STORM (Ep 9. It Hurts To Be In Love 2.0)
November 21, 2014, Office of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The three star naval officer read the addendum to the document headed ‘JOINT TASK FORCE STORM–Operation QUIET ACHIEVER-Situational Briefing-CinC’ and exhaled heavily.
Commanding Officer: Jenna Rozlyn MCADAM
DOB: 22 June 1992
Rank and Grade: Lieutenant Commander O-4
Date Appointed: 5 November 2014
Height: 6ft 3in (190cm)
Weight: 352lbs (160kg)
Marital Status: Not married
Distinguishing features: None
Other Matters: Great-granddaughter of the superhuman MI6 operative Jacklyn Steele (alias Heidi McAdam; Evelyn Carmetti). Controversial Issue: See note (4) below.
(4) Ministry of Defence (UK) requests Ms Steele be assigned to JTFS for observational duties during Operation Quiet Achiever.
Looking up at the boyish Army captain standing on the other side of her desk, the admiral tapped on the words ‘Lieutenant Commander’.
“This won’t do.”
“The M-o-D will be aware the C-O for this tour is an O-4; if Jacklyn Steele joins the operation – and before you mention it, Xander, we don’t have a choice – she’ll be demanding to head the J-T-F because she holds the honorary rank of ‘commander’ in the Royal Navy.”
“Like James Bond, ma’am.”
“More like Jaime Summers.”
“Yes, ma’am, but umm, can’t we designate this operation to be U.S. personnel only?”
“And offend our ally? No. And it’s more than just some diplomatic courtesy. Remember what President Johnson once said about J. Edgar Hoover: ‘It’s better to have the bastard inside the tent pissin’ out than outside pissin’ in’ or words to that effect. After the little coup she staged in the Azores we can’t afford to allow her any slack.”
“Notwithstanding our own rather unique team, admiral?”
“Jacklyn Steele is a hundred, no, a thousand, times more powerful than anything the late Major General Andrade produced for posterity in his little laboratory in Fayetteville and what’s worse, the task force’s senior NCO, Caitlin Addams, is completely beguiled by her. No. It’ll be up to our new girl to keep things on the straight and narrow. And on that – I want you to delete any reference to her ancestry. If the President wants to know specifics he can ask directly.
“Noted, ma’am. And the admiral will note that I’ve made no reference to Commander McAdam’s alleged strength.”
The older woman sniggered. “Nothing alleged about it. However … it might be wise to make to some quantification of her muscularity under the heading ‘distinguishing features’.
The captain looked at his electronic notebook, “Biceps 29 inches; calves 24; forearms same; shoulder span, err, 72 … that’s six foot, ma’am, I mean, that’s one mighty set of shoulders.”
“She’s one mighty woman, Xander. Yes, include that information … it’ll help the President identify her if she suddenly appears before him in a small corridor.”
“I think he’ll be the one ‘bracing’,” the captain mumbled.
“God forbid. Now, this issue of appropriate grade … umm, Xander, we still have that vacancy in J-1?”
“At O-5? Err, yes, ma’am, but I understood Colonel Torigaya hoped to have that filled …”
“It will be. Thank you, Captain. If you can attend to those matters and advise the good Colonel that the Joint Chiefs are about to act on his vacancy.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
She watched the round shouldered, olive wearing officer depart and close the door behind him; she picked up the receiver to the desk line and pressing a button requested her personal assistant place a call. In a few seconds she heard a buzzing sound, picked up the receiver again and spoke.
“Commander McAdam? Good morning. This is Vice Admiral Miriam Laidler, I am the Assistant to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff … oh, you’ve heard of me, I’m glad for I wanted to let you know the Chairman has asked me to act as your professional mentor, err, during Operation Quiet Achiever and beyond, umm, encompassing your time as commanding officer of Joint Task Force Storm … correct … first of all, I’ve advised the Joint Chiefs the suitable occupant of this command must be an oh-five so arrangements will be made for you to act at the grade pending substantive appointment. The second thing is uniform costs will be borne from my appropriation so, to put it bluntly, give me the base measurements for your service coat, umm, I need to make certain you’re properly attired when meeting the President … good … excellent … thank you, Commander, my aide will be in touch.”
