The Section 2 Smut Locker

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by jedoZhidin on Mon 15 Nov 2010 - 2:43

Still working out the kinks. Plus my characters backgrounds are still being witten up, rather small rewrite for her's, nothing big. For future refrence If I have my facts wrong please correct me. I'm still learning these things.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Alfisti on Mon 15 Nov 2010 - 8:06

@jedoZhidin wrote:Normally to bond a cyborg to a handler requires conditioning. It is generally accepted that the more condition a cyborg has the shorter thier potential maximum lifespan. Thier attempting to use thier prevuis relationship to bind her to him without having to condition her to both be loyal to him and to supress the relevant memories. Thus they can strengthen the conditiong in other areas without increasing her maximum dosage. Thus increasing her maximum potential lifespan. The Cyborgs are to damn expensive to constantly build, so they want to get all they can out of her for as long as they can.
Though my views of how the conditioning works differ slightly Elfen's take, the key points are pretty much the same. I think the major thing you're running into here is that you're mixing up the initial brainwashing and programing process with the chemical medium utilised to maintain the girls' functionality. Things such as loyalty to the agency, loyalty to handler, supression of memories and in the case of the 2nd Gens; tactics and weapons knowledge and so on are in my view instilled during that initial process. After that the actual drugs the girls take on a regular basis effectively grease the bearings, let their brains interface cleanly with the cybernetics. It's the damage that these drugs do and the build up of them in the brain that will eventually kill the cyborgs. It doesn't really help that the term "conditioning" is bandied about in GSG quite a lot regarding anything to do with the girls' minds.

In large enough doses the conditioning drugs, to my mind at least, can suppress emotions and pain as well as, to some extent, free thought (which would link into "emotions" anyway). Hence why Rico, on her higher dosage always seems a little zoned out. I think they also, to some extent, prevent the girls from questioning their existance and generally help keep the initial brainwashing in place. However, how heavily each girl is dosed with these drugs, as Elfen pointed out, has little to do with how the initial brainwashing was undertaken.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by ElfenMagix on Mon 15 Nov 2010 - 12:30

@jedoZhidin wrote:Still working out the kinks. Plus my characters backgrounds are still being witten up, rather small rewrite for her's, nothing big. For future refrence If I have my facts wrong please correct me. I'm still learning these things.
Easier to get the anime and manga.

Its good that you are writing them up. If there are then its easy to fix.

Hmmm... I may have to add "conditioning" to the wiki.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Sat 20 Nov 2010 - 1:03

Lauro whose E V I L E guile knew no limits fixed his attention on Olga who he had learned in the grapevine was unhappily married! Muh-m-muhahahaha!
Of course at first the beautiful Russian resisted his advances full of self confidence, but eventually she proved no match for his conviction and entrancing comments, like a verbal web to a butterfly.
One night, she indeed gave in to him.
Not long afterward Olga declared her intentions to leave the agency as soon as permitted, a look of intense guilt written on her face as she hastily proclaimed her desire to do something else with her life.
Agent Olga had always been on good terms with the Chief Lorenzo who found her evasion for concrete reasons most suspicious.
Rumors tend to move at a speed defying most laws of physics!
Before long, stories were being whispered among the adults concerning the impeccable agent who seemed to appear nervously uncomfortable around others who themselves were hitched. One day Elsa de Sica overheard one of the now many versions of the story floating around and her reaction was of deep internalized anger/pain.
When the child cyborg out of the blue asked Olga for advice in firing her handgun, The Russian operative KNEW something was amiss. This living murder weapon was not one to ask anyone other than her beloved 'Brother' for help of any kind, so with a feeling of unease at the request, she proceeded slowly while the cyborg gritted her teeth for attack......

voodoo doll


Last edited by tremec6speed on Sat 20 Nov 2010 - 1:44; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : corrections)

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by crazyidiot78 on Sat 20 Nov 2010 - 9:05

So the real reason Elsa killed Lauro finally comes out. cheers

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Sat 20 Nov 2010 - 16:12

"So the real reason Elsa killed Lauro finally comes out. "
Me: Ahh...heh heh....uh huh huh...!(insert Beavis and Butthead laughter)
lol
You got it Crazyidiot78, I figure that's a good a reason as any for that mean machine. snipe Guh? Very Happy

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Sun 21 Nov 2010 - 0:43

Here here MP5, keep up the good work!
2 thumbs up for *Music and cuchi cuchi*!
head bang
dancin\\'
lol

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by MP5 on Sun 21 Nov 2010 - 0:49

@tremec6speed wrote:Here here MP5, keep up the good work!
2 thumbs up for *Music and cuchi cuchi*!
head bang
dancin\\'
lol

Thanks, I guess. If I ever work up the courage to write anything more like this, it will be most certainly music-themed. Though I might try branching out into humor at one point or another.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by MP5 on Sun 21 Aug 2011 - 2:23

A new entry, this one focuses less on smut and more on humor factor. Still, assume it's NSFW.

Spoiler:

Why Monique Blacker Avoids the SWA Compound as Much as Possible: Reason #34

"Monty, wait up!"

Monique 'Monty' Blacker had just begun to walk away from her handler's desk when Carmelita Pucci got to her feet and went to catch up. Both were holding documents freshly drafted and printed from their workstations.

"Heading to the copy room?" asked Carmelita.

"I thought that much would be obvious." Monty deadpanned.

"You mind if I come with?"

Monty said nothing and motioned for the Tejano girl to walk with her as they ambled towards the copy room.

"So, if I may ask, what have you been given?" Carmelita inquired.

"The guv had me draft up an intel report from our notes; Lorenzo wanted the pages collated and in color for the briefing. You?"

"Apology letters. Lots and lots of apology letters." replied Carmelita sheepishly, holding up a single page. "About a hundred of these to start."

"If you have that many to make, and they're already in form letter for convenience, then I do believe you need to talk with someone about Vincent." Monty noted with an ounce of what could have been genuine concern for her officemate. "That, or administer sedatives to him."

"I know, but like the saying goes, 'Boys will be boys...'" Carmelita sighed. "Besides, this is just so that I have a stockpile."

"Vincent is a grown man. He should learn to act like one."

"You're preaching to the choir, Monty... He's like a two-year-old, though: He's the source of most of my stress, but if someone tried to take him away from me, that someone would die horribly for even laying a finger on him."

"Says you. I'm not crazy about being in the proximity of small children, much less a 26-year-old hyperactive manchild."

The two continued walking, and Monty sighed out of the blue. "God, I really wish they'd put the bloody copier in the middle of the office instead of its own room."

"Why's that?" asked Carmelita.

"Well, for one thing, it'd be more accessible, even if it meant queuing up sometimes, and secondly, it would mean an end to all the quickie shagging that goes on behind that door when it's locked."

"Wait..." said Carmelita. "People have sex in the copy room?"

Oh, this poor, naive girl, thought Monty. "Yes, Carmelita. It's one of the biggest office-setting cliches played out in real life."

"I don't believe you. How can you tell?"

"Well, the first thing that tips you off is any pleasured moaning or groaning you hear coming from behind the walls. Then everything goes quiet for a bit before a bloke and a bird (usually) come out as a pair. The bloke usually has his hair out of place and some new wrinkles on his clothes, maybe some lipstick on his collar, and the bird is buttoning up and adjusting herself and has hair like yours at the end of it all. Finally, when you go in the room, there's this distinct smell of musk, sweat, and cheap perfume all melded together in one nauseating package."

"Back up a bit there." said Carmelita, both of them pausing their stride. "Did you say hair like mine? Are you saying I have 'sex hair'?"

"It's not just *me* saying you have sex hair. Other members of the staff say you have sex hair. In fact, that's their little nickname for you."

"Well, not all of us can have low-maintenance hair like you, Monty. My hair just seems to fall into this... unkempt mess."

"You don't have to change your hair just because you have an unofficial nickname."

Before Carmelita could continue, she and Monty were interrupted by noises coming from the adjacent wall, noises that turned out to be a woman screaming in pleasure, and Carmelita turned a little white, remembering the signs of quickie office sex Monty had told her while Monty herself shook her head, covering her officemate's virgin ears with her own hands. It was a futile gesture, however, as the pleasured moaning only grew louder, and Monty's hands were not the most effective form of hearing protection in the world, and Carmelita could now hear the woman on the other side of the wall quite clearly.

"Oh Charlie, don't stop! Oh, oh, oh, oh my god, yes! Yes! Yes! Unnnh, oh yeah, right there! Right there, Charlie, right there! Oh, oh, oh, oh--OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSSSSS!"

At this point, Carmelita was as red as a tomato, and Monty glanced around the office, amazed that no one else was hearing these obscene noises (there was no one in the area at that moment, she would soon learn). Suddenly, another audible noise startled them both-- the sound of breaking glass, quickly followed by pained yelping and another conversation.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, owwww..."

"Marianna, are you all right, luv?"

"No-ho-ho... I think I got cut down there or something, and it really hurts!"

"All right, just breathe, and relax, we'll get you out of there and to the medical wing... Hello, Annette? Charlie. You'll have one incoming plus me. See you in a few? All right, cool. Now then, Marianna, let's get you out of there. One, two, three, lift! All right, let's brush some of that glass off and get you dressed... I'll carry you to the medical wing since walking is probably gonna hurt for you right now."


Outside, the door opened, revealing Charlie Montagne carrying Marianna Giordano in his arms bridal-style, both of them fully clothed but looking more or less as Monty had described the appearance of culprits in an office rendezvous. Before Monty or Carmelita could stop them, the neurologist and casanova were off like a shot to the medical wing. Carmelita glanced at Monty questioningly, who returned her look flatly before the both of them walked into the photocopy room to find a scene of chaos bathed in the almost-overpowering funk of hasty lovemaking that Monty had described. Sheets of A4-size pages were everywhere, bits of glass (no doubt from the photocopier) were strewn on the floor, accompanied by a few drops of blood(!), and through it all, the copier machine was somehow still spitting out papers despite the fact its glass platen was destroyed. Monty quickly hit the 'stop' button on the machine while Carmelita bent down to pick up one of the sheets that the copier had printed. the one she held in her hand was an early one, as it did not show the spiderweb of glass that other pages did when the platen finally gave way under the weight of Marianna's posterior. She looked closely at the page in her hand, the black-and-white image not really making sense at first glance. However, once her brain began forming shapes and figures out of the seemingly random patterns on the page, her face turned even redder upon realization at what she was seeing.

"Dios Mio-- Monty! Monty, look at this! Is that... is that what I think it is going on in this picture?! Is Charlie--"

"What Montagne is doing with his mouth to the shrink's alcove in the picture is not my concern." said Monty in a calm tone that provided stark contrast to the building anger evident on her face. "What is my concern is the fact that supplies have been fecklessly wasted and an integral part of the office is now effectively crippled until further notice--all because those two gits couldn't keep it in their pants and wait for a hotel room!"

Monty had not raised her voice very much, but even so, Carmelita could tell that her officemate had effectively reached her temper's boiling point. The resident 'Bond Girl' of Section 2 was occupied by a state of tranquil fury-- one potentially even more dangerous than one of Henrietta's berserker rages.

Stepping away from the copier and the mess surrounding it, Monty turned on her heel and handed the original of her intel report to Carmelita before walking briskly out of the room.

"Monty?"

Shortly thereafter, Monty passed by again, a willow cricket bat in the grip of her right hand. Though she had an idea of what was going to happen, Carmelita had to ask anyway.

"What are you going to do?"

"Be a dear and hold onto those. I am going to have a talk with Montagne about workplace ethics. Then, I will perhaps proceed to fill another vacancy in one of the medical wing beds."

With that, Monty left Carmelita standing there amidst the mess that was once the copy room. As the Tejano looked around herself, she went back to one of the copies that had inadvertently been made and studied the image from every angle with a luminescent blush on her face.

I wonder what that feels like...


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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Alfisti on Sun 21 Aug 2011 - 3:06

Monty: See, this is why cyborgs should be confined to their own areas.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by MP5 on Sun 21 Aug 2011 - 22:36

@Alfisti wrote:Monty: See, this is why cyborgs should be confined to their own areas.

Charlie: And deny the women of the world my talents? That would be a tragedy!

Monty: Your 'talents' put a neurologist in the medical wing and destroyed the photocopier; that is the real tragedy here.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by ElfenMagix on Mon 22 Aug 2011 - 20:51

Well done, MP5.

Rachel: Yo Monty! You know that the copier is broken?
Monty: Oh, bug off!

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Thescarredman on Sun 29 Jul 2012 - 22:11

This crowded its way into my head while writing a Triela-centric chapter for 'Dolomites', and I knew it wouldn't let me do anything else until I dealt with it.
Spoiler:
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the window’s dusty glass and thin curtains, which gave a blurry view of the icicle spires and lofty statues of Milan’s famous Duomo. Triela sighed softly, threw off the rumpled sheet, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed to plant her bare feet on the worn carpet. As she bent over to retrieve her undershirt from the floor, she said, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“I think it does,” said the blond-haired boy still lying in the bed behind her. “But I know what you mean. It won’t stop either of us from doing what we have to do.”

She dropped the thin cotton sheath over her head; it ended at her slender hips, leaving her half naked still. “I really don’t understand how this happened. Why didn’t you shoot me?”

“Well, you had a gun muzzle under my chin too.” He gazed unsmiling at her back.

“No.” She reached into her collar and pulled her hair out, spreading it across her shoulders and down her back. “I mean, in Montalcino.”

The bedsprings squeaked as he rolled toward her and propped himself on an elbow, letting the sheet slide down to his waist; she flushed, thinking of all the heedless noise they must have made earlier and wondering if it had penetrated the walls. “I don’t know, really. I just couldn’t. I kind of regretted it afterwards.”

She nodded, although she didn’t really understand. If it had been her, she’d have put a second bullet in his skull just to make sure.

“At least I wouldn’t have gone to Hell alone.”

