Lethal force was always part of the tool bag; Uncle Sam knew that when he hired Jack's company. Hell, once upon a time, the government approved. The brats probably just would've grown up to blow up some bus stop in Israel or something, anyway, he thought. And their mother was probably just a whore.
Fuck their investigation. His company was paid to do a job, and they did it. They kept their client secure and safe—maybe pissing his pants, but safe. What more did they want?
Jack kept shaving away his blond stubble. His eyes drifted to the "big red 1" tattooed on his muscular left shoulder, leading his thoughts back to the Army and days when he'd seen the world in brighter colors. Once more, Jack reconsidered. He had immunity. People just wanted closure. The guys from State were just trying to do their jobs. Maybe he should just spill and let them close this whole case?
They couldn't get him on shooting the Arabs. Couldn't get any of his fellow contractors. Could they get him on anything else? Maybe he should talk?
He was tired. Really tired, though in a good way. He certainly couldn't complain.
Finished with shaving, Jack washed his face one more time and stepped out into his bedroom wearing only a towel, his battle scars and his tattoos. His suit was laid out on the bed.
So was Serena.
"Baby, do you have to go yet?" she asked. The black bed sheet only covered her crotch and the hand that she had over it. He could see her hand move under the sheet, between her slender, inviting legs. Jack's eyes drifted up to her full, enticing breasts and the black hair that cascaded down her naked shoulders. Serena looked at him, grinning like she knew already knew she would win this round.
"Christ, there's something wrong with you," Jack huffed, shaking his head. He looked down at his suit. Everything was there except his boxers. Where were his boxers?
"Yeah, there's something wrong with me," replied Serena in a voice that could make a porn star blush. "I'm empty inside. I need you to fill me."
Once again, Jack went to war, only this time it was entirely internal. Turning her down seemed insane. It should also be reasonable at this point. Hadn't they fucked all night already—like, literally all night? She clearly liked his money and his luxury apartment. She knew how he made his money, and he'd already explained to her how important this meeting was in ensuring he could make more.
He looked her up and down again: the legs, that sweet spot between them, those tits, those eyes. She felt so good. Making her come felt so good.
"You don't wanna leave me," the beauty smiled. She lifted one leg and pointed with her toes at the tent formed by Jack's rising cock. She could get him up like nobody else he'd ever been with. It was a talent. Like magic.
And now he was up and ready, and wasting it seemed foolish. "Serena, I gotta go do this," Jack reminded her, trying to be assertive. She liked it when he was assertive. Liked it when he pulled her hair. Made her moan. All that... Wait. No. Stop thinking that shit, he told himself. "I don't show up to this meeting, they'll subpoena my ass."
"So let 'em," Serena pouted. "Won't change what you have to say. Or not say. Fuck 'em, right?" Her lopsided grin returned. "Or better yet, fuck me."
He took a deep breath. He loved it when she talked dirty, and she knew it all too well. "When I get back."
"C'mon, baby," she said, beckoning him with one hand while the other continued to toy with her flesh under the sheet. "You don't even need to warm me up." Her voice dropped and her words slowed enticingly. "We can be quick. Just for fun. You can fuck me, and when you're at your meeting with all those assholes, you can think about how you're the only guy there whose dick still smells like pussy... my pussy... you can ask yourself if any of them just got laid, or if they ever got any ass as hot as what you have waiting for you at home."
She knew just how to make him forget his fatigue. Hot sex, no lengthy foreplay, just get in and get off and bail until later. Every guy's dream, right?
Serena pointed at his groin with her foot again. "Somebody looks ready to me," she taunted him. "If you don't, you know you'll be sorry."
Jack snatched up her foot. "You're right," he said, and pulled her toward him on the bed. He took up her other leg, too, and spread them around his hips as his towel fell to the floor. The sensation of his cock sliding up against her warm and wet lips electrified him enough to banish his concerns of fatigue. God, she really is ready.
"That's my man," she said, her lip curling with animal lust. "My big, strong killer. Take me, baby. Take—nnh! Yeah!" Serena grunted as he lined up and thrust into her, taking every advantage of her readiness. She played her role to the hilt, displaying her naked beauty for him while he pushed into her again and again. Her breath grew audible, hitting notes of passion and surrender.
She knew just how he liked it, and how to keep him from going anywhere. She knew how to get him off, and how to keep his full attention, and how to wear him down.
Jack would never make his meeting, or any other, ever again.
* * *
"It's not that I enjoy falling down the stairs, you know. It's just that I like to see you nice young people. But the fall does get me down to the ground floor faster."
Shannon allowed a brief smile at the old man's joke as the blood pressure pump on his arm came to full inflation. She slipped the diaphragm of her stethoscope under the inflated pad and listened. The ambulance leaned left and then right, zooming its way through streets that were just open enough to allow them constant movement. Its siren wailed.
"How can you even hear anything in all this racket?" asked the old man's grandson. He sat next to the gurney, looking a bit crammed. Today, Paul wore a simple polo shirt and slacks. He had come from the golf course. The last time Shannon's ambulance had to come get George, Paul came from work in a tailored suit.