She terminated the call and pressed three further digits, “Cathy? Yes, in the way we discussed,” the admiral studied her own writing for a moment, “umm, hips 37; waist 28, chest, err, 79 … that’s what I said, 79 inches or two hundred centimetres if you want to talk metric: caused by the expansive back and pectoral muscles F-Y-I. The which? Oh, yes … 78GG. Thank you, Cathy, you know the drill.”
Miriam Laidler hung the receiver on its cradle and broad, gym-built shoulders slumped against the back of her executive chair; steepling and interlocking her fingers, she rested them on her lips, the middle fingers touching the point of her nose. All her protégés had performed with distinction in the senior command roles awarded after time in her tutelage. So why did the Navy’s second highest ranking woman feel so nervous about this one?
June, 2009, the Gulf Coast, TX.
Jenna was walking along the road towards the meeting place. Quarter to four. Plenty of time. Trying to listen to her music. It wasn’t working, she didn’t know why.
Maybe it was her nerves. She wanted him to be there. She wanted him. Period.
Changing at school, she wore a modest blue denim dress, the hem to mid-thigh and uncertain of the protocol at the base a mega-size pullover over the regulation polo and slung about her shoulders. Invulnerability meant she’d become lazy about footwear but today she wore size 14 sneakers and ankle socks. Typically, nothing needed under the skirt and shirt for only Cy and her would know she was without underwear (read ‘she fully intended for him to find out’).
Around the corner and she could see him. Navy working uniform, blue patterned. Standing near his parked car. Looking seaward toward a horizon thick with cloud. He was here! He turned up!
Jenna smiled. She quickened her pace - running speed for most humans, a brisk walk for her - Cy heard her shoes hit the gravel and turned with a broad smile, tilting his head at the sight of the small puffs of dirt sent up as pebbles to sand under the soles. She responded with a wave of her own; she was elated. This would be the best weekend of her life.
“Hello, Cy, great to see you,” she gushed while stopping almost on top of him.
“Really, really good to see you Jen. You’re looking so great,” Cy put his hand on the ridge of muscle to the left of Jen’s neck; she tensed, forcing his fingers to rise near to her ear.
“Y’all looking real great too, Cy, umm, we’re both a bit early, so, umm...”
“It’s a drive so we should get on the road.”
“No. Umm, I mean, look, maybe I should drop off my pack, at home, umm, school gear ‘n’ such.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant so agreed with a lazy shrug and Jenna hopped into the back seat of his car – long gone were the days when two could share the front with her ginormous shoulders – and like cab driver and passenger she directed him into the drive of 6 Bluebonnet Avenue.
“That’s our truck up yonder. Yah see, my Mom and Gran do removals.”
“So is your grandmother as strong as Susie?”
“Pretty much. I’m told it runs back a coupla generations.”
In the drive, Jen exited the car and walked up to the truck, turned back to him and, without looking at where she placed her hand, lifted the Pantech so that its sixteen wheels were over seven foot off the concrete.
“See?” Jen called back to him, “This here’s what I was lookin’ for the other day, Cy. A quick, ten ton overhead hoist to prove how strong I can be.”
Without a hint of effort, she returned the truck to terra firma and began to walk toward him.
“Not that ten ton means much to me at all. Without wantin’ to show off, I’m sayin’ it’s much the same as carryin’ ‘round a cardboard shoe box.”
He laughed, “You trying to, err, get me a little excited, Jenna, I mean, with all this strength and muscle on display.”
She sauntered close and placed hands on hips in a suggestive pose.
“So … did it work?”
Standing eye to eye, toe to toe, Cy’s fingers felt for the hem of her oversized polo shirt and began to push his hands up the inside of the garment; she giggled at the feel of his palms pressing into her abs and breathed in sharply as his fingers found her breasts for the first time, the nipples growing to his gentle tease.
“This answerin’ the question, Jen?”
“Let’s go inside, lover.”
He dropped his hands and she led the way until on opening the front door pointed to a set of stairs that rose in the half-light ahead of them.
“Far room, darlin’; I’m gonna make myself all pretty.”
There was something she wanted to do, always dreamed of doing, and leaving her clothes in a trail behind her, entered the bathroom and found the cologne her grandmother would always wear when she had a planned liaison. Under the arms, under the neck, under the breasts and along each groin. On arrival in her room she found a naked Cy leaning against the dresser; arms folded and everything else looking ready for serious business. She moved to him and swooned.
