Many thanks go to RF-Fast for his editing and suggestions that enhanced the story. Any bad grammar left is wholly on me and my artistic style.

LEGALESE: Don't read this if you are underage, if it is illegal in your area, if it is offensive to you, or if you cannot distinguish fiction from reality. This is a work of fiction. All characters active are of the age of consent.

I don't consider myself a writer or author, I'm a storyteller. So please take that into consideration when you read it, it should be read like someone is telling you the story. I am not now, or never have been, an English major. So synonyms may be wrong, and the grammar may not be correct, but it is like people really talk. I've never talked to someone that had perfect grammar.

I write for my enjoyment and for the people that like it. If you don't like how and what I write, oh well. Don't read it. My feelings won't be hurt.

For those of you that do like what I've posted so far, thank you and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

A word of warning, I write good stories, I hope, with some decent sex in them. If you're looking for a stroker look somewhere else.

Copyright (c) 2020 by Acup

The disclaimers have been moved to the end of the story for my A D D readers.

I have an additional note of thanks and gratitude to all our men and women in the armed services around the world, We the people extend our deepest gratitude to all of you that support and defend our constitution and our freedoms day in and day out. Without you and your brethren, the American way of life would not be possible.

This thanks extends to all of our dedicated police, prosecutors, and jurists that take the same oath to uphold the constitution.

On that note, I have been around, but not directly served in any of our branches of service. To those of you that have or are, there will probably be many glaring but unintentional errors in this story. None are meant any disrespect.

To those jurists that uphold the letter of the law as well as the spirit behind it, this story began long before our benches were being repopulated with actual jurists instead of activists. All too many of the lines referencing that period of time were just too good to take out.


I looked back over my shoulder, not knowing if I should grin or cry.

There were four oiled women. Four totally naked women. Four totally naked women flaunting their bodes at me. Four totally naked PREGNANT women flaunting their oiled tits, big bellies, and spread pussies at me.

I turned back to the helm grinning and shaking my head knowing I was going to be balls deep in one of those asses tonight... and I am still SO fucked.

Back to the beginning...

I had only been in the sand box for three weeks when I was hit... HARD. I had seen Mary and Caroline many times... in uniform. And let me tell you, wearing a helmet and vest and all the hardware, pretty much takes the 'feminine' out of any woman.

Now after hours when the battle gear was removed... OH YEAH! Her ass was just inviting you to take a second look even in her fatigue pants. The outline of her small bra showing through her OD t-shirt was nice enough to keep me and several of the other guys looking. They may have been squad mates, but they were still two of the very small female population here on base.

And then came that day, the day the arrow went straight through my heart and did a U-turn to hit me a second time.

We were on our way back from the chow hall, enjoying a few days of down time. We 'just happened' to be coming past the showers. Not that ANY of us would have remembered it was female's only time at the showers.

We were about fifteen feet away when a vision appeared coming out the door. Mary and Caroline so far out of uniform it probably caused any man in sight to immediately become vapor locked. Towels wrapped on heads, and another around bodies, clothes in hand, giggling at each other.

I had to stop and stare. Their towels were just above their hard nipples, stopped just barely past freshly washed pussies. And that was when Mother Nature and Cupid tag teamed me.

Like an answer to a soldier's prayer, just as they got to the corner of the tents a good wind gust met them. Caroline was able to grab her towel and keep it around her, but the wind took Mary's completely out of her hand. She screeched and dropped her clothes, trying to figure out how to get the towel off her head and still keep herself covered. Meanwhile every man around was hooting and hollering.

Even in my stupor I managed to grab her towel where it landed a few feet from me, shake the sand out, and try to wrap it around her delicious, glorious, naked body. Only my sunglasses kept her pulling the knife from my belt and putting it between my ribs for where I was looking.

The towel wasn't staying in place very well, so I peeled off my shirt and let her use it to cover up with.

Even covered up, her swinging ass and muscular legs looked damned good in my shirt. I was razzed all the way back to our tents.

