Deep Down Inside - Part 36 - Back on Track
Written by circes_cup :: [Thursday, 26 December 2013 13:37] Last updated by :: [Monday, 24 February 2014 14:40]
PART 36 - BACK ON TRACK
Warning: This is adult literature. If you’re not of a legal age to read this stuff, don’t.
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. No semblance between the characters described here and real individuals -- living or dead -- is implied or intended.
Plot Notes: See Part 35 for a complete synopsis up to this point. Also, in Part 36, we reunite with Ethan, who we met in Part 11, and last saw in Part 12.
"....train.....anarchist attack.....Utah....toxic spill... water supplies threatened... major regional crisis..." Those were the only phrases Vicky could remember as the plea she had received by telephone only minutes earlier. Her country needed her, the homeland security official explained.
Vicky felt a knot form in her stomach as the red rocks of southern Utah swept past below her. She was powerful enough to destroy half the state. But was she skilled enough to save it? Would her rescue amount to more harm than good, as had her escapades so many times before? And what would Jared say to her, if she messed this up?
Glancing around her, she was pleased to see Tamara and Louisa by her side. When Vicky had explained to the three that she intended to take things in a new direction, that she wanted the supergirls to be more cautious, to be a force for good in the world, she didn't know how they would take it. She was especially worried about Loiusa, who had the deepest bad-girl streak of the bunch. But as it turned out, Louisa was the first to speak up.
"Do you remember what I said to you in the dining hall, before all this started, when we were still our old selves?" Louisa had asked.
"No," Vicky admitted.
"Whatever happens to one of us, happens to all of us. We're with you Vicky, all the way."
The disaster site was a jumble of railroad cars, with orange liquid pooling outside of them. Tracks had been twisted by the blast of the bomb, giving them the appearance of spaghetti. The orange disgustingness erupted into spontaneous flame when exposed to air. The grass was scorched and burning for forty yeards in each direction.
Apart from the cackling of the grass fire, there was little noise. The girls stood alone, government-issued shovels in their hands. The men on the sidelines had toxic chemical suites that protected them from the toxic substances, but couldn't deflect the intense heat of the fire. And they had fire fighting suits that would have protected from the fire but left the men exposed to deadly toxicity. Only the girls were resistant to all of it.
"Using these shovels will take us forever." Vicky observed the rapidly expanding pond of goo. "The government may as well have given us teaspoons."
"Another case of the feeble male imagination," Louisa quipped. She approached an empty box car and ran an index finger along the edge, cutting through the thick steel as if she was opening an envelope. Moments later, the end of the box car fell away with a CLANG. Louisa circled around to the closed end of the box car and slid her hands under its edge.
She, like Vicky and all of the girls, wore precious little. The government issued them uniforms woven of an especially hardy titanium/plastic polymer -- bullet-proof, and well, everything-proof. But at $20,000 per square inch, it was scandalously expensive. Conscious of the fact that it was public money, Vicky encouraged the government to keep the suits skimpy. This had the unintended effect of scandalizing the public in a different way. The suits were technically one-pieces, but would more properly be described as bikini's, with thin strips of fabric along the midriff connecting the tops and the bottoms.
Vicky appreciated the entirety of Louisa's physique as she bent to lift the rail car. Her back and shoulder muscles danced, but did not strain, as the hefted the box car skyward. Her triceps and forearms, too, tensed only enough to show they were doing a task, but did not strain. After all, the box car weighed about 60,000 pounds empty, which would feel like little more six pounds to her.
Louisa began to fly the box car around the site, and within moments had scooped up literally tons of disgusting goo and contaminated soil. The other girls began to imitate her, using their own improvised containers. Soon, the orange liquid was contained, and the site was nearly clean of its contaminant.
Although quick, the assignment was pretty gross, Vicky decided, as she wiped a glob of slime off her hands and surveyed the handiwork. The orange goo was unpronounceable to her, but she knew from a conversation with the government that it was potent. The glob she just scraped off her forearm was probably enough to send an entire crew of first responders to their graves. Without the girls, first responders would have needed days to contain the spill. By that point, it would have contaminated the ground water, and potentially the city water supply, forcing the city to use only one reservoir rather than two until the contamination was cleaned up. Not the most exciting of hero work, Vicky thought, but it was what the government has asked of her.
