Copyright© 2000 by Al Steiner
Sci-Fi/Post-Apocalyptic Story: Chapter 18 - When Comet Fenwell crashes into the Pacific Ocean one October day, it spells the end for most of humanity. Those that survive find themselves in a greatly changed world filled with different morals and the same old urges.
Caution: This Sci-Fi/Post-Apocalyptic Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/ft Consensual Reluctant BiSexual Science Fiction Post Apocalypse Group Sex Sex Toys Violent comet crashes into earth story, end of civilization story
The altimeter on the helicopter's instrument panel read 6300 feet above sea level, about three hundred feet above the point where the rain turned to snow. This put him almost two thousand feet above the rooftops of Garden Hill, high enough to see the entire subdivision and the surrounding landscape. Of course what he was doing would not have been possible even a month ago. The snow would have quickly iced up on his rotor blades, degrading their aerodynamics, eventually enough so that they would no longer be capable of providing the necessary lift to hold up the aircraft. Nor would he have been able to see anything, even before the icing became a problem. But over the past month the precipitation had slacked off some. Not a lot. It was still a moderate rainfall down in Garden Hill and a moderate snowfall at elevations above 6000 feet, but it was certainly not the heavy rain that had been the norm since the crash of Fenwell and the aftermath. It was moderate enough that Brett could risk being up above the snow level for a while.
"We've been some busy people down there," Brett said in admiration as he hovered in place and looked below at the impressive array of trenches and fortifications that the townspeople had been digging and constructing since the news of the Auburn attack force had reached them.
"No kidding," said Jason, who was also looking down from his position in the navigator's chair. He had a large map of the area around Garden Hill, an update of the one that Brett had used to brief everyone in before the attacks had begun, unfolded on his lap.
The reason for this flight this morning was no more or no less than an area familiarization. The remains of the Placer County Militia were just breaking camp a little more than seven miles to the east of them. After being harassed and hindered for the past fifteen days and nights, they were now in striking distance - about to enter the ring of the Garden Hill main defenses. Brett would be responsible for directing the battle that was imminent in no more than a day or two and - so busy had he been ferrying strike teams and flying night missions - he had not been able to keep as close an eye on the new defenses as he would have liked. He and Jason were now comparing the terrain below them with the map, making sure the two were compatible with each other and that Brett would be able to reference correctly when a troop movement needed to be made.
The work done by the women and men of the trench teams was admirable indeed. To the north of the wall, towards the interstate, was the area that Brett had always considered their most vulnerable to mass attack. The landscape between the wall and the lanes of the highway was marked by gently rolling hills dotted with pine trees and the occasional redwood. To the far east of this area and to the far west of it, close in towards the wall, were the taller hills that served as the main guard positions. Between these two hills, which were not close enough to each other to provide overlapping fields of fire, the majority of the trenches had been dug, starting from just south of the freeway and stretching all the way to within fifty yards of the wall itself. Each trench was, of course, atop of a hill and well covered by trees and fallen logs. The trenches themselves were lined with sandbags made out of dirt and pillowcases for the most part and could hold ten to fifteen troops. If the militia chose to advance through this corridor - which would seem the easiest route to them - they would meet some very nasty surprises.
To the west - their second most vulnerable avenue of attack - the hills were a little higher and steeper, covered with denser layers of trees. The going would be somewhat rougher for the militia over on this side but there was also a much wider corridor through which they could potentially travel. It was also the closest approach to the wall and the community center, around which the final defense lines were even now being dug. There were not as many trenches dug over on this side and they were both smaller and with greater distance between them. The trade off was that if the militia attacked from this direction, many of the defending troops could station themselves atop of the various hills and snipe at them as they advanced before falling back into a solid network of bunkers a quarter-mile from the roadway and the western wall.
