Part 2 - The Babes of Baghdad

Preface

For some time now I have been disappointed in the state of written porn. Most of the time fucking just starts, with no character development. It’s hard to get excited when you barely have any feeling for the characters, what they look like, what their motivations are, etc. Fine for a quickie, but not something you want to read again. When there is a plot, it’s contrived and transparent, leaving the reader bored and just waiting for the next scene.

Likewise, action-adventure stories are quite popular, but leave us hanging far too many times. Just as the hero is about to bang some hot babe he’s just rescued, the reader is tantalized by a dress dropping to the floor, a hint of a bare back, then ... nothing. A scene change, a new chapter, leaving us hot, aroused, and very unsatisfied.

I hope to change that with this story, what will hopefully be the first in a series of what I term action erotica. Hot, sexually explicit sexual encounters combined with pulse pounding adventure, sure to excite the reader on all levels.

During the writing of this story I took every effort to make the details as accurate as possible, through a combination research and personal experience. To add to the realism, specific products are mentioned in the story. I want to be clear no compensation was given for this, nor should any endorsement be implied, they are simply details to make the tale as realistic as possible. Additionally, any resemblance between real persons or events is entirely coincidental.

I hope you enjoy this story, if you do I ask you leave feedback on the site where you found it. It will encourage me to write more, and help me to understand what best meets the needs of the audience.

Chapter 1: Driving Lessons

“Fuck!”

I know, it’s an overused word, but it seemed entirely appropriate given the situation. I suppose I could have used “Shit”, but it just didn’t seem to have the right oomph. “Damn”? Too wimpy. And “Crap” was right out. No, “Fuck” seemed just the right word to convey my feelings at the moment.

And just what, you ask, was one Logan Wolf, lovable old ex-SEAL, adrenaline junkie turned news cameraman doing at the moment? Well, it’s a bit difficult to explain.

My most recent pairing had been with a new reportorette named Daisy. That’s her, screaming hysterically in the back seat of the piece of shit cab I was driving. Beside her was Mort, our producer. Mort was an old fashioned kind of reporter, who had retired. Then a hot young wife cleaned him out, forcing him back to work. I liked Mort; he was a tough drinking take no shit kind of guy. Daisy, on the other hand, was a bitch. And bitching she was. “Logan, slow down! Speed up! Look out!” she was bleating from the back seat. I wasn’t sure how she even knew what to command, crouched on the back floorboard.

Our local news manager had the bright idea of doing this “Baghdad 10 Years Later” piece. Daisy was his up and coming star with her eyes on the national news networks, and since she’d been screwing said manager, got the assignment. Mort, well he was the only producer with enough balls to say yes. Either that or he just didn’t give a shit what happened to him, with Mort sometimes it was hard to tell.

And me? Well, I was a logical choice. Back in my Navy SEAL days I had served both here and in Afghanistan. At least until some asshole bad guy tossed an IED during a raid. I waxed his sorry ass, but a fragment of wall lodged itself in my ear. Damaged my hearing just enough to disqualify me for SEAL service. I argued, pleaded, threatened, said I still had another perfectly good ear, but to no avail. When they offered me a desk job I gave them a one finger salute, a hearty cry of “Fuck You” and I was gone.

I eventually wound up as a cameraman for a Washington, D.C. TV station. And that’s how I wound up here. Speaking of which, I need to pay attention to my driving.

I slung the cab around the corner, as I did the driver’s door slung open. I thought it was a good opportunity to push the driver’s corpse out on to the street. I slid behind the wheel, a much more convenient place to drive from. I’m sure some would wax eloquently about the driver, what a nice guy he was, all that stuff. But I didn’t know him from horse shit.

Corpse? Yeah, this guy had picked us up from a video shoot not long ago. He turned down a narrow road, that’s when the bad guys jumped us. Bad guy #1 jumped out in the middle of the road, AK-47 leveled at us, causing our driver to slam on the breaks. Four more assholes popped up, one behind us, one to the left and two to the right. At least I guess they were guys, all wrapped up like they were. They all had their guns aimed at us; we raised our hands at their gesturing.

The guy in front started walking toward the car, that’s when our driver started screaming. I guess bad guy #1 was new, as it startled him. He flinched, and shot our driver right in the head. When the back of his head came off and splattered all over Daisy, she began screaming. At the same time, the other bad guys start yelling at the dumb ass who’d done the shooting.

