Classified (The Harem at the End of the Galaxy, #2)

by Kenze, Kyle

  Table of Contents

  Classified (The Harem at the End of the Galaxy, #2)

  A Peek Inside

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About Kyle Kenze

  Classified

  The Harem at the End of the Galaxy #2

  By

  Kyle Kenze

  ©2018 Kyle Kenze, All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design ©2018 Ming Destiny

  Except for brief passages quoted for reviews and/or recommendations in magazine, radio, or blog posts, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. Please don't post my stories on sharing or pirate sites. The small fee you pay for my books allows me to continue writing the sexy sci-fi harem adventures you crave.

  If you are offended by explicit descriptions of the realities of polygamous harem sex including nudity, multiple erotic encounters with a variety of thirsty women, threeway and more-way encounters, frequent physical contact between open-minded women, and a good helping of gratuitous swearing, then boy oh boy... you have picked up the wrong book. All characters are consenting adults over age 18.

  This story is fiction written for entertainment. The cover models are for illustration purposes, and no model was involved in the activities described in this series. There may or may not be secret bunkers underneath the Pentagon, but the one described in this serial novel sure ain't them. This novella is around 13,000 words, and the entire 5-book novel-length series is around 55,000 words.

  A Peek Inside

  Clayton Parks is just another low-level civilian contractor. Then he's mysteriously assigned to a time-travel team working in a secret bunker in a sub-sub-sub basement deep beneath the Pentagon. And now every woman in the galaxy wants to get her hands on him.

  “This directive comes directly from the top.” Rhonda Chambers turned away from the monitor to scrutinize my face. “I wasn't informed in advance, which is unusual, to say the least.”

  Makes two of us.

  “I, erm, I wasn't informed either, ma'am.” That seemed like a safe thing to say.

  “You can speak freely here. This is a clean room. A Faraday cage. It's where I process all of the so-called special handling above-top-secret clearances.”

  I saw on a UFO/space aliens conspiracy program that there really wasn't any such clearance level as “above-top-secret,” but I didn't need to get off on the wrong foot by nitpicking her terminology.

  “By ‘top,’ you mean General Dyers? She's the one who picked me for this assignment?”

  Her eyebrow arched again. “By ‘top,’ I mean the Joint Chiefs. Although I suppose it's possible your General Dyers had some input in the selection process.”

  She stared at me, and I stared back, and finally she shrugged. “Well, I wouldn't expect you to share your information. Evidently, you're a highly experienced agent.”

  Evidently, yet another woman had the wrong guy.

  “According to this file, you have special training that qualifies you for traveling to...” She shook her head. “It says, ‘the future.’ I have no idea what that's code for, but I assume you do.”

  “It's an experimental time travel device. Exactly what it says on the box.”

  “You don't need to get salty.”

  “I don't mean to be rude, ma'am, but I'm not sure exactly what you want from me.”

  Her cool eyes swept me up and down. “Oh, I think you know very well what I want from you. It's time for you to start stripping. It's you and me here in this room right now, nobody else. The NSA, the DSI, the CIA, and maybe fucking ESPN and the Disney Network may have issued you a security clearance that gives you access to secrets at the highest level, but you still have to go through me.”

  She had a studied way of folding her arms under her chest to make her perky tits stick up even perkier. Unintentional cock tease or fully deliberate test of my willpower?

  Down, boy.

  I unbuttoned my shirt as slowly as I could and still be in motion. Chambers took a step forward and smacked me on the butt. Hard.

  “I'm not playing with you, boy. I don't have all day. Get those clothes off.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  You asked for it.

  She didn't comment on the growing size of the erection I exposed, although she did arch her right eyebrow even higher. Picking up a handheld scanner, she walked slowly around me to move the device about an inch away from my naked skin. There was something sexual about the close inspection of my body, and I struggled to control my response. When she squatted to scan between my toes, I could look down at the bounce of her blonde hair.

  Impossible not to flash on a fantasy about how it would be to have that blonde head bouncing at crotch level...

  Chapter 1

  When you're staring down the collapse of the late, great planet Earth, you don't sweat a few credit card bills. Although I still didn't have all the details of what the new job involved, I'd be working in a classified above-top-secret bunker several levels below the last official basement underneath the Pentagon.

  Exactly where the girls at the end of the galaxy had said I'd be.

  Fuck it. No use saving for a future that didn't exist. Smoke 'em if you got 'em. The Maneki-Neko thumb drive in my jacket was a pretty big clue that we had only days remaining until life as we knew it came to a screeching halt. So why not order a silver limo complete with a driver wearing a penguin suit?

  Tonight, Brandy wasn't a messenger girl at the Pentagon. She was an auburn-haired beauty in a thigh-high pink mini-dress who showed off endless miles of bare leg when she stepped out of the limo. Somebody's phone camera flashed we walked into the club.

  “They think you're a celebrity,” I said.

  “I can't believe you're spoiling me like this. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

  “That's because you are special.”