Unfortunately, Brett saw that there were a few large gaps that could potentially be exploited if the militia knew about them. Though it was almost impossible to approach the town from the east due to the cliffs on that side, a group could conceivably hook around from the north and penetrate along the east side of the subdivision between the wall and the cliffs. They would have to pass very close to the large hill on that side of the town to do this and would take considerable casualties from that alone, but once past that hill, no trenches had been dug and a defense would be very difficult indeed. Another such gap was along the southwest corner of the subdivision, near the canyon itself. If a group marched along the rim of the canyon and penetrated from this direction they would once again find their only major obstacle to be the hill that guarded the southern tip of town.
Brett was uncomfortable about these gaps and, had he been given the time, he would have done his best to close them, but he had not been given the time and he had felt it more important to shore up the areas where the militia probably would attack from. He took a little comfort in the fact that it was unlikely that the men commanding the Auburnites would attempt such feats in the absence of any intelligence that such a thing was actually their best bet. It was a gamble, but Brett was reasonably certain that the attack would come from one of the two predictable directions. Nevertheless, trying to cover all of his bases, his mind began turning over just how he would react if they did do the unexpected.
"What about the old grocery store and the gas station and all that?" Jason asked, looking at the roofs of those buildings off to the northwest. The entire strip-mall, home to the hair salon and the Starbucks and the Raley's, was still there, just outside the wall and across the road. Though a few of the roofs had collapsed from the constant rain, the buildings would still make an ideal cover point for an attacking army if they could reach it.
"Hopefully they'll never get that far," Brett said. "If they do, you can see there's a final network of trenches just on the north and east of it. The troops will hold them from there and then retreat inside the wall if they manage to close. Paul and his team have rigged up the inside of those buildings with more than a few of Steve's mines and some other booby-traps he came up with. The militia would find that occupying those buildings would be a rather bad mistake."
"Cool," Jason said, smiling a little at the thought.
"My feelings exactly," Brett said. "So how's that map looking? Are you able to figure out the trench numbers and compare them with the actual ground?"
"Yeah," he said, looking from one to the other. "They did a good job on this map. It's almost perfect."
"Good, because when we're in the middle of this thing, I'm going to be relying on you quite a bit. Both of us are going to have to multi-task up here big time. I'll need you to report to me what trenches our troops are in and where the militia is advancing. I'll need you to give me this information by map grid and trench number as soon as I ask for it and then, while I'm looking at the map, I'm going to need you to keep an eye on the instruments for me to make sure I'm staying in a hover."
"No problem," Jason assured him.
"Goddammit, I wish we would've had time to get you checked out on flying this thing," Brett said, shaking his head a little in frustration. "That would've made things so much easier. I could've had you fly while I watched everything from your chair."
"I know everything about this helicopter," Jason said, his tone sending a message. "You've taught me all of the instruments and what they do, you've taught me how it flies, why it flies, and how you make it fly. All I haven't done is actually put the controls in my hand."
Brett looked over at him for a moment. He shook his head, answering the unasked question. "Unfortunately, that's the most important part," he said. "You can't just jump behind the controls of this thing and start flying it, no matter how much you've watched someone else do it. There's just no margin for error. If we had even a week to practice up, I'd get you up to speed. But we don't."
"It was just a thought," Jason said, disappointed but not terribly surprised either.
"And a good one, I'll admit, but there's just too much risk. You could probably fly this thing right now straight and level and you could probably make turns without too much problem either, but hovering in place for a long time is one of the more difficult maneuvers and that's how a lot of the ops in this battle are going to be done."
"Like I said, just a thought. But as soon as we kick these assholes out of here, how about we have some hands-on lessons."
"It'll be the first thing," Brett said. "Now lets get finished up here. We still have one more day of hit and run drops to make."
The hit and run teams were only able to hit the militia twice during that day, costing them only four men. This close to Garden Hill there simply wasn't all that many places that drops could be made safely without their enemy being able to see and/or hear the helicopter. But still, despite the relative break that the militia got, the main function of the hit and run strikes - that of slowing down the advance - was accomplished. Though they had started the day off only seven miles away from the wall itself, by nightfall they had only marched a little more than four miles. The main lines of defense started a mile and half outside the wall on the west and two miles out on the north. The militia made camp that night to the northwest of town, still more than a mile away from where their real resistance would start.