“They’re great arms, Cy,” she whispered.
“Nothin’ like yours, baby.”
They folded together and kissed, long and slow; Cy struggling at first to overcome the thickness of her pecs to reach a comfortable stance. Soon they were confident enough to allow hands to explore each other’s torso. Cy decided no more time need be spent on reaching home base and pulling her hips a little toward him pressed the head of his cock against her lower lips; Jen broke the embrace slightly and told him she wanted to use the bed. But sure wasn’t prepared for how he intended to get her there.
Cy grabbed her hips tight and for a second she resisted then let herself go with movement; his weight and strength lifted her and cast her away from him so that her muscular three-fifty pounds landed first in the middle of the double bed until momentum and the spring of the mattress took effect and she bounced a second time near the far edge - and kept going.
“Oh shit! Jen, I’m sorry! Are yah okay?”
She sat silent and a little stunned for a few seconds and laughed. No one had ever tried to take on her strength before. No one had ever physically thrown her before. It was a turn on. Big time.
“Yah can’t hurt me, Cy. I’m just surprised yah might wanna toss ‘round a girl who, well, let’s be honest, is a few hundred thousand times stronger than you.”
Jen stood and walked to him, a feeling of overpowering lust swept through her. Cy tried to explain.
“I, err, I just really get a bit physical with my way of foreplay … I guess.”
“You want foreplay?” she was a little bewildered, “I thought foreplay was kissin’ each other down among the muff, not throwin’ a muscle girl ‘bout the room.”
He moved to her and tried a repeat. This time she maintained the token resistance which he couldn’t overcome.
“Try again,” she ordered.
He tried, with some effort; she resisted again before letting him have his way. With a huge grunt he lifted her a foot off the ground and hurled her with all his might. She missed the bed this time, hitting the floor, breaking a floor board and crashing down the lamp on the side table at the same time. He apologised for the damage. She smiled at him - a wicked, lusty, smile - and stood; she eyed that hard appendage and walking toward him, rubbed long fingers inside the damp vaginal lips, smearing hot juices across the tips and flicked them at him. She paused for a second before him, her voice low and demanding.
“So now …”
“Now the World’s-Strongest-Ever calls the shots.”
She turned her back on him and knelt facing the head of the bed, her ass stuck high in blunt invitation. Needing no more explanation, Cy positioned himself behind and pushed himself inside; a place more tight and more damp than he’d ever imagined. She sighed quietly and relaxed herself so he could find a position of comfort and balance. It was then he began to pace himself, forward and back; forward and back.
Closing her eyes, she thought of his cock, feeling it as more thick than long; in the future he’d tell her it was about five and a half inches and much the same around. Not that size mattered all that much to the McAdams. Magnificent pelvic muscles would accommodate anything a man might offer – even a straw or pencil could be held with the force of a hydraulic vice. But from this inexpert teen’s view, his girth and the choice of position would prove strongly in her preference. With growing confidence his thrusts began to collect speed; he picked the right moment to surprise her with an unexpected use of the index finger and hearing her encouragement more carefully brought a second into play; the thrusts moving with steady oscillation.
Time became a stranger to them – until Cy wanted a change.
“No, no!” she cried through gentle pants, “Go quicker … harder!”
As with that second throw, Cy focused all his thought on performance and effort of thrust: only the one thing to think of now, he was giving it his all. Almost immediately she began to moan loud which in turn inspired him. He began to push with his feet, really pressing into her, Jen gave out a guttural grunting noise amidst the panting and general encouragement. He reckoned she had to be getting close.
Jen was face down on her pillows, her arms wide holding the mattress; in the moment Cy announced his inability to hold the pace Jen raised her head and began to swear then exhale aloud.
“Awww … thank … you. Yeah!!”
The tsunami of her orgasm washed him from her and sat him on his ass three feet from the bed. The mattress and sheets drenched, Jen buried her head amid the pillows. For seconds, maybe a minute he watched her until the damp, unkempt dark hair rose and that massive muscular physique began to twist. She was flushed. She seemed a little bewildered.
“Oh, Cy … that was … soo … freakin’ awesome!”
“So are you, baby … So … Are … You.”
“I’ve never … not with such intensity,” she said, still panting.
He laughed and stood, walking toward the bed, “Washed me right out. More of a tidal wave than … well, some women … don’t even …”
“Did you cum, Cy?”