“Yes you would have,” she murmured. “I don’t have a soul.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” She gathered half her hair up and began to tie it off. She kept her back turned to the bed, feeling oddly shy.

It had happened at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, arguably the first modern shopping mall in Europe. Built over a hundred years before, it resembled a city intersection lined with ornate three-story buildings with ground-level shopfronts. But the streets between the elaborate facades were tiled instead of brick, and the space above was spanned by greenhouse-style barrel roofs of iron and glass. Hilshire, on his way to a long meeting with some Section One people and not wanting to leave her waiting, had turned her loose in the shopping district for the afternoon. Although he’d given her money to spend, she hadn’t used any. Instead, she’d wandered and window-shopped and people-watched, feeling out-of-place among so many happy idle civilians.

At the center of the mall was a tile with a picture of a prancing bull, rather like the Lamborghini logo. Tradition held that if you placed a heel on the bull’s testicles while making a wish and spun about, it would be granted. The appropriate spot on the tile was ground away by innumerable heels; Triela doubted so many wishes could ever have come true, but she’d got in the short line. When her turn came, she’d made a wish, spun about, and, smiling, stepped away – and nearly bumped noses with the Padania assassin who’d bested her in Montalcino.

He’d taken off at a run, twisting and turning through the crowd, reaching into his light coat. She’d sprinted after, only a few steps behind at first but losing ground for the entire length of the crowded gallery, unable to close because of the people who’d turned to stare at the blond-haired boy and simply wouldn’t get out of the way.

At the entrance, she’d burst into the sunlit open street, and she’d looked around wildly, tails whipping around her face, afraid she’d lost him. Then she spied him fifty meters down the way and resumed the chase. The thinner crowd was no hindrance to her, and she’d closed the distance quickly.

Just half a dozen steps ahead, he’d ducked into a narrow side street. She’d drawn her 230, expecting an ambush. She hadn’t expected to find him waiting right around the corner. They’d collided again, and she’d felt the stones of the alley wall smack against her back, and him pressing up against her to pin her against the wall. She’d gotten her gun up between them and pressed the muzzle into the underside of his chin. Then she’d felt the cold metal beneath her own.

“What the devil.” A man’s voice at the mouth of the alley just a few steps away, unseen past her attacker’s shoulder. “You, what are you-”

Witnesses, something the Agency couldn’t afford, especially in Milan, the seat of Republican power and a place where the government’s grip on the media was tenuous. If anybody saw a young girl kill a man just a block from the city’s heart, their present mission would be compromised, maybe even aborted. But she couldn’t let him go.

“Stop,” a woman had said. “Leave them alone. Arturo, were you young once?”

“I don’t think-” She’d heard a shoe scrape.

Suddenly she’d seen the two of them as they must appear from the alley mouth. Pinocchio’s greater height and wide shoulders had hidden their weapons, and nearly hidden her; she doubted the man could see her face below her eyes. He had just seen a big blond-haired boy pushing a smaller girl up against the wall. If he thought she was being attacked, he would interfere, even call the police…

She’d made a quick decision, and reached up behind Pinocchio with her free hand, placing it flat on his shoulder blade. His eyes, a double handwidth from hers, had narrowed in understanding – and amusement? He’d tilted his head and bent it down, his jaw pressing defiantly against her pistol. She’d felt his hand at the back of her neck, bigger than she would have guessed; it had cradled her head, gently tilting and tipping it as he’d brought their faces together. They’d kissed with their pistols still under each other’s chins.

The man and woman didn’t leave. She’d grown anxious. What were they waiting for? What did they want to see?

“You’re too stiff,” he’d whispered, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “Act like you’re enjoying it.” He’d kissed her again, lips parted this time, and her mouth had opened of its own accord. His tongue had entered her, tentative at first; she’d stifled the impulse to bite down and spit it out.

And something had happened. As his tongue and lips had explored, and his body heat had leached into her, she’d felt an odd warmth of her own build and spread, seeming to soften her insides. Other parts of her had swelled and tautened and grown strangely sensitive. Suddenly she’d been acutely aware of everyplace they touched: his thigh between hers, hips pressing together; his forearm at the small of her back, pulling her tight against him and trapping their gun hands; her forearm pressed hard into his chest, and his between her breasts; his muscles under her hand, which was now traveling slowly over his back; the pressure of his shoulder against hers, still pinning her against the wall; and of course the now-warm steel bumping softly under her chin, but that hardly seemed important. His tongue had returned home, and hers had gone visiting.

Some unknown time later, she’d heard the woman’s voice again, pitched low. “I think you’ve seen enough, you old pervert. Let’s go.” Footsteps receded and were gone.

Her breath had stilled. With the witnesses gone, what would they do next? They’d each held a tiger by the tail. She’d clung to him, uncertain, and very aware of his grip still tight around her. If he stepped back to clear his weapon…

He’d murmured in her ear, low and rough. “We could shoot each other later.” A pause. “If you want.”

She’d swallowed: she could still taste him in her mouth. “Okay.” Her voice was deep and husky, a stranger’s.

“I have a place close.”

“Okay,” she’d said again.

His grip had loosened, just enough to free their gun hands. “We both holster, dead slow, on the count of three.”

They’d walked three blocks to his flat with their arms around each other’s waists, the fingers of their free hands intertwined in front of them, looking very much in love – and effectively tying up each other’s hands. Neither of them had spoken, afraid to break whatever enchantment was on them. And, after all, what did either of them have to say?

The building was a seedy-looking walkup, the granite stairs to the entrance bowed with age. The bare wooden floor of the hallway had creaked as they’d made their way to his door. Once there, he’d pulled his hand free of her fingers, and she’d tensed, fingers twitching for her gun. But he’d held up two fingers and slowly reached into a waist pocket to retrieve a key. Inside, the grubby and impersonal little apartment had looked very different from the neat comfortable hideout in Montalcino; she’d surmised it was an accommodation for transient RF operatives.

Undressing had seemed more like a negotiation than an act of passion. They’d stood face-to-face just out of reach as they’d carefully shed gear and clothing an item or two at a time, watching each other with a weird mix of apprehension and excitement. She’d felt more exposed removing her sidearm than her skirt and blouse.

When he was down to briefs, he’d held his arms slightly from his sides and turned slowly, letting her see he wasn’t hiding anything. His body was smooth and lean, the muscles well-defined and rolling under the pale skin; unthinking, she’d wet her lips as her eyes traveled across him. She’d been wearing briefs and sleeveless undershirt, no bra; when he’d finished, she’d likewise brought her arms away from her sides and turned.

He’d wrapped arms around her from behind. She’d nearly put an elbow into him before she’d felt his lips on her neck, and then all thoughts of resistance had melted away.



He said, “This was my first time.”

“Me too,” she said as she lifted her shirt off the footboard. “Sort of.”

“Sort of? What does that mean?”

She shrugged into the shirt and began to button it up. “I was told I was gang-raped when I was younger. I don’t remember it.”

He took a moment to digest that. Then: “We didn’t use anything.”

Her fingers paused two buttons from the top. “Don’t worry. You won’t catch anything.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that.”

“Oh.” She started turning her options over in her head. How difficult would it be to lay hands on a morning-after pill? Priscilla would help her with a minimum of questions, she thought. But dare she take it without consulting the doctors? If she did that, they’d tell Hilshire. Ferro could keep the doctors silent, but Triela knew she wouldn’t; the operations manager would tell Hilshire herself, and Director Lorenzo too…

“If you are,” he said, “you’re not thinking of keeping it, are you?”

“What? No.” She pictured herself gravid with child waddling after a fleeing suspect. What could be more useless to Hilshire than a pregnant cyborg? Besides, if she lived to bring a child to term, it would grow up without a mother. Would the Agency take care of it? She shivered.

“Good.” He was silent a moment. “The next time we meet, one of will probably die.”

“Yes,” she said, finishing her buttons. “You will.”

He went on as if he hadn’t heard. “As far as I know, I’ve never killed an unborn child. I suppose it’d be ironic if the first one was mine.”

She reached into the breast pocket of her shirt for the boar’s-head necklace and drew it out. The jeweled eye winked at her as she began to wind the chain on her wrist.

“That’s mine.”

“Not anymore.” She fixed the clasp. She turned to him. “I found-”

He had a pistol in his hand. She almost leaped before she realized it was resting in his palm and not pointing at her. “That’s mine.”

“Not anymore.” He smiled in a way not entirely nice. Or entirely not nice.

She touched the clasp again. “Trade?”

“Give up my only firearm? I don’t think so, little girl.” He brushed a thumb across the 232’s frame. “This isn’t just a gun to you, is it?”

“No personal questions, remember?” It seemed a very bad idea for them to actually get to know each other.

“I own more weapons than I can carry,” he said. “But this is my favorite pistol. Sometimes when I’ve got nothing to do, I dry-fire it over and over, remembering you lying on the floor at my feet, waiting for my bullet.” He eyed the necklace on her wrist. “I thought that was lost in the house somewhere, and I’d never see it again. Sometimes I touch my throat when I remember it’s gone.” He smiled at her. “I’m glad you found it. It’s cute to see you wearing my token like a girlfriend.”

She felt a twinge of irritation … and guilt? Aside from a wristwatch she hardly ever wore, the purloined necklace was the only jewelry she possessed. “I took it so I could see you buried with it, that’s all.”

He nodded. “Maybe. But it says something, that you made sure it was safe on your wrist before you even covered your ass.”

She suddenly realized that she was still naked from the waist down. She turned away and bent to retrieve her briefs from the floor, and straightened abruptly, blushing, when she realized what she’d just done.

“Thank you,” he said, and she blushed even harder.

She stepped quickly into her underpants, painfully aware of his eyes on her. Angry now, she said, “Enjoying the show?”

“Very much.” His eyes met hers. “I don’t have much interest in girls, usually. I don’t understand how this happened either. And it makes me kind of angry too.”

She stepped into her skirt and reached for her boots and stockings. She glanced about, but the only place to sit was on the bed. She’d stepped out of the boots and removed the stockings standing on the opposite foot, but putting them on was slower and more difficult.

“I won’t try to touch you or anything,” he said. “I know we’re done.”

She perched on the edge of the bed and bent to slip a stocking on her right foot. He said to her back, “Your partner. Are you going to tell him?”

She pulled up on the stocking. “I would, if I thought you’d be here when we came for you.” This strange and fragile truce between them would end when they parted, she knew, but if he was willing to let her get out the door unchallenged, it seemed only right to let him know exactly how soon they would be enemies again.

She finished putting on her boots, stood, and moved slowly to the battered bureau where she’d left her jacket – and her holstered weapon. Splitting her attention between the boy in the bed and the bureau, she saw him take the gun in his hand as she reached for her shoulder holster. Slowly she removed the weapon and laid it on the bureau before donning the shoulder rig. Then she gripped the 230 low on the butt, keeping her finger far from the trigger, and slowly slid it into the holster. She slipped on her jacket, and, now fully dressed and with no reason to linger, moved toward the door.

Again, she was surprised by his speed. His hand was on the door, holding it closed as she turned the knob. He was naked and close enough to touch and staring into her eyes. “You could at least say goodbye.”

“‘Goodbye’ means ‘God be with you,’” she said. “It didn’t seem appropriate. Neither did ‘good luck’.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You know, for just our second date, this was really something.”

“The third will be even better.” She forced the door open and quickly entered the hall.

Hilshire was waiting at the entrance where he’d dropped her off; she spied his tall dark form from fifty meters away as she came through the mall toward him. He looked her over while she struggled to hold on to her composure. “You didn’t buy anything?”

“No.”

He looked up and around, taking in all the shops. “In all this, you couldn’t find one thing you wanted.”

“No,” she said, examining him just as carefully, looking for clues that he’d done something foolish or dangerous in her absence. “Nothing I wanted to keep.”
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Kiskaloo on Sun 29 Jul 2012 - 22:41



Just kidding. Smile


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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Professor Voodoo on Sun 29 Jul 2012 - 22:54

@Thescarredman wrote:This crowded its way into my head while writing a Triela-centric chapter for 'Dolomites', and I knew it wouldn't let me do anything else until I dealt with it
I've seen that pair shipped together plenty of times but this is certainly the most plausible story yet. The bit about the prancing bull tile leading to their meeting was a great way to disarm the reader with a cute image (Triela indulging in some silly superstition when she knows nobody is looking) then *BAM*; the action kicks off.

Well done.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by MP5 on Mon 30 Jul 2012 - 0:14

Nice to see someone else making use of the smut locker aside from myself.

Oooh, finally, the sexual tension reached its breaking point. great little story.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Officer_Charon on Mon 30 Jul 2012 - 17:01

Not too shabby at all!

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by John_234 on Thu 2 Aug 2012 - 11:03

Just fair warning - I might post something here shortly.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by John_234 on Fri 3 Aug 2012 - 0:38

Sorry to write a small novel on the chat. Took all day! Literally 3 AM to 9PM, between doing other things. Hope it was worth it!

Spoiler:


Dawn was a strange time for a city wreathed in winter. The early joggers and late-night party-goers would be driven to their homes, clinging to sleep for just a few more hours before they had to wake.

A lone woman strode down the street, her figure obscured by heavy winterwear. She didn't seem to mind the burden, and there was a very definite confidence to her step as she proceeded through the empty street. Traveling in the odd hours left her with a sense of peace that was rare.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice meekly called from behind.

The woman turned curiously. "What is it?" Between the streetlights, her appearance wasn't totally clear, but the man who had accosted her was plainly visible. He wore a plain winter coat of charcoal color, and set of expensive-looking spectacles sat on his nose. His hair was short cropped, greying at the roots. A reassuring smile was on his plain face, which seemed soft from a coddled lifestyle. A businessman, perhaps?

"You dropped this," he stated, proffering a small leather organizer. The woman's eyes flitted to her purse - the zipper was open. She nodded graciously and received the organizer, taking a glance inside before securing it.

"Thank you." Her smile was radiant, and the man seemed visibly intimidated. "Why don't you walk with me? It's nice out."

