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The chronological order of my stories is now listed in WifeWatchman’s biography.
Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.
This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.
Part 1 – Prologue
Early Sunday morning, January 31st. She sat on the bench, looking at the flowing water of the River at the bottom of the valley. The countryside on either side of the river was a greenish-brown; it would be a beautiful grassy green in the summer.
She was wearing fleece athletic wear, and gray hoodie sweater over that. She had the hood over her head, from the side she was like the Emperor in the Star Wars saga.
She felt as much as heard the steps coming up to her from behind. It was her father, of course. He was bundled up heavily against the cold, but moved with spry steps befitting his good health at his age.
“Ah, Cindy, there you are.” said the gravelly voice. “Am I intruding?”
“No, Father.” said Cindy Ross. “Please, join me.” She made room on the bench for him. They sat there for a few minutes, in silent contemplation of different things. After a while, Dr. P. Harvey Eckhart, founder and great leader of ‘The Vision’ self-help group, and Cindy’s blood father, finally spoke.
“Have you found your answers yet, my dear?”
Cindy exhaled and said “No sir. I’m just getting the questions figured out.” Eckhart barked, what was a laugh for him.
“I understand.” he said. “And what questions would those be, as you watch this wonderful River flow before you?”
Cindy smiled. “Yes, I was just thinking about this River. It flows through our Town from the springs in the hills to our north, then down here and on to Midtown. A long journey, but foreordained every step of the way. Our lives, by way of contrast, are not. At least I don’t think so.”
“I agree with you, my dear.” Eckhart said. “So… what is troubling your young Spirit? Young Amy’s passing?”
“No.” said Cindy. “I can’t tell you all of it, Father. But Don, your nephew… I thought I knew him. He’s more than the Iron Crowbar to some of us. He’s the very Rock of Integrity. But… the other night… well, like I said, I can’t tell you about it. But I’m confused. I don’t know who he really is.”
“I can make guesses.” said Eckhart. “Mr. Moschel, who was arrested by your Police Force, arrived at your Headquarters in a very… depleted condition. I am surprised Don took you with him… no, I take that back. I am not surprised. You imposed upon him, of course.”
“Yes. I did. He gave me fair warning.” Cindy said. “But I’m still confused about him. And myself.”
“My dear,” Eckhart said, “you were just looking at this River. Tell me, how long has this River been here?”
“Years.” Cindy said. “Decades. Centuries, even.”
“And it’s the same River whenever you see it, yes?” Eckhart asked.
“Yes.” she said. Then she caught on. “Wait, no… the water is not the same.”
“Ahhhh.” exclaimed Eckhart. “Yes. For the water molecules to be the same ones, in the same arrangement, to pass exactly this way again, and to do so with you watching both times… the odds are so astronomical as to be unreasonable. Indeed, if even one of those water atoms is split, or reacts with other substances, then those odds go pretty much to Infinity. So, my dear, I’ll ask again: is this the same River whenever you see it?”
“No…” Cindy said. “Well, the Riverbed is pretty much the same, save for erosion. And it’s still here, same place.”
“Ah, you see the paradox.” said Eckhart. “So what makes it the River? The water, or the bed?”
“Uh, both.” Cindy said.
“Indeed.” said Eckhart. “It’s about context. Take the bowl of cereal that you ate this morning. Was it delicious?” Cindy nodded and Eckhart went on: “So you enjoyed the taste of the cereal, the fruit, the milk. Tell me, how was the bowl?”
“I did not eat the bowl.” Cindy said, smiling.
“No, and that’s not what I meant, of course.” said Eckhart, himself grinning. “But could you have had a bowl of cereal… without the bowl?”
“No.” Cindy said.
“Ah, quite right.” said Eckhart. “The word you are seeking there, is ‘context’. No one thinks about the bowl as they eat their delicious cereal. But it is the bowl that gives context to the meal.” Cindy just nodded.
“So,” said Eckhart, “back to our River. Is it the same River?”
“Well,” Cindy says, “I guess it depends on how you look at it.”
“Yes.” said Eckhart. “But there’s something even more important about it…” He stopped, and let Cindy contemplate.
“Oh!” Cindy said. “I guess it’s how I want to look at it!”
“Splendid!” exclaimed Eckhart, proud that his canlı bahis daughter was absorbing the lesson. “So, you see what you choose to see, and it is your choices that create your reality. In what some would call ‘reality’, the River is the same, and it is not the same. It is your choice, your chosen perception, that creates your reality.” Cindy nodded.