“Umm, yeah, I’m fine,” he reached out to feel her arms and breasts; his cock still hard, she took his movement toward her as imprimatur to lick at the glans and decide for herself.
“No you haven’t!” she protested, “All I can taste is me!” and she pulled him next to her so that he lay across the bed, one massive, tree trunk sized leg rose and as it descended, she eased downward riding him front-on cowgirl. Cy’s face looked up with determined intent.
“Grip me baby, be tight. Real tight.”
She remembered the Gamer Guy and with teeth gritted concentrated on getting the right feel; he mimed a quiet ‘Oooo’ with his lips and closed his eyes; she lay forward, breasts flailing in front of his chest and face with their own momentum, her bulging arms either side of his torso. Jen wanted a quick result.
“Yah gotta grip me, Jenna! Hard, like yah mean it!”
“I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Do it … please!”
She tightened to a feel beyond the grip which made Jay scream; she feared killing the golden goose but no. Cy tensed his face as it determined to fight against her. ‘This is insane,’ she thought, ‘he thinks he can beat me.’
And then he began to breathe heavier; beads of sweat ran on his crimson face; groaning louder; tears began to well in his eyes.
“Once more, Jenna! One more squeeze!!”
She complied and closed her eyes not wanting to watch his pain. And there it was; she felt his body quake and jerk and felt his cock pump into her. She relaxed and Cy breathed out then panted hard. It was weird that at the moment of his release, he said nothing; lying completely silent.
“All okay, Cy?” she asked with genuine concern.
“I’m good,” he panted, his eyes still closed; Jenna considered the tears and sweat stained cheeks and with tender care ran her fingers through his sweaty hair, “That was so epic!” he gasped.
Jen eased herself off him and considered the damp, flaccid squib that had seemed so virile and manly only half a minute before; a ghastly purplish-red; she’d done physical harm. Of that she was certain.
There they remained for a long moment in anxious silence; Jen uncertain what to say; until Cy showed her could be the mature one.
“Probably a bit late to Falstaff now, Jen, umm, three hour round trip.”
She was at least relieved his voice, his face, had returned to normal; she smiled and readily agreed, “I reckon there’s a storm comin’ in so we’re better stayin’ indoors.”
“Yeah, if you can put up with me,” he winked with mischief.
She pinched his arm and thought it deserved a reaction. Nothing. Within seconds a blood blister was starting to form.
“Cy, how much can I, err, hurt you?”
“During sex? As much as you like.”
“Umm, it’s just that there was this gamer dude I saw once …
“Not all guys like what I like, err, don’t take this the wrong way, Jen, but not all guys like chicks with biceps and muscles …”
She giggled, “Yeah, I’m cool with that, it’s just that he had this tragic little winky and, umm, well, cuttin’ to the chase I hurt him pretty bad I think … perhaps I should show yah what I’m gettin’ at,” and in a blink Cy’s body was trampolining as Jen moved to the side, retrieved a shiny silver phallic-shaped object from under the bed; he trampolined more as she leaned over him and waved it in his face.
“This is my Mom’s. Eight ‘n’ a half inches length, five ‘n’ a half round; solid titanium; weighin’ four pounds.”
“Now I’m the one feelin’ tragic …”
“Watch this,” she said in a whisper and with her eyes on his inserted it with oft-practised skill; she grunted; he felt the bed tremor for a half-second and she showed him what was left.
“Fuck, Jen! That looks exactly like a steel file! Shit! One side is completely flat!”
It was a good description for the striations in Jenna’s vaginal muscles had closely grooved both sides of the titanium plane. She laughed at the sight and threw it on the floor with a thud.
“Just so you know yah playin’ with fire, darlin’.”
She leaned and kissed him hard on the mouth, so hard he winced; they groped for a minute, entwining tongues, until Jenna broke the embrace and told him there was some tapas and cheese in the fridge. She left the bedroom and he wondered whether to follow as he was or put on his shorts. He decided “when in Rome” and went with the flow.