Brett stood down the helicopter after one final high altitude flight at 5:00 PM. Dinner was served in the cafeteria and, as mad as it seemed, all of the traditional guard posts were left unmanned for the duration of the briefing after it. It was another gamble. Brett thought it unlikely that the militia would be able to move in on them in the darkness and he did not want them listening in on the transmissions from the radios that were used to transmit such meetings to the guards.
As such the cafeteria seemed unusually full that night. Every table was full of men, women, and children, many of them dirty and looking tired. Dinner was yet another batch of canned soup and spinach, served cold of course, and baked bread that had been made two days before.
"Okay, everyone," Brett, looking more than exhausted himself, said into the public address system. "Let's call this meeting to order. In all likelihood, this will be the final briefing before the real fun starts. As I'm sure you've heard by now, the militia is camped out a little more than three miles to the northwest. From their current position it is but a short march to our defense lines and I expect that contact will be made sometime around 10:00 AM tomorrow."
Some nervous chatter met these words.
"Jason and I went over the tapes from our recon missions of the militia tonight," Brett went on. "While it is impossible for us to get a completely accurate count of their numbers, we do have a very good estimate of their current strength. It appears that there are about two hundred of them facing us."
There was some more nervous chatter as well as many expressions of disbelief at that number. "Two hundred?" several people groaned. "Jesus. Two fucking hundred?"
Brett called for quiet before the grumbling could get out of control. "All right, you pessimists," he said. "You're looking at the glass as half empty. You're saying to yourselves, 'my God, there are two hundred of them out there'. But remember, when they started their march, there were four hundred of them. Four hundred fairly well disciplined men with guns bearing down on us. In the past fifteen days our two groups of hit teams and Jason and I on the night missions - at the cost of only one death and one injury - have killed or caused to desert half of that force. Not only have we done that, but you can bet your ass that those remaining troops are demoralized, exhausted, and not able to think very clearly. By no means are they looking at a pushover. And also keep in mind that two hundred remaining troops is a conservative estimate on my part. The actual number may be even lower.
"Now back when we first heard about Auburn's apparent vendetta against us, we knew that they once sent an attack force of one hundred and sixty people which they turned around at the last minute. You may recall that I've said on multiple occasions that if they had attacked us with that force at that time, they would have beaten us. Maybe some of you out there are thinking that that same thing applies here, that the militia now has forty more people so that maybe they'll be even more likely to come away the victors." He shook his head strenuously. "That is simply not the case. Had those one hundred and sixty men attacked us the first time, they would have found nothing but our basic defenses. Now, they will find trenches and a coordinated defense and some women and men that are ready to kick some fucking ass!"
His words stirred them up a little, alleviating some of the doubts.
"Now I know the numbers don't sound all that great," he said. "We have a town population of one hundred and seventy-nine people at this moment, not including Hector over in El Dorado Hills. That's eighteen men, one hundred and four women, and fifty-seven children under the age of seven. What that leaves us with is one hundred and twenty-two people that are capable of fighting these fuckers. Only, as you're aware, we can't all do that at the same time since we only have eighty-six rifles, semi-automatic weapons, or automatic weapons to fight with.
"But people, you've trained to fight with those numbers and those disadvantages. You've been formed up into squads and you know what your job out there is going to be. One of the most important rules of warfare that you need to remember is: the advantage goes to the defender. That is certainly true in this case. Though the militia has a better than two to one numerical advantage, they are going to have to fight their way across open ground while you will be concealed in trenches. In addition to that, you will have Jason and myself in the air above you, feeding you information on their movements and concentrations. While we won't be able to provide fire support during the daylight hours - the danger of having them bring us down is too great - we will be able to deliver some of our other nasty little surprises to them.