She glanced back at the command center a mile away. The incident commander, a heavyset bull of a man with a gravely voice, was motioning her back to the command tent.
"You girls should be very proud of yourselves," he proclaimed as the superwomen dropped out of the sky, still glowing from a brief supersonic flight to burn off the contaminant. "You completely foiled these terrorists and their plot to disrupt our water supply."
"Thanks," Vicky replied, bashful. "I still don't feel like I know what I'm doing."
"You don't. But you have experienced government officials here to guide you. Just do exactly as we say and you'll succeed."
Vicky nodded, as she slowly surveyed the scene at incident command. It was full of men, bustling about their duties and giving each other congratulatory pats on the back. Of course, the men were also surreptitiously stealing glances as the female marvels before them.
Vicky could feel the cool night air dance across her exposed skin. The stares of men sheepishly followed. And yet, there was one man who's eyes were somewhere else. He stood in the corner, greasy arms crossed over the front of his railroad-issue overalls, facing away from the activity. He was looking back toward the tracks.
"We need to get going," the commander instructed as he straightened his silk tie. "Governors from all three adjoining states have gathered and requested an emergency audience with you. You will debrief them on the situation and then accept their congratulations in front of the media."
Vicky barely heard him. Why is that guy in overalls so withdrawn, he wondered? Is there something I should know? Tamara's advice lingered in her mind. It's a symbioses between you and the people. They will help you find the answers. "Give me a minute," she replied to the incident commander, and she walked away from him.
"Vicky, we need to..."
But Vicky ignored him. "Hey," she said to the overall-clad worker at the edge of the activity. "Something on your mind?"
The worker seemed startled to suddenly be standing next to her. It wasn't an experience most men were prepared for. "I... I was just wondering... It doesn't make sense..."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"But what do I know? I'm just a railroad worker. I didn't even finish high school. The government has experts here, and they're really experienced. So maybe I shouldn't question them."
"What doesn't make sense?" Vicky insisted.
He uncrossed his arms and pointed at the toxic spill site, in the middle of an unpopulated plain of yellow scrub grass. "If the terrorists were going to detonate a bomb on the track, why did they do it here? There's nothing here. If I was trying to contaminate the city water, I'd do it there." He pointed into the hazy distance.
"Vicky!" came the gravelly shout from the incident commander in the distance. "We need to go!"
Vicky's eyes bore into the haze with stunning clarity. Several miles in the distance, the railroad track ran alongside a large reservoir. If the bomb had been placed there, Vicky supposed, the train would have gone straight into the reservoir. The water supply could have been contaminated instantly, and permanently.
"You're right," Vicky whispered. A feeling of dread settled on her stomach. "Maybe something isn't right here."
The incident commander's face was glowing red by now. "Vicky, I didn't say one governor. I said three. This is not a group that should be kept waiting. We need to go."
Vicky's eye met the worker's as she turned back toward the activity. "Thanks," she whispered.
The helicopter had already started its rotors, within moments Vicky, the girls, and the incident commander were on their way to the press conference.
Vicky wished she could speak with the incident commander about the worker's concerns. But Inside the noisy copter, conversation was impossible for normal vocal cords, so there was no point. She sat with her hands politely folded on her lap.
That dude with the overalls -- it's probably nothing, she told herself. You can't just ignore the experts, after all. If you do, and then screw it all up, it will look awful. Imagine, she thought, going back to Jared and explaining that the situation got screwed up not because Vicky had lacked expert advice, but because she had the benefit of expert advice and ignored it. No, she reasoned, I can't let that happen. I have to do what they tell me.
They disembarked the helicopter and approached the dais for the press conference. The media had already assembled.
But as she approached the dais, her courage began to sag. Turning discreetly to the incident commander, her voice faltered. "Do you really think we got to the bottom of it?" she asked him. "Are you sure we didn't miss something?"