Downstairs he watched her prepare a plate of food; the vision amazed him. In the waning sunlight filtering through the window onto Jenna’s naked form, her tan looked so even, so extraordinary, a deep brown or even a mahogany; her head ducked just enough for the musculature of her upper back and shoulders to rise and obscure her scalp together; and amidst all that muscle was that small ass, Cy marvelling at how the glutes concaved at the sides to give them this tight ) I ( appearance before her body expanded again at the thighs. If he wasn’t feeling so sore right now he thought he’d like to start something afresh. But the truth was he’d already shown something of himself that he quickly learned to regret.
“Really great tan wearin’ there, Jen.”
“Thanks,” she said with a nod around toward him, “I’ve always liked the sun and so does Mom and Gran; with these finals comin’ up there’s not much else for me to do ‘cept for study ‘n’ some sun ‘n’ some more study. Err, wanna beer?”
“Are yah havin’ one with me?”
“No bother then … I’m cool.”
Cy had a chance to look around at some of the folders and workbooks she’d left in the living/study area; her chemistry and physics homework. He was mightily impressed. After a few minutes of silence Jenna thought it best to see what was going on.
“I got more stuff on the laptop if yah wanna correct anything.”
“No need for that. This is pretty high standard work.”
“If that’s the physics and chemistry it’s coz I’m pretty much into those subjects.”
“Did yah say somethin’ ‘bout startin’ at U-T Austin in the Fall?”
“Umm, no … I haven’t applied … haven’t decided for sure.”
“Won’t be doin’ anythin’ until next year then.”
Jenna shrugged in that familiar way, not moving her shoulders, just tensing her muscles, “Don’t worry me. I reckon I got time to catch up.”
“Honest, Jen. Give some thought ‘bout joinin’ up.”
“The Navy?” she asked rhetorically, more than a little unimpressed, “I think I answered that last time.”
“What I’m sayin’ is it doesn’t have to be the Navy but if you begin trainin’ now and start a course yah can get credits towards the college degree.”
This interested her and she walked closer; Cy could see this beautifully muscular naked nymph moving to stand directly in front of him and struggled to maintain a line of thought, “Yeah, umm, they signed me up at seventeen. I was a specialist recruit because I’d starting doing undergraduate hydrography courses when I was still in school.”
“Which makes you somethin’ special,” she gushed, her mind getting bored with academic talk and straying back to the personal.
“And Jenna McAdam isn’t? Been tellin’ me since we met how y’all the one of a kind.”
“Maybe,” she said, turning away to collect her plate of food, “want some tapas?”
“Umm, there’s somethin’ else to need to know too.”
She reached for his cock and abandoning all care held it tight, “If my guy is tellin’ me he don’t like my food he might get to feel some serious strength.”
He gave off a nervous laugh, “No, umm, it’s just that the Navy has this device, umm, it’s meant to measure the effect of displacement, err, y’see, I can unofficially-like use it for assessing mass up to a hundred thousand tons. But with command approval I can use it to its maximum extent.”
Jenna nodded and let him go, a little disappointed that in those seconds of attention his libido showed no response whatsoever to her feel. “This’s what we’re gonna be doin’ right now if we kept drivin’ and not stopped off here first?”
He hesitated and forced a week smile, “Because it’s classified ‘service eyes only’. What I’m sayin’ is …”
Jenna’s eyes narrowed and her body seemed to swell in front of him, “What yah sayin’ is that it was all some bullshit to get me to sign up.”
“No, Jen. It was a plan, sure. But it was a plan to get, err, allow, the strongest human being ever born to display her true abilities … to push it to the max!”
She warmed to the idea, “Tell me. What’s the ‘max’?”
“Fuck! A million tons!”
“And I’m bettin’ yah can do it too!”
With a pained expression, her hands on hips; the fact that they were both naked meant nothing anymore. “The thang is this. I’m fixin’ on graduatin’ and goin’ to college whether it be Austin or wherever. I wanna advance myself.”
“That’ll happen, they’ll arrange all that. In fact they’ll want you to go to college and get a degree. Everyone wins, yah see. They get a superstrong young woman with a sharp trained brain and you get education without student loans.”
Jenna swept some food from the plate into her mouth and contemplated her immediate future.
“No student loans?”
“The Government pays you to study, Jen.”
“Do I get a uniform?”
“Sure. In fact, if we do this all proper, you could make ‘ensign’ the day yah turn nineteen.”
“That’s right, Jen. We’ll put you on the path to greatness,” and he looked at the tapas plate. Most was gone. “Hey, yah ate all the ‘Mex’!”
