Chapter 20: Robin Hood and her Merry Women

Saturday, October 6

Shelley and I awakened to Greta. She was in her favorite bright green, although a more casual version of her usual suit. She wore a short flaring skirt and a crop top, with suntan rather than green hose. “Ah! Is it my leprechaun, or perhaps Maid Marian?”

She giggled. “Maid Marian fits, but Robin Hood, female variety, works even better. Did you know that I enjoy the bow?”

“Perhaps, then, you’ll enjoy pulling my arrows. Or should you be Little John and play with my staff?”

“That’s general staff, and I’m a fine officer in it.”

I pulled her to me and kissed her most thoroughly. “I just taste you. You haven’t driven any trains recently?”

“Uh, no. Do you really like that?”

“You’re incredibly hot afterwards.”

“Wonderful. I love to show off. You do understand that exhibitionism is one of my favorite activities?”

“Absolutely. Now, I want you to sit on my face, talk dirty if you feel like it, and let me get you off. You aren’t wearing panties, are you?”

“Hell no.”

Her taste and scent were intoxicating. She encouraged me, with nasty language that I thoroughly enjoyed, such as “Eat my asshole. Think of watching a cock slide into it. Maybe have Shelley or Lois eat it and then tongue-kiss you.”

“Quick. Spin around and suck me.” We finished in a 69.

After we cuddled, I lifted her -- my strength training was working -- and went to the bathroom. “Today, I do have shower caps.” She protected her cascade of golden hair. The plumber had been busy, and we had an assortment of showerheads with which to play, all of which were hose-connected and went up and down on a rail.

It was silly fun, as we experimented with the showerheads, which could tilt and rotate. “I think this is meant for the back of the head.” A blast of water shot up and hit me in the face. “I guess that was the bidet setting.”

She thought of something. “I never really thought about it before, since the outer door to the bathroom is closed while showering. But I’ll bet Terry was providing for a spectator sport by making the shower stall doors clear.” Greta backed toward the door and presented her lovely ass, to an invisible observer.

Building the clan

Conveniently, it was a weekend, to set up a meeting of the new clan. Our magick, sexual or not, encouraged by the Others, would be enhanced with the symbolism of swords. Marcyne was able to get a quick supply of practice swords, so we could have ritual without untrained people causing accidents. Eventually, we planned to give each member a sword and dagger built and attuned to them. While the sword and dagger drew from samurai traditions, the samurai would have had a full-sized katana and a still substantial-sized wazikashi shortsword. These daggers were intended for daily wear, concealed in clothing or perhaps in a custom purse. No, daggers were not simply to be dropped into purses.

We’d also distribute both concealable and full-sized handguns. There was an indoor range at our complex, but it was dusty and hadn’t been used for a time. I was delighted to find that George was a competent, if new, firearms instructor.

It was important, though, to give Marcyne the recognition of being our Swordmistress and Champion. Admittedly, it amused me that we were enabling skill with swords when the concern was with nuclear weapons, but it was important to encourage the warrior spirit.

“Harold, who is the physically strongest of the women?”

“Haven’t really thought about that. I wouldn’t be surprised, though, if it is Arlene or Shelley. They aren’t the tallest, but they are athletic with very strong thighs. Greta and Terry are tall, and just might be physically strong--I’ve never really checked, but they move with confidence and power.

“I find this fascinating to discuss with a man, but what often turns me on is getting on top and tribbing very hard, while kissing intensely. Fairly rough sex. I don’t at all mind fighting in a consensual way.”

“Arlene is probably the most aggressive. She might very well fight you, in the studio or a bedroom.

Her kilt was shorter than mine. With the laced combat boots she wore, the musculature of her thighs was evident, especially given that she had oiled her skin in bodybuilder style. Less Scottish was the bodysuit that she wore under the kilt, high in the front but deeply cut in the back. She had had Lois oil her back, bare shoulders, and arms, giving a glow to her muscles.

We assembled, and I grew serious. In my mind, James Bong told me that he would reinforce the powers expressed in our mutual oaths.

“Let us renew together. We are a clan. We are many and we are one.

“Some of us already have sworn the oath, but we shall renew them. For our new members, there is the opportunity to give their own oath before the standard one.

“Since we swear on swords, it is meet that there be a special oath for the Swordmistress. Marcyne, stand before us.”