But now I was lying on my rack in a daze kicked back with my eyes closed. That scene playing over and over in my mind in ultra slow motion. Like stop motion, slow motion.

The wind whipping the towel up. Her freshly shaved mound coming into view. As her hand came down, the wind opened the top and then blew it away from her body. The view of her hard body permanently etched in my mind as her hands shifted, hoping to cover yet giving me a view of everything one way or another.

Her small firm tits with those proud chewy nipples drew your eye and mouth in a battle for supremacy. She could be, hell she should be, on the cover of any muscle magazine in the world with that body.

I laid there fantasizing what it would be like to be with her. Married, off someplace with a herd of kids running around us.

There was a knock at our door the next morning, and I answered it to find my shirt hanging from the latch. A note of 'Thanks' pinned to the collar. I lifted it and inhaled. It wasn't very strong, but it still retained a nice hint of body wash or shampoo. I folded it and enjoyed the scent for several weeks afterwards.

And life went on in the sandbox. Out on patrols, taking out the Taliban whenever we could, just meshing into a group. Well almost.

If we were a family, Harry would be the father. He was on his second tour, and mentored us in how and what we had to do in order to survive over here.

That left Ian on the other end of the spectrum, Ian McGregor. The brat of our little military family, the self-important Brit. He always thought he had a better idea, a better way of doing things, 'Like we do back in the UK.'

As a general rule, we team planned. Specific target missions, Harry would lay out the mission, and a probable mission plan. Then we'd chime in on tweaks or alternatives. As an unwritten rule, they went about ninety percent the way Harry planned them. But all rules are made to be broken to Ian's way of thinking, especially if they weren't his rules.

He had been a pain in the ass from the start, but since that day we saw Mary lose her towel, it was like he was on testosterone fueled overdrive trying to impress her. We'd finally had enough, and let him plan 'the perfect mission.'

I looked at Harry and shook my head, he just shrugged as Ian was rattling on. I didn't like splitting up the team, but if we wanted to do it his way, two people would have to cover the back. And he picked Caroline and Frank.

So two days later we were at the compound. Spread across the front, waiting for Caroline and Frank to make their way around the back. I tried to talk to Ian about a possible change, but didn't get a response.

After my third try he came back, "Sorry, I had my earpiece out. Thought I heard something."

Before I could ask again, Caroline and Frank were in position and Ian gave the go ahead.

We attacked... an empty compound. We cleared room after room. We did find a few disguised pits in the front courtyard, and Ian sent Caroline and Frank around back again to see if there were any more back there when all hell broke loose.

We heard it coming at the last second. Diving for the ground as it hit. Freezing in place waiting for the next rounds, but no more bombs came in. Then running around the back to see if Caroline and Frank were okay since we couldn't raise them on the radio.

There was a big fucking crater in the back yard. No sign of our squad mates. We fanned out searching, then I heard a wail from Mary.

We ran to the noise. She was sitting on the ground with Caroline's helmet in her hand. A while later we found Frank's boot with his foot still in it. They had taken a direct hit.

Ian stepped forward to console Mary, but she went right past him to Harry. I didn't see it then, but Ian was pissed she didn't go to him.

And then I fell flat on my face.

I came to on the chopper, my leg hurting like I had a knife in it. Then I felt a needle in my arm, and I was off in la la land again.

I was in and out for a while, before waking up in a hospital bed with my leg up in a sling. Seems I had been hit in the bombing. A big piece of scrap metal had done wonders to my leg.

I was off to Germany for my recoup and rehab. I was lucky it didn't hit the bone, and my muscles were healing nicely, but it did nick a nerve.

I was just barely able to pass my physical qualifications. It felt like I had a knife twisting in there, but one way or another I was going to get back to my unit. I had seen the look on Mary's face after Caroline was killed.

But when I got back, Harry could see right through me. It was the most painful thing I ever did, confessing to him. But I didn't want to be discharged. He sighed, and then worked his magic.