"But most important of all perhaps, is the fact that we have the will to fight. We are defending our homes, our town, our children while they are just following orders. They don't have a lot to gain by fighting us and they have much to lose - namely their lives. We, on the other hand, don't have much to lose by fighting since we know the fate that awaits us if we are defeated and we have everything to gain by fighting as fiercely as we are capable.
"Ladies and gentlemen - we will prevail."
A large cheer rose up at this. Brett almost felt ashamed at it, thinking that he would've made a good recruiter had he stayed in the army. Now that the patriotic, morale-instilling part of the speech was over, he got into the meat of the matter.
"Now everyone already knows their jobs," he said. "But why don't we go over the main battle plan one more time, just for clarity. From this point on until this thing is over with, I want everyone to stay here in the community center. If you need to make a quick trip home after the meeting for some essential supplies, by all means, do so, but everyone sleeps in here tonight, okay?"
There was a little bit of good-natured grumbling but no one disagreed with this.
"In here you're all within reach of the weapons and we're all within instant, unmonitored communication with each other. Now Jason and I plan to hit them from the air several times during the night. There's no sense in letting them get much sleep now, is there? But you folks, I want you to get to sleep as soon as you can tonight. Get as much rest as you possibly can. Tomorrow is apt to be a long day. We will get up before dawn in the morning and those of you in the primary squads - those that will be carrying the weapons - will assemble and get ready. Paul will get his medical teams ready to help any wounded and then we will do what the majority of warfare consists of: we will wait.
"We will need to wait so that we can see how the enemy is going to attack us. At this point we do not know from which direction the attack will come or if it will come from two directions at once. If I were the commander of that group, I would hit us from the north and the west simultaneously, therefore splitting the defenders in two, but there's no telling what their leadership is thinking. We can be pretty certain that they will not be able to hit us from three directions as Jean and Anna, our newest citizens, have told us they planned. They simply do not have enough troops for that any more.
"Whatever their plan is however, I will discover it before they get close because of our helicopter. Once I know what they're planning, I will direct your three platoon leaders - Chrissie, Michelle, and Matt - to deploy you in whatever trench complex - or complexes if they hit from more than one axis - will provide the best defense. You will assemble there and I will do my best to keep you updated on the enemy's progress and I will shift you if need be. Remember that we must talk in code during unit-to-unit broadcasts! While we believe that the helicopter to platoon leader communications are secure, the unit frequency is nothing but citizens band - the same band that the militia uses. Don't give yourselves away by talking in clear text, no matter what kind of shit is hitting the fan.
"When you finally spot the enemy visually, hit them the moment they get into range. Don't just go blasting away at everyone in sight though. Pick them off using the "sector of responsibility" tactics that you were taught. Those of you with the single-shot hunting rifles, you're the workhorses of the battle. You'll be able to hit them from a much greater range than those with the semi-autos and the autos can. Use those scopes and don't forget to lead your target and to allow time for the bullet to reach. Those of you that do have the assault weapons, use them inside the two hundred and fifty yard range. Hit people that are clumped together. Don't waste a whole clip blasting after one man unless there's nothing else to shoot at.
"When it comes time to retreat, do it orderly. One squad will provide cover fire while the other retreats and so on and so forth. When you have wounded, call for Paul's team. They'll be lingering in the rear ready to pull casualties off of the line. Remember the key word here - wounded. As distasteful as it may sound and as disrespectful as it may seem, you need to leave the dead where they lie. Paul and his people will be rushing in through open ground. I know we all know each other and care deeply about each other, but be realistic in your assessments and don't risk our medical teams by having them come and pull someone out that is dead. It does neither the dead person nor the rescuer any good.
"Are there any questions?"
There were many, so many in fact that the meeting lasted another hour. And even then, most of the people weren't sure if they had all of the information that they needed. Everyone had doubts about what was going to happen tomorrow.