“And now, consider your cousin, young Donald.” said Eckhart. “What is the reality of the Iron Crowbar?”
“Its…. oh, it’s as I choose to see him.” Cindy said.
“Yes, my dear.” Eckhart said. After a moment of silent thought, he said “Well, I’ll be going back inside. Stay as long as you wish.” Before he could get up, he was being hugged warmly by his daughter.
“Thank you, Father.” Cindy said. “For more than just the conversation.”
Eckhart hugged Cindy back. “You’re quite welcome, my dear. Quite welcome. I love you very much, Cindy, and I am very proud of your accomplishments. Not just those with your Police Force, but of freeing your mind and your Spirit.”
Eckhart didn’t get back in for a while. Cindy did not release him from her hug for several long minutes…
Part 2 – Wheels In Motion: The Mundane
He began gasping as he slammed his turgid cock in and out of her with faster, harder thrusts, his thighs smacking hers as they fucked furiously towards his climax. She wrapped her shapely legs tightly around him, not letting him withdraw… forcing him to pump his full load of potent, virile semen deep inside her sopping wet, clutching vagina.
“Here it comes, baby…” Sidney P. Wellman gasped as he drove into Tanya Perlman again and again, feeling the intense pain building in his loins.
“Give it to me, baby!” Tanya shouted in encouragement. “Come inside me! Give me every drop of that hot load!” Her dirty words combined with the wet heat of her pussy were too much, and Wellman could not hold back.
“UNNGH!” he gasped out as the first wad of jism fired out of his long cock-tube and against Tanya’s cervix, followed by several more blasts of baby batter. Tanya was clutching at him with both her hands and legs to keep him buried inside her sweet snatch until he was spent, and had no more sperm to give.
Finally, he rolled off of her, drained of both his load and his energy. As he struggled to catch his breath, Tanya snuggled into him, her head on his chest. It was Sunday afternoon, January 31st, and the lovers were enjoying their illicit, adulterous liaison while Wellman’s wife was at a Ladies Auxiliary event.
“Mmmm, that was sooooo good.” Tanya said dreamily. “I just don’t get enough of your big cock, baby.”
“Hell, you practically snapped it off the last time you came.” Wellman said. “I can hardly keep up.”
“Yeah, right.” said Tanya, grinning her cherubic, playful grin. “I’ll have this big cock sucked back to iron hardness, and you’ll throw another fuck into me as hot as the last one. And you know I give it to you better than your wife and those college cuties you’re banging.”
“I would never admit to corrupting my young co-ed students’ morals.” said Wellman. “As to my wife… well, you know that our marriage is based upon… other things.” He meant her being the perfect University president’s wife, and he also did not tell Tanya that Sally Wellman was still a hot tart and a hungry MILF tiger in bed.
“You could trade up, though.” Tanya said. “She’s never given you a baby. I can. And you know I want to have another baby, just as soon as you drop her.” They’d had variations of this conversation before. And like the previous ones, Wellman would not commit.
To emphasize her point, Tanya slid down and took Wellman’s cock in her hand, stroking it. It began to harden, as he’d taken a Viagra at the beginning of his sexual encounter with Tanya. As his cock responded and became hard, Tanya slid her mouth over his meat and began to fellate him.
“Mmmm, that’s good.” Wellman said, “My wife can’t hold a candle to what you do to me.”
“She needs other men to satisfy her needs, while you satisfy mine.” said Tanya. “Of course, after what Commander Troy did to her the other day, you’ll have to work hard to satisfy her like he did.”
“What? He told you that?” asked Wellman. Commander Troy had collected on his bet with Sally Wellman (made before the Bulldogs-Wildcats game), and had used his little ‘iron crowbar’ to fuck the bejezus out of Sally. He’d taken firm control of Sally, who normally liked to be in full control, like Eleanor Burke with her husband. But Troy had forced her to kiss him whenever he liked, and power-fucked her with raw abandon, and he’d worn her out and sated her like she’d rarely experienced before. He also told her he would kiss her whenever he liked, including in front of her husband, and she’d submitted to his whims.
“No, he didn’t say a word.” said Tanya. “He’s pretty discreet about stuff like that. But she told a few of her friends, and women talk. I heard about it quickly enough. And of course…” she gave his cock a few quick sucks, “… bahis siteleri I am a Detective, you know.”