She saluted with her personal sword, not of any sport fencing design. It was like a katana, but not as curved, so it could be used for thrusting as well as slashing. There was a basket hilt, which might be used as to punch and stun rather than kill. The blade shimmered with many layers and many colors of reflection.

“This is my sword. It has been made for me. It is my life. Without me my sword is useless. Without my sword, I am useless. We will become part of each other. I master the sword and the sword helps me master life.

“With the sword, I protect the Clan. I teach the art of the sword to the Clan.”

Individually, George and Mark swore to me as Clanmaster, but simultaneously to the Clan itself.

“I give you my mind, my body, and my spirit in the quest. We are family and beyond family.

“My sword is your sword. Your battle is mine. Our joys and our sorrows are as one.” I didn’t know how Lois could know the words of Honor Harrington, but I could do worse than to proceed with Honor.

Afterwards, Marcyne talked to me about her appearance. “First, I was thinking of wearing a form-fitting pants suit, as a number of women I know have done for formal occasions, such as a lesbian wedding. But I realized that I didn’t want to appear pseudo-masculine, or defying that I was a woman. I wanted to show my power, but also not pander to male views.

“Harold, I feel very welcome.” James Bong whispered to my mind, we help.

“After hard practice or competition, I like to soak in a hot tub, then get a massage, and often give massages to my teammates. I’m open to doing that with you.

“Hell, I wouldn’t mind being in the room when you play with the ladies.”

“That’s certainly possible. Again, everybody would be happy to play with you. If you’re looking for physical strength, Shelley and Arlene are at the top of the list.

Arlene beckoned to Vox, and they slipped out, perhaps to wardrobe. Vox teased her hair into a high, full mane. Arlene wore a kilt, as close to Marcyne’s as possible. I don’t know how to describe her top, but I can best call it a leather bodysuit, dramatically cut, with lots and lots of leather straps. Her legs were bare, but she wore leather thigh-high boots.

It was something of a warrior look. She had had Vox put her in heavy makeup, which, I realized, to her was war paint of a warrior.

She oiled her body as well, both to show off her muscles, and also to make her harder to grab.

Arlene called out a happy challenge. “Want me, Marcyne? Then try to take me!” Marcyne was probably nine inches taller than Arlene and substantially outweighed her, but it was clear that Arlene would be no pushover. Arlene spread her legs, grounded and centered. As the Japanese say it, she put strength in her stomach.

We realized that the match was not as one-sided as it looked, for Arlene’s martial art mixture had given her much skill in grappling and throws, things outside fencing experience. While Marcyne probably could lift more, she didn’t know how to apply her strength against a grounded, braced opponent. Relying on size and speed, she rushed Arlene, who thrust a leg between Marcyne’s and swept at hers.

Marcyne barely kept her balance, jumping back. Arlene laughed. “Did my leg against your pussy feel good?”

That got a head-clearing shake from Marcyne, and a grin. “We’ll have lots of leg against pussy action, but I think it’ll be for my pleasure.”

Planning pictures

“While it’s the weekend, the intelligence community continues to work. Washington, however, doesn’t yet consider itself in crisis. Let me update all of you on developments. Today, COMOR sent a request to NRO, asking for the imagery intelligence that clearly was in its jurisdiction, but also wanting SIGINT missions for confirmations. The subjects to be targeted were SAMs, MRBMs, the MiG-21’s, and large concentrations of conventional arms.

“If U-2’s have to overfly Cuba, that’s the most dangerous short of low-altitude fighter-reconnaissance flights. Initially, they recommended SIGINT methods that did not enter Cuban space, from air, sea, or land intercept stations. Confirmation of anything inland, however, will need overflights, most likely from an ELINT sensor on a U-2, or possibly a Firefly drone.

“I should note that the CIA and Air Force have their own sets of U-2’s, and argue over jurisdiction. The missions are now clearly military, from the 4080th Wing.

“There’s also a limited and very sensitive ELINT capability from space. Those satellites are in elliptical orbits, optimized to cover Russia in northern latitudes. They might or might not be low enough in altitude to get decent capture over Cuba.

“Meanwhile, we need to keep working on political and military contacts. As far as access, we’re OK with Keating and Tower. We need to think about the message to them.

“The other targets are the White House, starting with Congressional liaison, and then senior military, mostly at JCS level but perhaps at Atlantic Fleet or Tactical Air Command.” I reflected. “More than just TAC; we want to make sure that the targeting and tactical experts are passing, up the food chain, the difficulty of SEAD.”