Page 40 of Cade

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Why have none of them come in or killed themselves?” asked the man in the uniform.

“Bill, Bill, Bill,” smirked the man. “These things take time. You have to nurture them to life. It’s going to be a while before we can nurture another group. In the meantime, we need to get rid of the current group before someone finds them. I’ve got the signals being sent out. Sooner or later, the pain will get to them, and they’ll help us out. Easy.”

“It’s not fucking easy, Jon. You’re killing my fucking Marines. You were supposed to make them fearless, indestructible.”

“Indestructible was never the goal, Bill. I’m not creating cyber-Marines. I’m creating Marines that follow orders to the letter. Never again will they question orders or think for themselves. You tell them to jump, they say ‘how high.’ You tell them to leap, they say ‘how deep.’ Perfect.”

“They need to be able to think for themselves, Jon. But I don’t want them to fear anything. We’re losing our edge, our reputation as the baddest of the warriors. I want our enemies to see a Marine and quake in their boots.”

“Egotistical much?” smirked the other man. “Look, the world is a different place than when you were on the ground. Every fucking country out there has their version of spec ops and super-soldiers. I’m just trying to give us a leg up. These men will follow orders and not question anything. They won’t stop until their bodies physically can go no further.”

The old man behind the desk stood, pacing around the room. He grabbed the cup of coffee on his desk and took a sip, staring out the window. In the distance, he could see the Lincoln Memorial. Nearer still was Arlington National Cemetery.

“Those headstones are of brave men and women who gave up too quickly,” he said quietly.

“No, they are of men and women who died because they followed orders from men like you and me,” said Jon. “Don’t get patriotically delusional, Bill. They stepped on landmines. Snipers shot them. They drowned in sinking ships. They took orders from incompetent fools that sent them into no-win situations. Nothing would have changed any of that.”

“If we make them unafraid, maybe it will change it,” said the older man. He set the mug down and turned to his friend. “Find them. Make sure they’re either cooperative or dead. We need to find another unit to test. I should know by the end of the week if I’m sending a unit into Mogadishu.”

“Why the fuck would we go back there, Bill?”

“Because!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the desk. “We have unfinished business there, and I need to show that my Marines will do as directed.”

He nodded at the old man, leaving him in the wide office space.

Bill watched the other man leave and finally took a seat at his desk. Turning the big leather chair toward the window, he stared out at the white headstones. He’d been a Marine almost his entire life. His father was a Marine and his sons had both been Marines. Now they lay among those white markers, forgotten by the country they served.

Plopping into the chair, he let out a long sigh, rubbing his leg. The shrapnel was a bitter reminder of all the things he could no longer do. The stabbing pain made it impossible to run or even hike for long periods of time. The Corps had given him a cushy desk job, but he wanted to be back out there, serving his country, finding the animals who took his family.

Right now, he needed relief. Relief from the pain in his leg, but another kind of relief as well. Grabbing his coat, he left his office.

“I’ll be back later, Margaret,” he said to the older woman. She nodded, not asking any questions, knowing she would get no answers. He drove through Arlington, working his way to the small motel near the shore. He’d frequented it for years, always asking for room 347. It was his favorite room.

Using the key, he opened the door and smiled. The woman was ready for him, standing in only a pair of thigh-high leather boots. Her smoothly shaved pussy was wet, glistening for him. She said nothing as instructed, nodding toward the bed.

He set his briefcase down on the floor. Removing his trousers, he folded them and lay them neatly on the chair along with his other clothes. He pulled back the covers and stretched out on the bed, his mangled leg looking raw and painful. The woman stood above him, straddling his body. She rubbed between her swollen lips, and his eyes clouded with desire.

Reaching down, he stroked his cock, bringing it to life. No touching. That was the rule. No touching, no penetration. She rubbed, lifting one leg, and pressing it against the wall. He had a clear view of her sweet juices and groaned, rubbing himself harder.

She moaned, twisting her own nipples, jutting her hips forward as the cum squirted all over him. Moments later, she urinated on his chest as he tugged harder and harder on his cock, the hot juices flowing from his own organ.

Smiling down at him, she saw the satisfaction on his face. This was the easiest job she ever had. He never liked to touch, which was fine by her. Five hundred an hour, he could do all the kinky shit he wanted. And he always wanted her to piss on him. Freak.

She started to step off the bed, and he grabbed one leather-clad ankle. Shaking his head, he pointed to his hardening cock. She raised a brow, not saying anything. The bastard was paranoid about listening devices.

Grabbing her other ankle, he forced her to straddle him again, but this time, he flipped her over on the wet bed, his tongue racing up and down the crack of her ass. She felt a bubbling of panic, then realized this might be fun. The old guy had a decent dick. It might be enjoyable. She felt his fingers enter her pussy and ass at the same time, and she gasped.

“Shhh,” he demanded. She nodded, feeling him wrap a hand around her mouth. Without warning, without lubrication, he rammed into her ass, and she attempted to scream. He squeezed her face, holding his hand over her mouth. “I told you to be quiet.”

Nodding, she felt the tears rush down her face. It wasn’t her first anal, but it was her first without lubrication. He was rough. Rough and hard, his hand ramming into her pussy as his dick worked her ass. She felt him cum again and thought he would be done, but he wasn’t.

Flipping her onto her back, he gripped her wrists in one hand, his tongue sliding between her breasts and then up to her mouth. Biting into her lips, she cried out, and he slapped her hard.

“Rough stuff costs more, baby,” she said, trying to maintain control.

“Rough? This is nothing,” he growled. “This will be more than rough.”

Her eyes went wide as he brought out a cat-of-nine-tails. Shaking her head, she began to cry. Surprised by the old man’s strength, she felt the cuffs at her wrists as he twisted her around, then placed cuffs at her ankles. He pulled her legs apart, the extendable pole forcing them a few feet apart.

“P-please,” she gasped. When the ball-gag was shoved in her mouth, she knew that this was not going to end well. All she could hope for was a quick end. But she wasn’t that lucky. She’d never been that lucky, and General Bill Pitre was not in a mood to give her any leeway at all.

“Don’t worry, baby. It’s only going to hurt for a little while.”

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