Taking advantage of the confusion I reached over and slammed my foot down on the accelerator hurling the car forward. If it’s any consolation, I did run over the son of a bitch who’d shot our driver.

Now we were hurtling through the streets of Baghdad, four assholes in pursuit in their own piece of shit vehicle. Probably a Toyota as the bad guys seemed to love them.

I drove like I was in a demolition derby, bouncing off walls, running over curbs, losing pieces of the cab as I went. I did manage to avoid the camel though. They did surprisingly well in their old pick up, but I finally lost them driving through a market place. After crashing through several produce stands, the locals were all gathered round screaming what an asshole I was, but also blocking the path of said bad guys.

By the time we got back to the hotel the cab was in sad shape. Three of the four fenders were missing; the hood was hanging on one hinge with smoke billowing from under it. Blood and brains splattered the interior, and to top it off I think Daisy pissed in her seat. I guess it was a bit much when I asked for valet parking.

Chapter 2: She Really Maid My Day

After hot showers all around, Daisy barged into my and Mort’s room just as I was coming out of the bathroom, modestly clad in just my towel. (Yes, our manager is a cheap bastard, and yes, Mort snores.) She told us in no uncertain terms this gig was over, and we were going home. “But I still need to get some shots to use for openings and backgrounds.” I objected.

“Fine!” she yelled. “Stay and get yourself killed. I am going home!” She stomped her foot to emphasize her words, which made her big tits jiggle rather nicely I thought. She then turned and stormed out of the room, giving me a nice view of her ass, which was as equally nice as her tits. I sighed.

“Mort, do you think you could see her home? Keep her out of trouble?”

“Say no more my boy.” He said, giving me a wink. “I know you have ... business here to take care of.” He grabbed his old hat and suitcase and went after Daisy.

I’d suspected Mort knew what my real purpose for being in Baghdad was, and was grateful he had discretion. What was my real purpose you ask? Aren’t I here just to take video of the now departing reporterette? Well, since I have a few minutes let me pour myself a tall glass of Glenlivet Whiskey and tell you all about it. (By the way, don’t ask how the hell they get Glenlivet in Baghdad, but they do, and it’s the real thing.)

During my years in the SEALs I’d made many good friends. A few enemies too, but that’s beside the point. Many of my friends had gone to work for government agencies with three letter initials. Occasionally they gave me a little “side work”, something dangerous that would keep an action oriented guy like me happy.

Shortly before my departure I received a call from my old buddy, Paul Corbitt. I met him at a local bar, one where we could have a conversation in relative privacy.

“Logan, I need you to do a little something for me.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Could be.”

I gave him my best shit eating grin. “I’m in.”

My task was to meet a courier in a Baghdad bar, and take possession of some type of intelligence information. No, I didn’t ask what it was. I learned a long time ago I was better off not knowing. When he told me the pass code, the phrase we’d use to ID each other, I said “You’re kidding. No shit?” He confirmed it, and told me my standard rate would apply.

And guess what dear reader? That rendezvous is this very night! As I was sitting in my chair, enjoying my whisky and contemplating how I could pass the time, there was a knock and the door opened. The maid started to enter, but stopped upon seeing me. I told her come on in, so she began her cleaning routine.

Let me tell you, this was no frumpy maid, she was smokin’ hot. She was wearing one of those frilly traditional black maid uniforms, the ones with the short skirts. Well, this was a five star hotel after all, one that catered to rich Westerners. True, our manager had booked us in a real cheap dive, but I figured forgiveness would be easier to get than permission. If I could only put two rooms on the company card, they were gonna be damn nice ones. Plus I figured it was really Paul who’d pulled the strings, through several intermediaries, to get me this gig, so ultimately the government would be picking up the tab anyhow.

When my maid bent over to get the trash, her skirt rose up revealing the lower half of her incredible ass. She was wearing a white thong, which really made her dark curvy back side stand out. My cock could smell the scent of fresh pussy, and was starting to rise. Since I was still wearing just my towel and a smile, there was no hiding it.