"Certainly." The man fell in step with her. They continued down the street for a few minutes, passing through the business district silently.

He inhaled sharply as the woman stepped a little closer, their arms brushing against each other. The look in his eyes was plainly one of confusion as she smiled at him invitingly. She nestled closer still, and his arm slowly ringed her shoulder.

Something pressed into his side. The ugly black snout of a handgun protruded into his side, the woman's slender fingers wrapped around it. The man paled and stared at her questioningly, only to get another enigmatic smile. "Keep walking," she whispered.

"C-certainly," he stammered. If anyone had been watching, the gun wouldn't have even been visible, blending right into their dark clothing. She had him ensnared.

"I don't know who you are, but I'd like my passport back, if you wouldn't mind," she said sweetly.

"I have no idea what you-" the gun dug in harder, and the man paled even further. Their meandering walk deviated and she took them at a beeline toward the entrance of a dark alley mere feet away. They entered, and the man found himself pinned to the wall in a sort of embrace - minus the pistol now jammed into his jaw.

"Do you think me simple-minded?" The woman's voice became lower, almost disdainful. "It's three in the morning and you happen to be nearby in my moment of need, with something I would hate to lose. I don't believe in magic. Do you?" There was a metallic click as she thumbed back the hammer on the pistol.

The man shrunk back against the wall. "Okay, you can have it! The money isn't worth it!" The woman obligingly took a step back, still training the weapon on the stranger's head. He removed his glasses, tucking them into a pocket, then reached into his coat.

"So you go by Katrina now." Though the man looked no different, his entire demeanor had changed. His tone was altogether more serious, low and distinct from the fast-speaking locals. There was a lively energy behind his familiar grey eyes, and not a sign of fear at her proffered weapon.

Katrina reflexively took a step back at the sudden change. "You know of another name?" she asked quietly.

The man shrugged. "Would Elise mean anything?" The woman lowered her weapon as he continued. "Though I heard she was killed in a car accident."

"Yes," she responded quietly. "Over a year ago."

"I see," he said plainly. He pressed a passport into Katrina's hands. "I wanted to see her again. Needed to apologize." For a moment, the two exchanged something akin to a tender stare, but it was too brief to really know. The man spun on his heel abruptly and left the alley, stamping down the memories along with the snow underfoot. His fingers were balled up into white-knuckled fists, and there was a hard set to his jaw. He felt as frustrated as a child, but couldn't gather the gall to stir up the remnants his past any further.

"John."

---------------------------------------

"Not Giovanni? You aren't from around here, are you?"

"To be honest, no. The closest thing would be 'Johan' but the English version suits me fine." Amsel chuckled. "Just a Deutsch tourist in fair Italy. That said, you're not the most convincing Italian yourself." He expected a rebuttal, or even an explanation, but Elise just responded with another of her inscrutable smiles.

Perhaps dazzling would be a better word. Elise was quite attractive, to say the least. She was quite distinctive, some Asian and European bloodline visible in her delicate features and fair skin. Her dark hair was tied up, though even then it was quite long. A trench coat barely hid the notable curves of her bust and hips, and perhaps made her height less impressive - she was almost as tall as Amsel. It all fit a French intelligence agent who specialized in 'people work.' To put it frankly, she was far out of Amsel's league.

Physical attraction wasn't what made him curious that said. For a DGSE agent that claimed only two or three years in the field, the observant, but cynical look had already set in, masked with a sort of forced optimism and ease that very few would catch...

Hell if he was being realistic though. They were in Rome for two weeks. Potential for anything lasting was non-existent.

Not that Amsel couldn't be blamed for trying. Between nights filled with red-eye surveillance where they'd bring each other bad news and takeout, he managed to get in a few candlelit dinners where they would give each other tantalizing hints of backstory. Even that was pretty risque for a pair of intelligence operatives. But they took the risk, and little by little they opened up to each other.

He learned that Elise smiled a lot. It was a disarming curl of the lips, but also a look of happiness in her eyes and a relaxed posture that was reassuring even to the paranoid. Lesser beings practically melted away at her feet. In the sense of an expression used to show happiness, pleasure... it wasn't really a smile. Amsel had realized it was just a well-practiced facade that was another tool for the operative to extract information. For Elise, happiness couldn't be serene. The one genuine smile he had seen wasn't a work of art. It was a mess of feelings barely kept in check, made radiant by her angelic features.

Amsel learned she wore contacts every day. Her eyes were a rich blue that bordered on violet. Along with her physique, it seemed like genetics had intended to make appearing generic as hard as possible for the woman. Yet she prevailed. Elise was one of the best Amsel had ever met, and he still didn't know her full name, age, or ethnicity. That wasn't because she was malicious. Or because she was vain and introverted.

Elise knew information inevitably lead to questions and attachment. She rationed her information, because not everyone was worth remembering. So Amsel was left with the constant impression that as little he knew... he was still a lucky man.

Amsel emerged from the shower one dreary Friday night to find Elise with a gun to his head. Wearing his shorts and without a weapon, he wouldn't have been able to stop Elise had he even wanted to.

He wasn't one to linger on bad luck, however. "Two days left in Rome and you choose now to kill me?" Elise simply shrugged. She wasn't smiling. Her hands were white-knuckled, and the slightest tremor to them told how conflicted she was. Amsel nodded. "Confronting me first is just going to make it harder on you."

"Stop stalling," Elise whispered.

"You can just shoot me," the man replied. "But it might be easier if you don't look me in the eye." Amsel turned wordlessly, staring into the wall. How many had he killed with their backs turned? Did he give them the chance to decide? The man exhaled deeply and waited.

Perhaps the move did bolster Elise's confidence, because her voice was normal, conversational when she spoke again. "You won't ask why?"

"Wouldn't do me any good when I'm dead," Amsel intoned. "You have your reasons for doing what you do."

"Are you just looking for death?" Elise sounded vaguely amused.

"Dad told me to go out with grace. Might as well."

"I... I'm getting tired of intelligence work. It's time for me to back out, but I can't leave a trail. It's no-"

Despite himself, Amsel grinned. "Nothing personal?"

"Nothing personal," Elise repeated. "Please, Amsel. It's not that..."

She trailed off, leaving the two in silence. Amsel sighed deeply. "You don't need to explain." A small part of him just willed Elise to pull the trigger and be done with it, so he wouldn't be standing here cutting himself up with every word. Make his last act a lukewarm favor for someone he had tried so hard to befriend these past few days, instead of an act of anger. "You have your reasons for what you do. I trust you. Don't sink yourself with guilt on my behalf."

There was a soft metallic click and the man closed his eyes.

"You are the biggest idiot I have ever met." The woman's voice faltered. "You're too trusting."

"Idiot I may be, I know when I mean I trust someone." Amsel opened his eyes. "You're beautiful and enigmatic, but a genuinely kind soul. Is trust what you wanted this entire time? Stuck in a job where your life is to distrust and misinform? That's why you want out?"

After handing his life over to someone he barely knew, Amsel was only concerned about what had been bothering his would-be killer. The biggest idiot Elise had ever met was probably the most sincere man she had ever known.

There was a loud clunk and Amsel reflexively peered over his shoulder.

The gun laid on the floor. Elise wasn't wearing contacts today. Her beautiful, thoughtful eyes were wet. She fell forward into Amsel's arms and the two embraced for the first time.

The two had never known the true meaning of loneliness until the very moment they were caught in the grasp of true companionship. They could only think of staving off that emptiness. Elise craned her neck close and the kisses came like a rain, caressing and flowing across her skin. When lips met and tongues clashed, her fingers dug into Amsel's back. The moment was intense, and each seasoned lover did their best to make it last. The pounding of their hearts built a crescendo interrupted only by the soft chorus of gasps that followed the kiss.

Elise took Amsel's hand and lead him toward the bed. With a flicker of motion, her dark hair was released from its confinement and draped across her back, stopping just above the curve of her hips. She reached to the lamp beside the bed and turned down the light, leaving her a sensuous shade waiting at the end of the bed. Her eyes bored into Amsel's; asking, waiting.

When the man moved to join her, Elise caught his chin and drew him in with another kiss. His arm wound softly behind her, gentle but unerringly confident. She brought her hands to rest on Amsel's bare chest. Every touch felt electrical, sending shudders through the man. Amsel deftly begun to unbutton the woman's top. Garments were discarded onto the floor along with their doubts, forgotten for the night. Though it was far from the first time for both of them, there was a palpable sense of curiosity as they made discoveries in the secrets of one another's body.

Elise had the faintest scent of lavender.

Amsel was so gentle that at times Elise would start to doze, only to be awoken by a timely nibble or fondle. It went on for what seemed like hours until she finally hugged close to the man. Her generous breasts pressed into Amsel's chest as she whispered. "Take me."

She gasped softly as Amsel pressed into her. Her groping hands found his, and their fingers intertwined even as Elise fell back onto the bed. She cried out lustfully. The man's thrusts drove deep into the woman, wracking her waves of pleasure. Her hips writhed and gyrated to meet his thrusts. Intense grey eyes met wild, passionate ones of deep violet, and the two leaned close to kiss once more.

Elise collapsed onto the sheets. Her long hair was strewn across her heaving breasts and pale skin. She brushed a strand aside and smiled. It was a little unsure, a little bit bold, but unmistakably gorgeous. Their actions found new vigor, and the two made the night truly theirs.

Hours would pass, until rays of sunlight cut through the windows and illuminated the two entangled lovers. For once, the hard look was gone from Amsel's features; and he looked content. Elise was tranquil, tracing lines across the man's chest with her fingertips. When Amsel swung from the bed, he did so regretfully.

"Still leaving?" he asked casually.

Elise laid in the bed with a sigh. "I think so. You could come with me..."

"I would make it harder for you, wouldn't I?" Amsel grunted.

"Unfortunately."

The man wanted to assure her that they would meet again, that they could carry from where they had left off. But he couldn't believe it enough to say it, and the two were left in a crushing silence. Amsel finished dressing and lingered by the door. Fortunately, Elise was feeling slightly more proactive and slipped from bed, gliding across the floor half-dressed to embrace him one last time.

"Thank you..." For the first time, the woman's voice wasn't so confident. Amsel ran his fingers through her hair and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Not a problem. Live easy, Elise." Then, acting much braver than he felt, Amsel left the room, and his love behind.

He booked the first flight out of country and finished his reports on the flight. Afterward, he took a month-long vacation and roamed the US national parks. Months would pass, and the man would find himself with a cyborg to train. There were new friends, enemies and a lot of deep-running wounds. But nothing stuck to the man like that eventful morning. He left because she hadn't planned for him to live. He left to spare her the burden of him.

But worst of all, he had walked out on a woman that needed him. She had been stronger than him. He would carry that burden for years.

---------------------------------------

John Amsel stopped in his tracks and ... waited. For something. Anything.

Maybe that bullet he had dodged two years ago would find him again. He wouldn't mind.

Elise stepped beside him and laid her head lightly on his shoulder. Her delicate hand slipped into his and gave it a squeeze. It was all he had needed. Amsel picked Elise from the ground and carried her in his arms, feeling completely weightless as he proceeded down the snowy street.

"Missed me dear?"

Amsel laughed. "Is that a real question?"

"Mm hmm..." Elise teased.

"You look better as as a platinum blond, just so you know."

She gave the man a quizzical look. "Trying to win me over with flattery, Amsel? I still haven't forgiven you."

He stole a quick kiss on her cheek. "Just being honest. It fits you."

The expression on Elise's face softened. "Good. It's my natural color." Her arms ringed Amsel's neck. "What have you been doing these past months?"

"Hm. Well, I have a daughter of sorts now, Luce."

"... who is the mother?" Elise asked quickly.

"It's... pretty complicated."



Last edited by John_234 on Fri 3 Aug 2012 - 1:01; edited 1 time in total

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by MP5 on Fri 3 Aug 2012 - 0:41

Been reading this as it went along; fantastic job, John.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Fri 3 Aug 2012 - 2:01

Wow I have a lot to of catching up in this thread, ok let's see:
MP5: "Why Monty....Reason #34" That was funny. Filled with much Lolz goodness! Wink
Thescarredman's sleeping with the enemy chronicle,
When Triela confided in Ferro her encounter with the handsome blond terrorist, she failed to notice Sandro listening in! Shortly afterward, Petra's partner approached Triela.
"You know I remember when I was a kid the tale of a little boy named Pinochio whose uh, nose would um, you know grow when he...."
*slap* Razz
Seriously, your story could fit right in Aida's GSG world. I can think of no better compliment than that.
The narrative of Amsel and Elise:
Making love is a language and it sounds like the two were commmunicating much, John_234. Very nice indeed.


Last edited by tremec6speed on Mon 27 Aug 2012 - 2:36; edited 2 times in total
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Odon on Sun 12 Aug 2012 - 10:25

@Thescarredman wrote:This crowded its way into my head while writing a Triela-centric chapter for 'Dolomites', and I knew it wouldn't let me do anything else until I dealt with it.

Yes, I agree this is good enough for canon. You could even post it as a short story on Fanfiction.net - it's not that explicit.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Odon on Wed 22 Aug 2012 - 5:16

@Professor Voodoo wrote:
@Thescarredman wrote:This crowded its way into my head while writing a Triela-centric chapter for 'Dolomites', and I knew it wouldn't let me do anything else until I dealt with it
I've seen that pair shipped together plenty of times but this is certainly the most plausible story yet. The bit about the prancing bull tile leading to their meeting was a great way to disarm the reader with a cute image (Triela indulging in some silly superstition when she knows nobody is looking) then *BAM*; the action kicks off.

Especially since we don't know what Triela is wishing for: it's easy to imagine that she wished for a chance to get her hands on the boy who humiliated her in Montalcino. Be careful what you wish for... Wink

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Thescarredman on Wed 22 Aug 2012 - 20:25

Just read your story, John. My eyes misted in parts, seriously.
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by John_234 on Thu 23 Aug 2012 - 0:40

Thank you.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by M240B on Sun 26 Aug 2012 - 3:51

"Carolina Cross" (Both characters within this short are upcoming Handler class characters)
Spoiler:

Carolina had finally gotten her cyborg "Lilith" situated in her dorm, before coming back to her own room to set up some requisitions for an upcoming op. She stared at the paper. "Dragunov. No. Vintorez? Nope. M21. Might work." She bit her lip a bit before writing it down on the page, before her door knocked.

