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April 11, 2011
Roseville, California

The Roseville High School cafeteria was particularly crowded with students during the lunch period on this day. Every table was full and a few kids were even forced to sit in the corner, in plastic chairs that were usually reserved only for official assemblies. The crowding - while unusual - was not because of the special announcement Principal Bauer was going to make. Everyone already knew what the announcement was going to be, had been through such announcements many times before, and had little or no interest in the words he would speak other than a morbid one. No, the real reason everyone happened to be inside today was an unseasonable rainstorm that had been pounding the Sacramento region all that day. The students who normally ate outside had been forced in.

Principal Bauer knew this but didn't really care. His enthusiasm for such announcements had faded long before as well. They were all too common these days, especially in the last two weeks, since the Asian Powers' spring offensive against the Western Hemisphere Alliance had begun. Still, it was a part of his job and he walked with dignity to the podium at the front of the room where he asked for, and eventually received, the relative attention of the early lunch students, most of whom were juniors and seniors.

"It is my sad duty to announce," he said into the microphone, "that another member of the Roseville High School alumni has given his life for his country on the active front. May I draw your attention to the Wall of Remembrance?" He nodded in the direction of the south wall, which was covered with framed, 8x10 photographs taken from yearbook files. Each one was of a Roseville High graduate who had been killed in action. With this latest addition, there were now 93 of them up there - 78 males and 15 females. And these were only the official KIAs. They did not include the 124 alumni who were listed as missing in action. Nor did they include the 84 who had been killed in training accidents or in non-combat situations. Nor did they include the 345 who had been wounded in action severely enough to be discharged and put on a lifetime disability pension.

"Newly unveiled on our wall today," Bauer continued, "is the image of John William Ringwell, Class of 2010. He was a member of the United States Army assigned to the 12th Armored Calvary Regiment and stationed on the active front in southwest Idaho. He was killed in combat two days ago during a tank battle with Chinese forces. Let us all bow our heads for a moment of silence in his honor."

Everyone dutifully bowed their heads and kept their mouths shut as asked. When the moment was up, Bauer invited them to pay their respects to the photograph as they left the cafeteria that day. He then made his leave, hustling back to his office to continue working on the budget reports for the next fiscal year.

At a table near the rear of the cafeteria, Eric Rowley sat with a group of his friends. Eric, a senior, had turned eighteen just three weeks before. He was technically old enough to be drafted now but like any high school student he was still covered under the Primary Education Deferment, which forbid the United States Selective Service from compelling him to go to war while he was still in school. The moment he graduated or dropped out of school, however, that deferment expired. "Anyone hear how Ringwell bought it?" he asked his friends as he shoveled processed lunchmeat into his mouth.

"The dumb fuck was in a tank," said Tyler Bentley, another senior. "They burned his ass to a crisp. That's how the tankers always go."

"That's a fuckin' retreat," said Matt Smith, who was munching on a microwave burrito.

Tyler simply shrugged contemptuously. "That's what he gets for going low-pro," he said, which meant that Ringwell - who they all remembered as a shy, somewhat nerdy senior while they had been juniors - had chosen to go "low profile", which meant he had not volunteered for the service upon graduation, instead waiting for the draft board to call him. Low-pro was considered a pussy thing to do among the 16 to 19 year old crowd. And it was also nothing more than a delaying tactic. Internet statistics showed that a graduating senior going low-pro would get nailed by the draft within six months anyway. The statistics also showed that a disproportionate number were assigned as crewmen on tanks, which everyone knew was the most dangerous place to be in an extremely dangerous war. Ringwell was a perfect example of the statistics in action. He had been drafted three months after graduating and had been assigned to tanks in southern Idaho - the most active portion of the front line, where more than two million soldiers from the United States, Mexico, Venezuela, and Brazil were faced off against more than two million soldiers from China, Japan, Vietnam, and Korea. And now Ringwell was dead, burned to death by a Chinese-designed, Japanese manufactured anti-tank missile, just one of nearly a million Allied soldiers killed since the war had started a little over two years ago.

"I'm tellin' you," Matt said. "Put me on the fuckin' line with a rifle. I'll kill all the chinks they want and take my chances against the artillery. Fuck that tank shit. Can you imagine? Being stuck inside one of them death traps and burning to death? The dumb fuck probably never even saw it coming."

"That ain't propaganda," Eric said solemnly, sipping out of his milk carton.

Matt gave him a sour look. "What the hell do you care about it, Rowley?" he asked. "You're Mr. Valedictorian, aren't you? You and your goddamned 3.9 GPA. You ain't gonna be going to the line when you graduate. You get to kick it in some college for four fuckin' years and if the war ain't over by then they'll just stick you in the rear somewhere."

Eric blushed a little at this jibe. It was true that he was set to graduate with a GPA higher than 3.8, which, under Selective Service Rules, would qualify him for one of the rare college deferments from the draft as long as he actually attended an institute of higher learning. Among his friends he was the only one with a high enough GPA, something that caused a considerable amount of resentment at times. "Hey, sarge," he said. "Just because I get the college deferment doesn't mean I have to take it. I can still volunteer, you know."

"Yeah right, like you would do that," Matt said.