On the one hand, Shannon appreciated the obvious concern Paul had for his aging grandfather. On the other hand, she didn't care for his tone when he spoke to her or her partner. She wanted to tell him off, but instead just swallowed her irritation. Snapping at people wasn't her style. "I've had lots of practice," Shannon answered. She had given up on calling him 'sir' after the second encounter. He was too quick to act like he had some supervisory authority over her.
"I know what that's like," smiled George. "I used to drive a tank, back in the war. Everyone would ask how I could hear things over the engine, but I could. The lieutenant... he liked to say I could tell what might be wrong with the engine just by listening to it."
"You should listen to the staff at the home, Mr. Upton," Shannon told him. "No more walking near the stairs when you feel dizzy. You're sure that's all it is?"
"Yes," George nodded. "I'm just dizzy sometimes." He fell silent, looking at her for a long moment as she listened for his pulse, and watched the dial, and counted. "You have hair like his wife."
"The lieutenant's wife. He met a librarian. In Paris. Married her right in the middle of the war. Redhead, just like you. Kept it tied back tight, just like yours. Little more delicate than you... but it was Paris in the war and there wasn't a lot of food to go around for a good while there, you see," he corrected tactfully. Shannon paid it no mind. "And she wasn't carting old men out of retirement homes or anything. But oh, she was so pretty..."
The ambulance rattled again, a little to the right, then a little to the left and then back again. "How'd that work out for them?" Shannon asked. "The marriage?"
George didn't answer right away. The silence surprised Shannon. Something was wrong with it. She looked up at him, trying to understand what bothered her. "He died," George said. "Took a bullet for me outside the tank. Right at the end of the war." His voice diminished. "All this time I've had... all these years, because of him."
This wasn't right. Shannon watched him, and listened, and quickly realized what bothered her.
"I'm sure he'd be glad to know how things turned out for you, grampa," assured Paul. "Don't worry about that now."
Shannon no longer paid attention to the conversation. She couldn't hear the thump of his pulse in the stethoscope anymore. Oh no, she thought. "George?" she said, dropping the stethoscope and bringing her hand to his face. "George, are you okay? Can you hear me?"
"What's wrong?" asked Paul.
"I need that," she grunted, pointing at an equipment bag behind him. "Move. Ian!" she called to the driver. "Ian, he's gone cardiac! Right here in the wagon!"
"Aw, shit!" her driver snapped.
"What's that—wait, right now?" Paul demanded.
Shannon had the defibrillator out of the bag already. She suspected it wouldn't do any good. George was old and infirm. Shannon had done this job long enough to know a done deal when she saw one. Still, he was a fighter. So was Shannon. She wouldn't give him up without a struggle, and a real one at that.
"Ian, haul ass!"
* * *
Serena loved her life. She loved the glamour, and the adulation, the intrigue and the wicked pleasures. She loved playing different roles for different partners, and loved to reveal her naughty, dirty girl core. She loved the raw power invested within her in all its facets. She absolutely loved to be lusted after.
She also loved the sex.
Her current partner, Jack, was a good one. He had a strong, animal lust and responded beautifully to the right strokes to his ego. Jack fucked her selfishly, which spoke to his nature, but in Serena's case that worked out just fine. She didn't mind his selfishness at all, and in fact did all she could to encourage it. To his credit, Jack also liked to get Serena off—mostly just for the ego boost he derived from hearing and feeling her climax, but it still meant more pleasure for her.
His motivations mattered little to her. Her partner delivered in bed, and that meant everything.
Jack took her from behind, pulling back again and again with one hand on her hip and the other clutching a fistful of her hair. Serena's hanging breasts swayed as Jack fucked her. He didn't hurt her at all—and couldn't, but Jack couldn't really know that. He had been back there for a very long time, relentlessly pounding her ass with his hips as his cock plunged into her again and again. Serena loved every minute, and made sure Jack knew it. She genuinely didn't want him to quit.
The longer this sort of thing took, the more satisfaction and happiness she received.
His endurance had finally reached its limits, though. His thrusts slowed and his breath grew ragged. The only thing about him that refused to weaken was his cock, and he was too out of sorts to think critically about that, or about just how many times he'd gotten off without softening.
Yet he couldn't give up. Couldn't stop. She felt too good to stop, and she knew it. She had him fully enthralled. Serena felt his pace ease up, and smiled, and gave a small, taunting whine. "So close," she said. "Fuck, I'm so close."
Jack rallied. It wasn't much, but his hips crashed forward into her again, still slower but at harder at least, and she knew the pleasures it offered her partner seduced him into more. Serena gasped, "Oh! Oh! Yeah!" in time with his hips, until his body trembled to a final release.
It was every bit as good for her, too. She couldn't deny that—not honestly, anyway, and there was no need to lie about it. Serena's eyes rolled back and her voice rang out in moans of genuine pleasure.
He all but hung by that hand in her hair, using it to keep himself up. She could support him easily like that. She was far stronger than she looked.
"I gotta stop," he wheezed. Jack's eyes drifted around lazily. Were it not for the hand in her hair and the irresistible sensation of remaining coupled with her, he'd have collapsed. "Baby, I gotta... I gotta stop..."
