by Dani Stowe
I am pulled from my thoughts as I feel fingers on my back and I know its Senator Jones, so I turn to grip her wrist. “No, ma’am,” I say as she steps naked into the shower.
God, she’s beautiful. Naked and without her façade, she looks more powerful than ever. I look at her full breasts with soft pink-colored nipples, which look exactly the way I always thought they would if one of my comic book heroines had ever been drawn naked, and my dick gets hard. I feel more like a kid than ever.
I have a superhero in my shower.
But the man I am knows this can’t happen. She’s looking for comfort and as hard as my dick is pointing at her, I’m going to have to ignore him or my superhero will be scarred for life.
Gemma puts her other hand on my wet chest and I grab that hand and pull it away. “You need to calm down,” I say and she reaches her mouth up to kiss me. I pull back and turn us both to shove her whole body under the shower. She gets angry and she smacks me.
“What the hell?” she slurs with a mouthful of water as her body gets wet. I reach for the shampoo and she smacks me again. I squirt some shampoo over her head and she whacks me in the gut. I start to wash her hair as bubbles fly in my eyes though she keeps smacking me, mostly on my chest, and finally. Finally! She finally starts crying.
“They took me,” she cries.
“I know, baby, but I got you back,” I say as I tilt her head to rinse her hair.
“I want to make this work,” she says.
My heart is reverberating. I want to believe her, but I don’t know if she’s saying all of this because it’s true or if she’s just afraid to be alone and I happened to be the guy that saved her.
“Senator Jones—”
“Gemma!” she barks.
“Gemma,” I smile, “You’ve been under duress. Let’s just relax and take it easy for a few days,” I tell her.
She argues with me about it, making several attempts to get physical with me, but eventually I’m able to help settle her mind with soft hands and soft kisses to assure her rather than turn her on and she eventually calms down.
The truth is, I don’t want to be the guy that saved her. I don’t want her to look at me like I’m the guy she owes anything to. I don’t want to be the superhero she feels a need to give homage. And I certainly don’t want to be the soldier she feels she has to work for to keep happy. I just want to be the guy. Her guy.
Chapter 11
Through Monday, I slept on the couch leaving Gemma the bed, but she managed to slip between my arms and I woke up in the morning with a kink in my elbow from the weight of her head.
On Tuesday, I decided I would sleep next to the bed on floor so she’d know I’d be near, but Gemma complained all the next day of the kink in her back after climbing out of bed in the middle of the night to sleep next to me on the floor.
Come Wednesday, I was sleeping in the bed next to her because she insisted she was not going to be able to sleep with the nightmares she was having.
By Thursday, she seemed to sleep well, but it was me who could not catch a wink being so close to her—her soft skin, her long legs, her ass scratching against me in the bed.
And now, it’s Friday.
She’s made limited appearances in the office and on Capitol Hill all week, claiming she’s had the flu, despite the fact we are months away from flu season. But I’ve still had to report for duty and go to work, so she’s spent her days with Graham; I always hear them arguing in my apartment as a brother and sister would (I guess) before I reach my own front door each evening.
But there’s something different about today. I don’t hear any arguments and there is a small waft of smoke coming out from under the door. I run to it, grabbing my keys in my pocket to open the door, and rush inside.
My apartment smells like burnt eggs mixed with burnt brownies and pickle juice, of all things. I think it’s all supposed to smell good, but the burn stings my nose.
“I’m so sorry,” Gemma cries, as I cover my favorite nonstick frying pan, which looks like it’s been hit by a thermobaric bomb, with a lid and open the windows before turning on a fan.
Oh God, she tried to cook.
Between the clouds of smoke, I notice the mess of groceries, utensils, bowls, and pans sprawled over the countertops so I start to help her clean up as I hear her sob.
“You don’t have to do this kind of stuff, Gemma,” I say and decide to grab a garbage bag and just throw everything inside. “I know this stuff feels like work to you. You don’t have to do it. In fact, I don’t want you to do it.”