"I'm just keeping my options open," Eric said. "You think I want to be some pussy college student while all my friends are on the line? Fuck that shit."

This appeased Matt, Tyler, and the rest of the seniors at the table. Among the adolescents of the day - all of whom were constantly bombarded with patriotic songs, television shows, and armed forces recruiting commercials - signing up for the service was the "static" thing to do, what everyone strived for. Not even the 93 pictures on their cafeteria wall could dissuade them.

"You the commander, Rowley," Tyler told him, holding up his hand for a high five. "Fuck that college shit. Let's go kill us some chinks."

Eric slapped hands with him and then did the same with Matt. They all left the cafeteria a few minutes later, walking by the Wall of Remembrance on the way. None of them so much as glanced at it.

The rain was still coming down as he rode his bicycle home after school that day. His body was covered with a vinyl rain slicker that was decorated with the winter camouflage scheme so popular among teens these days. He kept his head down as the drops pattered into him, as his wheels sluiced through puddles in the middle of Cirby Boulevard. Every once in a while he would look around in wonder at the six-lane road he was on, trying to remember what it had been like before the war, when automobile traffic had choked every intersection, when the smell of exhaust had permeated the air.

There were no automobiles on the road now. With the gasoline ration set at one gallon per household per month, and with that one gallon costing 125 dollars, only the very rich could afford to operate their motor vehicles. Most of the cars these days were rotting away in garages, or had been sold for scrap iron at a hundredth of what they had originally cost. The Asian Powers - who had captured the Middle East, Siberia, and Alaska in the first few months of the war, and who still held them - had put a serious kink in the American commute. All of the domestic oil production from California, Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, and all of the remaining foreign oil production from Mexico, Nigeria, and Venezuela, was being used to make fuel for fighting the war. The American economy had nearly collapsed in those first few months and was still quite far from recovery. If not for the suspiciously timely development of practical cold fusion to generate electrical power, there might very well have been mass starvation.

Cirby Boulevard ended at the intersection of Foothills Boulevard. Eric turned right here and was now riding alongside the Roseville Train Yard - the largest freight switching facility west of the Mississippi River. Miles of track stretched along the western edge of the Sacramento suburb, with hundreds of freight cars and flat cars parked or slowly moving about from one place to another. The war had made the yard a very busy place. The boxcars were full of artillery shells, tank rounds, machine gun bullets, rifles, and, of course, reloads for the AT-9 launchers - the laser-guided, shoulder-fired anti-tank weapon most responsible for the bloody stalemate that had developed on both the American front in the Pacific Northwest and the European front where the Brits, Germans, French, Spanish, and South Africans were pitted against two and a half million Indian soldiers. The flatcars all contained armored vehicles - M2A1 main battle tanks, armored personnel carriers, half-tracks, self-propelled 155-millimeter artillery guns, and mobile surface-to-air missile launchers. On the flatcars heading north or east, the armor was brand new, the protective covers still in place. On the flatcars returning from the front, the vehicles were smashed, burned, in some cases completely unrecognizable, on their way back to the southern California area for recycling.

The train yard itself was a frequent target of Chinese bombers operating out of bases in Southern Washington. At least twice a week Chinese pilots flying American designed F-15s or A-6s or Russian designed MiG-27s or SU-34s would come in low, using the Sierra Nevada Mountains to the east to hide from radar before swooping at rooftop level along the Sacramento Valley floor. Their weapon of choice were unguided 500 pound free-fall bombs which, when scattered among the parked trains, could disrupt the vital railhead for days, sometimes even weeks if they managed to hit some of the fuel tankers or the munitions cars. To counter this threat, the train yard was absolutely lousy with anti-aircraft weapons. Riding over the overpass that crossed a section of the tracking, Eric could see three fixed SAM sites, more than a dozen mobile SAM launchers, almost thirty heavy caliber flak guns, and about a hundred 23-millimeter AA guns within the boundaries of the yard. Despite all of this firepower, the Chinese got their bombs through a depressing amount of the time, as was evidenced by the shattered remains of train cars that were stacked off to the southern portion of the yard.

Eric continued down the other side of the overpass and followed Foothills for another mile before turning left onto a two-lane street that led into the residential neighborhood where he lived. The houses here were all modest tract homes that had been built in the late 1990s or early 2000s. All of the lawns were now overgrown and shaggy since there was no gasoline available to mow them with. Since it was a bit chilly today, many of the fireplaces had smoke coming from them because the cost of natural gas had more than quintupled since the beginning of the war. Many of the houses were just plain deserted, the occupants who could afford it having fled to safer living quarters. What made the neighborhood unsafe was not the crime rate - that was at its lowest level in history in the US since most of America's youth was now fighting the war - but the proximity to the rail yards. The Chinese did not go out of their way to drop their bombs in the middle of the residential zone, but it happened by mistake quite often. More common, however, was that a bomber would be shot out of the sky by one of the yard's anti-air weapons and would crash down into the neighborhood, wiping out a few houses or a strip mall. In the last year, since the Asian Powers forces had pushed into Washington and Idaho and gotten themselves into bombing range of Central California, more than fifty homes had been destroyed, more than a hundred had been damaged, and nearly two hundred people had been killed in the five square miles of residential neighborhood adjacent to the yards. There was talk of condemning the rest of the homes and forcing the residents out for their own safety - talk that was met with sometimes violent protest by the residents in question because they would be ineligible for any kind of compensation if the resolution were to pass. Eric tried not to think about what would happen if they were forced to leave. He and his mother were barely hanging onto their home as it was. They would literally have no place to go if they were forced out. Nor could they even hope a bomber would come down on their house one night and damage or destroy it so they could collect the insurance money. Such destruction was a direct result of an act of war and therefore not covered under the homeowner's policy.

