Cluster Breeding background and setup Nikki Cuck
- 4 years ago
- 11
- 0
Return From The Dark SideChapter 9: Cluster Fuck II free porn video
Major Ruiz-Costa of the Royal Marines sat in the passenger seat of the Land Rover, watching the dusty road ahead. The freed hostage was in the car behind them and he was relieved over the bloodless outcome.
After receiving a tip-off from a local Shiite elder they had surrounded the hideout of the kidnappers. The door was ripped from the angles when the small C4 charges exploded, stun grenades were fired, and they were upon the bandits in just two seconds.
Nobody was hurt, least of all the girl. She was the daughter of a wealthy Basra merchant who was doing business with the British. Now she sat in the second Land Rover being tended by Cpl. Jane Manning, the medic in his team. She looked to be okay.
This was a different country than Peru or Colombia where female hostages were often violated by their captors. Here, the Islamic faith effectively prevented the molestation of a woman or a girl. Kidnappers who disregarded this rule would lose the all-important support of the local religious leaders.
They were reaching the outskirts of Basra now and Henry signalled Tom Watkins who sat in the back. Tom quickly stood up in the mount of the machine gun and readied the 12.7 mm Browning. No use in being reckless Henry thought.
He felt relief when they finally drove past the checkpoint and into their camp. Another mission accomplished without the loss of life. Nobody had been wounded either. To his surprise, he had found that killing did not leave him untouched anymore. He had shot and killed two men in action over the past eight months, and they were weighing heavily on his conscience. Both had been young men, ill prepared for a shoot out with Henry's team of elite commandos. But they had opened fire at Henry and his men, and even a bullet fired by a stupid person can kill a man. Henry had returned, killing them both with short bursts from his assault rifle. There was nothing he could have done to prevent it, but afterwards he could not shake the depression he felt. He accepted counselling, a first for him, and it helped him to reach a balance again.
The counselling also made him realise his own lack of steadfastness. He had wanted to return to a normal life. Yet he had thrown away that normal existence when the wind had blown into his face. Josie had chosen another man and he had reacted much like the eighteen-year-old Henry had and had run back to the Marines.
Three weeks before Josie's final phone call, Henry had come home from London to find a car with MOD plates in his driveway. A Colonel John Edwards had come with an offer. The Regiment had learned of his return. Obviously, they had kept tabs on him through the SIS and they had a good idea of the work he'd done in South and Central America. They wanted him badly.
Hostage rescue in a military context was something of a white spot in the training of British troops. Domestically, such things were handled by specialised Police teams. Colonel Edwards offered him a return to the regiment with a major's rank and pay. In return he was to built up and train a military hostage recovery team. It was an attractive offer for Henry and he would have jumped at it, but he was still committed to his courtship of Josie Maxwell. He thanked Edwards for the offer but declined.
Three weeks later, he realised that his dreams of a future with Josie had been just that, dreams. He called Colonel Edwards and asked whether the offer still stood. It did, and he left Oxford House on the same day.
Now he was reporting to the Brigadier of his success. Two civilians from the embassy were there as well. They were thanking him profusely for defusing a ticklish situation. The girl had already been returned to her father courtesy of her Majesty's Armed Forces.
"It's good to know we have people like you and your team, Major," one of the Foreign Office types enthused.
His name was Edgar Bellows-Smith. He had come to Iraq only recently and he still regarded all this as a great adventure instead of the giant fuck-up it was. The Brigadier rolled his eyes at Henry who grinned back.
"The girl and her father want to thank you, Harry," the Brigadier smiled. "Tomorrow, at his house. I'm invited too. Have your dress uniform cleaned and ironed, Harry! You have to make a good impression on our allies."
That was an order and Henry could do nothing but acknowledge it. He spent the rest of the evening trying to write a letter to Ellen, for the umpteenth time it seemed. He just did not know how to start without appearing like a pouting child.
In the end, he set the clipboard aside and went to the OC instead. It was a rare pleasure to drink good Irish whiskey, but he felt that he had earned it. There were two or three other field grade officers in the club. They sat together and compared what information they had gleaned over the last days.
After three shots of whiskey, Henry went back to the quarters that he shared with a Lt. Col. Evelyn Burns. They got along famously since neither of them spent much time in camp. Burns was with Army intelligence, an oxymoron as he readily acknowledged. His job kept him on the road most of the time. He also knew a few things about Henry's past having sat on the Joint Intelligence Committee for two years. Burns was sitting at his desk when Henry stepped in.
"Ah! Here's our knight errant, returning from his quest of saving the black-haired damsel-in-distress," he grinned.