I wasn't going back to the unit, not directly. I was going to the support staff. I was going to be in a tent watching the take from the drones, relaying info to the team, and most importantly in my mind, planning or assisting in planning the missions. I kept an eagle eye on Mary.

At first I didn't like not being out there to protect her. But I soon found out I could do a lot from here with the drones. Quite often when Ian was doing something stupid I could warn the others about it. Three times I was able to tell the guys to go in a different direction when they were about to run into an ambush.

And I started making my own copies of the mission tapes after two of Ian's fuck up tapes disappeared.

After a particularly bad mission and Ian's disobeying orders almost got Harry and Wildman killed, I filed a report, I didn't wait for someone from the squad to do it.

Ian fought it grinning. His grin died when I produced copies of the missing mission tapes. He was downright pissed when he was demoted and sent to the motor pool with a permanent mark on his record. No more mister hero soldier for that asshole... EVER!

Try as I might to get her to re-up, when her tour was complete, Mary mustered out. She went to a civilian contractor. Better pay, and no front line action. I saw her from time to time in passing, but she wasn't the same since Caroline's death. Six months later I got word she went back stateside.

When my next physical came up, I didn't push it, and was sent stateside as well. I was lucky that I wasn't pushed out. I could do most of what I had been doing, just from an air conditioned building instead of a hot tent.

A few months after I was stateside I managed to track Mary down. She was working for the same contractor. Mostly training and some transport security. And I was a VERY bad boy.

I sent up a computer to monitor everything I could to get on anything Mary. I hacked nearby cameras and put in facial recognition software to keep track of her.

I was just about to see if I could get some laser mic's to put on her windows when I got the call.

Wildman was moonlighting working security for some big wig, and their boat had been hijacked. Weird thing was they were on the south side of Cuba. In a matter of hours those of us still around from the old unit were on emergency leave and headed for the keys.

We had a rough position for the boat, and several ideas laid out when the British asshole walked in. He saw me and glared. He wanted to lay out his ideas for rescuing Mary and the family. When he found out it was Wildman and not Mary he shut up, and without anyone else noticing, disappeared.

It was a pretty straight forward takedown. We used a RIB with an electric motor at night. The crew was on alert. But a diversionary boat on the other side let us swim up and take the assholes out.

Wildman was in rough shape, but the family was practically untouched. He also told me the hijackers were asking where Mary was. This was supposed to be her gig, but bowed out at the last minute.

That changed my whole outlook on Mary and Ian.

I stepped things up on both of them, but for totally different reasons.

In Mary's case, I became the stalker from hell. If she had any idea the surveillance I had on her she would have cut me to pieces, and then she would have killed me. Her apartment was bugged, her car was bugged, her email mirrored, her phone cloned. I had a dozen computers doing nothing but listening for keywords. Anyone she met more than once was checked out up to their eyeballs.

Ian was a different matter. The asshole was slippery, doing his best to be off the radar. But I was worse than any bad NSA story you have ever imagined. Any agency I could ask, cajole, bribe, or blackmail for information on him and his past I did.

His recent history wasn't too difficult, but it had a LOT of holes in it. But I was persistent. I stayed in the service doing mission planning and preparation, letting me dip my fingers into all sorts of electronic pies.

His recent history made me want to dedicate a loaded drone to drop on him. Usually Ian was playing both sides of the conflict, selling inferior weapons to the side he wanted to lose.

But I was also making headway on the past. The bits and pieces I was picking up made me want to just go shove a knife in his heart... if I could find it. It wasn't enough where I could actually prove anything legally, but there were tooooo many coincidences.

On the flip side, Wildman decided to start his own security company. Several of our squad mates that had mustered out teamed up with him, and I did a lot of part time planning for him. All the extra money from the side job went to improving my surveillance of Mary, and uncovering more dirt on Ian.

We were getting a good reputation for problem solvers... and then the British asshole shows up again.

He's the point of contact for a family that was hijacked off the coast of Venezuela. I immediately don't like the situation. But Ian is playing nice. All he's doing is providing the contact. All he asks is that his nephew tag along so he can say his company was involved. The big surprise was Mary showing up. She had been tipped we were planning a rescue and wanted in.