You see, I am hung. Like the proverbial horse. My meat stick is eleven and a half inches, and that’s measured on top. As thick around as a beer bottle, it has pleasured many a lady. I actually thought of going into the porn industry for a while until my uncle, an ex-SEAL himself, came to visit. He made jumping out of planes, swimming for miles, then killing asshole bad guys sound like so much fun I joined the Navy instead, leaving hundreds of porn actresses in tears.

When the maid turned, her eyes locked on to my crotch like a missile to a bunker. She let out a little gasp, and then tried to compose herself. Her face and breasts flushed with noticeable excitement. She walked by me to the bathroom, her eyes on me the whole time. I gave her a grin and a wink, then took another swig of my drink.

She bent over to get the towels from the bathroom floor, this time giving me a real eyeful of that awesome ass of hers. When she came out she said “Sir, I need to get all of the towels. All of them.” She said in a voice so sultry it melted the cubes in the ice machine down the hall.

“Sure. Always glad to help.” I handed her my towel, revealing myself in all my glory. It had been far too long since I’d gotten laid, so I was standing at full attention. She inhaled deeply, her breasts swelling, straining against her top. She then said one word: “Fuuuuuck”, dropped to her knees beside my chair, and wrapped her lips around my prick.

Oooo that felt good. I admit, her technique showed she’d had little experience, but she made up for it with enthusiasm. And besides, as long as your schlong doesn’t get bitten off there’s really no such thing as a bad blow job, right?

While she sucked I reached over and unzipped the back of her dress. I fumbled for her bra, but apparently she didn’t have one on. She wiggled out of her dress, pushing it down past her knees and off her feet all without ever taking her hot mouth off my cock. She was a wet one, I could feel her saliva dripping down over my big balls.

I like long hair, so I undid the clasp that held her midnight black hair in a bun and shook it free. It cascaded down her back, almost reaching her sweet ass. I love a good blow job, but was in some serious need of pussy. I pulled her up, she stood and hastily pushed her panties, if you can call the thin pieces of floss she had on panties, to the floor. Before I could move she was on top of me, straddling my body. She didn’t so much as lower herself on to my cock, but rather dropped, and hard.

Her body shook uncontrollably as she spasmed from orgasm, the first of many. I reached up and fondled her firm, pert breasts, pinching her dark nipples lightly. Her hips were gyrating, grinding her cunt into me. Her pubic hair was as jet black as her hair, shaved “runway” style. I do admire a girl with good grooming habits.

I reached around, grabbing a handful of ass with each hand, and really let the fucking commence. I thrust upward, pulling her body down on me. “Fuck!” she gasped. “Yes, fuck me, fuck me hard with that big cock of yours!” Mom always taught me to do what I was told, so I stood up, still holding her against me. I moved to the bed where we had a bit more room to work my magic.

I put her legs up on my shoulders, bending her almost in half, and really started to pound the hell out of her sweet sexy body. Her tits bounced all over the place as I thrust my turgid cock in and out of her hot, soaked pussy. I was getting close, ready to cum myself when all of a sudden she let out a loud cry and said something I couldn’t really understand. It was either “Oh FUCK I’m gonna CUM oh yes baby pound me with that big hard cock” or “Oh FUCK the goats gotten loose and is in the neighbors ammo bunker again”, it was hard to tell as my language skills for this region were a bit rusty. But I rather suspect it was the former.

I felt a gush of liquid hosing down my cock and balls, my sweet maid had cum so hard she squirted! Truly an act I love. I realized, sort of all of a sudden, she’d gone totally limp. It took me a second to figure out she’d passed out! Damn, I was so close too.

Sure, I could have kept going I suppose, used her passed out pussy to get me off. I may be willing to kill, torture, break every law in the book and generally become a mean sadistic mother fucker in order to defend my country, but I still have enough decency that I want the woman I’m fucking to enjoy the fuck too. So I slid off, got us into a spooning position and caught my breath.

Besides, my cock was lying right in the valley of that perfect bubble butt. I reached around and fondled her tits, my hips grinding gently against her ass. Fortunately it didn’t take her long to recover. “Oooo what happened.”

“You passed out.” I said, kissing her shoulder and neck.

“Fuck that was good. No, that was awesome!” I guess she realized what my cock was doing, and began grinding her ass back against my crotch. “Mmm you’re still hard.” She moaned.