“And almost as good a Detective as you are a cocksucker.” Wellman said. “So show me what you do best.” As Tanya began sucking him in earnest, deep throating him and alternately licking his shaft and balls, Wellman allowed his fantasy to come to him. It wasn’t his wife nor the college teenyboppers that got him hotly aroused, but the thought of the woman he could not have: Laura Fredricson. That Iron Crowbar was one lucky bastard, Wellman thought. He is fucking that woman whenever he wants -and- getting plenty of pussy on the side…
Tanya moved up and mounted Wellman, straddling his loins. She guided his cock to her wet, sperm-filled pussy and let her weight drop, impaling herself on his throbbing member. As she rode him, she thought of how this was her fertile time and she was off the pill… and hoping Wellman’s sperm would impregnate her today.
As Wellman watched Tanya’s face scrunch in ecstasy and her breasts bounce as she rode him, he thought of how he’d had a vasectomy years before, so long past that the scar was hardly even visible anymore. Sally had not wanted children, and he made sure there were no ‘accidents’ with the college girls. He knew that what Tanya was trying to do now would fail. Let the Iron Crowbar sire those children, he thought to himself. I prefer my sex free and easy, and without consequences…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He watched as the young Satyr fucked the lovely Sinon, sipping his drink and enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the young couple having hot, hard sex. The young man was blessed with a huge cock, and the lovely woman was climaxing hard around it as he pistoned it in and out of her with raw abandon….
*BRING!* *BRING!* *BRING!*
Ah, the phone call he was expecting. He took it.
“Yes… thank you for calling me so quickly. I need to know why Steven Moschel broke…. no, he broke completely, gave the Police and the FBI everything he had… um hmm… no, he is the first person that close to me that has been completely broken, completely turned…”
After listening for a moment, he said “No, Commander Troy did not publicly interrogate him at any time, that is the interesting part… no, he came into the Interrogation Room once, maybe a second time, but I understand he asked no questions… yes, his distance and detachment are a clue in themselves, is that not so?… yes, someone found Moschel and obviously worked him over… no, no marks on his body… yes, that’s true, he was raving like he was drunk when they brought him in… ahhhh….
After a pause, he said “No, I was just thinking… you gave me an idea… like reflected light from a mirror… I just realized that Moschel would have had to have been tortured… no, even waterboarding or the other enhanced methods would not have been so effective, or would’ve taken much more time… yes, it had to be drugs… now, my friend, what drugs are that devastatingly effective, that quickly?… no, not even the CIA has drugs this powerful… yes, I will talk with you later.”
The young stud had come inside the lovely Sinon’s pussy, and his semen was leaking into the black hairs of her pubic bush. The sight aroused him.
“Want some sloppy seconds?” she asked invitingly, spreading her legs obscenely in invitation. “You deserve a release.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” he said, unbuckling his pants and freeing his painfully throbbing cock. Still clothed, he mounted her and entered her, enjoying the slickness of her sperm-filled pussy. Even as he began fucking her in a steady rhythm, his mind was considering other things…
The drugs, those made for the CIA by the Iron Crowbar’s brilliant nephew Ned… had not been destroyed. The Iron Crowbar had them, and had used them to torture Moschel and break the young man. Ah, now what to do about that…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sun had set and the cold had sapped all vestiges of heat from the land as the members of the Orange Order sat down to dinner. they were at Ian McGhillie’s Golf Club Clubhouse, which was closed to all outsiders this night.
Chief Griswold and I had used the grill in the kitchen to cook up steaks and seafood, including the Chief’s special trout preparation. I was merely the student as I watched him expertly cook the food, and I also worked on the side dishes. Della Harlow helped us out as well. As an aside, Cindy Ross was not permitted into the kitchen. She is accomplished at a great many things; cooking is not one of them.
We acknowledged Teresa Croyle and Damien Thompson’s first Orange Order dinner. They had the duty of bringing out the plates of food and pouring the wines. Their only other duty as the newbies was to make sure that the beer did not run out. Teresa was a very smart Vice Lieutenant: I knew she’d brought in an extra keg, just to make sure.
After a lot of banter and discussion of the cases of the last three months, as well as bahis şirketleri talk of the EMT Strike, the conversation turned to promotions and medals. When I announced that Della Harlow would be promoted to Deputy Chief, there was a great exclamation of cheering and applause. Della already knew she was being promoted, so there was no ruined surprise there.