With the insurance company's strong suggestion, I let the kid hang around, but made sure Ian is well clear of things. The kid was on a need to know basis, and he was going unarmed just in case. His need to know was microscopic, and I didn't need to get shot in the back.

IR showed all clear. Four hostages and five hijackers. No unusual activities or signals other than a tracking beeper, and that was easily spoofed.

Two nights later on a moonless sea we made our approach. I was taking readings as we got close, then tossed a signal jammer over the rail as we dived in. The kid was headed off at an angle in the RIB with a tracking beeper doing its imitation of the hijacked boat.

As usual, the idiots are out having a smoke, lights on. I could almost have climbed on board in an orange safety vest and not been seen. It was pitifully easy. We had three down aft with ventilated skulls, and the other two were holding their rifles by the barrel when they saw their comrades fall.

I made the call to the local authorities that we were secure, and it was like being back in the sandbox again. But this time the streaking mortar went for the RIB

In moments we were on high alert. The hostages on the deck were ready to jump for it if another came in. But in less than a minute there was a cutter pulling in beside us, asking if that explosion was part of our distraction.

All we said was no.

And no more 'help' from Ian... EVER!

But shortly after that, we had a few missions go sideways, with several hostages getting injured. And a few months ago, three of our finest were ambushed.

As word got out about these incidents, business declined. Wildman decided to wrap things up and retire to Fiji, or Hawaii, or anywhere warm with girls in bikini's, or girls not in bikini's, or... well you get his drift.

And I stayed in the service.

I did dial my surveillance of Mary back a bit. I had debated on putting a few dozen camera's in her new place, but couldn't quite make the leap to do that. Well not that many. I did ONE, in the living room. Just enough for facial recognition to get a good picture of any guests, all automatically run through by the computer.

I had tried to overdose on Mary when I first installed the mic's, but after too many stories about her time in the sandbox it became clear I was in the 'friend' zone.

I probably would have backed off the surveillance even further, but too many bad characters were trying to worm their way into her life, and a few of them had shady connections to Ian.

I did feel better when Mary joined up with Harry doing protection work. I did chuckle at Harry taking the occasional hit job. He would just grin watching some drug runners head explode through his scope. His compatriots scrambling like cockroaches wondering where the shot came from.

Mary was usually spotting, but if the situation was right, or if they were holding women hostage, Mary was hell on hormones with those guys. She wouldn't admit it, but there was one I swear she missed on purpose... twice. One in the thigh beside his balls, and the other in the wrist, before taking the head shot.

And I kept picking away at Ian, and researching our last two ops that had went so terribly bad.

I did my research, tracking signals and such after the last op went sideways. Finding out two of the guys we hired were plants from Ian. There were cell signals that shouldn't have been there.

I invited them to dinner at a nice restaurant, and put a trace of polonium-210 in their water glasses. "Why'd you do it? Our guys got killed."

Bart shrugs, "You fucked with Ian, made him look bad."

"And for Ian's fuck ups, you let three good men get killed?"

"Wasn't his fuck up." Gregory said. "You screwed the missions somehow."

I shook my head, my conscience clear. "And the fifty million didn't hurt." They both grinned. "Well don't waste your time boys, can't spend it if you're dead."

I tossed my napkin on the plate and pushed away as the 'waitress' gave them fresh water instead of filling their glasses. Those glasses left with us and went into a lead box. Even with the minute trace amount we used, you can't allow any of that stuff floating around where innocent people might suffer like those assholes. And in my mind, they deserved every agonizing minute of it.

I hacked their accounts and left them fifty thousand each to get by on the next few weeks to pay for their hospital bills and funerals. The guys they got killed went quick, these two assholes would suffer for weeks, and they probably weren't smart enough to even know how. I made certain Ian's blood money went to the families of the men he got killed.

And life went on. I still did planning and logistical service, also getting into a bit of import export. Legally... mostly.;u=15872