"It's open." She called out, as a fellow handler, and current boyfriend, Simon, walked through the door, a bottle of wine in one hand, and a box in the other.

"I got something for ya." He seemed to dance over to her, happy as ever.

"Oh?" Carolina smiled, moving a lock of her fine red hair out from in front of her right eye.

"Something special for the birthday girl." He kissed her , holding her close for a few seconds before releasing and handing her the box.

Carolina opened it up, her eyes glowing with delight. "A Desert Eagle! Awww, how did you?" She held up the weapon, which was silver plated with a black cross and the letters CC in the top corners of it, and SR in the bottom.

"I liberated it off of a Brazilian warlord. He quickly lost need for it." He smiled, hugging her tight in his arms. "I could, you know, celebrate with you if you'd like."

"And you think I need wine to get moving?" She looks at the bottle. "I mean, its good Bordeaux, but you know how I work, its either post combat, post gift, or drunk. Usually in that order."

Carolina blushed as she felt him gently lift up her OD green tank top, before doing the same to his black Metallica t-shirt. She reached behind her back, lifting a clasp from her bra, before he finally got her shirt off.

"I mean, if you want post combat, we could spar a bit." Simon smiled, lifting his own shirt off before holding her close, feeling her soft, yet ample breasts brush against his chest.

"Why fight? This is enough of an attack." She slams him against the wall, unbuckling his belt and pulling on his desert tan carpenter style pants. She pushes herself up against him, locking her lips against his. Meanwhile, he had raised her black short skirt up, raising her legs and holding onto her at the waist, before moving her over to the mid size bed in the corner, thrusting into her womanhood as he did.

"Lowering defenses I see?" He said, kissing her, before kissing her breasts, and then her belly, before moving back up again. "Thats not like you."

"You mean this?" She rolled over so she was on top and moved his hands from her hips to her breasts. "Are you so sure?" She pushed lightly on his girth, staying low enough for him to do what he was doing, which was wrapping his lips around her nipples. Her eyes rolled back a bit. "Do I have to do everything?" She moved herself up and down on him, smiling at him the whole time.

"You still got it." He winked at her.

"This aint Kandahar, shut up and move." She put a finger on his lips. After this, he stood her up on his girth and moved her up and dow , her breasts bounced with each thrust. "Oh that feels so......ah." His girth slid deep into her womanhood, she smirked at him.

"I wanna try something real quick, go with it." He lifted her up and placed her on her fours, holding onto her waist as he continued thrusting her. "Oh my god, oh, oh...just...dont stop, please." She cried out to him. He kept right on.

"I cant take it anymore...but I cant stop either." She said between gasps. "I....." She couldn't finish that, he lifted her, turned her to face him, and slammed her into a wall like she did to him. "So, who's got the upper hand now?" She twisted his arm and threw him onto her coffee table, smashing it to the ground before laying on him, panting, her chest heaving as she did. "I do."

He smiled, kissing her, before looking at the destruction. "Beautiful aint it?"

"Guess so. You owe me a coffee table." She kisses him and holds it, as they both finally release. "But I'll take that all the same." She nuzzled up against him, finally catching her breath as she lay there, naked and filled with glee. "I love you." She said to him, grinning.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by M240B on Sun 26 Aug 2012 - 20:48

((NSFW)) This ties in directly to the end of par one of "Love at First Fight: The Tale of Carolina Cross."

Spoiler:
"If you start me up/ If you start me up, I'll never stop." She sings, as her radio turns on and starts playing "Start me up", by the Rolling Stones. Doing that, she walked over and locked the hotel door, before looking at the man from before. "So, round 2...begin." She walked up to him, and held him close before throwing him into the wall.

"I forgot to mention, if you can't play hard, then you can't play with me." She winked, biting her lip seductively before walking over to him and putting a finger to his lips before he could speak.

"Ever play Russian roulette?" She took her Colt Python from a drawer, and loaded one round in it, spinning the cylinder and handing the weapon to him. He hesitated, and she winked at him. "If you can make it twice, I'll let you strip me. If you don't....well...you were fun." She smiles, taking her loose fit shirt off. "Bit of a motivator. Go ahead." She wore a black bra, on one side, it said "Cross", on the other, her unit symbol. It showed just enough of her breasts to arouse him and lift his spirits from the deadly game.

Simon hesitates, before cocking the hammer, and pulling the trigger. *clink*. "Bravo, one down." She takes the revolver, cocks it, and puts the barrel in her mouth, pulling the trigger. *click*. She slowly pulled the barrel out, her lips wrapped around it as if she were having a lolipop. "Cold forged steel always tastes good on a night like this."

She handed the revolver to him. "Your turn." He took it, cocking it, and putting it to his chin. *click*. He smiled in relief. "Ah ah ah, my turn, and then you can..." She took the revolver, cocked it, and pulled the trigger. *Bang*. She laughed hysterically. "Blanks! I really had you there, didn't I."

He tackles her down on the bed, knocking the gun away. "You, are a dangerous woman." He said, before kissing her from her breasts to her lips. "Fortunately, I like dangerous." He sits her on his lap, before undoing the straps on her bra. Her supple breasts fall just a bit, before keeping their current structure and shape, plump as could be.

"Wow." He grinned, before playing with, and then sucking on, her currently soft nipples. Her eyes rolled back a bit, she gasped, and fell back. He then straddled her, and unzipped his fly, revealing his partially erect manhood. He gently slid it between her breasts. She gasped more. "Oh, wow, that feels...great." He begins thrusting between her breasts, and she squeezed them around his length.

She moaned in ecstasy, and he grunted as he found a steady pace to do his thing."I need...more..." She managed between breaths. He nodded, and took off her jeans and matching black panties. He noticed the area was moist, and with a smile, gently glided into her womanhood. "Ah!" She exclaimed, not in pain, but in sheer pleasure, as he slowly started thrusting.

"Stop teasing me!" She thought he was moving too slow even for a normal couple. So she rolled on top, and glided his hands from her waist to her breasts, before kissing him on the forehead and slowly lowering herself. She started to thrust faster, gradually. When Simon started sucking on her now aroused and hardened nipples, she gasped once more with pleasure.

She looked at him with a smile on her face before he started sucking harder. "Yagh!" She cried. "It hurts.....but it feels so good!" She lifted her breasts away.

"I need more of you." He flips her over and starts thrusting into her from behind, pushing her against a wall. Her breasts are squished against the wall as she tries to push herself of from against it. "Yes, more, more!" She squeals as his length works its way further into her womanhood. Suddenly she falls to the floor, Simon backing away a bit before sticking it back in and thrusting harder than before.

"I can't hold on much longer!" He said to her, panting.

"Me neither, lets just keep going, let it happen." She suggested, before he pushed back into her, the thrusts now harder than before. With a final hard thrust, and a grunt, his seed flows into her body, and his length is bathed in her liquid ecstasy. She collapsed in a heap on her back, and Simon fell on the bed.

"That was great." She said to him, her ample chest heaving with every breath. "Please don't leave me."

"I wont, I promise."

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Ergo ego spiro existo
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by boomer_gonz on Thu 11 Oct 2012 - 5:02

Posted on behalf of Emerald Lights.

NSFW
Spoiler:
Reaching the personal shelter of Alpha's home, Yumi dropped her bag and clutched at Alpha's shoulders. The longing of sensual release had risen to an uncontrollable level. With a glazed look in her eyes, Yumi's mind assaulted her with lust and intent. With one last breath, Yumi's eyes cast of their helplessness and took on an image of carnal instinct. The very image of her would have made a corrupt aphrodisiac upon any man. Pushing him down upon the closest seat, Yumi climbed atop of him. Soon after, Alpha and Yumi's hands explored each other like only they knew. With her lust growing ever stronger, it wouldn't take long for Yumi to find her favorite places and explore them thoroughly. After a while, their moans and screams were all but inaudible.

Finally thrusting herself onto him, the lewd sounds of her lustful banter filled the room as if to challenge they're cries. With Yumi pinning Alpha underneath her, most men would be begging for mercy, but instead Alpha was in turns; bound and gagged by his love and lust for the woman who had captured him. Nearly shoving himself into her as kept pace, Yumi continued to cry out as she impaled herself onto the erect thickness.

Gasping for air, Yumi finally let out a shrill cry as the pair climaxed together. After a minute of panting for whatever air they could capture, Yumi collapsed on top of Alpha, soon they both slid to the floor where the lay curled up in each other's embrace while they slept off the remaining jetlag into the night.

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The Power of Claes Compels You!!!
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by ElfenMagix on Thu 11 Oct 2012 - 15:49

Good

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Thu 11 Oct 2012 - 23:44

Fero walks down the hall looking for the spare clothes closet and instead accidentally enters the Smut Locker....
Olga: What did you do to your hair? It's retro 80's SPIKED up?
Ferro: Don't enter the fourth locker on the right by the water cooler, it's....
Olga: Ah da, that's the one first gen 'borgs are not allowed to enter under ANY circumstance! Been there don- er, seen that! Smile
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by John_234 on Wed 23 Jan 2013 - 23:05

Just a little scene after Amsel gets back from South Africa and Elise returns from Keaton's place.

Spoiler:
Amsel barely made it into the door before dropping his fully laden kit back onto the floor with a thump. Helmet, medical, batteries, plates, magazines, ammo, web gear and battle dress were drenched with sweat from the last training day of the week. He kicked the bag over to the living room before peeling off the rest of his gear. There was the noise of separating velcro as the handler removed the soft body armor that had been like a second skin to him, his undershirt and most of the contents of his pockets. That left the rather exhausted German-American standing shirtless in the living room, wearing little more than his pants and a handgun.

This safehouse was one of the nicer ones. It was situated on a lush hillside, built for a typical four-person family. The floor was mostly hardwood, with marble in the bathrooms and kitchen. Most of the colors were fairly earthy, breaking up the monochrome pallet that was the norm for their line of work. An entire side jutted from the hill, glass walls showing a dazzling view of the city below. Amsel had often considered if removing them would be a little bit safer, and more private - but Elise had insisted it would have made safehouse fail its basic job - to blend in to every other house in the area.

Not saying that it was very different internally, anyway. Aside from some kevlar in the walls and some safes hidden in the furniture, it was conventional enough. The sparsely decorated atrium opened up into a dining room that overlooked the hillside, a mahogany dining table and eight chairs dominating the center of the room. One side had a half-stocked bar, and the other opened into the spacious kitchen, which was usually in use by somebody in the house, and also contained one of their few vanities - a wood-burning oven. The kitchen also lead to the living room, with a plush couch that Amsel had often passed out on after long days and a TV that had cost too much. There were numerous speakers plugged in - Luce liked to play her console games when she was bored. Amsel often spent time in a study just by the entrance. The second story had bedrooms... and a really nice shower.

That sounded pretty good right now. Amsel promised to clean up his gear before the week ended and headed for the bathroom on the second floor. His gait was easy, his breathing even. It was hard to use a term as sterile as "safehouse" for something they had taken time to build and improve as personally as this place, but it was a perfect descriptor regardless. It was safe here.

He let a hot shower wipe away the grit and aches from the previous day. Training was rough these days, with the heightened schedule that the recent trouble had caused. Luce often passed out immediately after getting home - he had let her off early since her par time had blown his out of the water. He had been the one in need of improvement, not her.

Amsel let the heat calm him, his mind wandering to various topics that had been concerning him. The mental liberation was a necessary aspect of a chaotic training cycle. After some time, he turned down the temperature, letting an icy-cold shower rejuvenate his tired limbs and hold the desire to sleep at bay briefly. When he dried off and dressed, Amsel was already back at a semi-alert state of mind, passively searching for things that were out of place. He headed back down to the study and removed his laptop from its charger.

The Thinkpad booted, and Amsel opened up a document with the range information he and Luce had collected. Every session, they meticulously recorded every variance in the ammunition they used in specific rifles, how many clicks they adjusted the sights, what the weather was like. He liked to get a head start on the boring work while his mind was not totally fried.

As wrapped up he was in the boring, but important work, Amsel still managed to make out the sound of soft footsteps nearby. The handler resisted the urge to smile and played along. Elise was the only person he knew who moved so carefully. He could visualize her gait, the swing of her hips and her tall, graceful posture just from that simple noise. By the time she walked right up to him and removed the computer from his reach, Amsel had already forgotten what he was doing before.

Things between them usually started with a kiss or a holding of hands.

He glimpsed something snug and red, hugging Elise's form. It didn't expose any flash of cleavage or expanse of silky legs, and it didn't need to. Elise had shed the outfits and responsibilities of her everyday life, leaving something much more bare... human. It was attraction with more parts love than lust to it. The type of intimacy and trust that made lovers' hearts skip in time.

Amsel sat and let Elise have the first move, but to his surprise, she spun like a ballerina performing a pirouette, descending until her bottom was firmly planted in the man's lap. She lounged like the man was a piece of furniture.

Amsel groaned. "Comfortable there?"

At that, Elise only turned and winked at him. The man could swear she looked like a predatory animal on the hunt. He tried to offer some resistance, his arms ringing her waist - until she removed his arms and wiggled on her seat, to Amsel's discomfort. To be frank, he was doing his best not to stand at full mast.

Elise, however, wanted to be pampered today. So Amsel took it slow, asking for permission with the movement of his hands against hers, until she relented and gave him passage. His hands followed the softness of her thighs, working up the waist and making trails along her back. Elise shivered, but maintained her stance on the matter, even as Amsel leaned forward and brushed chapped lips against her neck, an attempt to coax the sweet notes of ecstasy from her.