“But I wanted to do something nice for you,” she says. “You saved my life, you let me stay here, and you...,” she hesitates, “did all that work on me weeks ago without getting anything in return.”
I laugh as I tie up the bag and then wash my hands. I take off my camo jacket and turn to take a seat on a dining chair.
As I reach down to untie my boots, Gemma speaks. “I still want to make this work.”
I look up through the little bit of smoke left as I slip off my boot and by God! I had no idea she was naked—mostly. The only thing she’s wearing is the pink and gray camouflage printed kitchen apron that was left tied around her waist.
I try to be cool. “I don’t know, Gemma. I love having you here—”
“Love?” she interjects as she walks closer and I never noticed how cute her bare feet were.
I slip off my shirt. “Yee…yeah,” I stutter as Gemma kneels at my feet, right between my legs, and undoes my belt for me. I stop her when she reaches for my pant button. “I don’t know if you’re ready for this.”
“I’m ready,” she says.
I brush my hand through her hair. “I just don’t want you think you have to work to stay here.”
“Be honest with me, Bastion,” she says as she rips open the Velcro to the crotch of my uniform letting my rock-hard cock fly out to smack her in the face. She takes a grip of it and now I’m fearful. I feel like she could crush me—send me into oblivion with her superpower because I want her so bad. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do any of the work?” she asks as she glosses her lips over the tip of my dick.
My entire body trembles.
Should I let her do this? What if it’s too soon after being kidnapped? She did use the “L” word.
“You can work the lips,” I tell her.
“Lips?” she asks and she kisses the top of my cock.
Ah, fuck! I wanna blow my cum allover her beautiful face.
“How about a little tongue? You want me to work that too?” she questions.
I lean back into the chair because I feel like I’m about to fall over as Gemma licks up the length of my shaft and engulfs me with her warm mouth. “Yeah, your mouth. Work your mouth,” I mumble.
Gemma bobs her head up and down and I grip the back of her head by the hair to help her slide her mouth over my shaft—in and out, because God! She’s working so hard. Her lips are wrapped so tight around my cock. Her spit is dripping out of her mouth and down to my balls, which are beginning to ache again. I’m afraid I’m about to blow, which I’m mentally not ready for and I yank Gemma’s head by her hair off my cock.
“Titties.” I say. “Make those titties work for me, too.”
Gemma looks at me with a crinkled forehead and she leans forward squeezing my cock between her big, warm tits. I pinch each nipple and she gasps then I squeeze her breasts together tight around my shaft. “Bounce them for me, baby,” I tell her.
Gemma starts bouncing her tits up and down and fuck! She’s so amazing!
“Am I doing a good job?” she asks. “You like how I work that?”
I grab Gemma by the back of the head once more and pull her up to me with both hands. I kiss her so hard, a moan vibrates at the back of her throat.
I’d love to be back there—the tip of my cock deep in the back of her throat, but Gemma needs love. If I make her work too hard, she’ll still be confused about the difference between work and love. “Ho
w about your pussy, Gemma? You wanna work that for me, too?”
Gemma fumbles to straddle me over the chair and pauses. For whatever reason, I know she’s scared. My heart is racing, my cock is desperate to pulse inside of her, and I feel like I’m a ticking time bomb about to explode.
“Let me in, Gemma,” I say looking up to her and I caress her breasts. “If you fall for me and whatever happens between us turns out to be more work than you can stand, I promise I’ll pick up all of the slack. I’ll put in the overtime, whatever it takes to make loving me easy for you.”
“I know this apron came from someone else,” she says, “someone who’s probably willing to work hard to be with you. So, why me?”
“Because you’re my hero.”
I can’t tell if she’s laughing or smirking. “But you saved me.”
I reach behind her to untie the apron she’s wearing and toss it aside. I put my face in her belly and I can’t help but sound like I’m begging as I grip her waist tightly, “You’re my hero, Gemma. Please, save me now.”
Gemma slowly comes down onto me. The slick, wet, warm embrace of her tight pussy welcomes me and by God! I feel super. As she rides me, I feel like I can do anything, take on anyone, defeat any enemy, and I would do it all for her if she asked me to.