The house where Eric lived with his mother was a two-story, purchased nineteen years before, during much happier times, when Roger and Elizabeth Rowley were young parents of a two-year old girl and Eric was a two month fetus in his mother's belly. That had been during the beginning of the dot-com boom, when everyone was getting rich and mortgage companies were practically giving home loans away. These days, the house was a bit ramshackle, its paint peeling in many places, tiles missing from the roof, the chimney sagging tiredly. It was also almost completely worthless since it was in a neighborhood that would likely be condemned soon. His mother literally wouldn't be able to give it away, yet the mortgage company still insisted on receiving their $1148.43 on the first of every month. That was not a terribly high mortgage payment in this day and age, but it was somewhat steep for a widowed mother on top of her daughter's college tuition and books and all the other bills. Eric's sister, Megan, who was a junior at the University of Santa Barbara, helped out when she could, but most of the money she earned from her job as a waitress went for her own living expenses. Eric too, helped out when he could. He had a part-time job as a clerk at a nearby hardware store. Half of his weekly salary he turned over to his mother to help make ends meet.

He parked his bike in the garage and entered through the back door. The house was chilly, since the furnace had been permanently shut down to save money and their firewood had long since run out. The aroma of cooking was in the air. It smelled like stew, one of the staples of their diet. Sure enough, when he came into the kitchen, his mother was standing before a pot on the stove, slowly stirring her concoction of jarred beef cuts and vegetables grown in her backyard victory garden.

"Hi, Mom," he said as he came up behind her and took a sniff. "How's it advancing?"

"About the same as always," she said tiredly, dumping a few pinches of salt into the pot. "How was your day?"

"It wasn't too much of a retreat," he told her. "Could've done without the rain though."

She nodded, having barely heard him. Her attention often wandered these days, as if she wasn't quite sure where she was from minute to minute. The loss of her husband - Eric and Megan's father - six months before seemed to have taken much of the life out of her. Roger Rowley had been one of the civilian casualties of the war. A mid-level accountant, he had been standing on a loading platform one day with a hundred or so other people, awaiting the light rail train that would return him to the suburbs after a hard day of bean counting. Suddenly he had collapsed to the ground in a heap, the back of his head a mush of blood and brains. The police investigation and the autopsy would reveal he had been struck by a 23mm anti-aircraft round that had been fired more than twenty miles away, nearly five minutes earlier in response to a flight of Chinese planes streaking towards a fuel storage facility in the suburb of Rancho Cordova. The shell had missed the plane and come down in a ballistic arc, burying itself in his skull. He had never known what hit him. And, like the homeowners insurance, the life insurance company did not pay for claims caused by an act of war.

"You working again tonight?" Eric asked her, noting she was dressed in the ragged blue jeans and sweater that were the favored attire for the job she had taken after his father's death. She worked in what had once been a soup factory in South Sacramento but what was now one of the primary manufacturing points for the MREs the front-line soldiers consumed for their daily rations. It was a menial, low-paying job for a woman who held a bachelor's degree in Business but it was all she had been able to get.

"That's right," she said. "I'm working a double."

"A double? Jeez, Mom, you're gonna burn yourself out doing that."

"When they offer overtime, I don't turn it down," she told him. "We need the money. You know that as well as I do."

"I suppose," he said doubtfully. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I got enough," she assured him. "If I get tired I'll catch a few minutes on my lunch periods. How about you? Have they offered you any overtime down at the hardware store?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm barely able to keep the twenty-four hours a week they give me. Not too many people buying hardware these days."

"No," she said with a sigh. "I don't suppose there are. You haven't heard back from the Saving Center?"

The Saving Center was a huge food market that employed dozens of bicycle delivery boys to bring groceries to the elderly and the war widows with children in the absence of vehicles. It was a highly sought after job because it paid well, included tips, and, rumor had it, the young war widows were sometimes more than a little friendly with the young boys who brought them their groceries. "I'm on their waiting list," he told her, "but they probably won't be hiring again until summer, when the seniors they have working for them head off for basic training."

"Well, that's only a few more months," she said. "Maybe you can get three months work in before you head off to college."

"Yeah," he said vaguely. "Maybe I will." He didn't tell her that he was seriously considering being one of those seniors who would be heading off to basic training. After all, college would still be there after he did his four-year commitment, wouldn't it? And he would still have that 3.9 GPA on his record. He could do his part to help push the Chinese out of North America and then use the money he earned to start working on his dream of one day becoming a doctor. But his mother didn't need to know about this just yet - not while she still had two and half months to try talking him out of it.

"Anyway," she said, "I need to get myself down to the light rail station if I want to make it to the factory on time. You know how long it takes to get across town these days. Let the stew simmer for about two more hours and then you can eat it. And be sure to put what's left in the refrigerator. I put a lot of sweat into those goddamned vegetables."