She leaned back and allowed him to tighten their embrace, her fingers searching for Amsel's solution's to her body's needs. Because try as she might, Elise couldn't keep her own curiosity at bay. He couldn't see that she bit her lip, but the soft noise of ragged breaths gave her away. But the gentleman in Amsel told him to ask first. "May I?"

Somehow, Elise shook her head. "Convince me."

She gasped as Amsel explored the softness of her bosom. The pressure of his fingers sinking into the sensuous flesh of her breasts had Elise writhing. She turned, her eyes narrowing to slits as she spoke breathlessly. ". . . no fair."

Elise sought respite with a kiss, and Amsel wasn't heartless enough to refuse. The stress of past events melted away, if even just momentarily. It was just the two of them, relearning the taste of a lover's lips.

And then Elise fell against her man once more, resting her head on his shoulder, waiting.

He planted kisses down her neck, letting her know that it wasn't curves or outfits he found attractive in Elise. He spent time not every single part of her, mapping out her body in an exploration that was done more by feel than by any plan. He kept exploring for a peak in emotions as Elise rediscovered the voice of pleasure.

She wrapped her arms around him, and Amsel slowly lowered her to the ground.

Amsel's leaned in to kiss her again, when something in his sight lashed through the red mist in his mind. "What's wrong?"

Elise laid there, as if paralyzed by her feelings. Her eyes were wet, but she refused to cry and guiltily turned her head. But when Amsel refused to ignore her feelings and move on with carnal instinct, she spoke, her voice low. "Every time I lay in your arms, I remember every lover I betrayed, and how little I deserved their trust. And every time, I wonder how you can love me for what I am."

"I can love you because of who you are," Amsel said immediately. He didn't pick his words carefully because he didn't need to, and he didn't have to search for a reason. "The only person you never gave a second chance to was yourself. And I've seen enough people to know that some of them don't deserve a chance. But you're not one of them - why else would I still be here?"

She just shook her head. "How could I kill you?" she said, shrinking away from him. "How could I kill the only man who made the mistake of trusting me? John-"

"Elise. I will never think of that as a mistake, ever," he said firmly. "Those people you met might have risked something in their kindness to you...

"But you risked everything for me when I lent you nothing more than my word," he whispered. "I trusted you with my life then because I saw what kind of person you were. And I still do. I don't have much else to offer you, but I hope that's enough for most of the time..." He trailed off, wondering again if he was selling Elise short.

She reached out and touched Amsel's face. "Don't say that..." She hugged him tight. "You protect me more than anyone else...

"I'm being horribly selfish, aren't I?" She said meekly.

"Maybe. I still love you, Elise."

"And I, you."

Amsel ran his fingers through Elise's hair, feeling her relax at the touch. "But you need to be forgiving to yourself, too. Or you're selling everyone else short, right?"

Elise smiled at that.

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"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” -Albert Einstein
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Thescarredman on Thu 24 Jan 2013 - 18:27

Beautiful, John.
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Thu 24 Jan 2013 - 22:25

Enticing tale! Smile
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by MP5 on Fri 25 Jan 2013 - 2:40

Brilliant Job, John.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by taerKitty on Wed 20 Feb 2013 - 0:17

Surprisingly soft and loving, John.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Thescarredman on Thu 21 Feb 2013 - 19:19

Another brain clog story. I was reading Jean's extensive backstory in the manga to research a Jean/Rico story I'm building, and was captivated by his relationship with Sophia Durante and her aggressive courtship of Giovanni Croce's stoic eldest son. Then this post by Robert Frazer jumped into my head. Result: 2,000 word minific.

Spoiler:




Jean Croce lay abed with the sheet down to his bare waist, staring up at the ceiling of the rented room. A cigarette protruded from his lips, and his hands were tucked under his head. He watched the smoke rise into the diffuse afternoon light from the curtained window and the blades of the overhead fan turning lazily above him, and listened to the soft sound of running water in the adjacent bathroom, feeling more relaxed and at ease than he had in years.



The water cut off, and the door opened. He turned his head slightly to behold Sophia Durante standing in the doorway, a hand on each jamb, wearing, as the saying went, nothing but a smile.



He took in the sight with appreciation and an unaccustomed hunger. Sophia’s dark hair brushed her shoulders softly, calling to his hands to run his fingers through. Her dark eyes were filled with tenderness and amusement as she watched him watching her. Her generous mouth looked made for smiling, as it was smiling now. The girl’s body was slender and athletic without being overdeveloped; her belly unridged but defined and taut. Her smooth skin was half a shade darker than his, with faint but definite tan lines that drew the eyes to her secret parts; between her work at camp and all the time she spent with him, where did she find an opportunity to sunbathe? His eye lingered on her thighs and the baby-smooth skin between.



She posed silently for him for a few moments, then said, “There’s something on your face.”



“Oh?”



“Yes. An expression. I think it might be a smile.” She cocked a hip. “What are you thinking?”



“I’m thinking about how girls spend their childhood and adolescence trying to grow up way too fast, then, when they finally become women, they want to look like little girls again.”



“Is that a complaint?”



He removed the cigarette from his lips, exhaled a cloud, and put it back in his mouth. “Sophia, I have no complaints about you whatever.”



“Why, I think that was meant as a compliment.” She walked toward him with a slow, long stride, rolling her hips and trapping his gaze. When she reached the bed, she plucked the cigarette from his lips.



“Trying to change me already?”



“I think that’s a fiancée’s prerogative. But no.” She put the cigarette between her lips, which surprised him, because she didn’t smoke. Its tip glowed briefly as her cheeks hollowed to draw it without inhaling. She coughed once, releasing a tiny wisp of smoke, and ground the cigarette out in a saucer on a small table by the bed. “There, now I won’t complain about the taste of your mouth.” She planted a knee on the mattress and leaned over to kiss him. “It would be good if you’d quit though. I’d like to keep you for a long time.”



“Oh? Then why have you been trying to kill me with sex for a day and a night?”



Sophia yanked down the sheet, exposing him to the ankles, and swung a leg over to straddle him. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saluted you and looked in your eyes. I think I’ve been very patient. Gentling you without scaring you off is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” She placed her palms on his shoulders, smiling when his manhood rose again to press against her, and lowered herself to seat him firmly inside. She began rocking her hips, drawing him along. “When a man walks in off the desert, you don’t give him a sip of water, do you?”



Thirty minutes later, he said, “How did you do this to me?”



She nibbled his ear. “I think the ‘doing’ was kind of mutual.”



“Not this. How did you …” He groped for words. “How did you find your way…”



“Into your heart?” She kissed his jaw under his ear. “I just loved you, that’s all. And I wouldn’t let you push me away.”



His left arm lay under her waist; he pulled her tight against him. “Marry me.”



“I thought I already proposed, and you accepted.”



I’m going to apply for discharge, she’d said as they sat almost touching hips on the rim of the town square’s ornate fountain. It’s just a job to me, but it’s a career to you, and fraternizing with an enlisted could hurt your career.



I wouldn’t let it, he’d said, not looking at her, throat tight, telling her as clearly as he could that she could never be first in his life, that he was a cold and selfish man whose own needs would always come first. She deserved the truth, he’d thought. He’d turned then, half expecting her to already be standing to leave, her face full of hurt and anger.



But she was wearing that damned knowing little smile that so exasperated and fascinated him. I know. But I have a plan. It’s your duty to protect civilians. So I’ll become a civilian, and you can protect me all you want. You can have your career, and I can have you.



That, he’d said, sounds like a very good plan. He’d put a hand to the back of her head, reaching for her for the very first time; she’d placed a hand on his knee, claiming him, and they’d kissed.



That had been weeks ago. Sophia had gotten her discharge and taken an apartment in town. She cooked and served at a small family restaurant, a job that suited her experience – both in the military and in her parents’ shop - and her outgoing temperament. He sometimes took a meal there before picking her up, letting her fuss over him and enduring the giggles and whispers of the other female staff.



Their time together had been very proper at first. He’d sheltered behind his reserve, certain that this strange and wondrous girl would tire of the chase and find a more ardent and approachable man. Instead, her regard had grown ever warmer, and he’d found himself responding, against all his expectations.



Yesterday morning, Friday, he’d left the base on a weekend pass. He’d intended to spend the day with Sophia, then drive down to Rome to visit whoever of his family might be home. They’d sat together in their accustomed place at the fountain, and talked, and embraced, and kissed.



And he’d felt something loosen inside him, and he’d held her a little more tightly, and kissed her a little more firmly, and suddenly she hadn’t been at his side anymore, but in his lap.



 About time, she’d said, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her tongue had forced its way into his mouth, and she’d kissed him as if she’d wanted to eat him alive. Some time later, they’d separated, breathless, and she’d said, So, you finally see I don’t need protection from you, do you? She’d taken his hand, and they’d walked two blocks from that fountain to her apartment, and hadn’t left it since.



“Propose?” He said, sliding a hand down her flank to cup a buttock. “I suppose you did. But I’m a little old-fashioned.”



“That’s old money for you.” She rested her head on his chest. “I’m so glad my future husband’s chest is boyishly smooth. You don’t shave it, do you?”



“And if I do?”



“Then keep it up. Much better than laying my head on a scratchy rug.”



“You’ve done that, have you?”



“Jean, you’re not that old-fashioned, are you?” She kissed his chest. “Neither of us came to this bed a virgin.” Her tongue flicked his nipple. “I’m not going to ask you about your other women. I’m not going to tell you about the men who came before.” Her lips slid down his abdomen, pausing just above the navel. “However many men there were, you should be grateful to every one of them for what they taught me.” She continued downward.



Jean closed his eyes. “Oh, I am.” He grunted. “Extremely.”



Later, as he was scrubbing her back in the shower, he said, “We have to tell our families.”



She sighed. “I was hoping to put off this discussion a little longer.” She leaned back against him, her skin slick with soap, and he circled her in his arms.



“It won’t be so bad.” He ran the soapy cloth over her belly and breasts, raising her nipples.



“Oh, sure. How hard can it be, answering questions from the Chief Prosecutor of Milan?”



“He’ll be easy. It’s my mother and sister you need to worry about.”



She sighed again. “What was I thinking, proposing to a man with a teenage sister? I’m sure she adores you.”



“She saves her adoration for my brother. Her feelings toward me are more… proprietary.” He reached lower with the rag, and Sophia parted her thighs with a little intake of breath. “What about your family?”



“Mmm. My parents will be very suspicious of you, at first. Upper-class, rich, an officer … they’ll wonder what you really want from an island girl whose parents own a gift shop.” She arched her back and pressed her shoulders harder against him.



“I’m sure their judgment won’t be any harsher than my brother’s.” The stroking washcloth became firmer, more insistent.



“Fernando…” She bent forward to put her palms on the wall as he dropped the cloth and pulled her rear end tight against him. “When he sees how good you are to me, he’ll treat you like a brother. Oh, God.”



They ate dinner at a nearby restaurant with their legs tangled together under the table. As the espressos were served, he asked, “Would you like to take a little walk after dinner?”



“Just a little one,” she said, “back to the hotel.”



“Are we always going to act like rabbits from now on when we’re together?”



“Jean,” she said seriously, “I’m going to be an Army wife. We may be separated for weeks or months at a time. You need to prepare yourself for passionate reunions.” Her ankle rubbed his calf. “We haven’t talked about kids yet.”



Jean set down his cup. “I don’t think I would be much of a father.”



“Because you don’t think your father did it right?” She took his hand. “Guys never think they’re ready for kids.” She stroked his knuckles gently. “Jean, a man with a career, even a career that takes him away from home all the time, can still give a child love. You turned out far better than you think. You could be as good a father as you want to be.”



He gave a tiny head shrug, not conceding the point, just setting it aside for now. “How many would you want?”



“Two, for a start.” She lifted her cup and looked into it. “I suppose we might have started one already.”



He sat a little straighter. “Sophia, we need to talk to our families right away. I won’t have them misunderstanding the reason for our engagement.”



Sophia’s cup was still at her lips, but now she looked over the rim at him, dark eyes shining. “And that reason would be?”



He turned his hand to grasp her fingers. “That at last I’ve found someone I want to love.”



Last edited by Thescarredman on Tue 22 Oct 2013 - 19:58; edited 1 time in total
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Mario Bossi would make a better handler than Marco Toni. Come to think of it, so would Christiano.
.
Elizaveta didn't jump - she was pushed.
.
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by topgearbrzgt86 on Sat 27 Jul 2013 - 2:32

An Alpha/Davina fic written by topgearbrzgt86 and boomer_gonz. Definitely NSFW.

Spoiler:

The Wolf and His Prey

Alpha, Jim, Jamiebel and Davina went to the local pub, and after talking about beer, Jamiebel noticed something.

Jamiebel: Hey, Deej?

Davina: (glances at Alpha) Yeah?

Jamiebel: Do you think Alpha's hot?

Davina: (surprised) Hot?! (now lustily) I think he's...sexy-hot...hehe.

Jamiebel: Oh, my. You OK, Deej?

Davina: (slurred speech) I feel hot. I think I better show my.... (faints)

Jamiebel: Deej? Deej?

Jim: Oop, looks like she's out. Poor Dee-jae.

Alpha: Oh wow; I had no idea she was a lightweight. Now I feel bad for reccomending that second shot of rum.

Jim: Well, she did drink 3 pints of Aussie lager before the rum.

Alpha: ...Truuuue...

Alpha pulls his wad of cash out of his pocket and pays the tab.

Jim: Well, before anyone else gets totally blacked out, we better go. Deej, if you can hear me...(his voice gradually becomes Alpha's) we're heading back to the compound.

Davina: Wait, Alpha. Can't we go to a hotel, first? I feel kinda...hot, strangely.

Alpha: Well I don't see why not. After all the night is young after all.

Davina: Thanks, Al.

Davina and Alpha head up to the nearest hotel, rent a room, and started kissing on the bed.

Davina: My, oh, my, Mr. Lautani, you sure are a good kisser.

Alpha: Well it helps if I'm compelled by such soft lips.