While the pre-battle briefing was occurring in the Garden Hill community center, another meeting was taking place in the hills to the northwest of town. Most of the troops had bedded down for the night (although anxiously awaiting the first of the air attacks - they had no reason to believe they would stop tonight). Others were walking the perimeter, taking their turn at guard duty (one of these was actually in the process of slipping away - he wanted no part of what was to come). Near the center of the mass of soldiers, three of them were sitting dangerously close together in the partial safety of a grove of trees near the base of a hill. These three were the only surviving lieutenants of the Garden Hill expeditionary force: Stu, Colby, and the technical second-in-command, Lieutenant Mitchell.
"There are 188 of us as of nightly role call," Stu said, taking a slug of water from his canteen. "That'll be more than enough to take that little shitpot town in the morning. Especially now that we've reorganized the squads and the platoons again."
"I agree," said Colby, who agreed with almost everything Stu said. "We'll split into two elements at dawn and hit them from the north and the west."
"I'll lead the group from the west," Mitchell said, his fingers nervously playing with his own canteen. Mitchell was a competent enough tactician, having served a tour in the Marines in his former life. He was also, like most former Marines, an expert with his rifle. "We'll stage just on the outside of the far ring of hills and then move in once the other group is ready."
Before they could discuss any more elements of this plan, Stu broke in and scuttled it. "I don't think that splitting the men up is a good idea," he said. "We've lost enough of our numerical advantage that we should just charge in as one big group."
Mitchell looked over at him (or at least in his direction - he couldn't actually see him since it was dark) as if he had gone insane. "What the hell are you talking about, Covington? If we split ourselves into two elements, that means the enemy will have to split into two elements to counter us. It'll make it twice as hard for them to coordinate and each of our own groups will be up against less resistance."
"That does make a lot of sense," Colby said, uncharacteristically agreeing with someone other than Stu for once.
"It'll also make it much harder for us to coordinate with each other," Stu said. "We need to take the most advantage we can here and charge them from the north, where the going is the easiest. We send the bulk of the troops right through the gap between their guard positions."
"That doesn't make tactical sense," Mitchell said in bewilderment. "You should know better than that."
"Actually," Stu countered, "it makes a lot of tactical sense. The northern route has much smaller hills and a lot fewer trees. There's less room for those bitches to hide and snipe at us. If we get them to dedicate their entire force in that area, it's just a matter of clearing each hill with flanking maneuvers. Remember, we're dealing with bitches here for the most part. They'll cut and run as soon as we close with them."
"That doesn't have anything to do with dividing into two or not," Mitchell said vehemently. "Jesus fucking Christ, the same principal applies to both plans. We need to hit them from both directions so that their forces are split. It's the only thing that makes sense!"
The argument raged for better than thirty minutes, with neither Stu nor Mitchell giving any ground. Colby seemed to swing back and forth in opinion, tending to agree with whomever had just finished talking at any given time. He made a few points of his own from time to time, but nothing that was original in thought.
"Look," Stu finally said when things started to get really heated, "why don't we just shelve this discussion for the moment and get some sleep? The air attacks are going to start any time now and we're all bunched up."
"We need to make a fuckin' decision before morning," Mitchell said, directing his comment at Colby, who was the one that would ultimately have to do that.
"Well..." Colby started.
"We can sleep on it," Stu insisted. "We'll be able to make better decisions in the morning and we'll still have time to brief in the troops before we move out."
"What?" Mitchell said, wondering what kind of madness Stu was talking now.
"Yes," Colby said. "I think that's a good idea. We'll pick this up in the morning, before daylight."
"We need to decide this now!" Mitchell said. "Goddammit, we..."
"In the morning," Colby said, more firmly this time. "The air attacks will be starting soon and we don't want to be bunched up like this. Let's separate for now."
And so they separated, each of them moving far enough away from the other so as not to invite the attention of the gunship. The decision remained unmade for the time being.