I think I replied with something intelligent and witty like “Yup.”

“You know ... I’ve never had a cock as big as yours in my ass.” she said, using that sultry voice again. “Yet.”

She rolled onto her belly and began to wiggle her butt, blatantly seductive. I love a nice tight ass; it’s rare though I find a woman willing to offer me her anus once she sees the size of my pecker, so I needed no further invitation to cum to the party.

My cock was still soaked from her earlier orgasm, her ass wet from all the juices she’d leaked, so her back door was already well lubed. I got on and placed the tip of my cock at her rosebud and pushed. My maid reached behind and pulled her ass cheeks wide, then thrust up to meet me. I felt that little pop as the resistance gave way, and I was in. Boy was I in.

I tried to go slow but my vixen was having none of it. “Oh yes! Shove it in, fuck it, fuck my ass, ram it deep!” I was now too far gone and rammed my cock home. She met me with a nearly equal force, pushing her ass up to meet me. We both let out animalistic grunts as we fucked, we were wild beasts unleashed. Over and over again my cock rammed its way deep into her bowels. I reached under her, grabbing those firm tits, my body pressing her down on the bed.

I could feel it building, her orgasm started in her legs, trembling upward. Likewise her tits grew hot in my hands, her upper torso trembling in delight. I, too, felt my own orgasm build, from the pit of my six pack stomach it ran to my balls, tightening them up for the explosion to come. My lover buried her face in the pillow and screamed, her body shaking out of control now. Her ass clenched down hard on my swollen cock, sending me over the edge. My balls surged, shooting my semen deep into her ass.

After we stopped shaking, I slid off leaving a trail of cum across her bottom. Rolling onto my back, she cuddled up to me. “Damn, that was the best maid service I’ve ever had.”

“It was my pleasure sir, how else my I serve you today?” she said, laughing.

“Whew, I’m gonna need yet another shower.”

“Well then, I am supposed to clean everything in this room, and that does mean everything.”

Chapter 3: Lion’s Milk

As I left the hotel that evening, I made sure to stop by the front desk and talk to the manager. “I’m afraid I delayed one of your maids today, she was helping me with some clothing issues I was having.” Namely that I didn’t have any on. “I want to make sure to leave a big tip for her. And for you, you obviously must be a wise man, to hire such an excellent staff. Just put it on my credit card.”

That little piece of bullshit out of the way, I headed out into the night, toward my appointed meeting place. It was a few miles away, so I decided to walk. Even though I’ve been out of the Navy for quite a few years, I still kept up with the daily exercise regime when possible. Walking would also make it easier for me to avoid being tailed, and to lose a tail if I got one.

I was under no illusions, I was being monitored. Remember those dick weeds, the ones who jumped us way back in chapter 1? Well they weren’t just thieves; if they had been they’d have cut their losses and let us go. But they didn’t. They pursued us all over Baghdad for no apparent purpose. So I was being extra careful.

Under my left arm was a holster carrying an H&K 9mm. I had two extra magazines on my belt, along with two knives, one hidden in my belt buckle and another longer knife, the Gerber LMF II Infantry, for defense. In the small of my back I’d concealed another 9mm, a compact Smith & Wesson M&P9c. Finally, above my right ankle was a 5 round Taurus M905, yet another 9 mm pistol. At home I’m more likely to use a variety of ammo, but when I travel internationally I tend to gravitate toward a common ammunition for all my pieces, and 9mm is plentiful pretty much anywhere I go. Oh, I almost forgot, my left boot concealed a Gerber knife, the Guardian Backup I believe it’s called.

I arrived a couple of hours early, taking my time to thoroughly stake out the place. I also wanted to ensure I knew the surrounding streets well enough, should I need to repeat the morning’s performance and make a hasty get-a-way. Satisfying myself there was nothing more dangerous than the normal collection of dirt bags that frequent places like this, I entered the bar.

It was not a happy place. Dimly lit, its drab interior consisted of crudely built wooden tables and booths. The décor consisted of faded tapestries, hanging on the wall. Over all Baghdad is a modern city, but this place looked like it was built in the Middle Ages. I got lucky, a couple was vacating the booth in the far corner of the place. I typically prefer to sit with my back to the front wall of the building, it’s easier to take your opponents by surprise, and you’re closer to the exit if you need to beat a retreat. Still, having my back to a wall was preferable to sitting out in the middle of the place. And, I’d bet the door just behind the nearby bar counter led to a backroom and rear exit door.