"Fuck you, too," Henry answered in a friendly voice.
"Did our man give you the correct beef?"
The Iraqi elder who had tipped them off was one of Burns' carefully cultivated sources.
"Absolutely. You can pay him. Thanks, by the way. This one went off just peachy! No muss, no fuss!"
"So I heard. Listen, there's something you should know. You are getting a name with the insurgents. Your name popped up in transmissions we intercepted. You have stepped onto a few sensitive toes it would seem. Better watch your back while you're out there."
"Oh, shit! How do they know my name?"
Burns gave him a grim smile.
"You have an admirer. That Bellows-Smith fellow. He seems to think this is like one of the books he read at school. You know, with brave English officers and gallant foes. He boasted about your team last month after you had just returned that Italian reporter. Problem was, he blabbed in a room full of our Iraqi allies. The kid should abstain from booze."
"Bugger! Why didn't anybody put a gag in his trap?"
"Afraid they were all merry and in high spirits, were our diplomats. All but our allies, of course. They, being good Muslims, do not indulge in alcohol."
"Oh fuck! If they put two and two together, they'll know it was us who busted Hashemin's gang."
Ali Hashemin had been the head of a kidnapping outfit. They kidnapped mostly for ransom, but they also traded their captives to Shiite or Sunni insurgent groups. Henry and his team had busted them after a ransom drop killing Hashemin and three of his goons. Unfortunately, Hashemin's cousin was a local political powerhouse with connections both to the new government and the old regime.
"Yes," Burns agreed, "that thought came to my mind, too. Anyway, you'll better keep your head down. Aren't you up for some leave? You should be."
"Not for another two months. We'll have to grow eyes in the backs of our heads."
Hossein Taraqi's house in Basra's outskirts was a safe haven. The Brigadier was there, and so was the British consul, and that meant that all leave was cancelled for the MP. There were two checkpoints Henry had so pass before he drove his Land Rover into the driveway of the big palatial house.
Taraqi was a winner. Henry knew that he had studied economics in Edinburgh and at Cornell. With his background, he was a natural ally for the British. He was standing near the entrance and greeting his guests as they arrived. Someone had obviously told him about Henry for he made several steps forward to greet him.
"Thank you, Major, for coming tonight! This gives us all an opportunity to treat you as becomes a man like you!"
"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Taraqi. Seeing your daughter safely back is reward enough."
"But you are too modest! Please, enter, and make yourself at home in my humble house!"
Giving the man another friendly smile, Henry stepped in. There was the girl, Zahra Taraqi. She looked different than the day before. Her dress was cut very conservatively by Western standards, but it was a dress nonetheless. He had not had the time to appreciate her physical appearance during the operation, but he had to concede that she was very pretty by every country's standards. Her eyes had impossibly large, dark brown irises, and her delicate features combined with her modest attire made her the epitome of what a man's daughter should look like. No wonder Taraqi doted on her.
"Major!" she squealed stepping forward. "How good of you to come!"
Henry nodded and bowed shortly, causing the girl to blush prettily.
"I hope that you are feeling better already, Miss Taraqi."
"But I do! Please, let me introduce you to my mother." She led him to another dark-eyed woman. "Mother, this is the English officer who saved me."
"Major Ruiz-Costa, Madam," he said lightly.
His name was known anyway and he figured that he could at least be polite to these people.
"Major, we are in your debt," the woman said in fluent English.
Henry knew from the briefings that Leila Taraqi, née Azad, was the daughter of a Lebanese merchant. She had been educated at Cornell where she met her future husband, Hossein.
"Not at all, Madam," he answered. "You entrusted your security to us. We only did our duty."
Another woman appeared at Madame Taraqi's side.
"My sister Firouze Azad, Major Ruiz-Costa."
"Your servant," Henry answered automatically, but remembering that Mrs. Taraqi's family came from the Lebanon, he corrected himself, "Enchanté!"
The woman showed no outward reaction; the smile on her lips never reaching her eyes. A little warning bell sounded in Henry's head. Lebanon was comparatively quiet. Why would a woman, presumably from Beirut, travel to Basra in war-torn Iraq?
"It was a great relief to us all that you could rescue my niece, Major," she said simply. "For that, I have to thank you."
Henry smiled and fired his shot into the blue. "Yet you resent me for being here."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You are perceptive, Major. Yes, you are right. You have no right being here. This was a sovereign Arab nation until you invaded it."
"Such was Lebanon before Syria invaded," Henry shot back, but then he checked himself. "I'm sorry. I am a guest in your sister's house. I should not speak so harshly."