“Make me come, Bastion,” she says and I push her off me. She watches me as I get up to slip off my pants. I pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder and toss her onto the bed.
I settle myself between her legs and for a moment she looks like she’s about to pout, like she thinks she’s being defeated. I stare into her eyes and I see her. She’s been fighting this—fighting us, and she might not even be ready for love but fuck it. She’s a superwoman and she’s going to handle this—handle me and how I’m about to work her.
I thrust myself into her and I thrust hard over and over again doing all the work to make her feel full and good inside and I come to know why she’s been so reluctant to get involved. Underneath the superhero façade of wealth and power, she’s as frail and soft inside as any girl but she doesn’t want anyone to know about it.
Luckily, I do know and I want her to know me, too, so despite the softness, I fuck her hard. I listen to her whinny yelps as I stretch her pussy hole and get deep with each bang of my long, thick, rock-hard cock and I watch her as she comes.
Watching her, hearing her, feeling her—it all feels so damn good and I blow up inside her. Like a villain, I’m loving the screams as each one of my climaxing pulses allows me to feel how vulnerable and fragile she really is, but I can’t seem to let up with the pleasure and simultaneous relief I get.
Me, my cum, my love—it’s all inside her. No more aches. No more pains. Oh God, I’ve been saved.
I fall heavy on top of her. I don’t want to move but she pushes me and I roll to her side.
“That was a lot of work,” she smirks.
“That was hardly any work at all,” I assert and she laughs. “Don’t laugh,” I warn as I rub her jaw with the pad of my thumb. “Just wait until I make your ass work for me.”
Gemma rolls to face me with a smile and grabs one of my hands to grip one side of her bottom.
I grip and jiggle her fine piece of ass in my palm. “I’m not talking about your ass cheeks, Senator Jones. I’m talking about your asshole.” Gemma puts her superhero face back on as she stares me down with blue beady eyes through her long brown hair and I can’t resist climbing back on top of her. “Don’t worry, baby,” I assure her with a soft kiss although I know she sees the real me now—the villain, who has won and she can’t resist. “We’ll work up to that.”
Chapter 12
“Cracker Jack!” I yell. “Stop making the kids cry.”
“Bro,” Graham yells back as he shoots a foam dart right into the forehead of Gunner’s son where it sticks. “I’m teaching ‘em how to be badasses. They need to learn this stuff early or they’ll end up behaving like hoodlums and they’ll have to go camp.”
“But I thought you liked camp,” shouts Christine, the camp counselor who I caught screwing Graham and is now his girlfriend. She’s shouting from a second-floor window of Gunner’s house that looks like a fucking castle.
I’m proud to say I know Graham would sacrifice his life and maybe even scale a castle wall for Christine considering the way he’s looking at her. But he doesn’t look at her too long as he’s overtaken by a bunch of sweaty, red-caped, high-on-candy kids. I just shake my head as Graham actually starts moaning for help and goes down like a villain, defeated.
“Where did our wives go?” I ask Gunner as he flips a burger.
“I don’t know,” he says, “maybe they’re putting some candles on my kid’s birthday cake.”
I take a swig of my Sam Adams. “It’s too bad Jet couldn’t make it. I think you did a really good job with this party. It reminds me of when we were kids.”
“Yeah, but I made sure nothing will get blown up today.”
“That’s too bad,” I say. “It’s not a real party until emergency services shows up.”
“Shut up, bro,” laughs Gunner as he lays some hot dogs on the grill. “You’ll jinx it. This is a Badass party so that doesn’t mean someone won’t accidentally fuck shit up.”
“C’mon brother,” I say as I look around at the dozens of happy smiles. “Nobody’s going to fuck it up.”
I notice my bother gets distracted. “Oh no,” sighs Gunner. “What the fuck is my wife wearing? And Graham’s girlfriend? Are they wearing groupie gear?”