I took my seat and ordered a cup of locally produced arak, much to the surprise and delight of the bartender. I suppose he doesn’t get many Westerners in his place, much less ones that order arak. I’d developed an odd liking for it during my past visits to the country. Arak is a strange drink, turns milky white when you mix it with water. Here in Iraq, it can get rather strong, hence they sometimes refer to it as “lion’s milk”, I guess because it’s so potent you’d have to be as strong as a lion to handle it.

I was enjoying my drink, but going slow and making it last. I reminded myself I was “on duty”, and getting drunk was a definite no-no when there was a potential for combat. Not that I was anticipating any trouble, but the SEALs taught me to always expect trouble no matter the situation.

When I’d entered, the general noise of the bar had dropped to a low murmur, then after a few minutes they decided I was some crazy tourist looking for local flavor and went back to drinking. I’d sat there about 30 minutes, by this point my contact was late but I’d learned to be patient. It’s not unusual for my contacts to be late, often taking time to ensure they aren’t being tailed.

I had just ordered my second arak when all of a sudden the place went stone cold quiet. In walked the bombshell. Her long, dark red hair perfectly accentuated the sparkly black evening dress she wore. Clasping behind her neck, it came down to nicely show off some of the best cleavage I’d seen in years. The dress was clingy, without being too tight. That was the picture my cock saw, anyway.

My trained eyes also noticed her well-muscled arms, and took in her eyes as they gazed around the room, cataloging everything in it just as I’d done. Her walk told me she had a holster strapped to her inner thigh, probably carrying a smallish 38. She moved like a warrior, a well-trained fighting machine. Without a moment’s hesitation she made a bee line for my table.

“You gotta be shittin’ me” I thought. I mean, sure, this kind of crap happens in action flicks or bad novels all the time. A gorgeous dame walks in and is passing along some top secret info to the studly hero (that’s me by the way). Normally though, my contacts are smelly middle aged guys who either want to pick up some bucks on the side, or are pissed off at their employer. Sometimes both. They are always nervous, and want to get in and out as quick as they can. This gal though...

Wait, I’ll have to finish this thought later, as she’s sliding into the booth right beside me.

“Hi sailor.” She said. “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” She added, beginning the recognition phrase.

I responded “Could you be my, would you be my, won’t you be in my bed tonight?”

“That’s not the right phrase.” She said reproachfully.

“I know, but I like my version better.”

Just then the bartender showed up with my second glass of arak. Behind his ponderous body we heard the door open. When he finally got out of the way, we saw a rather large man in the door, surrounded by four goons. Before I could asses any further my red headed companion was in my arms, kissing me passionately. I realized what she was really doing when I felt her push a small metal capsule into my mouth with her tongue.

Obviously it contained whatever it was I was supposed to be getting from her. I looked into her eyes, a look that said “I understand.” Before our eyes could say much more, big fat and smelly was there. Oh well, I guess it wouldn’t have been a good intel drop if there wasn’t a fat smelly guy somewhere in the picture.

“Well well well” said the fat guy. “It seems the lovely and elusive Ms. Anderson has a boyfriend. No no, please let your hands remain on the table. That’s right.”

“Sorry Ameen, but he’s mine. Perhaps you can go find a nice boy all of your own?” Red said with a sarcastic smirk.

“Ever the comedian. But nevertheless you still have something that belongs to me, and you will give it back. Now.”

“When pigs fly you limped dicked ass cunt shit faced mother fucking heap of parrot droppings.”

“Tell me Ms. Anderson, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“With full tongue baby!”

Fat and smelly let out a sigh. “I was afraid we’d have to do this the hard way. Galeb, Dunya, take them.”

I looked at Red, as I’d begun to think of her. “I take it he’s the bad guy?”

“Total douche bag.” She told me.

“Right.” We nodded our heads at each other, then in unison picked up the table and tossed it toward the approaching assholes. As they stumbled back I quickly withdrew my H&K and put two bullets in the chest of the third guy, the one close to the door. The fourth dirt bag wasn’t quite as fortunate, my aim was just a bit off; he wound up with one in the chest and one in the crotch.