  I tipped some snotty maitre d’ to escort us to the best booth in the VIP restaurant, where we ordered a bottle of Cristal and pan-seared Kobe steaks. Tonight, I didn't care what anything cost as long as it brought that look into her eyes.

  I'd never eaten in a restaurant booth with curtains on it before, but I could roll with it. At these price points, the tactful waiter knew exactly when to pull them shut in order to give me some private time with the gorgeous girl across from me. The dress was cut as low on the bodice as it was high on the thigh, revealing a delectable expanse of vanilla decolletage. Seeing where my eyes went, she giggled and patted the leather next to her.

  “Come sit next to me.”

  Did any red-blooded man ever say no to an invitation like that?

  After I settled in, she draped her hands behind my neck and turned me so we were face-to-face. Her scent enticed me with a hint of citrus-vanilla, a twenty-first-century version of the galaxy girl's fragrance. My dick stirred.

  “You're still tense. I can tell.” Her hands rubbed skillfully into the back of my neck. “Are you still worried about your ex? You can talk about it if you want to. Or not talk about it.”

  There was no crazy ex, just a story I made up on the spur of the moment after my vanishing act on our first date. It was easier to say I was ducking a stalker than to admit I'd popped out of her time and into the future. Some life events are just too fucking crazy to be explained. Here I was, a perfectly ordinary t
wenty-eight-year-old office droid, and suddenly I had a wild story of being abducted by the future so desperate women could milk me for my healthy Earth spunk?

  Nobody would believe that shit.

  Fuck. I didn't even believe it myself. Except...

  Now I had to.

  The thumb drive in my pocket was the proof. They say the crazy person is the last one to know he's crazy, but I honestly couldn't see how the latest twist could be dismissed as an overactive imagination or psychotic break. For one thing, I'd had no idea the general was considering me for a promotion that involved moving me out of my cubicle and down into a top-secret sub-sub-sub basement underneath the Pentagon.

  The girls of the future told me that. Then I laughed at them and told them they had the wrong guy.

  Well, fuck me, who was laughing now? I'd been assigned to the very basement they predicted. When the virus hit - if it hit - I'd be the guy who survived.

  Yep, at the end of time, after the aliens from Andromeda wiped out everybody else on the planet with a Y-chromosome, I'd be the last man standing on the other side of the experimental airlock.

  I shuddered. Thinking about the end of the world wasn't conducive to a pleasant evening.

  But Brandy's smooth, strong hands sure were. She worked them down my neck and out into my shoulders. “Poor baby. You feel as if you have the weight of the world on your back.”

  “I sort of feel that way too.”

  “Dyers expects too much, considering you're still a fairly new hire.”

  I shrugged and tried to laugh. “I guess that's why they pay me the big bucks.”

  She laughed too. Neither of us was rolling in it by D.C. standards, but we could live like the other half for just one night. “This is a nice place. I never ate in a fancy restaurant with curtains on the booth before. Is that so I can make you feel real good? Because I can totally distract you from all your problems.”

  One hand kept massaging into the nape of my neck and under my shirt to knead my shoulders. The other slid down, down, down the length of my spine to slip under the waist of my dress slacks. We leaned into each other, my lips claiming hers, my tongue thrusting flirtatiously into her passionate mouth. She tasted of champagne. Intoxicating.

  “You can be honest with me,” she whispered. “I just need the truth. Tell me. Do I seem like a dirty girl to you?” She took a deep breath. “Maybe I didn't tell you before, but my last boyfriend dumped me for having too many orgasms.”

  Her last boyfriend was a loser. “Fuck him,” I said. “You can have all the orgasms you want around me.”

  She giggled into my mouth, and her fingers slipped under my boxer-briefs. “He was wifey shopping. Guys think they need a respectable spouse in D.C. They can't handle my energy.” The fingers curled around my shaft, grasping me firmly to squeeze tight and then relax, squeeze tight and then relax. “Can you handle my energy, Clayton?”

  “Oh, fuck, yes.” I knew I was in a restaurant, knew there were people beyond those curtains, but I didn't have the tiniest fuck to give. Trying to keep up my end of the conversation while enjoying her naughty semi-public hand-job demanded all my attention.

  “Yeah. He was a loser. But I think I might have a winner here.”

  “Uh, yeah. Me, winner.” What were we talking about? Not really the boyfriend. This was about Brandy testing me, just a little. She was both poly and pan, and she'd been upfront that she expected her next boyfriend to share her with her girlfriends. “I'm sorry he was so shitty to you, but you can always be honest with me. I love it that you're so passionate.”

  I swallowed a gasp of pleasure as she tugged my ever-escalating erection out into the open. How could mere hands feel so good? Part of it was the thrill of getting away with something. When we stopped talking, we could hear the murmur of voices from other booths, as well as the clink of crystal champagne flutes and the ringing of silver utensils against heavy china plates.