"No, Jack, no, ssshhh," Serena counseled him softly. She rose upright on her knees, taking his hands and releasing his cock—just for the moment—to turn herself around to face him. "I'll take it from here, Jack," whispered Serena. "I'll take it from here. You just lie back."
With her partner settled onto the bed, Serena swung her leg over his body and straddled him in reverse, facing his feet rather than his face. She found his cock still ready for her, and brought it into herself with another whimper of pleasure. "Just enjoy it, Jack," Serena said as she began to rock against him. "Enjoy me. Enjoy it while it lasts."
* * *
"They can't have asked us to stick around here for anything good," Ian muttered. He stood beside Shannon in the ER waiting room, taking up one small stretch of wall away from the patients, the victims and their various companions. He created a perfect portrait of a Seattleite: paper Starbuck's cup in one hand, smartphone in the other.
"We did everything we could," shrugged his ambulance partner. Shannon had a clipboard in her hand, going over paperwork from their rig. She didn't look up at him as she spoke. They weren't particularly close, but they got along fine.
She had two years on him. Like Shannon, Ian signed on with the company straight out of his EMT certification tests. Like Shannon, he did a bang-up job with the company. Like Shannon, he came in with ambitions of working his way through college to a better-paying medical career.
Unlike Shannon, he hadn't actually gone back to school yet. He didn't carry the burden of increasing student debt compounded by their crappy pay. Still, he'd been with the company long enough to know when trouble brewed.
"How long do we wait?" he asked. He looked around the waiting room, noting that it was as busy as one would expect on a Monday morning. Adults waited. Children cried. Almost every seat was filled. The only empty spots were beside the sort of people one only sat next to out of exhaustion or desperation.
"Company said to wait until we were released," Shannon muttered for the second time. "If they need us to cut loose, they'll let us know."
"Just sayin'. We could be out there doing stuff."
"Not sure there's that much for us to do if they're leaving us at the hospital's mercy," Shannon said. She glanced down at the game of Tetris he played one-handed on his phone and considered checking her own, but didn't want to look unprofessional. It seemed like a silly thing to worry about, though, given the wait they endured.
Then she became aware of the emergency room doctor as he walked up. He was heavyset, with tired eyes and a deep bend to his lips that went well beyond mere grouchiness. Those eyes spoke of far too many hours on duty. "Are you the two who brought in George Upton?" he grumbled.
Shannon glanced at his nametag. "Yes, Dr. Woerner," she said. "How'd he turn out?"
"He's dead," Woerner replied flatly.
Shannon took in a deep breath, frowned and nodded. She had done this for several years now. It happened. She had done all she could.
Just the same, it never failed to ruin her day.
"He hung on all this time?" Ian asked.
"No, I've been with other patients I couldn't leave waiting," snapped the irritated doctor, "but you two are perfectly healthy and so I figured I could prioritize appropriately, which is more than I can say for either of you."
"I'm sorry?" Shannon blinked.
"You two want to tell me how you turned a simple slip-and-fall transport into a clusterfuck like this?"
"Wait, what?" Shannon worked to control her voice. "He had the cardiac in the wagon while I checked on him. Doctor, we know what we're doing. I'm a nationally-certified paramedic and—"
"Not for long," the doctor interrupted. "I've got my copy of the paperwork. You can explain this to your bosses before you're suspended, Ms. Abrams."
"Suspended for what!?"
"I didn't lose that patient, Abrams." His finger came up at her chest. "You did." With that, the doctor stormed off.
"What the—what the hell?" Ian burst when his jaw came off the floor. "Is he off his meds or something? We did nothing wrong!"
"Off his meds or suffering from having his head up his ass," Shannon concurred.
"I mean, did you do anything wrong?"
"No," she shook her head. It wasn't her first ambulance ride. She worked to resuscitate the patient the entire way to the hospital, going above and beyond anything expected of her by the book. She did nothing out of bounds for her certification level.
"Because that guy's gonna claim we fucked up!"
"He's gonna claim I fucked up," Shannon corrected. "All you did was drive the bus."
"Jesus. This is really shitty," grunted Ian. Shannon noted that his anger had suddenly diminished into mere annoyance. "Hey, I'm gonna go hit the bathroom and then we can get out of here, okay?"
"Sure," Shannon nodded. She watched as he left and let out a sigh. It really would all come down on her head alone. The whole thing was baseless, of course; the doctor had no case at all. Yet she'd still wind up having to deal with it, and her supervisor wasn't exactly known for his backbone.
Glumly, Shannon waited for Ian to get back. Boredom got the better of her. She pulled her cell phone out of the pocket on her pant leg, turned it on and looked for messages. She found a single text from Brad. Shannon opened it up, hoping for some sort of encouraging word from her boyfriend of over a year.
"I hope I'm not an asshole for breaking it to you like this," read the text, "but it's just not working out anymore. There's just no spark. I think we should both move on."
* * *
Serena's voice mingled with the weak sighs of her partner as they came together yet again. Her shapely ass ground against his hips while her hands busily worked the outer flesh of her sex, drawing out her orgasm well beyond his. Her body gleamed with sweat. Jack's grew ever paler.