She placed two fingers on a muscled shoulder and began to push him to his knees, he protested and she told him to “hush now”.
“I’ll go ‘long with my guy’s plans, if for no other reason then I wanna challenge myself with that number yah gave me – one million.”
He smiled wide, “That’s my girl … but … why’d yah push me down here?”
“As yah said, darlin’, it’s time to eat. And this mighty muscle babe wants yah doin’ some dinin’ down at the ‘Y’.”
Lieutenant Cyrus Weatherby didn’t need any more persuading. And neither did Jenna. She liked the idea of being able to lift a million tons – even if it was only some machine that was telling her that she was doing it – and she liked the idea of being a military officer too, with a uniform and all the trappings. She reckoned it could be fun.
December 1, 2014, 0705; an apartment near Lincoln Park, DC.
Jenna sat on the lower half of their queen size bed; cross legged and naked. She watched the man of her life return to her from the shower, hands feverishly massaging a towel onto his dark haired scalp; he stood nearby for a moment and she contemplated his strong shoulders, firm torso and flat stomach. But most of all, her eyes rested on his dormant member. It was a handsome beast, she reckoned, and even as it hung flaccid marvelled at the size – longer, thicker than most men at their peak of performance.
“What are you looking at?” he asked in a fake-Boston baritone, her own well-practised mid-Atlantic elocution mocking him.
“What I’m missing out on.”
“’Meaning’ this is the first morning together that we haven’t, you know … fucked.”
Jackson sounded hurt, “Aww, Jenna-babe. I told you. I’ve a meeting with the incoming Senate Majority Leader at eight sharp. And anyhow, we did it twice last evening.”
“Once. You didn’t cum the second time.”
“Yes I did,” he said without conviction; there was no fooling Jenna on matters of this sort.
“You didn’t. I know you, Jackson Walters; you have little tell-tale signs,” Jenna’s voice evolved to a melancholy tone, “now Gabrielle … there was someone I couldn’t pick …”
“Gabrielle was all about herself. Believe me. If you didn’t satisfy her she’d leave you with little doubt of the fact.”
Jenna hadn’t told him about the conversation Zoe had heard spoken between Max and Gabrielle or the coldness Gabrielle displayed when she left Jenna in this very room that Saturday morning; Jenna thought he might be plastering over the cracks in his emotions; and maybe there were some unspoken issues of her own. She pushed a wide smile of contrition and spoke.
“Sorry, darling. Let’s not go there.”
He had this habit of dressing in shirt and tie and then adding cufflinks while still naked from the hips down. Jenna thought it such a sexy thing, almost like he was so reluctant to force his big ‘friend’ to hide from her view. All the same, it felt so weird to be talking of his late wife while enjoying this erotic little show.
“I’m the one who feels the guilt, Jen,” and he saw her shake that mop of unkempt dark hair in a way inviting explanation, “I told her the coke would mess up her mind, make her do something we’d both regret.”
He stepped closer to her and laid out his right wrist, conceding by gesture his inability to secure the cufflink with his left hand, “She was always so selfish, you know, it made me despise her just that little bit more.”
Jenna loved the way he included her in his dressing ritual; and while his words seemed harsh they were spoken with a lawyer’s casual analysis, as though any residual malice had floated away with her ashes.
He kept his hand outreached and kneaded gently at the escarpment of trap muscle on the left side of her neck, “When do you meet your new mentor?”
“Not sure,” she said with a wide smile, happy he was showing her hulking body some reassuring physical attention, “It was meant to happen Tuesday last week, now tomorrow has been cancelled. I might be finished this operation and reassigned before I set eyes on her.”
“Funny how she was so interested in your coat measurements though.”
“Maybe she didn’t believe I have seventy two inch shoulders.”
“Or double G-cup breasts,” he said with a snigger and lowered that cufflink wearing sleeve to give a melon-ripe left breast a firm squeeze; Jenna acknowledged his welcome touch with a giggle.
“Do you want me to do the other one?”
“All fine,” he said attending to it.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Jenna bowed her head and in a blink her tongue was circumnavigating the smooth crimson peak of his cock in a clockwise direction; she heard him gush and sigh and offer meek surprise; the glans slid between her lips, between her teeth, the tongue making room as it began to stiffen and quickly fill the space.
