by Moore, Gabi
I had no idea where my father met him. It wasn't like my father to hang out with military types, in spite of the fact that he was sympathetic toward historical revolutionaries.
There tends to be a big difference between historical revolutionaries and military types. Historical revolutionaries are often times scrappy looking, farm boys. They have cigarettes dangling out of their mouths, and they typically don't have a problem with spending the evening with a bottle of alcohol. If they know how to shoot, they know how to shoot because of a desire to enact their dream against whatever oppressive forces they happen to see within society.
Military types are different. I could tell this one was military because of his posture. The way he held himself was different and sufficient to be marked as unique. From the looks of that, this guy was an American, but he could've been German if I hadn't heard him speak earlier. He had that whole Aryan thing going for him, with the height, and wide shoulders. He was clearly a stud, and when I saw him I felt my body respond in a way which indicated that I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to fight, flee or fuck forcefully.
"How the hell did you find me," I asked.
It's not that I didn't know that my dad had sent him over here; I just wanted to hear the words out of the man's own mouth. I wanted to hear that my father was no longer interested in helping me out and that he wasn't brave enough to say so himself. Obviously, a bit of my contempt was seeping through.
The man didn't see a point in responding, so he didn't. He walked into my living room, without so much as asking me if he could come in.
"Some fucking manners you've got on you," I said.
"I'm not here to impress you with my manners. Besides, the way that you treated your father earlier, I'm not sure you're deserving of many manners at all."
"What are you,” I asked, smirking. “Some jar-head stranger come over here to teach me a lesson?”
"Is there a place I can sit down," he asked, staring deadpan into my face.
I could tell that the man was not amused, and since it seemed to me that I wasn't going to be able to get rid of him anytime soon, I waved him into the kitchen. He pulled one of my cheap chairs, so that it squeaked on the linoleum floor, and had a seat. I sat and watched him for a moment, not wishing to say anything. I wanted to get a sense of who he was and why my father had sent him over.
The backpack which I had dropped off at my father's shack earlier was around the man's shoulders, so that much was obvious about the man's reason for visiting my home. I felt like if I could read into him a bit more, I might be able to discern something more about his character.
It was my intuition that a man of this size does not run errands for fishermen because he's bored. Had he been a long-standing friend of my fathers, I might have thought differently, but earlier that afternoon was the first time I had ever seen him.
"I see that you brought the package which I had delivered intentionally to my father."
The man turned the package off from his shoulders and set it down on my own table with a resounding thump.
I was reminded of how I felt so accomplished knowing that the package was secure, and was more than a little annoyed that my work had been undone.
"Did you look inside?" I asked, walking over to the table so I could inspect the contents of the bag.
I didn't wait for a response, and I knew that if this person had taken a look at the contents of the bag, which was likely, then my father might have unwittingly made things significantly more complicated for me. I wished that he would have simply provided assistance when I needed it most.
I unzipped the back while hunching my shoulders over its contents. Peeking into the bag and rooting around on the inside, I came to the conclusion that while things were not in the exact same order that I had placed them, everything was accounted for.
"Nothing is missing," the man said, "but one with think you would know better than to drop something like that off at your dad’s house. Especially when he has got nothing to do with whatever it is you got yourself wrapped up in."
I zipped the bag shut and left it on the table.
"Did you come over here to reprimand me, or are you here for some other more pleasurable purpose?"
“Pleasureful for you, I doubt it. Actually, I'm in a bit of a bind, and I could use some help. Your dad seemed to think that you would be in a position to assist me."
I had to laugh again. Really, my dad was too much to handle.
Not only did he feel comfortable lecturing me when I dropped by his place, in spite of the fact that I was helping him out. But, in addition to that, he sent army boy over here back with the bag that I had planted intentionally. Now, with the problem of the bag still not taken into account, this guy thought I was in a position to do him a favor.
“I think you better leave right now," I said. "Not that I don't appreciate your little visit. If you have seen the inside of the bag, and you know that I've got more on my mind than doing favors for men like yourself.”
“Men like me?”
“Men who are instrumental in making my life exponentially more difficult than it needs to be,” I replied, coldly.
"Do you always blame people for your problems? You're free to do what you want, but there are more productive ways for you to spend your time. Besides, I’d hate to have to share what I know about your business with local law enforcement,” he said, leaving me with a thinly veiled threat.
I stopped in my tracks, forced to re-evaluate.
“You really aren’t a friend of my father,” I said, taking a long, hard look at him. “If you were a friend, then I seriously doubt that you would have any interest in bringing me into prison.”
I shook my head from side to side and then decided that this man was most likely bluffing, just to fuck with me.
“I’ve got a sample from the bag, and I’ve stashed it somewhere safe,” he said, pulling a cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “As a matter of fact, I can have the police here in about four minutes. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Don’t do that,” I said, not even wanting to dare him. Too much was at stake, even if he was bluffing.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I need some help getting out of the country.”