Davina: I have a surprise for you. Wait right there. (goes to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she comes out naked.) What do you think?

Alpha: I think...(scoops her in his arms) that this piece of perfection....needs plenty of attention.

Davina: (lustily) Ooh, go ahead and do what you shall.

Alpha: Oh I intend to.

Kissing Davina deeply, Alpha then kissed all along her neck.

Davina: Ohh, yeah, baby.

Lowering Davina gently onto the bed; Alpha kneels before her and takes little nips of her inner thighs.

Davina: Mmm, yeah...

Teasing her with his breath Alpha looks up to Davina and waits for her to return his gaze.

Alpha: Tell me how much you want it.

Davina: (takes off Alpha's shirt) I want it all, badly, baby.

Throwing his shiort aside, Alpha takes a long and broad stroke of Davina's womanhood with his tongue.

Alpha: So do I.

Davina: Ahh, that's so good.

Placing Davina legs atop his shoulders, Alpha begins to hungrily lick at her; his tongue gently probing it's way inside.

Davina: Ahh, ahh, mmm, so good!

With some time; Alpha coaxes Davina's little bud out of hiding.

Alpha: Look what I found. Should I care for this or leave it alone, hmm?

Davina was soon tired of having just her friend's tongue in her; she wanted his manhood. She finally opened her legs, and said

Davina: Screw the foreplay. Better yet, screw me, baby!

Alpha: I thought you'd never ask.

Taking off his belt, Alpha playfully whipped Davina's thighs a couple of times before tossing it aside.

Unbuttoning his pants, Alpha let the loose clothing fall revealing a very noticable outline through his boxers.

Davina: Come and get me, baby. I want you in me!

Alpha: Just remember, you asked nicely.

Dropping his shorts, Alpha grabbed Davina's ankles and pulled her close. Guiding his firm shaft; he entered Davina and slowly pushed himself into her. Soon though Davina took him whole and wrapped her legs around his waist to make sure he stayed there.

Davina: Oooh, yeah, that's more like it. You're my first, you know?

Pumping hard into her; Alpha slowed just enough to speak.

Alpha: You're the first girl who could take all of me. A guy could fall in love like this.

Davina: Do you want my tits? They're flowing with milk...

Alpha: Gimme some of that sugar baby.

Lifting her up again; Alpha held her as he turned and sat on the bed. Flicking his tongue to tease her, Alpha then suckled on her perky breasts.

Davina: Aahhhn! Fill me and suck me, babe!

Alpha: Then milk it Davina; milk it dry.

Using his thighs alone, Alpha began bouncing Davina on his lap while turning his attention to the other breast.

Davina: Ohh, yes! Keep going! Bite my bud! Make it rain!

Releasing her breasts Alpha grunted as he traied in vain to maintain control of his tool.

Alpha: Ah, Davina, you're squeezing me too tight...I can't last...much...longer...

Davina: Then thrust me into heaven, Alpha! I love you!

With a final cry, Alpha released every ounce of passion he had built up into Davina.

Davina: AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! You're so good to me, Alpha! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!

He thrusted one final time, and milk began spurting out of Davina's breasts, as Alpha's love juices consumed Davina.

Struggling to catch his breath after that magical minute; Alpha looked longingly at Davina.

Alpha: That...was...the...I...I don't even...have words...

Davina: So...good...must...milk...myself...aaahhhnn...ahh...ohh. So...wonderful...

Alpha: I...I wouldn't mind doing that again...but I really should get you back to the dorms.

Davina: Okay...Alpha...just...carry...me...nude...

Alpha: Heh, no problem babe.

She squeezed her nipples, and with a sudden burst of lust, she sat up.

Davina: Ahh...wow. That was probably the most amazing night I've ever had. (she looks under her sheets, realizes she's naked)

Closing the sheets; Davina's heart pounds hard as she thinks on the night before. Did Alpha really carry her nude through the streets? Alpha couldn't be into such a thing - could he? A sensual smirk decorated her lips as sinful thoughts and plans invaded her mind.

'If Alpha is into those kinds of things,' Davina thought. 'Then I know where all of my free time is going to be spent.'

Crawling out of bed; Davina reached for her robe but then decided that modesty was not for her today. Grabbing her towel and a change of clothes; Davina stepped out of her room and basked in the freedom of her bare skin kissing the air around her.

"Wait till Jim, Alpha and the others see me now," she sinfully smirked.

Finishing her shower and dressing for the day; Davina couldn't help but notice that her skin still felt tingly from the night before. Making her way to the cafeteria, Davina spotted Jamiebel enjoying a plate of pancakes and bacon. Walking over to her table Davina quickly plopped down in the closest chair and stretched out like a kitten, nearly clawing at the table.

"Oh, Jay-bee," Davina said at leisure, "Last night was amazing and then some. I never knew it could feel that good."

"What could feel that good?" Jamiebel asked taking another bite.

"Last night with Alpha," Davina affirmed. "He's like a wolf and I don't mind beiing his prey let me tell you."

"Did he climb in through your window or something?"

"No silly; we went to a hotel and made the greatest love in history."

"A hotel?" Jamiebel asked with a perplexed look across her face.

"You got it and get this," leaning over the table, Davina continued in a whisper, "Alpha carried me home from the hotel...naked."

Plopping back into her seat, Davina bit her finger tips as she turned a light shade of red.

"Oh the mere thought of it gets me excited. Speaking of which, has Al come in yet?"

"Well, um...yeah, but Deej; we should talk."

"About what?"

"Well, I...oh boy..."

"You can tell me, Jay-bee."

"Okay," Jamiebel sighed. "Al and you didn't go to a hotel last night."

"We...what?"

"He offered to carry you home seeing as how he felt responsible for you getting so drunk last night."

"W...what?"

"He was a perfect gentleman too. Jim kept a real close eye on him. His hands went nowhere they weren't supposed to be."

"But...he..."

"Maybe you should lay off the sauce. It seems like it gives you some weird dreams."

Getting up to carry her empty tray to the disposal area; Jamiebel turned back one more time.

"I mean c'mon," Jamiebel smiled, "being carried nude in the streets? You, Jim and I all know you would die of embarrasment if that were to ever happen."

Watching Jamiebel walk away, Davina curled her legs up on the chair and rested her chin atop of her knees.

'Only a dream?' Davina thought. The entire night played back in her mind again with every detail as vivid and bright in Davina's mind.

'Well', Davina smiled. 'If nights like those are only in my fantasies...at least he is there to share them with me.'

END

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Sat 27 Jul 2013 - 21:23

Wow, what a lucid dream!! head bang
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Thescarredman on Mon 29 Jul 2013 - 21:00

I'll be in my bunk.
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Fan of : Rico, Bice

Original Characters : Kristal & Verotrois / Doc; Angel / Jack Keaton; Tiffany/Stefan

Comments : .
Mario Bossi would make a better handler than Marco Toni. Come to think of it, so would Christiano.
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Elizaveta didn't jump - she was pushed.
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Sofia was pregnant. It would have been a boy.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Odon on Tue 22 Oct 2013 - 8:56

Jean's icy facade cracks as Claes takes off her glasses and lets down her hair, transforming herself via cliched Hollywood magic from an introverted bookworm into a gorgeous nymphomaniac.

"I've read the Kama Sutra you know," she says huskily. "Along with several thousand erotic novels. And you should see what I can do with vegetables!"

She throws herself upon Jean and they pleasure each other shamelessly.

Cut to Jean relaxing in a herbal bath. Too late the shagged-out Field Commander opens his eyes to see Killer Claes raising a huge book above her head. Her de-spectacled eyes flash with anger.

"I remember everything, Jean! Everything! YOU KILLED MY HANDLER!"

"But Claes, I did it for love!" he wants to cry, but it's too late. 'War and Peace' knocks the gun from his hand. 'Lolita' hits him right in the testicles. Then the coup de grace...

The next day Pietro and Elenora are looking down at Jean's corpse.

"I was right. Section Two does have a very hard dictionary."


Next week: Kill Claes, Part One.

Rico pulls up outside Claes' library in a pedal-powered yellow Tonka truck with the words: 'Pussy Wagon' on the back.

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"I had a dream. We were together in my dream. We were brother and sister, father and mother, wife and husband. And both of us were both."
-- The Princess and the Warrior

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Thescarredman on Tue 22 Oct 2013 - 19:42

Razz 

Oh, the horror...

Laughing my pigu off here, Odon. Your droll and somewhat risqué wit scores yet again.
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Thescarredman

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Location : Toledo, Ohio, United States

Fan of : Rico, Bice

Original Characters : Kristal & Verotrois / Doc; Angel / Jack Keaton; Tiffany/Stefan

Comments : .
Mario Bossi would make a better handler than Marco Toni. Come to think of it, so would Christiano.
.
Elizaveta didn't jump - she was pushed.
.
Sofia was pregnant. It would have been a boy.

Registration date : 2012-02-04
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by taerKitty on Tue 22 Oct 2013 - 20:26

She threw the book at him.

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taerKitty

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Wed 23 Oct 2013 - 21:46

study Claes: Where's my copy of War und Peace?
Oh we'll, I'll finally put 'Etta's Betty Crocker cook book to good use. :3
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tremec6speed

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Original Characters : Vinson/Helen/Salvatore + Gunther/Ayden. Baddies are a small group of 'techno-anarchists'

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Thescarredman on Fri 4 Apr 2014 - 20:58


The elderly Defender hardtop labored up the mountain road with its cargo area loaded with rescue gear and its only seats loaded with a pair of bored young Carabinieri. The Dolomites region had seen plenty of excitement in recent days, thanks to those separatist knuckleheads – kidnappings, bombings, shootouts, even a mortar attack. But all of that had been elsewhere; government agents had been thick as fleas on a dog’s back around here for a little while, but most of the evidence of the brawl between Padan and government forces had been television reports and smoke on the horizon. Things around the sleepy little Alpine villages strung out along this old two-lane paralleling the E45 had gone back to normal, and the two junior gendarmes had been given a routine ‘flying squad’ job, showing police presence and reassuring the populace.

Cosimo Bafigi, senior by four months and the nominal leader, was talking nonstop, driving with one hand and gesturing with the other. “Anyway, I was cruising through Bolzano over the weekend, and let me tell you, it’s true what they say about women and guys in uniform. This one honey at the coffee shop was looking me over – not all doe-eyed, mind, more like I was a new car she was thinking of taking for a test drive, if you know what I mean, and…” 

His ‘subordinate’, Anello Florentino, was gazing unseeing at the doorways of the village they were passing through, trying to stay awake. He’d never teamed up with Bafigi before, so the guy’s line of bullshit was all new, but Anello had been up far too late drinking and trying to pick up girls the night before. The weather outside was cool and breezy, and they had the windows up and the heat on, making him even sleepier. His eyelids were just about to drift closed when the driver took his foot off the gas, rousing him.

Che diavolo…” Cosimo sat up straighter, peering through the windshield. Up ahead, a young girl with raven hair hanging to her waist stood in the road, waving them down.

The gendarme in the passenger seat eyed her short skirt and stockings and bare midriff. “What the hell is she doing? Can’t she see we’re cops?”

“She’s not a hooker,” Cosimo said. “She’s one of those kids from Public Safety.”

The man tensed. “I thought those were just stories.”

“Most of them probably are,” Cosimo said, slowing. “But they do have some on the payroll, for whatever reason. I saw this one day before yesterday, in Colle Isarco. Roll down your window, see what she wants.”

The man got the window open just as the vehicle stopped. The girl put a hand on the sill and leaned in, sending a whiff of perfume through the opening. Her eyes were clear gray, quite pretty – and intent. “I need to get to the lodge at the crest, now.”

“We’re headed that way,” Cosimo said, gesturing at the packed rear seat, “but there’s no room.”

“I don’t need much room.” She pulled open the passenger door, turned, and sat crosswise in the shocked soldier’s lap with her back to the driver; her lower legs brushed his calves as she tucked them under his. “Shut the door.” Clumsily, he complied.

Cosimo said, “All we need is one idiot with a camera phone, and our picture will be in every rag in Italy tomorrow. ‘Carabinieri Partying on Duty.’

 “Then let’s get on the road, before someone notices,” she said, putting her arms around Anello’s neck and clasping her hands over his shoulder. His arms seemed to have nowhere to go but around her waist and across her thighs.

The driver pulled away, tires grumbling on the stones. Putting her nose to Anello’s ear she said, softer than a whisper, “We both know you’re going to get hard. It’s reflex, normal and natural. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not going to act all shocked and outraged, all right?”

He swallowed and gave a tiny nod.

“Just don’t take that as permission to get handsy, or I may bite off your ear lobe.”

The vehicle rolled uphill toward the mountain’s crest eight kilometers distant. When they left the village behind, the road changed from asphalt to hardpack, parts of it washboarded by truck traffic. The girl swayed, bumping against both men.  “Uh uh uh. Gesu, this thing rides rougher than a tank, I swear.”

Anello held her a little tighter and braced his feet, keeping her from sliding over into the driver. “Let me keep my ear.”

“You’re being a perfect gentleman, given the circumstances.” She smiled, her cheek brushing against his as the vehicle lurched. “It seems like we should at least know each other’s names, don’t you think?”

“Anello.”

“Verotrois.”

“French?” The girl had spoken with an accent he’d thought was Roman, but maybe not.

“Well, the name is.”

“How old are you?”

She bumped her forehead against the side of his head above the ear. “Good grief, don’t you know girls any better than to ask one how old she is? Next you’ll be asking my weight.”

She had seemed a bit heavy for a girl her size, but he had chalked that up to the uncomfortable position. Regardless, Anello had sense enough not to make such a query. Not least because of her purse, slung off her shoulder by a long strap, which was bumping on his knee; he felt sure by its hardness and heft that there was a pistol in it.

She shifted a leg, and he clenched his buttocks. The girl gave a tiny chuckle. In that almost-silent voice she had used before, she said, “When I first sat on you, do you know what I almost said before I caught myself?” Her lips were against his ear; he felt them stretch in a smile.  “‘Let’s not make a big thing out of it.’”