“No … no … Jenna-babe, please … I got this meeting …”
She thought his protests so lame – he didn’t make any attempt to step away – and true to his usual standard he grew hard and mighty with only a modicum of effort on her part. He wanted her, she knew that, but Jenna had to respect his spoken wishes, particularly as he was trying to feebly intervene by holding her slowly thrusting skull in the one place. Not that he had a realistic hope of resisting anything she wanted to do.
“Jen … Jenna! Please! I can’t do this … not today …”
She pushed herself forward to feel the eye press on the back of her throat and to slowly withdraw; he grunted at the unintended strength of a mouth widened to its max and still not quite wide enough; it gave her a wicked idea and in the last moment contracted her lips a fraction and waited to hear his yell of pain. Her response began with wide eyed surprise.
“Ah, sorry! My bad!”
“Shit, Jenna! That hurt!”
“I don’t know my own strength sometimes,” she cooed in a coy way and offered him a cheeky smile. Jackson glared back and moved quickly to pull light blue briefs over his knees.
“You know exactly what you did,” he huffed, “you know the power of every muscle on your body,” not that Jenna was paying attention; even in its waning state, his manhood was enough to distort his tight briefs, the saliva she’d left about the head had formed a prominent dark crescent.
“I thought you liked it,” she sulked in the manner of an admonished teen.
He sighed, “Holy hell, Jenna-babe, you know I’m so hot for what you do … it’s … well, sometimes that strength of yours sure adds another dimension to everything.”
The mischief had returned, “Okay then … remember it next time you try ‘n’ stop me doing what I lerve doing.”
The words stayed around them while he composed himself and secured the belt of his trousers. In Jenna’s mind playtime was over. The working day had begun.
“I’ll text you to say how it went,” he said at last while tying the second of his shoes, “and I’ll get a coffee on the way … so …”
“You’re leaving me all horny and naked and bulging with big girl muscle.”
“You have your own busy schedule to attend to Commander McAdam.”
“Acting Commander,” she retorted.
The suit jacket and charcoal overcoat pulled on, Jackson bent at the waist and kissed her on the incredibly strong lips that he would be feeling for some hours to come, “I’ll see you later, my darling. Love you.”
“Bye then … love you, too.”
Hearing the latch to the door she sat there a moment and thought about last evening. How strange it was that she mentioned Cyrus Weatherby for the first time in years, telling Jackson how Weatherby was this ‘wonder boy’ the top brass used to persuade (read ‘con’) Jenna into joining the military. She still grimaced at the thought. Jackson comforted her in his usual way, the way that always ended with the same outcome. Twice, the first giving into spontaneity in the living room, the second a less frantic and more routine occurrence after they’d stripped for bed. But it was etched in her emotional KPIs that she had to make her man cum – on every occasion, spontaneous or routine. Thinking back to Weatherby, he only ever had one shot in the chamber; nothing she could do would ever get him up twice in the same evening. Spontaneous or routine. One or the other. For never the twain would meet. Jackson was nothing of the sort yet she’d failed to get him over the line last night, well, the second time last night. Maybe it was just that he was such a considerate and caring lover, that he put her needs above his own. She wasn’t used to that in a man. Certainly that wasn’t Cy Weatherby.
And it certainly wasn’t Gabrielle Walters.
Lying on the dresser, her phone began to vibrate with an incoming call and as was her habit at home she put it on speaker. Vice Admiral Laidler. Operation Quiet Achiever has been green-lit by the National Security Council. “No need to meet with the President,” the admiral said, “and our own meeting can wait until a more convenient time. Your team will deploy to Ascension Auxiliary Airfield within forty eight hours. There after you’ll receive classified orders relating to the rendezvous with USS Wasp. Good luck, Commander.”
Jenna pressed the red tab and thought for a moment, “At least we won’t have a problem loading our own gear,” she said aloud. The cell came alive for a second time. Laidler. Again.
“I’m sorry, Jenna, I should tell you this myself. I have a new aide on an exchange arrangement with the Royal Australian Air Force and she’ll be liaising with you on Ascension. Make sure she feels part of the team.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
“Her rank is Flying Officer so she can act as your second in command if you require …”
Jenna was deadpan, “How does she feel about commanding twenty eight muscular women with phenomenal strength and apparent invulnerability? If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am.”