"Okay, Mom," he said.

She picked up a plastic Tupperware bowl. "And fill this up and take it over to Victoria," she told him. "I told her I'd send some over for her."

"Sure," he said, unable to keep the sour tone from his voice. Victoria was their 26-year-old next-door neighbor. She was unemployed, spending all of her time taking care of her debilitated husband, who had been injured in the Battle of Viola. Since her only source of income was the paltry disability pension the government gave her, Eric's mother frequently helped her out with food donations. Eric had a hard time being sympathetic towards Victoria's plight since he and his mother barely had enough food to last between paydays themselves, but his mother - who loved to feel sorry for people - insisted on sharing what they had.

"Don't you give me that tone," she warned. "You know Vickie only gets her check once a month. If we didn't help her out from time to time she wouldn't be able to make it from one paycheck to the next."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, unimpressed, as always, with her plight.

"And don't you go giving her mostly broth either. Lots of meat and lots of vegetables. I'll check."

"Yes Mom," he sighed. "I'll give her the cream of the stew, I promise."

She looked at him for a moment, as if wondering whether to make further comment and then decided not to. She picked up her purse, clipped her personal computer - or PC, which served as a combination cellular phone and pocket computer - to her waist, and headed for the door. She walked out into the rain towards the electric bus stop half a mile away.

Two and a half hours later, after eating three bowls of the fragrant stew and four pieces of the homemade bread, Eric packed up the Tupperware bowl with as much broth and as little meat and vegetables as he thought he could get away with and went next door to Victoria's house. It was one of the smaller models in the subdivision, a single story, three bedroom - the kind referred to in happier times as a starter house.

The front door swung open to his knock and Victoria herself stood there. Though the stress of the past few years had aged her a bit, and though Eric harbored a considerable amount of resentment towards her, he could not deny that she was still an attractive woman. Her hair was a rich brunette and her body was well formed, with feminine curves in all the right places. Her breasts, while not particularly large, were not small either. Her face was pretty in an innocent sort of way, with rounded cheekbones and a dainty nose, the sort of features women had once paid top dollar to have a plastic surgeon mold for them. Eric, despite his annoyance, couldn't help but admire her form now, as she stood there in a pair of gray sweat shorts and a plain white T-shirt that didn't quite cover her belly.

"Hi, Eric," she said, a smile coming to her face as she saw him standing there. "What brings you over here today?"

He pushed the Tupperware container towards her. "My mom made some stew today and she wanted me to bring some over to you."

"Oh, that was awfully sweet of her," she said, taking the container. "And it's still hot, too. You two always help me out so much. Are you sure you can spare it? Believe me, I know how tough things are these days."

He bit his tongue against the reply he wanted to give. "We can spare it," he grunted.

"Well thank you so much," she said. "And thank your mother too."

"I'll do that," he said, catching one last glance of her legs and then turning to go.

"Oh, Eric," she said in her patented can-you-do-me-a-quick-favor voice.

He turned slowly back to her. "Yeah?" he asked, not bothering to completely mask his annoyance.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You do so much for me and I know I'm a bother sometimes, but the ceiling fan in the living room is making this ticking noise. You're good with your hands. Could you maybe take a look at it for me?"

He sighed, considering just telling her to turn the damn ceiling fan off it was bothering her but knowing his mother would be pissed if he did and word got back to her (as it almost certainly would - the two of them gabbed to each other almost every day). "Sure," he said, resigned. "I'll come in and take a look at it."

He followed her into the house and through the formal living room to the family room, staring at her ass the entire trip. She really did have an attractive derriére. And no one was even touching it these days. Men were scarce in the landscape and the one she had was certainly in no shape to do anything for her. Or for anyone for that matter.

John Massley - Victoria's husband - had been a civil engineer before the war, an employee of Sacramento County whose specialty was traffic-flow projects. His background and schooling had earned him a commission in the army once the war started. He had been a lieutenant in charge of a combat engineering platoon during the Battle of Viola, the decisive battle named for the small town in Southern Idaho where the Western Hemisphere forces had finally -after being ground backward for more than a year - halted the advance of the Chinese armies and stabilized the North American front into the bloody stalemate it now was. During the most vicious fighting of this two-month battle, Lieutenant Massley had been frantically directing his platoon to wire a bridge for destruction when a one inch piece of jagged shrapnel from a Chinese 155mm artillery shell had lanced through the side of his head, destroying his optic and olfactory nerves as well as tearing out most of his frontal lobe. Incredibly, he had survived his injury, despite having been triaged as "expectant", or "dead in sixty seconds" by the medics who rushed to his side. But he hadn't died in sixty seconds, instead, he continued breathing and moaning for the better part of thirty minutes before they decided to re-designate his status and put him on the dust-off chopper to the MASH unit. Once there, the combat surgeons gave him the lowest possible priority, not wanting to waste time treating a dying man. He had lain on a stretcher for hours while they'd treated every other casualty that had come in and still his respiration and heartbeat had chugged on. Finally, with nothing else to do with him, they closed all of the bleeders in his head and stitched him up, expecting him to expire within hours. He didn't. He hung in there for six more days before - again with nothing else to do - they'd shipped him off to the VA hospital at Travis Air Force Base. The neurosurgeons there patched him up a little bit more but they told Victoria he wouldn't live a week, that the crude lobotomy would surely not be compatible with survival. They too had been wrong. It had been more than a year now and he was still hanging in there, although there were many who would say he really had died that day in Idaho and his body simply didn't know it yet.