Fat and smelly was cowering somewhere, so we stepped on the two goons we’d knocked down and ran out of the place, which by now was in a real commotion. As we charged out the front door I noticed a big black Mercedes Benz parked by the curb. It obviously belonged to fat and smelly, and those Germans do make some fine cars...

As we charged toward the car its’ driver popped up spouting some kind of gibberish and waving his gun. Before I could finish drawing a beat on him, I heard a loud explosion from behind my left shoulder. Simultaneously said driver’s head blew apart into a zillion pieces. If I wasn’t already half deaf in my that ear, I probably would have been after that.

Looking back I saw Red, not holding a 38 liked I’d surmised but a gigantic revolver, at least a 357. (I later found out it was a S&W Model 686 Plus. Sweet gun, I have two just like it in my gun safe at home.) “Where the fuck did you hide that thing?”

“Not now!” she barked, racing past me. “We need to go!”

She jumped into the driver’s seat, and I started to follow when I was tackled from behind. One of fat and smelly’s goons had recovered enough to try and take me on. I pushed him off, then before he could get another grip grabbed him by the arm and slung him into the street hoping he’d get run over. Sadly the only traffic was Red, who was pulling away from the curb. “Quit fucking around and come on!” she yelled at me.

About that time the door of the bar burst open and out poured a flood of very angry looking people. Fat and smelly must have hired the whole bar to chase us. I ran, and dove through the rear window which Red had thoughtfully opened. They began firing at us, fortunately the limo had bullet proof glass. Like I said, fine German engineering.

We didn’t have any pursuers, and quickly left the bar behind. “Well that was fun.” I said, you know as kind of an ice breaker.

“Dammit you really fucked that up!” she yelled in frustration.

“Me, hey it was your party, I was just the guest.”

“The microchip!” she yelled frantically. “Where is it? Is it safe, do you still have it?”

I felt around in my mouth. “Um, I kinda ... swallowed it.”

“You swallowed it???”

“Well, yeah, in all the excitement and all...”

She pounded her hands on the steering wheel. “SHIT!” she yelled.

“Well, yeah, that was my plan, but I don’t have to right now.”

“Do you know what was on that chip?” she said, ignoring my sparkling wit.

“No, and I don’t wanna know, so don’t tell me.” I said sternly. But women never listen.

“Ameen is a guns dealer, he’s originally from Iraq but now holds an Iranian citizenship. He’s a major supplier to the insurgents. Ameen is officially listed as a diplomat, which gives him all kinds of immunities. That chip had all of his secret warehouses, way points, contacts, routes, his whole operation.”

“Dammit, I told you not to tell me!”

“Fuck, years of undercover work, and nearly blown because they stick me with some Neanderthal for a contact. Shit, we gotta get out of this car and find a safe place to hide while I sort this all out.”

“Take the next left, go up two blocks, turn right and park outside the brick warehouse.” I ordered.

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because the ‘Neanderthal’ was smart enough to do a thorough recon of the neighborhood. Hey, sweet!”

“What, what?” Red said, puzzled.

“Fat and smelly actually has Glenlivet in his car bar!” I said pulling out the bottle. “I may have to revise my opinion of him a little.” By now we’d reached the parking area I’d directed her to. She muttered something under her breath, I let it go as I climbed out the limo bottle in hand. “Pop the trunk.”

I let out a low whistle. “What?” Red asked. “He got bodies in ... shiiiiit.”

The trunk was crammed full of guns, ammo, explosives, you name it if it could fit in a trunk it was there. Enough to keep a small group of baddies busy for weeks. I started going through the toys. Most of the guns were shit, I wouldn’t have trusted them over my own anyway.

Likewise the ammo, although I did find two boxes of what appeared to be genuine German made 9mm ammo. I dumped out one of the duffle bags, and filled it with the ammo, a variety of grenades, flash bangs, explosives and timers. “Hurry up, this isn’t a shopping trip!” Red urged.

“In a minute, don’t get your panties in a wad.” I finished by putting a timer into a block of C4, and setting it to go off in one hour. Satisfied, I slung the duffle over my shoulder, tossed the keys in the trunk and closed it.