It is debatable which decision Colby might have made. Mitchell's arguments were based on solid military logic and carried much weight, perhaps enough to swing the favoritism that Stu enjoyed. As it turned out however, Stu's plan was the one that would prevail. Stu knew that this plan entailed more military risk but he was afraid that a mass desertion - perhaps led by Mitchell himself - would take place if the militia were split in two. Again, whether or not this would have occurred is very debatable.
But after the first air attack of the evening - which took place shortly after 9:00 PM - Lieutenant Mitchell was found to be among the three dead, a victim of three rounds in the chest that were assumed to be from the helicopter gun. His body was stripped of weapons and supplies and then dragged off to the side with the rest. As with Bracken before him, no one noticed the blood on the back of his head.
Stu was now second-in-command of the remaining militia and the sole military adviser to Colby.
The community center was quiet but restless as 10:00 approached. Most of the Garden Hill residents were sleeping downstairs, either in the cafeteria or the adjoining rooms. They were laid out on the floor, covered with blankets, their heads on pillows, their bodies tossing and turning on the edge of slumber. They tended to be bunched together by the squads and platoons they had been formed up in, adhering to the bonding that comes in such circumstances. A few of them however, had slipped off with their spouse or spouses to other parts of the building, knowing that this would be the last chance they had to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before the battle tomorrow.
Steve Kensington and his two wives were in an upstairs storage room, all of them naked. Sarah and Lori, the wives in question, were not into lesbianism and, as such, Sarah was patiently waiting her turn at the throttle while Steve pounded in and out of Lori atop their blankets.
In yet another upstairs storage room, Ted Eljer and his wife Carrie were busily involved in a threesome with Jenny O'Riley, who they had been having such relations with for the past week. Ted and Carrie had no intention of inviting Jenny permanently into their relationship at any point; they were just enjoying the freshness of her young body. They had gone through several such third persons in the last month, doing the Garden Hill equivalent of playing the field. Jenny, though she desperately wanted to be a part of their union - of anyone's union - knew that they were just using her for their own enjoyment but she consented to it anyway. She craved the release of sexual congress as much as anyone. Especially on this night.
In the main food storage room, which was the domain of Tina and Stacy, the two women were using their privileges to pass through the locked door to full advantage. Some weeks before they too had discovered the joys of female-to-female sexuality and often they indulged in sessions of heated passion both with and without Jason. In this case Tina was kneeling between Stacy's legs, licking her contentedly while running her hands over her huge belly. Stacy's due date was February 4, just over a week in the future, but her impending delivery did not detract from her sexuality. She had to muffle a scream as she came, her hands tearing into Tina's hair. When Jason arrived a few minutes later, fresh off his first mission of the night and under orders by Brett to get some sleep, he quickly joined in the fun, sliding himself into Stacy from behind while she returned Tina's favor.
And down in the cafeteria, near the corner where Jessica had once tried to kill Brett, another such pairing was in the works.
"Chrissie," Maggie whispered, having slid her body a little closer to her squad leader's. "Are you awake?"
"I'm awake," Chrissie whispered back, opening her eyes to look knowingly at her friend. The ambient light drifting in from the lanterns in the nearby locker room was just enough to see the hungry look on her face. "What's up?"
"I... uh... need someone to hold me," she said softly, putting emphasis on the word "hold".
Chrissie knew well what she meant. Since their first episode nearly two weeks before, after their first day of hit and run missions, Chrissie had made love to Maggie five additional times. They never talked about it, never made allusions towards it. Maggie still pretended each time that she had not planned on it occurring. But she always asked for it the same way - telling Chrissie that she needed some comforting, that she needed someone to hold her.
Maggie trembled in nervous, guilty excitement as Chrissie smiled at her and told her that they should go find an empty storeroom. "You wouldn't want anyone to see you while you're... uh... upset, would you?"
"No," Maggie said, slipping out from beneath her blankets. "I wouldn't want that at all."