One of the governors was approaching the podium now, and another two were in tow.
"What do you mean?" the official hissed quietly. "Are you questioning the expertise of my team? Because if you are, young lady..."
"No, no," her hands were pleading. "I'm just wondering... didn't the terrorists seem to be targeting a dramatic loss of life? Is this really the best they could do?"
The official cast a disgusted look at her. The press corps had begun to illuminate its camera kleig lights. The press conference was about to begin. The official's eyes were indignant as he spoke in hushed tones. "How many terrorist attacks have you experienced?"
"Zero," Vicky admitted.
One of the governors tapped on the microphone. "Good evening..." he announced to the press.
The federal official whispered at Vicky through clenched teeth. "And you, with zero expertise, intend to say that I don't know what a real terrorist attack looks like?"
"No, I guess not." Vicky bowed her head to the ground. After Jared's critique of her the other night, she wondered whether she knew anything at all. "I'm just wondering whether this stupid thing with the toxic chemicals was a distraction, whether the real attack will be..."
"Enough!" the man barked more loudly that he intended. Some of the reporters turned to him, before he lowered his voice to a angry rumble. "This is a major incident, and I was flown out here specifically to command the response. This is not a 'stupid thing'.
"Sorry," Vicky muttered.
The sound system blanketed the area in the Governor's voice "....we gather here tonight to provide information on a terrorist attack against our nation's infrastructure...."
"Look," the official whispered, "you told us you wanted to help. But I'm beginning to suspect that you think cleaning a toxic spill is below you. If you want call yourself a hero, then you wait for us to call, and you do what we ask. You bring the muscle," the official continued. "And leave the thinking to the men who do it best."
"OK," Vicky conceded softly. She began flipping absently through her cell phone.
The sound system continued to carry the Governor's voice. "... stands as a shining example of the remarkable new partnership between our federal response agencies and the four girls known as..."
"What are you doing," the official hissed at Vicky as she fiddled with her phone.
"Sorry, it's something I do when I'm nervous. I just flip through stuff."
"Put it away. And listen to me. You will speak to the press immediately after the governor," the official instructed. "And if you care about your reputation, you will keep it short and sweet. Talk about what an honor it was to be called into service, that you were just glad you could help. And whatever you do, not share any of the speculative anxities that you dumped on me only moments ago."
Vicky simply ran her thumb upward across the screen of her phone as she moved from page to page.
"Are you listening to me? Your generation is so disconnected from reality: you spend your whole day staring into those damn phones. You are a minutes away from a press briefing with three governors in attendance. Grow up."
But Vicky wasn't listening to him anymore. Her eyes were illuminated by the pale whiteness of the phone. And they were wide with horror.
Screams flooded the rail car as it leaned slowly toward the open void. Through the windows of the car, the floor of the eight-hundred-foot chasm came into view. People were crawling over each other to get to the exit at the front of the car. But the metal had been bent in the explosion, and the door was now jammed. The rear exit was somehow obstructed as well.
Charlie's fingernails dug into the arm of his little girl. The car groaned again as the train listed further to the side. His girl was only eight years old, he told himself. She would never get to see nine, would she?
"We have to pull the window out and crawl on the outside of the train, Allie."
"That STUPID, Daddy," she replied, not looking up from her lap. "There's nowhere to walk out there."
Charlie's mind raced through the events that had led to this. The train had been stopped on the bridge for more than an hour due to a toxic chemical spill down the line. After a dull hour on the tracks, without warning, came the explosions. And they didn't sound like accidental explosions either. They sounded like bombs. Someone had known that the spill ahead would force the passenger train to stop on the bridge. Some one had known that it was a sitting duck here. Someone had known that compromising this bridge would send five hundred people to their graves. And all the people could do about it was scream.
"Allie, don't be scared. I know we're going to get out of this," he reassured. But it was a lie.
"OK, Daddy. That's cool," she replied, eyes downward. She was playing a game on her phone.
How could kids these days be so disconnected from reality, he found himself wondering? When the train originally came to a screeching halt, he encouraged her to play a game on her phone as a tactic for keeping her calm. But here they were now on the edge of their own deaths, and she was still engrossed by the damn screen.