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Back in my small apartment, I found myself staring at my mobile phone. Without much conscious thought, I pressed the ‘Dial’-button. “Will ... Will, is that you?” “Yeah, Caryn, it’s me ... Sorry, I shouldn’t have called you at this late hour. I hope I didn’t wake Judy.” “That’s alright - but ... Will, are you drunk?” “As a skunk, actually.” For some reason, some stupid part of me found that funny and I giggled a bit. Then it hit me that she might see the reason of my laughter a quite bit...

2 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 1

In a way, I should be thankful, since during the next two or three days I didn’t think much about my lost, loved ones. I was so sick from headache and continuous vomiting that I was not able to form a single coherent thought. Okay, I would have liked to beat that bastard - Mr. Greg Older, who pulled me out from my self-destructive misery - but he was too clever for that, and he made his wife Laura take care of me. So, instead of beating anyone, I found myself apologizing to her all the time,...

3 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 2

The following week, I did another extra shift on Tuesday, and I could almost feel how there was always someone following me. I made sure that I just did my job and did not ask any unnecessary questions, nor did I try to keep track of what was happening there around me. Close to the and of my shift, Ken came to me and asked how I was doing. I just shrugged. “Okay, I guess. These extra shifts help a lot if I ever want to move away from that shithole I currently have.” “What’s wrong with...

4 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 3

When I left the hotel on Saturday morning, I could almost feel the looks from the hotel staff. Whatever, I was quite sure that I’d never again visit that hotel, anyway. Next Monday morning, I dropped all my extra gear back at Noelle’s desk and she stopped me before I could go to see Greg. “Will, Mrs. Seiler is in our own meeting room and she’d like to see you.” “Okay - and thanks, Noelle!” On my way to the small meeting room we had there, I wondered why Mrs. Seiler still wanted to see me....

2 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 4

The following morning I had an early breakfast, before returning to my room and working intensively for the next hour and a half. Then I called Noelle and let her know my program for the rest of the day, before starting the two-hour drive back. My first meeting was with a makeup artist whom we had been using during our undercover operations. To call her a makeup artist was quite an understatement of her skills, since besides being able to make a temporary change to your looks, she could...

3 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 5

The common breakfast was a strange event. The good thing about it was I got confirmation of the number of the people who formed ‘The Group’ and lived on this ranch. There were about ten men present, which equaled a total of twelve. All of them were in their mid-thirties or older, and they all seemed to be in good physical shape. What surprised me was the number of women. There were more than twenty women; the youngest of them were barely in their teens, and even the oldest were probably under...

2 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 6

When the evening came, I had finally moved all my meager belongings to the quarters Ruth and Amy were occupying. During the evening meal, I could see all the men chuckling when they watched Ruth circling me - while I tried to look totally oblivious about the whole thing. When it was time to clean the tables, Matthew came to me carrying something. “John, I heard that you lost the charger of your MP3-player. I hope this one fits since you certainly will earn some peaceful moments in the back...

5 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 8

Even though Louise was not big girl and probably weighed just barely over 100 pounds, I really started feeling the extra weight by the time we reached the gate. I used the rest of the glue on the lock, but I was sure it would not stop the authorities once they found the tunnels. Once we started climbing, I was soon breathing hard. It didn’t really help that Louise was awake and complained all the time about the torture she was being put through. I thought about stopping and gagging her, but I...

2 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 9

I didn’t see much of Jeanie, but I heard that she spent most of her time either studying - or in therapy. Therefore I was surprised when one Monday afternoon there was a knock on my office door. As soon as I had opened it, a whirlwind that reminded me of a girl named Jeanie rushed into my room, pushed me into my chair, and landed all the way onto my lap. “You’ve been avoiding me, Will!” She gave me a sulky look which she tried to make look false, but I could tell that she didn’t really need...

3 years ago
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Collateral Damage Book II the SacrificeChapter 10

Tuesday morning, I was finally in my office and I was about to start looking at what I should be doing next, when Laura entered my office and closed the door behind her. “Will, I’d like have a few words with you.” “Just tell me how can I help you, Laura.” I didn’t like the smile that formed at the corner of her mouth. “Jeanie told me.” Even though I knew my face didn’t reveal anything, my mouth suddenly felt dry. Yet, I was not sure if Laura really knew something, or if she was fishing...

4 years ago
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Collateral DamageChapter 2

While we waited for the enforcers to arrive and sat there at the poker table, eating, drinking, and smoking, I noticed that Mom squirmed a bit in her awkward nudity. She knew enough of the new slavery laws to know that she had sealed her own fate. After she was coded, collared, and more than that, she would have no rights at all and would legally be a possession, nothing more than that. She was chattel, her own son’s property, no less. “Well, now that the fidelity issue is resolved, in favor...