And so the two women, both dressed in clean pairs of jeans and heavy flannel clothing (after all, the call to arms could come at any moment) but absent of boots and socks, padded upstairs, slipping silently between the groups of other people on the floor. Maggie was under the impression that no one knew where the two of them were going or what they were going to be doing - or at least she pretended to be. Chrissie was under no such illusions. Garden Hill remained a very small town where everyone knew everyone else's business.
The storage rooms of the community center had long been a place for illicit or semi-illicit sexual activity. This practice stretched all the way back to the days before Brett, Chrissie, and Jason showed up in town. Since most of the rooms did not lock, a system had developed by which lovers inside the rooms could let others know that they were occupied and therefore avoid the embarrassment of being walked in on while work was in progress. This system developed without anyone ever verbalizing it to anyone else or writing it down, almost by telepathy.
"Can't use this one," Chrissie whispered upon coming to the first door. The sign of occupancy was clearly visible in the light of the candle she carried. A hair scrunchy that belonged to one of the women inside (it was Jenny's) was hanging from the doorknob. In the Garden Hill community center this served the purpose of a motel's DO NOT DISTURB placard.
They moved further down the hall, coming to another storage room. The doorknob was empty on this one and Chrissie opened the door, allowing her candle to show the inside. This room was about twelve by twelve feet and had once housed spare linen. It was now nearly empty of this supply since much of the linen had been converted into sandbags for the trenches.
"This should be good," Chrissie said, standing aside and allowing Maggie to enter. "We'll be able to... talk... without being bothered by anyone."
"Yes," Maggie said with an almost straight face. "I'd hate to have anyone walk in on us while we were talking."
Chrissie took off her own hair scrunchy, allowing her blonde strands to fall to her shoulders. Her scrunchy was very distinctive looking. Instead of a solid color favored by most of the town women, it was red and pink and had a small silk bow sewed into it. She twisted it around the doorknob and then entered the room, allowing the door to shut behind her.
Once inside she set the candle down on an empty shelf. Maggie was standing nervously just behind her, biting her lip a little and wringing her hands.
"Come here, Mags," Chrissie said gently, holding out her arms to her. "Tell me what's on your mind."
The two women embraced, Maggie burying her head against Chrissie's neck, her body already heating up as she felt the press of breasts against hers through their clothing. "I'm just anxious about tomorrow," she said, smelling the scent of her friend and trembling, telling herself that she really did just come up here to talk and to be held.
"There's nothing to be anxious about," Chrissie told her, guiding her over towards a pile of old towels in the corner. She ran her hands up and down her back, caressing her in a manner that was more than just friendly. "We're gonna kick ass. Don't worry."
"I know," Maggie said, enjoying the sensation of the hands upon her. "I just get... you know... scared."
"There's nothing to be scared of," Chrissie told her, turning her face to hers. She leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips, lingering just long enough for the tip of her tongue to dart out for a second.
"Mmmm," Maggie sighed before pulling back a little. "Chrissie, I just wanted to talk. We can't... you know..."
"I know?" Chrissie asked, pulling her closer, kissing her on the chin. "What do I know?"
"You know? Like we did those other times. That was a mistake. It was wrong."
"Was it?" Chrissie asked her, letting her tongue slide down to Maggie's neck. She began to kiss and suck there. She had Maggie's number down by now. Maggie liked to pretend she was an unwilling participant. Part of it was guilt at enjoying the touch of another woman. Part of it was the love of being seduced.
"It was," Maggie insisted, craning her head backward as she felt that soft, wonderful mouth on her neck. "I just... I mean we shouldn't... ohhhh."
Chrissie nibbled her way over to Maggie's ear and began licking at the lobe. She whispered into it, caressing her with her words and her breath. "You want me to suck your boobies, don't you, Mags?"
"No," Maggie insisted, her hands pulling Chrissie tighter against her, her chest thrusting into her. "That's wrong. I can't... we shouldn't..."