"But you are right, Major. This is our problem. Most Arab leaders bend the truth just like your Mr. Blair and Mr. Bush."
"Is not the deepest of the seven hells reserved for hypocrites?" Henry asked with a smile raising his glass. "Let us toast the seventh hell."
"Oh, you went through the effort of reading the Wikipedia article on Islam?" she asked mockingly. "Why did you do that? To be able to show us how illogical our faith is?"
"No. I may be an agnostic, but if anybody finds solace in religion, I say good for him or her. I just read about that back in school. Am I wrong?"
"No, the deepest pit of hell is indeed for the make-believers, for the false followers of the Prophet."
"In other words, for the politicians," he grinned, still trying to break the ice.
"Maybe, yes," she conceded. "Major, are you trying to flirt with me in my brother-in-law's house?"
"No, Miss Azad. Whilst I admit that I find you a very interesting person, I am not looking for an affair."
"Would that be against your regulations?"
"Not really. I'm just not in the market."
She looked at him intently. "You were hurt by a woman?"
He nodded and shrugged.
"And you are not over her yet?"
"I wish I was."
"A pity, Major. I had thought there was an opening for me." Her laughter was mirthless. "My kismet. Most men are afraid of me. Now that I find one who is man enough for me, he is in love with another woman."
With that she turned and left him standing. He watched her as she talked to other people. He did not really understand her game, but he knew better than to try and start something with her.
He met her again at a consulate function where she accompanied her brother in law.
"Ah, the brave Major!" she greeted him.
"Miss Azad," he nodded politely.
"I have hoped to meet you again, Major," she said with a smile.
Henry conceded that she had a very pretty smile once it reached her eyes.
"You flatter me, Miss Azad."
"I do, don't I," she laughed.
Henry eyed her closer. She was not tall, but the way she held herself made her look taller than her 5'5". Her dress did nothing to hide her well-proportioned body. His eyes fell on her calves under the hem of the dress. They were well defined and toned, athlete's legs. His eyes traveled upwards again, past her hips, her flat belly, her noticeable bust and to her head. Her dark eyes mocked him.
"Do I pass inspection?"
"Definitely!" Henry answered, determined not to let her fluster him. "Are you a runner?"
"I used to be when I was younger."
Henry gave a snort, and she took offence.
"What?" she asked with flashing eyes.
Her anger made her seem more human Henry thought.
"You sounded just like a matron," he smiled. "'Things were so much better when I was younger!'" he mocked her.
"I'm twenty-eight," she answered curtly. "It's been almost ten years since I could indulge in sports."
"When you were in school? In Geneva?"
"You checked me?"
"What if I did?"
"Then you must be interested in me," she said, moving close and looking into his eyes from below.
She had to know that she looked good in that pose, not only good but also tempting. Her big brown eyes had a soulful glow and her full lips were slightly parted. The conscious part of Henry's mind realised that she did this on purpose, but his subconscious had a say in his actions, too. His subconscious reacted to a woman who was diametrically opposed to the two important women in his life, to the women who had failed him. He bent over her and kissed her.
When their lips parted, he looked around guiltily. You don't kiss women on consulate functions! Yet, nobody seemed to have noticed.
"You kiss well," she said, a smile lighting her features. "You can't be all bad if you can kiss like this."
"I hope I did not offend you, Miss Azad..." Henry began but he was interrupted.
"You should really call me Firouze. After all, we shall spend tonight together," she grinned.
"Shall we really?" he asked, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
"I believe we shall," Firouze answered matter-of-factly. "You intrigue me. I have not met a man worthy of my attention in many months. The people here," her hand swept over the assembly of second-tier diplomats and Iraqi collaborators, "are so predictable, so greedy. You are not, and I can tell that you are intrigued by me as well."
Intrigued. Yes, that was an apt description of how he felt about Firouze. She was an enigma to him, but her dark, expressive eyes and her brutal honesty piqued his interest. He was attracted to her and part of him wanted to find out how far this attraction would lead him. Yet, the little warning bell in his head was still sounding. His ever-present and near paranoid distrust of people, now re-enforced by his experience with Josie Maxwell, told him to play it safe.
"I won't deny that I'm attracted to you," he smiled, careful not to sound too eager. "And yet there are things to consider. We can't just go upstairs. You live with your sister and I on the base. 'Your place or mine', are not really viable alternatives."
Jeannie
- 31.03.2020
- 14
- 0
Sleepover In Cluster Prime
- 1 year ago
- 9
- 0
Slut Nikki s Cluster Breeding Cuck Gangbang
- 3 years ago
- 15
- 0