“There aren’t going to be a lot of other promotions.” I said. “Some pay increases amongst the Patrol Officers, for the most part.” I quickly went through those. “As to medals,” I continued, “there will be a good number of them, including a few that I won’t discuss because I like to surprise people at times.” Everyone knew that meant someone in the room was getting a high medal, but weren’t sure who it was nor what it was (it was Teresa’s Police Star of Gallantry, for those keeping score at home).
We then discussed the upcoming Medal of Valor ceremony for Roy Easley. And at that time, someone asked a question: “Who was the last Fire Department M.O.V.?”
“Which reminds me: who was the last Police Cross winner?” asked Teresa Croyle.
“I can tell you that.” said Chief Griswold. The room became quiet as he talked.
“Almost thirty years ago, there was a young Police Officer named Joseph Smedley.” said Griswold. “We called him ‘Joe’. Worked like a dog to get a two-year degree. Top of his Class at the Police Academy. A couple of years in, he responded to a hostage situation call, at a gas station where the Nextdoor County road comes into University Avenue. Went to ‘talk’, to ‘negotiate’, walked right up to the front door. When the perp extended his gun arm, Smedley grabbed it, wrestled the man to the ground, took the gun away and shot the other perp who was firing at him, but missed.”
“It was only the Town Council then, and they awarded Smedley a Police Medal.” said Griswold. “What no one knew is that a corrupt Police Captain at that time had staged the whole thing to get Smedley killed. Smedley was an honest man, like the Iron Crowbar here, and some people didn’t like that.”
Griswold continued: “Should’ve been a higher medal, but they managed to keep it downgraded. But Smedley wasn’t done. We had a firefight with a drug gang, and our guys didn’t have the equipment the SWAT team today has. Smedley went on the attack, drew the fire of the bad guys, caught two bullets in the legs. The other guys had been ordered to hold back by that same corrupt Captain, but they disobeyed and cleaned up the perps and saved Smedley. The Town Council got the message and gave Smedley the Police Cross, and that corrupt cop found work in another organization. Care to guess which one, Crowbar?”
“I’d say the SBI.” I said.
“I’d say you’re correct, too.” said Griswold. “He became Jack Lewis’s boss, which explains a lot of things. Anyhoo, the Town Council had the idea that Smedley was exposing himself too much, so they ‘invited’ him to transfer to the Fire Department. And sure enough, a few years later he ran into a burning building and brought out a couple of kids, then went back in and got their dog and her newborn puppies.”
“My kind of guy.” I said. Everyone laughed; they knew I love dogs.
“Yep.” said Griswold. “So he got the Fire Department M.O.V. for that. Set a pretty high bar, and the Council never gave another one until Easley was nominated by our M.O.V. guys here. Easley did the same thing Smedley did, saved a child. Smedley, meanwhile, also went into a burning building and rescued two other trapped firefighters, for which he got a Fire Cross.”
“That is some serious hardcore stuff, there.” said Micah Rudistan, his eyes showing his sheer fascination.
“It sure is.” said Griswold. “Only man like him I ever saw was this redhead with the red crowbar, and I had to give the rest of my Police Force orders to tackle his ass so that he doesn’t try to beat Smedley’s records.” There was some laughter at that, but I wasn’t amused: Cindy had been shot obeying those orders, and I’d have preferred to take those bullets in her stead. But that’s water under the bridge, I said to myself. Let it go.
The Chief continued: “So the Council had to make Smedley move to the Sheriff’s Department. He did Courthouse duty and they’d send him to the schools with the drug dogs or to teach traffic safety. He liked kids, and they loved having a hero like him in front of them.”
“So what happened to him?” Cindy asked.
“He retired a few years ago.” Griswold said. “He was getting long in the tooth, and there were some stories that he was drinking more than he should. I haven’t seen him in a while. I need to bring him around, let him meet you new heroes…”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The City. Late Sunday night.
The FBI Agents were monitoring their screens, seeing reams of digital data flowing before them, data showing financial transactions in and out of the banks of the City and most of the State. A ‘FISA’ Court had issued a warrant to collect this data from citizens as a matter of routine, ‘rubber stamping’ in the name of the War on Terror. But this Task Force did have more specific warrants, to watch the State Housing Authority’s Louise Belfort and others, to monitor their cellphone activity as well as potential money transfers.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32