He snorted, and he relaxed a bit, as much as he was likely to at least, he thought, before they reached the lodge.

“Why the hurry?” He said, trying to ignore her breast pressed sideways into his shoulder, and her breath in his ear. “Something up?”

“Don’t know, can’t say. Just got an urgent call back to the inn.”

Cosimo spoke up. “You’re staying there?”

“We did, last night. Everything’s up in the air right now.”

“We?”

“My sister and I.”

The driver raised his eyebrows. “Sister.”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s such a shame about her face.”

The lodge came into view. Anello saw that another girl was standing impatiently in the front doorway, this one blonde and better dressed for the weather. The little Land Rover pulled up and stopped, and Anello fumbled for the handle and swung the door open.

Verotrois pressed a hand against Anello’s chest as she slid off him, and he stifled a groan. “Thanks for the ride,” she said with a smile, shutting the door. “‘Voir.”

Cosimo gave the girl’s rear end his full attention as she walked away. “Our tax dollars at work,” he said breezily.

The blonde turned to enter the building as the dark girl approached. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Oh, hush.”

Back on the road, the driver asked, “Having trouble getting comfortable, Florentino?”

“Shut up,” the other man said, embarrassed, as he tugged at his trouser leg. “She was bouncing on my cock for ten minutes. Don’t tell me it wouldn’t be the same for you.”

“It wouldn’t. Mine would be bigger.” Cosimo scoffed. “The inside of the car is full of her perfume. Her hair brushed my leg three times while I was driving. That and her voice were enough to give me a chubby, brother.”


Last edited by Thescarredman on Sat 5 Apr 2014 - 13:10; edited 1 time in total
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Thescarredman

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Forum Posts : 1890

Location : Toledo, Ohio, United States

Fan of : Rico, Bice

Original Characters : Kristal & Verotrois / Doc; Angel / Jack Keaton; Tiffany/Stefan

Comments : .
Mario Bossi would make a better handler than Marco Toni. Come to think of it, so would Christiano.
.
Elizaveta didn't jump - she was pushed.
.
Sofia was pregnant. It would have been a boy.

Registration date : 2012-02-04
Your character
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Fri 4 Apr 2014 - 22:41

Quite the erotic tale! Smile
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Forum Posts : 1977

Fan of : Lauro and Olga!

Original Characters : Vinson/Helen/Salvatore + Gunther/Ayden. Baddies are a small group of 'techno-anarchists'

Comments : I hope to include a short illustrated fanfic story of both Mr. Yutaka Aida's characters as well as some I've come up with.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by MP5 on Sat 5 Apr 2014 - 8:01

What a tease. Smile

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by taerKitty on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 2:05

Standard disclaimers:

- You had better be 18 or older
- This isn't canon
- This isn't even fanon

===

Spoiler:
Priscilla stepped out of the car.  She took a deep breath to calm her belly.  All that did was give her a slight head-rush.

Paolo closed the driver-side door.  He looked at her, his face impassive.  He knew it was a falsehood, a studied expression to give nothing away.  He hoped it worked.

"Are you sure?"

They blinked in surprise.  The words filled the deserted street simultaneously.

Paolo ran his hand through his slightly wavy brown hair.  It seemed to glow in the dying sunlight.  And the way it played with the pinkish sunlight...

"... do this if you're not sure."

She blinked.  "Huh?  What did you say?"

"You don't have to do this, I said."  He looked at the stairs up to the flat.  "No one said you have to be do active fieldwork.  You're a great asset as an analyst."

"No, it's... it's important for me.  I told you that already."

"Yes.  Yes, you did.  But you're not sure now, are you?"

Priscilla blushed.  She grimaced, looked down and shook her head. "No, not really.  I mean, I want to be in the field, but ... I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"I'm not either.  Let's call it off."

"No!"  Her shout froze his hand millimeters from the door handle. "I ... I want to be in the field.  I do!  You know I do!"

Paolo hesitated.  "I know.  'To be there in case Dina needs me.'"  He forced back his own roiling thoughts.  "Resistance training isn't going to be easy."  And it won't be easy subjecting you to it.

She nodded.  "I'm ready."

He picked up the rucksack.  "All right, let's do this."

They walked up the stairs, Priscilla's tread slowing minutely each step.

They studied the dusty flat.  It was small, bare.  The lights were dim.

Paolo dragged the heavy curtains closed, shutting out what little bluish sunlight remained.  "All right.  Sit on the floor."

Heart fluttering, she did so.

Paolo undid the flaps and pulled out a large skein of rope.  He measured out a length from his upstretched hand to the floor, then doubled it.  One hand marking the spot, his other hand produced a set of blunt-tipped offset rescue shears.  "One of the common mistakes is to try to use the entire run of rope to restrain someone."

Priscilla nodded and swallowed.

With the rope still doubled, Paolo knelt by Priscilla.  He swallowed, then looked at her deep brown eyes.  He hoped his eyes didn't betray his own urges.

Priscilla swallowed in reflex.  "Uh, is everything all right?"

"Ahem...  Yes."  Looking away, he ran his free hand through his hair again.

Again, that simple act stole her senses.

His hands trembled slightly as he neared her thigh.  With a deep breath, he wrapped the doubled rope around her limb.  As he fed the two loose ends through the loop, and pulled them snug he started to narrate. "This is called a lark's head knot.  By itself it's easy to undo, but..."

He wrapped the free end once aroud her thigh, then threaded it through the initial loop.  "This gives us a good anchor point."

He tied a square knot with the two ends and gave it a firm tug.  "Notice how the knot doesn't slip."

He slipped a finger between the rope and her thigh.  "It's important that the rope not bite into the person.  Even if you're restraining a prisoner, you don't want the medical complications if they lose circulation."

Priscilla nodded, at once entranced by his calm and calming voice, and also almost mentally disassociating from this situation.  To be so close, and so ...

She shook her head.

"What, is it too tight?"

"No, no, it's not that.  I ... I was distracted.  I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, you can see how I tie your other leg."

The thought of that iced her spine.

He now guided her leg to bend fully at the knee; then wrapped the two ends of the rope around her shin and thigh.  "This is called a frog-tie.  It's not the most restrictive of ties, but it will work for what I have planned."

She saw the faintest of smiles as he said that.  It both scared her and thrilled her.

Finally, he wrapped the rope around the outer loops, feeding it under her upper leg (dangerously close to her buttocks), around the loop by her inner thigh (and dangerously close to ...), then between the thigh and her calf.  "This is a cinch.  Notice how if I pull on this, the loop around your leg gets tighter."

Biting her lip, she nodded.

"Remember, you have to be able to slip a finger between the rope and the person.  It's easy to pull this too tight, and there may be issues later on."

Her head in a slight haze, she continued to nod, and continued to suck on her lip.

In short order, he tied her other leg in the same way.  "All right, into the closet with you."

She looked at him in alarm.

"Don't worry, I'll be here the whole time.  You'll be fine.  Now, it's better if you try to move side to side..."

With effort, with some gentle guidance from his strong, calloused hands, she found herself kneeling in the small coat closet by the front door.

"All right, now, face the wall."

Clumsily, she rocked back and forth on knee to knee until she did so.  He almost lost her balance once, but his hands were there to catch her.  She blushed at that - not the loss of balance, not even the need to rely on him.  It was something else.

He fidgeted with something behind her back.  Her curiousity danced at the nape of her neck.

"It's all right to look.  I'm just..."  Snip!  "Cutting a few lengths of rope.  Different shibari artists like..." Snip!  "Different lengths.  Sometimes, we use much longer runs of rope..." Snip! "But for this, I've found that four meters or so is good."  Snip!

She found her head turned toward his voice without conscious choice or thought.  Her breath caught in her throat as he approached.  The faint brush of the rope being laid at the base of her skull nearly caused her to moan.

She blushed at that.

"Okay, some riggers play with the neck.  I'll probably do that later, but this is a lot to take in at once, so let's start slow.  I'm not going to wrap it around your neck.  If  you do find yourself with a rope around your neck, be very careful,  Even if you give it slack, it might have a knot that's so tight it won't play back the slack."

She nodded, her mouth dry.

"Here, i'm going to instead go over your shoulders and... arms up, please ... under your armpits.  Are you ticklish?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Don't worry, this won't tickle.  You can put your arms down now.  Okay, see how I'm tying them to the middle of the rope?  See how it's now off your neck?  It's like a rucksack, but a snug one."

She tried to shrug her way free, but couldn't.  There wasn't enough play.  The ropes weren't cutting into her, but they frustrated her by not slipping over the round of her shoulder.

For his part, Paolo's heart leap at the sight of her struggle.  How her body seemed to dance under the light, ratty sweater.  It was neither immodest nor loose.  From where he stood, he could see the line her shoulder blades made when she squirmed.

The sight stirred a most unprofessional response.  Good thing she's looking away.

"All right.  Now, hands behind your back, please."

She obliged.

"Most people make the mistake of tying the wrists first, or sometimes only tying the wrists.  The elbows are the best way to secure some... wow, your elbows can touch behind your back!  Is this uncomfortable?"

She gave a nervous laugh.  "No.  I guess yoga is good for something after all."

Paolo was assaulted by images of her in form-fitting yoga clothing.  He blinked and forced himself back to the task at hand.  "Yes, I suppose so.  Now, tying the elbows is effective, but you can easily escape it by forcing your elbows together closer.  Try it."

She did, and was rewarded by the loops of rope gradually sliding down her arms.

"See?  But this is what the butterfly is for."

Priscilla's thoughts instantly flew to memories of that girls-night excursion into the adult district, and that one specific store.  "Bu-bu-butter-butterfly?"

Paolo tugged at the figure-eight ensnaring her shoulders.  "This.  Isn't it like a butterfly?  The wings are around your shoulder, and the body is back here?"

"Oh.. yes.  Yes.  You called it a rucksack before.  That's why I was... why I was confused.  Yes.  That's why."  Thank goodness he can't see my face!

Seemingly oblivious to her distress, Paolo re-wound the rope around her elbows.  "Remember, start with a lark's head.  Then around, double-back at the initial loop.  A cinch around the outer loop, and..."

She felt the rope at her shoulder grow taut.

"We anchor it to the butterfly.  Now, try it."

She did so, but the bonds around her elbows didn't yield.  Her struggles did make her realize that, with her shoulders pulled back, her chest was thrust forward, and the once-insignificant masses were in prominent display.

Paolo continued to recite as he bound her wrists in a similar fashion.  "Lark's head.  Double back.  Cinch.  Got it?"

She found herself unable to speak.  All she could do was nod her head.  Vigorously.

"All right.  Now turn ninety degrees."

Alarmed, Priscilla glanced down at her chest.  "Wait!  Uh... why?"

"The closet isn't deep enough for the next part.  Even with your head against that wall, I won't be able to close the door.  You'll have to be facing to the left or right.  Your choice."

Her face crimson, her lower lip fully sucked into her mouth, her eyes lowered, she slowly shimmied into position.  Thankfully, Paolo didn't seem to notice.  He continued his lecture as he tied a rope to the middle of the bonds securing her wrists.

He pushed the rope over the closet bar and started to pull on it.  "All right, now this is called predicament bondage."

Her arms forced up behind her back, Priscilla found herself bent over.  Gravity fought with her brassiere, and her breasts seemed to grow before her eyes.

Paolo stopped when her arms were pulled so far upward that all her weight was on her knees, with the tips of her shoes barely scraping the dusty floor.  Her heels no longer touched her buttocks.  In fact, her legs were straining aginst the ropes.

"See how the frog tie keeps you from being able to lift your body any further?  You can either relieve the pressure on your shoulders by tensing your legs, or you can let your legs relax and put more pressure on your shoulders."

He stepped back and closed the door.  "Now, remember, I'll be right here, just outside the door.  You can just call for me to set you free."

But...  A thought nagged her mind.  "How long do I have to say here?"

"For you to get certified in resistance to coercion?  Two hours."

Two hours?!?

The dark seemed to close in around her.  "That... that's a long time."

"Tell you what, we knock out half hour, but you might not like it."

Priscilla tried to swallow.  On her third attempt, she managed to moisten her throat enough to be able to speak.  "What is it?"

"I gag and hood you.  That's what some kidnappers do."

"Gag?  I don't remember that in any movies."

"It's only in covert intelligence contenxt; in case the subject has a suicide tooth."

"Oh."

"So, an hour-and-a-half, or two?"

Priscilla strained against her bonds.  There was a helplessness she never felt before, but also a heat in her belly that was migrating downward to a most ... embarassing place.  The thought of his strong, calloused hands...

"One.  One-and-a-half hours."

"Sorry, I didn't hear you."

Her words seemed so very loud in her ears, but she realized them they were but a whisper.  "Uh, one-and-a-half hours, please."

The door opened, bringing with it a rush of welcome, cool air.  "I was hoping you'd say that."

She stared at his silhouette, and the shadows in his hands.  One was a bag, the hood.  The other looked to be a short leash, but with a bulge in the middle.

He answered her silent question by kneeling by her.  "Open your mouth."

The command caused her to inhale sharply.  Gone was the tentative, halting nature.  Her mouth opened obediently.

With quick, practiced motions, he seated the huge red ball behind her teeth.  "That's one part the movies always get wrong.  If the girl has the ball between her teeth, then she can spit it out." He secure the straps.  "You try it."

"Aaaah."  She tossed her head wildly, but couldn't force the ball to her teetth.  It pressed against the roof of her mouth and her tongue, so her teeth were forced apart, but had nothing to bite into.

Paolo gently brushed her hair and formed it into a tidy and petite ponytail. A tuft really. "Nothing is more frustrating that having hair on your face under a hood.  Or so I heard."

Priscilla jerked her head, glared at him.  "Heeeaa?  Gaaah hooo?"  She tried to spit out the ball again, but only spilled a bit of dribble onto her protruding mounds.