“Her primary role will be to act as an adjutant to your other distinguished passenger. The indomitable Miss Jacklyn Steele. So your questions may well be moot.”
Jenna sighed loud and then regretted her lack of professionalism.
“Is this all satisfactory, Commander?”
“Aye, ma’am. Err, I look forward to working with Miss Steele and her adjutant to fulfil our objectives … ma’am.”
“Very good, Jenna.”
This time Jenna switched the phone off. Twenty eight graduates of Operation Hercules are assigned to this operation, some who’ve never seen combat and the rest are veterans of the now infamous ‘Azores Incident’; Jacklyn Steele, the agent whose superhuman abilities ensured the success of that little coup – for British interests only; Caitlin Addams, the superhuman ex-lover of both Jenna and Jacklyn and recently promoted to task force sergeant-major, the senior enlisted person aboard; and now this inexperienced exchange officer as an ‘adjutant’. Could this assignment get any better?
0810; the Pentagon.
The tall, blonde woman in the blue-grey dress uniform of the RAAF strode purposefully into Miriam Laidler’s office and standing to attention reeled off a snappy salute.
“As you were, Flying Officer,” spoke Laidler’s husky voice; standing, acknowledging the salute and shaking hands, the admiral smiling at this thin, attractive woman’s firm grip.
“I’m pleased to be here,” the Australian offered in that distinctive, vowel-crushing accent.
“It won’t be for long. You’re up to speed on Operation Quiet Achiever so I won’t presume to waste time with courtesies. The British operative Miss Jacklyn Steele will be leaving for Ascension shortly – I mean within a matter of hours – and I want you to be with her on the flight.”
“If I might, ma’am. I’ve taken the liberty of discussing this issue with Miss Steele and she’ll be accompanying me – within the hour, ma’am.”
The admiral looked a little surprised and studied the smiling junior officer a bit more closely, “Of course if that’s satisfactory to both of you as time is important but, umm, I don’t see any wings on your uniform.”
“An administrative oversight, ma’am. You can be assured I’m very experienced with aerodynamics, even before I joined the service.”
“Glad to hear it. The task force will be arriving at Ascension Island no later than Thursday 1900 Zulu. Make sure you two are ready to meet them. Miss Steele knows the task force C-O, err, Commander Jenna McAdam.”
“I do too, ma’am.”
The admiral nodded, “Yes, her fame precedes her; she’s certainly one unique woman.”
“That’s all for now. Good luck and good flying.”
The young officer braced herself, gave forth another stiff salute and once acknowledged turned and strode toward the door; the admiral watched her leave, marvelling at the muscle tone displayed by the calves pumping with each step, “Are you a bodybuilder?” she called out. The blonde officer stopped, turned and smiled, Laidler continued, “a physique or fitness competitor?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t really work out … at all.”
“I competed once myself, err, golly, I sure wish I had those genes,” the older woman stood quickly and moved around from her desk, “but your hair … it is much too, umm, dense and unstyled for an assignment of this type.”
“I’m sorry, I know that but … but there’s a problem, you see … it can’t be cut.”
Laidler returned to her desk and removed a large pair of scissors, “I keep these because I meet a few young officers who claim to favor fashion before protocol,” and returning to the taller ‘Flog Off’, picked at the wavy locks below the cap and attempted to cut off a handful and on failing tried a smaller sample only to fail again - and to blame her tool.
“If I might, ma’am,” and taking the scissors from the admiral, the Aussie-Air-Girl clamped them hard on a thick section of blonde, “they’re not blunt … look.”
The scissors had separated into their two original parts, the fastener giving up the ghost before a strand of hair could be injured. Laidler took the broken pieces, smiled and suggested this extraordinary woman should “make use of some gel.” Dismissing her aide for the second time, the admiral returned to the desk and picked up the receiver of her land line and pressed four digits.
“Good morning, Fiona, Miriam Laidler. Regarding your request to assign the exchange officer to Operation Quiet Achiever. Through trial and much error, I’ve discovered her hair is resistant to cutting … yes, that’s right, I tried to cut it … for one it’s too long and unstyled and for two I’m a three star admiral and if I want to cut an aide’s hair I will … thank you, now, before I can confirm her deployment, I want you to tell me how I could break my best pair of scissors in the act … yes … tell me everything you know about your Miss Zoe McGerrity, Fiona. And I mean everything.”