"I'm gonna do it," Chrissie told her, sticking her tongue into Maggie's ear for the briefest moment. "I'm going to take your shirt off and suck your nipples for you and you're going to love it."
"No," Maggie said, shaking her head, her voice clearly saying "yes".
"Yes, you're going to love it," Chrissie told her, feeling the wetness gushing into her own being. She put her hands to the buttons on Maggie's flannel shirt and began to undo them. Maggie protested verbally but not physically. Soon the shirt was all the way open, revealing the white T-shirt beneath. The nipples on Maggie's store-bought breasts were sticking out plainly against the cotton. Chrissie pushed the shirt off of her back, letting it fall to the floor behind her. She ran her hands over her breasts, marveling, as always, at the springy feel of them.
"Chrissie, we can't do this," Maggie said, leaning forward and kissing Chrissie's neck for a moment.
"Lift your arms," Chrissie commanded, pushing at them a little with her own hands.
Maggie lifted her arms, allowing Chrissie to pull her shirt up and off, leaving her standing in her white bra. Chrissie stepped forward again and began kissing the tops of her breasts, running her tongue all over the pale flesh, while her hands went for the bra clasp in the back.
"Mmmmm," Maggie moaned. "I just wanted to talk, Chrissie. I just wanted to talk."
"We're talking now, Mags," she said, opening the clasp and pushing the bra free. It joined the T-shirt and the heavier shirt on the floor, leaving those orbs naked before her. She lowered her mouth and took a nipple into it.
"No," Maggie sighed, her hands going to Chrissie's hair. "We shouldn't."
Chrissie pushed her to the floor on her back, landing her in the pile of towels. Her mouth never left her nipple as she performed this maneuver and she ended up lying partially atop of her. "Shut up, Mags," she said from around the nipple. She went back to licking at it with her tongue.
Maggie snuggled into the towels and enjoyed the blissful sensation of her nipples being suckled. Though they were not as sensitive as they had been before her breast enhancement surgery (or, boob job if you prefer the non-PC term), they were still equipped with enough nerve endings to send tingles down to her vulva and clitoris. She ran her fingers through Chrissie's hair and only protested a little when Chrissie took off her own shirts and bra.
"I like to feel my boobs against yours," Chrissie told her, lying down atop of her. "And I like to kiss you. You're a good kisser."
"Oh, Chrissie," Maggie cried as she leaned forward and put her mouth against hers.
They slid their tongues together passionately, slipping them in and out of each other's mouths, sucking on each other's lips while their nipples ground together. Maggie ran her hands up and down the soft, bare flesh of Chrissie's back while Chrissie plunged her hands through Maggie's hair.
"I can never resist it when you kiss me," Maggie said breathlessly when the kiss broke for a moment. "You drive me crazy, Chrissie."
"I know," she said, licking at her upper lip, giving the tip of her nose a soft nibble. "And now, I'm going to take those pants off of you and give you what you really want."
"Ohhhh," Maggie moaned, pushing her downward.
She felt the buckle of her belt being opened, felt the icy coolness of the metal touching her stomach. She felt Chrissie's hands fumbling with the button on her jeans and finally opening it. The zipper slid slowly down on its track and then Chrissie's warm fingers were in the waistband, grabbing the jeans and the panties at one stroke. She lifted her hips so they could be pulled off. A moment later she was naked. She spread her legs, feeling the wetness between them, waiting for the exquisite touch upon her pussy.
Usually Chrissie teased her for a while first, licking her thighs and blowing soft air on her vaginal lips until Maggie actually had to beg for her mouth. This time she didn't bother. No sooner had the pants been discarded behind her than Maggie felt that blonde hair tickling her thighs, felt that wonderful tongue lapping up and down her slit. She moaned and raised her hips, increasing the pressure. Oh God, how guilty she felt when she did this. But oh God, how heavenly it felt. Chrissie ate pussy as if she had been born to do it, as if she had been doing it all of her life.