2 years ago
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Collateral DamageChapter 3

“You know what would be fun, babe?” Tiffany asked me after our slaves had both sucked and licked us for a little while now. “Swapping slaves for a little while so your parents can serve me while Steve and Mom do the same for you?” I guessed. “That’s fun, true, but what I meant was for you to impregnate Mom, me, and your mother. At about the same time, as close as possible. Imagine all three of us being pregnant to you at once! All three ladies in your house. I would love it if Dad and Steve...

2 years ago
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Collateral DamageChapter 4

“By the way, Mistress, you could never have married Master Bruce,” Karen suddenly informed her daughter/owner, just as Steve began pounding Dick for his turn. “Why not?” Tiffany wondered with obvious shock and chagrin that the option might be foreclosed to her by some obscure issue. “Because while incest laws have been relaxed for chattel bondage, the marriage statutes still strictly forbid siblings to wed,” Karen let that bomb drop suddenly, along with my stomach and Tiffany’s. “What?...

3 years ago
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Collateral DamageChapter 5

I awoke hours later to the sound of Dick grunting as he rammed Steve’s butthole pretty damn hard in the vanity with his stiff rod. It was clear that they were acting under the orders of Tiffany, while Mom went to bring Dylan’s car back to him. Karen, however, was still in bed with me, and her apparent task was to snuggle with me under the covers. She seemed to dig it, too, judging from the way that she smiled at me and kissed my face repeatedly. “Oh, God, how did I get so lucky, Master?”...

4 years ago
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Collateral DamageChapter 6

“Excellent breakfast, Mom,” I told my mother after she made fantastic Eggs Benedict with the proper Hollandaise sauce. Mom blushed as she sat on my lap and felt my hands fondle her buttocks during breakfast. She leaned over to kiss me on the lips and I gladly accepted her tongue as it slid inside my mouth. We made out for several minutes, my mother and I, but we finally got up for air when we heard some coughs and giggles. It was clear that we had an audience, after all. “Save that for me,...

3 years ago
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Star ChamberChapter 11 Battle Damage

“Shall we have a meeting?” Kevin Humphreys asked the hundreds that were gathered. Jenny had given John a hug just after Dar took the bag of black boxes for Vid and the Russian Space Program, “What are you smiling about?” “I think the two Presidents may have bonded.” John smiled as he looked in Jenny’s eyes. “I agree, that’s worth smiling about.” Jenny gave John a kiss. Reverend Jacob approached John and Jenny, “I’m calling for volunteers to fly home and see how much damage we got. From...

2 years ago
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Compensation for Damages

"Thank goodness it's Friday," said Mary. "You got that right," added Kevin. Mary and Kevin were on their way to dinner and then to a movie. They both had had a grueling week and looked forward to a relaxing evening out. It was July, it was hot and Kevin had begun to perspire. As Kevin fiddled with the truck's air conditioner Mary went down a mental list of restaurants that the couple liked. Kevin couldn't help noticing Mary's sexy legs as he adjusted the air. They were covered...

4 years ago
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Collateral Damage

It is the end of a very long day of a very long week. Seems every other call and visit involves an intense flu virus that’s sweeping through our county like an invading army. Few escape untouched.Susan walks in for the last appointment of the day looking like one of the recent victims. Classic symptoms, a story heard a couple dozen times today. After listening to her symptoms, a simple exam looking for bad beasties in eyes, nose and throat. Moving behind her, a light touch to neck glands brings...

Supernatural
3 years ago
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Minimal Damage

I remember sleeping about five inches from the ceiling. Coffinesque. I went to sleep stifling an endless scream. My brother was in the lower bunk. I fell once but don’t remember the circumstances. I dreamed of men. Famous ones. Ones my friends say would be good for me. I broke his things when he was gone. I’d slip into our closet and find seashells he collected, just one or two, not instantly noticeable and take them to the laundry room in the Big House, as the girls call it. I’d take one at a...

4 years ago
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My Neighbour Paid For Her Sons Damage

Four days afterwards i could see there son sniggering as i walked up my path and into my house, i was filled with rage and anger. At times the younger children next door use to shout and scream, i could never get any peace and quiet, i felt i was being hounded and tormented by my neighbours children. It was no use having words with there mother, she would'nt have a word said wrong about them, she see's them as angels, unknown to her i seen what her eldest son did to my car that night. ...

2 years ago
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Brain Damage

Brain Damage  I had a job and worked everyday after school, I had more money then most of my friends, and rode a new motorcycle, I liked girls and spent more time with them, then I did hanging out with my guy friends, I enjoyed there company and almost always had some girl with me, I liked to open doors for them and tell them they were beautiful, I bought them flowers for no reason and took them out on dates. At eighteen, I had long hair, rode a nice motorcycle, and had girls around...

Incest
4 years ago
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The Storm Damage

Edited by George5. Of course, I had to screw with it afterward; so all missing steaks are mine. My marriage was destroyed and my anger peaked and was sustained by a power outage. Then another storm helped make some repairs. My name is Carl Arthur Thomas and at the time I was destroyed I was 29 years old and had been married for 5 years. We had no kids and had not talked about starting a family. I am 6’ 1/2” tall, blue-eyed, 180 pounds, and prematurely gray-haired. I am told that the gray...

