Page 66 of Exit Strategy

She took me in her mouth, more easily than I expected.

I had to use both hands to brace against the rough rock walls of the shower. This place must have cost a fortune. The thought was fleeting, as she took my entire length down her throat, and I felt her nose buried into my stomach. Oh, sweet Lord.Oh, sweet Jesus.

My breathing was fast, ragged. She turned her head up and looked into my eyes. There was a spark of mischief there, and then I felt something – her tongue. Even taking all my length, she could still move her tongue.

Calanthe wasn’t a mortal woman, fallible and flesh. She was a goddess.

Before I lost all semblance of self-control and balance, she released me. There was a flurry of lips and tongue along the bottom of my shaft, and even some attention shown to my balls. They were already tight again. Fuck, I must have been the one with the concussion, because there was no way this was actually happening.

That’s what this all was, a delirium brought on by severe brain trauma.

The real Calanthe was still on the bloodstained carpet. She was leaning over a pink marble sink, spreading her cheeks so that I could see her almost scarlet red slit of a pussy and puckered little asshole, all but begging me to fuck her some more. I certainly wasn’t putting a hand on her shoulder and one on her hip before burying myself inside said pussy. I was on the ground, also beaned in the head with a golden award.

But the truth of the matter was not that.

I wasn’t on my back, I wasn’t injured. Callie was far from injured, alternating between laughing and crying out with pleasure as I gave her my best.

This was real. All of this was real.

I didn’t last nearly as long this time around. I tried to pull out and maybe change positions, give myself a moment to bring everything back down to a ground level. All I accomplished was to paste a few strips of my mess across her shower-reddened ass. I took her, pushing in to the hilt, before the last of my load was spent.

She let out a bright laugh and pushed back against me.

I wasn’t able to stay up nearly as long as I had before, and we retreated to a second shower. This one was much more subdued, and while there was more kissing and she washed my cock again, it wasn’t teasing, it was aftercare.

Shower done, and toweled dry, we went back to the bedroom and the invitation of the probably insane thread count sheets. Sleep came soon enough.

* * *

The first face-to-facemeeting with Fallout was easily enough scheduled. The captain informed me that they weren’t just a group of screaming heads on television; they were a full-fledged political-action committee. It seemed that after bailing from New Eden, Miss Marion Tate entered the political arena, and was working to not just bring down her old green cult, but the others as well. They were legit to the point that they had an office on K Street, the central avenue of lobbyists and PACs in Washington DC Miss Brooks seemed to have a handle on that. It seemed entirely too familiar to call her by her first name; it almost seemed rude.

It was sobering to learn that New Eden wasn’t the only green cult, just the largest and most prominent of them, and close to being the first. Tate and the rest of her people were working as hard as they could to show what a group of assholes New Eden were, and that rather than trying to save the environment, they were only interested in looting peoples’ bank accounts and pillaging their juvenile daughter’snubile pussy.It was insulting just how lacking in imagination they were. The captain stayed back at the base on this job, and it was left to his companion, Kyle Lachlan, Callie, Sadie, and me to complete this particular run.

The roles were obvious. Callie was the warhead. She had all the information that would destroy New Eden. She seemed to have reached some sort of bonding with Brooks, the way they sat next to each other. The thoughts of what we did not so many hours before tried to sneak into my mind. Sadie had spent a good deal of time on Callie’s hair and makeup, making her look professional and slick for a meeting with the Fallout people, covering the vestiges of her bruising perfectly. I let out a sigh. This felt so strange, and I had seldom ever felt so vulnerable and exposed.

Kyle seemed so much cooler than I felt.

I was more comfortable with an earbud, a rifle in a three-point harness, and some body armor. Instead, I was sitting in the passenger seat of a massive SUV, with no weapons, no armor, no communications gear, not even a knife tucked in the top of my boot.

I wished that the SUV had been an armored infantry fighting vehicle, something packing cannons, grenade launchers, and all sorts of radios and scopes. I wanted an M2 in my hands, or the controls for a wire-guided missile – something that would let me reach out and touch someone. What I did have was a set of controls for the temperature of my seat, and how much and what temperature of air I wanted to blow on me.

The building was near the end of K Street. While they were the real deal, they were still small fry compared to some of the major government groups, whose buildings were registered as historic locations or were the cutting edge of modern design and innovation. The budget of Fallout was nothing – a raindrop versus the ocean – compared to the titans in the military, the medical industry, and petroleum. What were we thinking, coming here?

The Fallout headquarters was almost intimately familiar. I had seen this sort of building dozens of times. I could imagine the stairwells in it, where the mechanical areas were. More importantly, where to breach a wall to enter which section, or which pillar to blow to bring the whole thing down. Those thoughts were not very useful, considering that they were going to be on our side, and hopefully come up with a plan for Callie. She was the one with everything to lose on the line.

Me, I was just an ex-Royal Marine. The worst they could do to me was send me to jail for assault. No great loss there, since almost everything of value I owned was crypto or blockchain and beyond judicial authority.

The inside was nice, well-appointed, but there was obviously a budget at work. There was art on the walls, but it looked more doctor’s office and department store than art gallery. Same went for the other small details – low-cost but durable Berber carpet in industrially generic colors. The satin finish paint on the walls was likewise probably picked for how long it would last and for easy clean up. The furniture all had a bit of a worn look to it as well. It wasn’t at the point of being tossed up on a social media sales page, but that wasn’t too far away.

Maybe I was being too critical?

Had all the time I spent working in Hollywood left me jaded to things like glass tables that cost thousands of dollars, and living room sets that were in the tens of thousands of dollars? Was this just a normal political-action office? It had the feel of a lawyer’s office, but not one of the crazy powerful ones, just the sort that had an open door across the courthouse and a block up from the row of bondsmen.

I knew I was nervous. My eyes were moving too quick, and my hands were clenching. I felt like I was about to jump out of a helicopter or go charging out the front of a landing craft like it was fucking D-Day and I was on a mission to liberate France and kill some Nazis. But fuck all, it was just a meeting in an office building with a pretty woman with mousy-brown hair, freckles, and a penchant for screaming at Hollywood mouthpieces.

We didn’t have to wait long.

While I was busy fidgeting with my pockets and my phone, Kyle had everything very smoothly in hand, gliding us through the process of secretaries and functionaries who existed to keep people like Marion Tate from being reached directly. It was a security cordon, a very polite one. The number of doors and the elevator required to reach her would have made her a difficult extraction, if the office occupants had been armed.

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