"Allie, it's time to put the phone down. We're going to try and get out of here, and you need to pay attention." He yanked at the emergency handle attached to the rubber window seal. After several tugs, the rubber seal slid away, and the window tumbled into the void, winking bright flashes at them as it flipped end-over-end during its descent. It seemed to take forever to hit the ground.
He leaned his head out the window. "Do you see any hand holds we can use to get on top of the train, Allie?"
There was no response. She was curled into a comfortable ball, cradling the phone in her lap was screams inside the train intensified.
"Stop playing on your damn phone, Allie!" he nearly screamed.
The train groaned again. Charlie saw luggage -- and a helpless person -- fall into the chasm, tumbling toward the minuscule pine trees below.
"I'm not playing games," the girl objected, seemingly unperturbed that the train car had leaned over so far that they could easily see the floor of the frightening chasm.
Charlie finally began to admit the truth: he and his daughter were in a 100-foot-long coffin.
People were fighting, tearing at each other to get to doors that would not open. The train shifted again with a jolt, and seemed almost to twist under the strain. The open window was now almost below them rather than beside them. The breeze through it was intense -- and a reminder of how high they were. And the screams that erupted were blood curdling.
With her face downward in the screen of the phone, Allie seemed nearly oblivious to all this. Charlie wanted to tell his girl that he loved her. And he wanted her to hear it. "Allie, look up and pay attention to me. No more games on the phone."
"I'm not playing games any more, Dad. I'm tweeting. It's way cooler."
"Allie, I'm your father and I have something to say to you. This is more important that your tweeting friends."
"No, Daddy. My tweeting friends are important too."
Charlie felt a flood of jealousy consume him. Allie was tweeting her mother, he knew it. Ever since the divorce, he had been competing with that woman for Allie's attention. And now this damn divorce was disrupting even the final moment he had with his girl, the final moment of his life. "Allie," Charlie tried to control the hurt in his voice. "Who the hell are you tweeting?"
At that moment, a final stomach-churning CRACK resounded through the train. There was a hard, violent jolt, and he felt the sickening movement of the train car coming entirely loose from the bridge. Charlie looked around. They were beginning a free-fall.
He looked back at Allie to see her thrown sideways by the sudden jolt. He reached for the girl, but his fingers only grazed her clothing as Allie tumbled helplessly out the open window below.
Charlie screamed. Falling, Allie reached back up toward her father, but in an instant, the gulf between them grew from inches to yards, and then kept growing. As she fell away from the train, Allie's eyes were wide with terror. Time seemed to slow.
"My little girl!" Charlie wailed as his daughter tumbled away from the car.
Just then, a hand shot out from under the train, and grabbed her.
The hand held Allie firm by the upper arm. The hand was attached to a young woman, barely clothed, floating below the train, with fiery, auburn hair. The woman's other arm reached upward toward the falling train and slammed into it with brutal force. Charlie was thrown downward -- hard -- against the steel wall of the car as the downward movement of the train was brought to a sudden halt.
They were somehow suspended in mid-air. The was nothing below this unreal woman's feet. Was she flying? Was she holding the train above her head with one arm?
"Her," Allie explained calmly to her father, as the toddler dangled over the void.
"Huuuuh?" Charlier responded, dazed.
"You asked who I was tweeting. I was tweeting her."
Allie looked into the rich hazel/grey eyes of her savior. The woman smiled back. She was beautiful.
"I'll need both hands for this," the superwoman explained. "Can you hang onto me, piggy back style?"
Allie nodded, and felt herself being swung around the woman's back. The girl wrapped her little legs over the woman's wide hips, and clasped her hands around the woman's neck.
Above them, the train was enormous. It groaned and creaked with its own weight. Her father looked down through the open window at them, his mouth still a shocked "O".