3 years ago
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Hot Wife KatieChapter 22 Katie Pays for the Damage

Katie Jackson slowly opened her eyes as her clock radio played some rock-n-roll. As she reached out to shut it off, she winced in pain as her arms ached. She lay in bed as she took a hold of each forearm and began to massage them. The muscles burned from stroking Phil Dorman’s cock with reckless abandon until he squirted his cum squarely in her face. Mrs. Jackson sat up in the bed and tried to clear her head. She regretted everything the past few months such as not paying her insurance and...

2 years ago
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Chris BeakerChapter 18 Brain Damage

Marcus Anthony was shocked when Chris Beaker spoke to him from the air but his mind worked fast, in the first few seconds of the attack he realised that he was outmatched. He quickly ran through the options and realised that his best defence was to vanish. Creating a solid copy of himself he quickly faded into the wall of his office and watched the battle take place. He only gave his copy enough power to fight back, but this was only to make Beaker waste power until he couldn't fight back...

2 years ago
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Damaged

Copyright© 2006 by Kien Reti It was after midnight on a dark street in an unsafe neighborhood, but he felt perfectly safe. And, why not? After all, Macduff was a 6'-3" muscular male in the prime of life, and trained in the martial arts to boot. There was no excuse for being taken by surprise. "Fucking careless!" was the last thought that flashed through his mind before his head exploded. "Sir, can you hear me?" the distant voice asked. His head hurt. He hurt all over. And there was...

2 years ago
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Ghosts and ShadowsChapter 5 Collateral Damage

At Christmas of 2007, I split my time between Peter and Nicole. LA and New York are big cities, major metropolises, but outside of the definition, I don't think you could find two places on earth more alien to each other. It was invigorating – or at least it had been – visiting both cities in the course of December in past years. New York was often snow, frigid winds, surly cabbies and plays; LA a few days later was 70 degree/shirt sleeve weather, hookers in hot-pants on side streets, and...

4 years ago
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ANOTHER LIFE

Strange it seems when you get to my age, 74 in 16 days that life came in stages not so happy c***dhood, eightbyears Of unreal military, working life in a new country then retirement where I am now and enjoying it. Sadly wife Sarah is not in the best of health and hasn’t,t been for some years so as she has no sexual desires we haven,t been physically intimate since 2002 when we moved here to Cheshire. I still have the desire and that,s mainly why I,m posting on Hamster. My cock occasionally gets...

2 years ago
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A Whole New Light Pt 1

a Saturday morning because I forgot to turn it off. I mannage to hit every button besides the one to stop it. Damn it I'm up I'm up. I got up hopped in shower and got dressed. A few minutes later my sister comes busting through my door. Haaaappppy Birrrthdaaaay little bro!! HOLY SHIT I FORGOT! Well since you never do anything for your birthday im taking you out. How do you like my outfit? That when I noticed how freaking hot she was. My sister always looked good but...

4 years ago
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The Pleasures of Three Ch 3 Exhibition in broad daylight

Deana, John and Mathew enjoyed their threesome so much they couldn't wait to get it on again, but it was two months before John could make another visit. Deana and John couldn't get their little rendezvous in the parking lot out of their minds, and she secretly hoped that he would want to repeat it. Sure enough she had the same email in her Inbox at 10:00 that very morning. The only difference is that this time John added, "Wear the same dress you wore last time."This time when Mathew suggested...

Exhibitionism
5 years ago
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Ed BiggersChapter 22

Within his office, Ed sat back in his chair drinking a cup of coffee reflecting on the discussions last night about the marriage contract. The amount of money that everyone was considering was twenty thousand dollars as the buy in fee. That amount would basically destroy his savings, but it did put the family on good financial grounds. Eighty thousand dollars could get a very nice house built, at least in that area of the country. Kelly was busy in the kitchen making lunch. Today they were...

2 years ago
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Reuniting with old classmates

I’m sorry, what? She wanted me, someone she hasn’t talked to since third grade to take her virginity. Sure! That isn’t the sure sign of a catfish or anything. So we agreed to meet on Wednesday at a park easily accessible by both of us. I only agreed because I knew this was a catfish, but the nudes were too good to deny it. Flash forward to Wednesday, I told my parents I was going over to a friend’s house to work on a group project. I got off the bus and walked to the park we agreed to meet...

4 years ago
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A delivery van some delivery guys

At midday I was so busy at my office, buried in a pile of papers, when my sweet wife called me to say in the afternoon some people would deliver the new fridge we had bought some days ago.I was glad to hear that; but I was in a hurry for the paperwork; so I roughly said Ana she should manage to be at home upon these people’s arrival. She said it would be not a problem for her at all.Later in the afternoon, I managed to complete my whole task and was able to escape from my office a bit early. I...

2 years ago
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Birthday orgy in the nude bar

I had just turned 40 and wasn’t really feeling that good about it. Some of the guys at work thought it was funny and decided to take me to a local nude bar for a private party. I figured why not, there was no one at home, since I had divorced years earlier and hadn’t seen my ex-wife or daughter for months. They had moved to the east coast. The place was packed at first but as the regular customers left at closing time, the office group gave the manager a couple of hundred...