"Never you mind."  Paolo gave her a kiss on her forehead, then set about slipping the kidskin hood over her.

When Priscilla heard "hood," she imagined a formless bag.  Instead, she found herself enveloped in warm, soft leather that conformed to her face's every cotour.  She blinke her eyes, marvelling at the foam rings well-placed to keep the kidskin away from her eyelids.  The metal grommets keeping the nostril vents open quickly warmed to her skin.

The band at the base of the hood, the collar, when the snap of the padlock sounded, it nearly caused her to ...

She clenched her loins, striving to deny herself any acknowlegement of the fires within.

The rub of laces through grommet seemed to boom in her ears as the hood grew gradually tighter, like it was a second skin.  She could still hear, though she had to set aside her heart's triphammer beat.  Her face grew warmer, and her cheeks seemed to burn with fever.

At least he can't see me blush.

Her thighs trembled.  She lowered herself onto her haunches, wincing as her shoulders tightend.  There was no comfortable position.  Here, she was so fully bent over, her lungs could barely fill, and even still, her shoulders pained her.

Her hands clawed, twisted, but couldn't find purchase.  Once, her little finger strummed the rope hoisting her wrists so high, but it was like a ghost. As much as she tried, she couldn't find it again.

As she raised her body up the scant centimer or three her frogtie allowed, Paolo's voice fought through her racing heartsounds.

"I can take off another half hour if you want."

"Hoaa?"

"I can't understand you."  Was he smiling?!  Priscilla could hear the faintest upturned lilt in his words, a faint spirit of amusement and maybe even mockery.

"HOAA?"

"It's so much trouble to take off the hood so I can undo the gag."

Yes, he was definitely toying with her!  She seethed and strained, but couldn't gain any slack.

"Heh he hou!"

"Is that 'Let me out?'"  Again, that infuriating smile!

She threw her head back and forth.  There!  I know you understand that!

"All right.  We'll just call this exercise over."

Wait!  Priscilla started to shake her head side to side, frantically.

"Oh, so you don't want to be set free?"

She sighed, then shook her head once.

"Okay, but do you want me to make it only one hour?"

"Hoaa?"

"Don't worry about how.  It's a yes-or-no question.  Do you want it to be one hour?  Or do you want to do the remaining... hour and fifteen minutes?"

It's only been fifteen minutes?  It felt like it was so much longer!  Defeated, Priscilla nodded.

"What, one hour?  Shake your head if you want to do an hour-and-fifteen, or nod if you want to only do an hour."

Priscilla nodded so fast she felt almost dizzy.

"Very well."

She sighed.  Her relief turned to shock when she felt her clothing being pulled, and then released, but now cut!  The chill of the metal rescue shears as they teased their way up her side.

"Hae! HAE!"

"This is why I told you to wear clothing you could throw away, remember?"

Priscilla sighed and shuddered.

He was thorough and careful.  With the finger's width of slack between rope and limb, Paolo was able to cut away even the clothing under the bonds.

Eventually, she was clad only in her underwear.

That, and the hood.

Strangely, she didn't find any rage in her.  Nor shame.  Instead, she found a sort of hunger, a hollowness.  She imagined how she looked to him, her body young, trim.  She thought back through all the times they spent, thinking about his eyes, how she thought of late that the kindness might be masking a more predatory gleam.

In spite of the her lips being parted by the ball, she found herself smiling at the possibilities.

As she settled her now-bare buttocks to rest atop her now-bare ankles, she heard Paolo's cat-and-canary voice.  "I can make it only half an hour if you want."

The sound of his voice cause her to involuntarily tighten her loins.  She nodded.

"Good girl.  You're not asking how, hm?  You're learning."

Where once that sort of challenge would give her pause, in her current headspace she just continued nodding.

Mentally, she was praying for the kiss of the scissors again.

Instead, she was disappointed as he looped the rope around her slender waist.  He tied it in back, like it was a tail, then fussed with it.  She imagined possible uses for it - attching it to the closet bar (which would help take some of the strain off her shoulders), or tying it to someplace - the door frame, maybe?  That would keep her from shifting forward and back, a trick she discovered to grant scant mercy on her shoulders between resting her legs and straining against the frogtie.

She nearly shrieked when she felt it part her lower clefts front and rear.  Worse, huge knots rested agaisnt her most sensitive flesh.  She felt her collar be pulled forward, his hands dancing against it.

The thought thrilled her.  No.  No, it aroused her.

"Now, this is called a crotchrope.  Each time you shift up and down, you'll cause it to slide forward or back, to tighten or loosen.  I think you'll find time will go by much faster this way."


Last edited by taerKitty on Wed 1 Apr 2015 - 22:20; edited 1 time in total

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by boomer_gonz on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 2:30

O.O
..............
wow.....

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Kurosaka "Ery" Erika on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 8:05

i usually avoid this part of the forum because of the lewdness...

but because of Tk's story... it's one of those story that i hate to love... W\'ever


And i don't even regret my decision coming here pacman


Last edited by Shino_Arcieri on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 13:29; edited 1 time in total
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Thescarredman on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 13:16

Oh, bad Kitty. This is certainly a reversal of Priss and Paolo's usual relationship in your stories. I see why you say it isn't fanon. But verrry interesting.
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Kurosaka "Ery" Erika on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 13:30

not sure if "50 shades of grey"... when i never actually watched it pacman


And if Marco saw her like that...

i wonder if he show his "Most priceless reaction" that could get him an Oscar pacman


Last edited by Shino_Arcieri on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 15:12; edited 1 time in total
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by MP5 on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 14:57

So, Priscilla shows her 'M' side, hmm?

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by taerKitty on Sun 14 Sep 2014 - 18:45

Thanks.  I enjoyed writing this.  It's been a while.

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by Officer_Charon on Mon 15 Sep 2014 - 15:18

.... This has most definitely got my attention. And you write both the Dom and the Sub side very well. *golfclap*

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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by tremec6speed on Mon 15 Sep 2014 - 22:26

as long as she passed the test, all's well.... 
lol
Razz
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Re: The Section 2 Smut Locker

Post by topgearbrzgt86 on Wed 1 Apr 2015 - 4:40

Here's a little extra story to explain what happened between Frédéric Loeb and Nyromi Lautani - and this was the same story that was told by Frédéric, to Jim and Jamiebel, and the memory the Frenchman alluded to in chapters 8 and 9 of "Roundabout Life". 

Flashback synopsis: A month had passed since Nyromi had arrived to fill in as Frédéric's squad's leader - and since day one, the two connected, as though nothing could separate them. This is the story of the last few moments of "the frog and the gypsy".

It does contain smut; nudity moreso - so you have been warned.

Spoiler:

Chapter 9 Extra: No Regrets

Another announcement for a leave to the pub was music to the squad of five. They completed two tough missions very efficiently in the month they had and the relationship between the squad mates and Nyromi had grown. 

Luc had gone from being somewhat skeptical and cynical of Nyromi, to somewhat more respectful of her - and Viggo became a very good friend of hers, sharing a few drinks with Nyromi and Frédéric on occasion. Guillaume and François had also warmed up to her, listening to her every command, and soon, becoming friends with her. And what of Frédéric, you ask?

"Two pints, Nyromi - one for you, and one for me; both on me," replied the Frenchman, a smile on his face - much warmer than the scowl he had towards her a month ago. Indeed, he has warmed up to the Roma woman, massively.

"And here I thought you were going to be a proper gent and give me both," Nyromi said with a smirk.

"Ah, but you'd be coercing me into a drink-off, my friend," he chuckled. "It seems the lads have warmed up to you - Viggo and myself moreso. Shame tomorrow is when you leave - we'll miss you dearly."

"Perhaps, but you are right. I should keep a level head for the 'morrow."

Frédéric nodded, drinking a bit from his mug. "I have to say, over the month you were here, my feelings have changed towards you... and I wish to be truly honest over a couple."

"Are you to say, you were not being honest before?"

"No, I was being honest - I just wanted to confess to you how I feel about you, after all this." Inhaling deeply, he replied something he would never take back; something important - important enough, that he (currently, with Jim and Jamiebel) wears a locket to remember her by.

"I...I...I think I love you."

Looking shocked at the sudden admission, Nyromi blushed a bright red before downing the contents of her mug in one pull.

"You heard me right. With how you've been treating us, and with our private talks at the pub, I started to feel a little closer to you...and I thought I'd may as well let it out to you right now. I remember what I said about you - and now I say this: you are a jewel in the desert - a very rare sight to behold, but that makes you all the more beautiful. It makes you who you are. It makes you...that special girl named Nyromi. A girl... whom I love."

"I...um...I...I..."

Just looking at Nyromi blushing and somewhat stutter, made Frédéric want to - and did make him - blush; he was unsure what she thought of his proposal. Could she not find it in her to love him the same way? 

The frustration mounting, he sighed in resignation and drank some more into his mug. "Go on - tell me you can't. I understand if you don't feel the same."

However, instead of shooting his admission down, Nyromi merely asked a simple, yet complex, question. 

"...Why today? Of all days, why tell me on this day?"

"If I had told you sooner, I would have thought it would have interfered with your work - and that I could be at fault, if you focused on me and failed, the rest of the time you were here." He finished the last of his drink in one pull, thinking he had been rejected. "If you hate me for that, then I'm sorry. I was just so worried."

"Care for one more round?"

Frédéric looked up in a bit of confusion. Did she feel the same way about him? 

Wait just a minute - did she just...? 

"Hm-? One more round of...?"

"Ale, you dolt," Nyromi said with a sheepish grin.

Frédéric, upon hearing that response, couldn't help but laugh. He did overthink it - deservedly, he had been labeled as such in his reaction. And he couldn't help but agree with that sentiment. 

Frédéric Loeb really was a dolt, when it came to romantic situations.

"Sure. I'm up for a few," was his response. And the smile on his face reemerged.

Calling for one more round from the barkeep, Nyromi bit her lip slightly as she looked to Frédéric. Looking up at him with those deep brown doe eyes, she spoke.

"I do hate you, Frédéric Loeb. Not for confessing your feelings to me, but for giving me so little time to reciprocate them."

So it was true - she loves me as well! Looks like the month-long planning paid off in the end. All right - time to go for the kill. Showtime.

A smirk emerged from Frédéric's face. "It's a little thing I have called timing, Nyromi Lautani. You have plenty of time to reciprocate your feelings."

"So you say, Mr. Loeb. Do you forget that I must return to my Credenhill, this time tomorrow?"

"It leaves all of tonight to reciprocate them." He gave Nyromi a subtle wink. "Like I said, plenty of time."

With another wry smile, Nyromi looks to Frédéric, with a need long since suppressed.

"Then I shall leave it to your talents, to assure that I sleep soundly on the transport back."

Frédéric raised his eyebrow in intrigue, knowing that she took the hint. "A call for me to serve under you one last time, I suppose?"

"If you call it that...then I must demand your very best, Mr. Loeb - and I expect absolute fulfillment of my orders."

The Frenchman delicately lifted Nyromi's chin to his face, and gave her smooth lips a little kiss - a tease for what she would soon be given. In a voice as low as he could, he uttered these words. 

"Of course. Your wish is my command, Ms. Lautani."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That same night, Frédéric and Nyromi rented a hotel room for the night, as to finish off some...last orders, in their terms. 

After a quick shower for both of them, Frédéric and Nyromi sat on the bed, in silent anticipation. Pulling her close after a few moments, Frédéric gently kissed Nyromi on the lips, just like he had done earlier, to start them off. 

Navigating his fingers through her dark brown hair, he replied, "I'm looking forward to making you sleep soundly tonight, my love."

"Forget tonight," Nyromi said as she returned Frédéric's kiss, running her fingers through his thick blond hair. "Make me sleep through tomorrow afternoon."

"You asked nicely."

He gently removed Nyromi's shirt and bra, carefully caressing her curves while kissing her all the while. "I want your dreams will be very fulfilling."

Softly moaning at Frédéric's little teases, Nyromi manages to mutter, "Show me." She slowly removed the Frenchman's shirt, revealing his toned torso, also kissing him all the while.

Frédéric nodded slightly, and removed her panties and pants in one, to reveal what Nyromi wanted - the key to her sweet dreams. Removing his own pants and underwear, he asked one last question.

"Do you want me to be gentle or rough?"

"Handle me however you wish, but know this: it will be I, who will be finishing you off." 

Biting her lip again, Nyromi wrapped her legs around Frédéric as she pulled him closer, baiting him into giving her what she hungered for.

"We'll see," were the last words Frédéric spoke, before allowing himself into her.

He started to push gently, eliciting a small moan from the Roma woman. Staying silent, he was starting to find his rhythm; he thrust slowly, but surely into her. She felt tight, but oh, so pleasurable. A few thrusts in and he increased his speed, carefully caressing her breasts, as though they were priceless.

Holding him close, Nyromi whined in time to Frédéric's thrusts...and for once in a very long time, she felt so very beautiful.
----------------------------------------------------------

"Well, it looks as though this is good-bye, Ms. Lautani," replied Viggo.

"That it does, Mr. Ogier. May you lot remember your time with me and go forth into victory."

"We shall. Everyone, salute!" All five men and their commanding officer entered the salute pose in respect for their departing Staff Sergeant, and in remembrance of her.

Clicking her heels one more time, Nyromi returned their salute. Locking onto Frédéric, Nyromi smiled wide despite herself, as the blond Frenchman did the same to her. Lowering her arm, her men did the same. With one last wave, Nyromi mounted her transport and closed the door. 

Soon after Nyromi was spirited away, she found a comfortable spot in the seat cushion and smiled as she rested away the afternoon.

Looking on, the six men turned their backs and walked back to the cafeteria.

"Hey, Frédéric," Luc asked, "what do you think that gypsy's smiling about?"

"Oh, nothing special," the blond replied, smirking wryly. "Nothing special at all. Just a certain frog on her mind."

For both Frédéric and Nyromi, who spent their last night together in eternal bliss, one last thought was on their minds, to remember each other by:

"May we meet again..."

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