Allie took in the rest of her surroundings. The bridge below was partially shattered and blackened, and even her eight-year-old eyes could see that it indeed had been a bomb. Up and down the length of the train, there were two other supergirls in action. The entire train, all seven cars, had come free of its tracks and was being held over the chasm by these three women. Each of them looked so beautiful, Allie admired, with their long hair -- blond, chestnut and auburn -- billowing in the wind. They were dwarfed by the immensity of the long mass they supported. The sections of the train that were between the supporting girls sagged markedly, giving the train the shape of a Chinese dragon -- an enormous steel beast that writhed as the girls moved.
Her father's voice from the train above was bewildered. "Allie, what's going on? What is the train resting on?"
"She CARRYING it Dad, can't you see?" Parents are so STUPID, Allie lamented to herself.
"How is she doing THAT?" her father exclaimed from the open train window.
"Because she's super duper," Allie clarified.
"She's got really strong muscles, Dad. Duh!"
The woman laughed lightly and shrugged her shoulders in agreement.
"Parents." Allie was exasperated now. "Why don't the ever listen the first time?"
"Men sometimes lack imagination," the woman laughed.
"Where are we going?" Allie asked as the bridge slowly receded below them.
"I don't know," the woman smiled. "You pick."
"How about that city over there?" Allie suggested.
"That sounds like a good idea," the superwoman agreed. "That city will have everything we need to help the people in the train. Do you want to steer?"
"Sure!" Allie yelped. She tentatively placed her little hands on the woman's arms, which had flared with steely power. "Your arms feel like rocks, but warm," Allie observed factually.
"They're harder than rocks, honey."
"Cool," Allie whispered. She slowly pushed on the woman's left arm, and pulled on the right. Above her, the massive train, perhaps quarter mile long, rotated to the left. Allie giggled.
The girl then reversed the pressure of her hands, and the superwoman responded in kind. The train groaned and rotated to the right. She was actually steering! Allie directed her gaze at the city at the distance and pushed both hands forward, something like the way her cousin did when he rode his motorcycle. They began to accelerate toward the city. Allie could feel the cool rush of wind on her face.
"Can we go faster?" Allie asked.
"We can go super fast," the woman smiled.
Allie pushed on the woman's shoulders the way she had seen her cousin rev the engine of a motorcycle. The wind passing between the rail cars changed from a whistle to a moan as the assemblage accelerated. They arrived at the city in no time.
"Tell you what," Vicky proposed playfully. "Let's put it down right in front of that group of people."
"What are they doing down there?"
"It's called a press conference."
Allie looked proudly above her. The passenger train was enormous -- a full quarter mile long, shifting and undulating like a large snake as it slowly descended.
The ravishing red-haired woman now had her feet on the ground. Bending over, she and her companions set the train down carefully. Allie scampered down as well.
Allie reached around the woman's hips and gave them a big hug. "You're really good at this!" she exclaimed. "I always knew you would save us!"
The red haired beauty looked down at her and her voice quivered. "You have no idea how much that means to me."
Allie tightened her hug, as she felt a warm droplet of water hit her scalp.
Ethan sighed again as he stared out the window into the cool New Mexico evening. He was sitting alone in his darkened bedroom again, sulking.
It had been several months since he had last seen her -- Vicky, no last name given, the remarkable, voluptuous auburn-haired woman. She had first appeared in his life at a rowdy bar. He had defended her from some rude guys, only moments before SHE wound up defending HIM. The sex that night had been earth-shattering, as had the sex every night for several weeks after that. But toward the end, her affections had become increasingly on a quid-pro-quo basis. She demanded endless assistance with access to geology material at the library -- for no explicable reason -- and had become almost vicious in pursuit of it. She had offered up her intimate affections as an incentive for cooperation, but he could tell it was nothing more than payment for services rendered.
"Inconsiderate... unfair.... self-centered..." Ethan mouthed the words for the hundredth time to himself. If he ever saw her again, he had his speech prepared. It didn't matter that she could kill him with one hand tied behind her back. It didn't matter that she was one of the super-girls who was powerful enough to bring home a troubled space capsule. It didn't matter that she was now a national celebrity and that he was still a reference librarian in a forgotten college library, making 10 cents an hour more than he did a year ago. He valued his personal dignity and did not like being used-- by anyone. And if he ever saw her again, he promised himself would let her know it.