3 years ago
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The Barbie Lez Fantasies Week 35 Kinky Camping

Introduction: A quick and kinky lesbian fantasy! Authors Note 1: These short fantasies started off as weekly mini-stories for my readers, but the newsletter was shut down because autoresponders do not accept adult content. I thus decided to publish these fantasies for free for my readers to enjoy. It is meant to entertain, so please do not leave hateful comments if everything is not perfect. I am only human after all. Authors Note 2: Although this fantasy can be read independently, it was...

3 years ago
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Poolside Plaything

The cocktail was ice cold in my throat yet it burned almost as hot as her. That swimsuit. Two electric pink pieces separated by a stomach not yet exposed to overindulgence. Water cascaded from her body in a 'V' as she hauled herself out of the coruscating pool directly in front of me and flicked dark hair behind her lissome frame like something from a damn movie. Nobody yelled, "Cut!"I'd never been so glad of tinted glasses and having my knees drawn up on the sun lounger to hide my gaze and...

Seduction
3 years ago
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Song of ThanksChapter 20 Eenie Meenie Minie Moe

Nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to decide. Napoleon Bonaparte Grindelwald, in the Bernese Oberland, Switzerland, Thursday, June 28 Darryl and Courtney If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were. Kahlil Gibran "I will welcome you back as my friend or as my spouse," said Courtney. "But I don't want you back until you decide which it is going to be. We have hurt each other...

4 years ago
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Another Love Story 8211 Part III

Hey friends. This is Sid again. I thank all the readers of my previous stories who mailed me their opinion. Thanks. After reading this story please mail me at .This event I m writing is about a great outdoor escapade of me and my sweetheart Nikita. I need not mention about how Nikki looks. She is the most beautiful girl. After my birthday and till this day a lot has been changed. Like, I our family aware of our relationship (obviously not about our physical relations.) After our final board...

4 years ago
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Bhabhi Ka Atript Yovan

Namaste indian sex stories dot net doston Main raahul hoon, main dhanbaad jhaarkhaṇḍ kaa rahane vaalaa hoon. Meree umr 23 saal hai. Main pichhale ka_ii saalo se is saa_iṭ par seks sṭoreej paḍhataa aarahaa hoon. Aaj mainne sochaa kee chalo apanee sṭoree bhee likh hee ḍaaloo taaki aap bhee usakaa aannd le sake jo mere saath huaa. Meree ye sṭoree mere aur mere ghar se kuchh door par rahane vaalee ek bhaabhee ke beech kee hai. Is sṭoree par men aapako bataongaa kee kaise mere aur unake beech ek...

3 years ago
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Something To Remember

The Invitation You“Do any of you hike?” you ask. The question is addressed to the table but you were looking at her when you spoke. The immediate flurry of responses from everyone making it clear that not one of them has realised who your question is really aimed at.“My fingers do all the exercising I’ll ever need thank you very much!” one laughs.“You wouldn’t catch me dead anywhere near that much nature on purpose!” another exclaims.“Urghhh, I used to a long time ago but I just can’t with the...

Lesbian
3 years ago
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Holiday in ParisChapter 5

A week later... I was pretty far along with my latest romp when I felt some smooth, soft hands around my waist, pushing me deeper inside my companion. I reamed her good and hard from behind, plunging more and more into her lovely, dripping wet depths. I admired her lovely bottom as she pushed back at me, even as my mysterious new partner kissed her way down the back of my neck and toward my shoulder blades. When she spread my butt-cheeks and slid her finger along my crack, I had to really...

1 year ago
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After Practice

Brittney slowly ambled over to the locker room with the rest of the basketball team. Because it was Friday, Ms. White, the coach had made them work extra hard at practice. Brittney was exhausted as she finally walked through the door of the girl’s locker room. Her best friend Jenny who was only about 5’5 but looked great with her sassy brown hair and plump bottom was talking about her sleepover at her house that night. Brittney was kind of droning her out as she opened up her Gym bag and was...

Lesbian
3 years ago
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Mummies Hair

Mummie's Hair Robertson Russell spoke harshly in the phone. "Damn it, Giles, I want theTunstall contract on my desk ASAP!" There was a frightened murmur of assenton the other end of the phone, and then a question. "No, I won't be there.I'm staying home to look after my mother. I expect you to be able to handlethis contract. Thanks. Goodbye." Hanging up on his menial, Robertson Russellwent to change out of his Armani suit before bringing his mother her tea. Bobbie knocked on his beloved Mummie's...

4 years ago
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Hot Sex With Neighbor Priya

Hi, my name is nayeem.This is my 7th indian sex story.My real life one.Thanks for all the comments.Let’s get into the story. I had this hot neighbour named Priya(name changed for privacy reasons) who had quite a voluptuous body and she happened to move to Delhi with her husband who was an it manager. Priya had a figure about 36-28-36 looked very hot in low neck blouse and saree which exposed her delicious curves. She used to be at home so I usually used to see her going out sometime in...

4 years ago
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Milking Daddy

With another swing, the black belt came down hard upon Sarah's mother's fragile body. Sarah curled herself up into the corner of the bare, dark room and closed her eyes, wishing herself to not be there. Her gigantic father stood over her mother like a dark shadow, glaring down at her menacingly, twisting the brutal belt in his massive hands. 'You fucking whore! You think you can fucking go out with out telling me?' he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. Sarah's mother just...

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