  As we locked lips to exchange a long wet kiss, we both understood we'd gone far beyond a hand-job. Giggling into my very mouth, she shifted around on the leather seat to swing a leg around my waist. That fast, she was sitting on my lap with her sleek pussy positioned to settle itself in place over my bulge. Brandy's little pink dress didn't have any visible panty line because she hadn't bothered with any panties. The soft, silken folds of her waxed nether lips spread slowly and sensuously on top of me. Her nipples were so hard I was afraid they'd poke holes through the fabric of her dress, then my shirt, then into the meat of my chest.

  “I'm going to fuck you now, Clayton. Here and now. You want it, don't you? I can feel how much you want it.”

  I did. It didn't hurt that the girls at the end of the galaxy had told me to spread my seed around in my own time, not just theirs. Although I wasn't sure why it would matter from a cosmic standpoint, it wasn't a suggestion I was eager to ignore.

  Brandy's loose tresses bounced over her bare shoulders. Her hips rocked and her pelvis twitched, and then she was sitting down hard to deep-claim my personal pocket rocket. This wasn't the time or place for extended foreplay. This was a place where you got away with doing the deed fast and furiously before somebody barged in to interrupt.

  Movie stars, rock stars, athletes, top models... they'd all fucked here. And now I was fucking here too. Being fucked, really. Being ridden. Being used. And the rider was a frantic redhead who bucked faster and harder, her long legs locking around my waist.

  For a minute, a part of me was still tense. Still conscious of all the possible varieties of disaster.

  A waiter could waltz in at exactly the wrong moment to ask us if we wanted another bottle of champagne.

  The time travel scoop could blast me back to the future.

  The aliens from Andromeda, assuming they actually existed, could pick this night to release the virus that wiped every Earth male from existence...

  But that was silly. Fear was silly. It wasn't even real.

  Brandy, this hot, passionate girl bouncing in my arms... she was real. She was what mattered.

  “Faster,” she cooed. “Oh, that's so good. Faster.” As if following her own directions, her talented pussy milked me at high-speed. “I'm sorry to jump you so fast, but it's been too long for me. Way too fucking long. Too many guys with hang-ups who think they won't have a career in D.C. if they let go and have fun.”

  “Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry. Fuck, no, don't be sorry. You're perfect the way you are.”

  A nipple popped out of her low neckline to poke into my chest as urgently. Her clit was a hard ruby digging into me much lower down. My dick danced up and up to meet her, happy to corkscrew around until the probing, thrusting head connected with her deepest places.

  I forgot everything but now. The end of time and humanity didn't exist. The only reality was the two of us fused, our bodies thundering across the finish line.

  After, giggling, she used a white linen cloth soaked in champagne to wipe us clean. My whole body hummed with post-coital satisfaction as we tucked and smoothed ourselves back into presentability. We'd gotten away with a semi-public fuck, and I didn't know when I'd ever felt more alive.

  We'll never die. We'll live forever. Immortal.

  The pink flush on the creamy upper curves of her beautiful boobs told me she too was experiencing the same post-orgasmic surge of well-being. It was a classic case of the afterglow.

  By the time the waiter in the penguin suit opened the curtains, Brandy and I were sitting across from each other in our proper places. We were both smiling cat-who-ate-the-canary smiles, and I never doubted for a moment he knew exactly what we'd done. Two other penguins rolled over the dessert cart. If it was going to be the last night of the world, at least it was going to be a good one.

  Chapter 2

  Grasping an Americano in a paper cup like it was a life preserver in a shark-filled sea, I presented the Maneki-Neko thumb drive to my handlers in Human Resources. Several people gathered and whispered slightly out of hearing range while I waited w
ith growing unease on a green leatherette couch. The thumb drive was a message even before anyone had read the encrypted passcode.

  After a time, I was approached by a MILF in a navy skirt suit, which isn't such an uncommon type in D.C. “I'm Rhonda Chambers.” Her firm handshake would have done General Dyers proud. Fortyish, with tight tits and tighter cheekbones, she wore her straight blonde hair in a long bob of a type favored by many female newscasters. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she'd started out with ambitions to work in media, but now she was somehow something in HR.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Mmmm.” She lifted one perfectly-shaped right eyebrow, hinting at skepticism. Apparently, not everyone thought I was the man for the job.

  Whatever the job was. Did she realize no one had got around to telling me? She walked fast in low-heeled navy pumps that matched the navy suit, and it wasn't long before she was leading me into a private office - not a cubicle but a place with real walls complete with several large, embedded monitors. Snapping the Maneki-Neko drive into a control panel, she frowned at the string of numbers appearing on the monitor closest to us.

  Meant sweet fuckall nothing to me.

  “This directive comes directly from the top.” She turned away from the monitor to scrutinize my face. “I wasn't informed in advance, which is unusual, to say the least.”

  Makes two of us.

  “I, erm, I wasn't informed either, ma'am.” That seemed like a safe thing to say.

  “You can speak freely here. This is a clean room. A Faraday cage. It's where I process all of the so-called special handling above-top-secret clearances.”

  I saw on a UFO/space aliens conspiracy program that there really wasn't any such clearance level as “above-top-secret,” but I didn't need to get off on the wrong foot by nitpicking her terminology.