“Ha! You’re not a keen negotiator are you? The Consulate is on the mainland, you can go there, and I’m sure they will take care of whatever passport needs you have.”
“I can’t go to the Consulate.”
I smiled at him, knowing that he couldn’t go to the Consulate. I just wanted to hear it from his own mouth.
“Why’s that?” I asked, innocently.
“Look, are you going to help me out, or am I going to have to call the police, and lock you and your little operation up?”
I ignored his threat, and pointedly asked about his own obvious predicament.
“The only people who ask me for help getting out of the country, are criminals or spies. Which one are you?”
“A strange mixture of the two, with a little bit of loyalty to a man who doesn’t want to see you wrapped up in whatever it is you’re doing with this,” he gestured to the bag.
“Loyalty? Did he give you some kind of sage-like advice, because I know he didn’t give you any money.”
“Your father saved my life. I’m just trying to help him out, and get back to the United States. You don’t really have a choice in the matter, so you might as well start complying. I’ll call the police right now, and it will make your life a lot more difficult than it already is.”
“Call them,” I sneered, “I’m willing to bet that whatever it is you are running for is a lot more severe than whatever it is you think I’m involved with. Not to mention the fact that I have enough friends with money to make bail within one night.”
He shut up and lowered his head. Obviously, I had struck home on something vital. Victory felt sweet.
“You will have made my life a bit more difficult in the short term,” I continued, “but within a week
, I’ll be back to my routine, and you’ll be in the Italian equivalent of Guantanamo.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, looking up and staring at me.
His forthright way of addressing me caught me off guard. It wasn’t as though he was asking me why I was pitting myself against him, but more why I was involved in the whole process. I was startled and stopped for a moment.
The strangest thing about being involved in a long-standing activity is that you tend to forget why you got caught up in the activity in the first place. The rest of the actions which comprise the daily course of behavior tend to be somewhere between compulsion and obligation.
He saw me give pause, and my pride took over my critical thinking abilities. All I wanted to do was finish my most recent assignment and get moving onto the next one, and I didn’t feel like it was necessary to invest a lot of time in this man’s moral inquisition, or whatever the fuck he was trying to do.
“You brought this on yourself,” he said, standing up from the table.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, slightly caught off guard, yet authentically curious what he believed he was going to accomplish next.
“If the police aren’t going to scare you, then, believe me, I will,” he promised. “I’ve made it a personal skill set of mine to learn how to scare people like yourself. I don’t even have to try that hard; it’s something that comes naturally to me.”
“What do you mean, people like me,” I said growing a bit tense at this man’s forwardness.
He got up from the chair, walked behind me, put his hand on my ass and he held me down onto the table.
Chapter 9 - Piper
I would have resisted, but I thought instead to play it cool.
“Seems like you’re just looking for a score,” I said, smiling at him from my position on the table. “I’m not sure how scary that is.”
I tried to push up, to show some resistance, but his hand was held firm on my lower back.
Feeling a man in that much command of my body, while I had just been interrupted in the middle of a private fuck session has its way of putting me in my place. Turns out, I didn’t actually want to get up. Before I knew it, my pants were down, and he was behind me, spitting on my butt cheeks and digging his fingers into my body.
“Maybe I’ll let you scare me just a little bit,” I said, grunting while he slapped my bare ass with his hand.
“That’s polite of you,” he said, punctuating the comment with another slap.
“What a hard-ass. Are all military types total fuckboys like yourself?”
He had already slipped a finger into my cunt.
“Fuck boy,” he laughed, “you’re the one who’s soaking wet.”
He unzipped his pants and slapped me in the ass once more. “Spread them,” he commanded.
Placing his cock up toward my cunt, he pushed inside of me and began to fuck me slowly on the countertop.
Getting taken like this in my own kitchen was a bit incredible for me, but in that moment, all I could think about was how incredible it felt to have this man inside of me.
I moaned, and pushed myself back toward him, trying to get into the fuck and make myself as wide open as possible. His cock pushed harder inside of me with each stroke, and he leaned hard over my body, ramming himself up against me and pulling my pelvis in toward him with each thrust.
The table slammed repeatedly up against the wall, and soon, he was slamming his balls up against my ass cheeks, shoving the entire length of his cock into me. All I could do was hold on while what seemed like eight inches of hard military cock kept pumping me.
He grabbed my hair, with one hand and pulled me back up toward his body. He knew how to fuck like a man, and while this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, it was a lot better than any vibrator could hope to achieve.
I raised a leg up on the table so I could give him better access. Leaning in, he bit my neck and whispered in my ear.
“People like you get in trouble when they pretend to be more badass than they actually are, don’t you?”
All I could do was moan, plead, and rub my clit while he continued to fuck me.
“Cum inside of me,” I begged. “Please cum inside of me.”
“I’ll cum when I’m ready to, and it may not be anytime soon.”