I turn around and notice Camilla, Gunner’s tiny wife, walking towards us steadily. She’s got two shot glasses in her hands, but it doesn’t hide the gray shirt with white lettering that says, ARMY WIFE. Behind her is Graham’s girlfriend wearing a similar shirt that says, ARMY GIRLFRIEND.
“Here you go,” says Camilla as she hands both Gunner and me a shot glass.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Bacardi 151.”
“What are you trying to do? Get me drunk? That’s an over-proof rum. I have to drive back to D.C. tonight.”
“Trust me,” says Camilla in her former Battalion Commander stern voice. “Drink it. You’re going to need it.”
I sniff the shot glass and a heavy dose of alcoholic fumes singe through my nose hairs. “Need it for what?” I ask as I put the rim of the small glass to my lips and I’m about to down the rum when I see Gemma. She’s wearing a similar shirt to Camilla and Christine except it’s a bit longer—reaching to her thighs, but it has different lettering on it that spans across her abdomen. I squint to make sure I’m reading it correctly: ARMY BABY.
Gunner starts yelling at the top of his lungs as the side of my face gets hot; I realize I’ve dropped the shot glass of Bacardi into the grill and a huge flame has ignited.
“Oh shit!” escapes my mouth as I slam the hood of the grill down.
Gunner laughs along with Camilla, Christine, and Graham, who’s come running to my aid. “You okay, brother?” asks Graham and I nod.
“I guess it was just a matter of time before something blew up at this party,” affirms Gunner, “and it looks like your wife just dropped a bomb.”
I try to get a grip. Gemma looks worried as she’s stopped dead in her tracks in the grassy backyard. She still looks like a superhero standing calmly among the chaos of caped kids whirling in circles around her and I hand Gunner my beer to march towards her.
“Are you upset?” Gemma shouts as I get close and notice her steal-blue eyes look like they lost their superhero powers again, unable to read what I’m thinking.
I grab her face and I kiss her; I kiss her long and hard and little kids are beginning to gather around teasing us with woos and hollers.
I speak in her mouth, “So, we’re having a baby.”
She smiles coyly. “That’s what my shirt says, Army Baby,” she sings in a bashful but hopeful melody.
“Well, I’m a little disappointed,” I say and Gemma’s face turns sour as her lower lips pouts.
“It should say, BADASS ARMY BABY.”
Gemma smiles and gets teary eyed as I kiss her again and I swear to God, I must be the luckiest guy to ever walk on planet earth...until I’m shot in the head with a foam dart that stays suctioned to my temple by Gunner’s son in a red cape.
“Senator Jones,” I ask my wife, “isn’t it your job to inspect weapons on behalf of the House Armed Services Committee?”
“Yes,” she laughs and I get struck with another foam dart that stays stuck on my cheek.
“Well, you’re not doing a good job. I thought these weapons were supposed to be safe.” I pull the darts from my face only to feel another one strike and get stuck to my forehead.
“I’ll tell you what,” Gemma says pulling the dart off, “if you can withstand a few hits for the rest of the day, like a good soldier, I’ll let you blow up in my mouth later.”
I get to have my cock in a senator’s mouth. I’m taking all the hits today.
“Get behind me,” I tell her as I steal one of two guns from another kid running by.
“What?” she asks in a whine. “Those foam darts aren’t going to hurt me.”
“I know, but it’s good practice for me in case we have a girl.”
“Give me that,” Gemma scoffs as she grabs the toy gun and shoots two kids plus her brother right between the eyes. “It is a girl.”
Gemma takes off with the gun I stole to play with the kids and my heart is soaring; I feel like I could fly. I watch Gemma duck behind a table to avoid getting shot at then I see her smiling as she fires another shot and I can’t help but imagine the little girl growing inside her who I have no doubt will turn out to be a superhero, exactly like her mother.
I think about my mother, my adoptive mother. It’s her I owe for all these superhero fantasies. She fed me comic book after comic book because she knew how much I enjoyed them growing up. She used to say I could be anything I wanted. “Be all you can be,” she said. I can’t help but laugh; I had no idea she was feeding me a U.S. Army recruitment slogan.