He grabbed my neck and pinned me down to the table, and with one huge hand, he pulled my ass cheek to the side.
I was so completely used, but feeling that intense lack of control was liberating in a way. I could feel him towering over me, and pushing his cock inside of me over and over. He was a strong man, and his power came through with every single thrust.
“Not so hard now, are you?” he said, his teeth grit and lust fierce in the tone of his voice. “Turn over, I want you to see my face.”
I felt relieved at his command because I did want to see his face. I wanted to imprint this moment in my mind. Not because of some overt longing for this man I didn’t know, but out of a queer fascination for accurate details about the fantasy that had already proved itself to be lurking in my subconscious. I had literally, no more than an hour ago, been fantasizing about this very man. Here he was, treating me like he owned me, in my kitchen, on my fucking table nonetheless.
Turning around, I saw his face, and I stared at him, unblinkingly, being bold, and being real — while still offering my body in submission.
That was the key to being a sexual submissive - in my opinion. You stood to gain a lot by letting a man or a woman totally own your body. You stood to understand more about yourself and more about the other person than they every might have shown you in your entire relationship. You stood to learn more in those precious minutes than most people would learn about that person in their entire lives. Sex was a powerful thing like that.
As far as I was concerned, this man had dropped off the package here, and while that was counter-productive to what I was hoping to achieve, he had also brought a cock… which he obviously wasn’t afraid to use. For that last, minor detail, I was prepared to forgive my dad’s indiscretion. Watching him press my thighs up against my body, holding my ass up in the air in front of his cock, I thought I might even help him out with a passport.
Or maybe not, I smiled to myself, my grin turning fast into another rush of pleasure and pain while he pushed himself into me once more. I could get used to this.
My thoughts were immediately shoved aside as I lost track of everything except the slow and persistent thrusting. I was rubbing my clit furiously with my hand, holding on to my forehead, and my ass, alternately.
I continued to moan, and pray, my mouth spread wide, hoping for anything, but not really having much room in my brain to do anything besides get fucked and let myself go. I was in a totally passive position, and I had let this man put me there.
I massaged my clit; occasionally slapping it as I saw fit. I was working up toward an orgasm, but the sensation was really one of fullness more than anything like what my dildo had prepared me for earlier.
Placing a boot on the table, he began to level himself so that his entire cock was sliding into me. Feeling the burn as his lubrication started to wear thin brought a heightened sense of urgency to my masturbation. I began rubbing my clit and squirming on the table, while he pumped himself into me. I looked up at his thighs and saw how powerful they were. I saw the length of his cock push into me, and more importantly, I felt him. It was like he was literally pulling my insides out with his cock, and all I could do was rub my clit and hold my legs toward my chest.
“… Uh, I haven’t ah — ooh,” I tried communicating, but all I could do was grunt and curse. “Fuck…”
My hand rested on my head, and I let my hand press up adjacent the wall next to my head. I decided that instead of making small talk, I should just be giving him more encouragement.
“Fuck it,” I started telling him, between grimaces. “
He pushed my entire body onto the table and rest my legs on the side. He pressed his co
ck into me once more, and I could feel myself pulling and pushing back in again at his movement. My cunt cupped around the head of his cock and brought him close to me. My tits bounced with the pressure of each firm thrust, and though I gasped and moaned for hopeless release, he held onto me firmly.
Pulling out for a moment, he walked away from the table and sat down on the couch. His dick was firm in the air, beckoning me to sit down on top of him. I didn’t have much of a choice when I think about it. My body was so drawn to him. In that moment, my cunt felt incomplete without feeling the constant friction of his shaft inside of my body. I got on top of him and positioned my hand so that I pushed the head of his cock into me once more. I gradually lowered myself onto the length of his dick.
I kept up the rhythm, but mostly out of the desire to be fucked, more than any respect for the tit-for-tat source of effort. He had done his job fucking me in the beginning, and now I was here bouncing on top of his body, letting him bury his cock deep inside of me. My mouth was open, and my breasts were pressed down firmly on his chest. Gravity and a little bit of hip action were doing most of the work, and the work was wonderful.
We embraced for a moment, but soon he was on top of me once more.
My ass was spread up in the air, and his hand was pressed once more on my head. He was pushing my cheek down into the fabric of the couch. I could feel his fingers digging into my scalp. And as though he could read my mind, he formed his fingers into a fist and began to pull my hair while pushing me down — sending me into a cocktail of pleasure and pain. I grit my teeth, and spread open for him, wanting him to continue, but also wanting him to finish inside of me. I was looking for the moment when his pride would come down, and he could join me in a collapsed heap on the couch.
At the rate he was going, that didn’t seem like it would happen too soon.
The two of us moved forward in this pattern for a few more moments, and I found that I was addicted to the sensation. As soon as he would pull out, I would back up and position myself in such a way that he could penetrate me once more. I wanted to feel him explode inside of me so badly.