"Hi" came a breathy female whisper from the open air outside his second story window. "Can I come in?"
"Vicky?" he said in bewilderment as he backed away from the window. A dark object floated through.
"Look, I'm sorry I've been out of touch," the voice said.
"Vicky is that you?" he said into the darkness.
"Sorry, I keep forgetting how feeble everyone's eyes are." He heard her pick up a box of matches.
With a hiss, a match erupted with yellow light. Her hazel/grey eyes were as beautiful as ever. The amber of the flame danced across the copper tresses of her hair. She was devastatingly beautiful, more than he had remembered. She wore simply a flannel shirt and jeans.
"I know you must be pissed at me for disappearing out of your life like that."
She dipped the match into a votive. The light steadied and deepened as she collected her thoughts. Her collar bone, strong and well defined, rose and fell with each breath. Her presence exuded a sexual magnetism, more powerful than he had remembered. He reminded himself that he was pissed at her, that he had something to say.
"I need some help, and you're the only guy I know who can provide it."
He felt himself become lost in her flawless complexion. He had forgotten how beautiful that face was.
"Vicky, I need to say something to you. It wasn't fair the way you treated me before you left Las Cruces. I fulfilled every single one of your ridiculous demands at that library. And when you were done with me, you simply--"
He was silenced by her finger, which traced a delicate line down his lips. Her finger smelled of verbena, intoxicating and rich. He had forgotten how good she smelled.
He steeled his will. "And whatever you want, the answer is 'no'."
"Are you sure?" she asked. Her voice was like the finest honey, sweet and light. It emptied his mind of responses.
"Me and my girlfriends are trying to be superheroes now--" she continued, "-- save drowning people, avert natural disaster, interrupt bank robberies, that kind of thing."
"Like the space shuttle rescue, where your friend brought the seven people back to earth."
"Exactly. And there's an even bigger one hitting the newswires now-- a train that we plucked off a mountainside before the bridge collapsed. We may have saved five or six hundred lives."
Ethan struggled to comprehend the enormity that. She was suggesting that she had just saved hundreds of lives, and she had no cause to lie. She was sitting on his bed, asking him for help!
She tucked an auburn lock of hair behind her ear. Her hair was so vibrant that it almost seemed to consume the candlelight and enrich it into a deep, amber hue. Her appearance was always mesmerizing. He had forgotten that.
"What would a super-powered woman want with me?" He tried to keep the anger in his voice.
She smiled. Her smile could melt a block of ice. He had forgotten that.
"Those five hundred lives we saved -- we came a hair's breadth away from losing them all. Some incident commander decided that I was questioning his intelligence, so he got into a huff and didn't check to see where the other vulnerabilities lay along the track. If it wasn't for a tweet from an eight-year-old, I would never have even known the train was in trouble."
He watched her full, pouty lips as she spoke. They were lush and inviting. He had forgotten that.
"So, about your question..." she continued. "I don't want you for your muscle. I can handle that. And I don't need a boyfriend. I'm already pining after another. What I need is someone who can be the brains of the operation. The next crisis might come to us from the government, from the news media, from social media, or even a phone call. We need someone who has the mental dexterity to monitor a mind-boggling amount of information, synthesize it quickly, and call the shots -- tell me where I need to be and when. You're the only guy I know who is up to the task. I need you, Ethan. The world does."
He tried to focus on being mad at her. She still owed him, for the way she had treated him.
"You're still mad at me, aren't you?"
Her supplicating eyes made his brain freeze in confusion.
"It's very difficult to live in my body. Do you know that?"
He shook his head.
"My libido is nearly as strong as my muscles. I need to sex -- hot, crazy, wild sex, and constantly. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a satisfying, passionate orgasm?" She bit hear lower lip.
She shook his head again.
She issued a heart-rending sigh. "Eight. Whole. Hours. I feel like I'm going to pass out from horniness."
She wasn't the only one, he realized.
"And when I do get laid, the sensations are mind blowing. Seriously. Out. Of. This. World. Most women have one orgasm if they are lucky. I get an orgasm just from being touched. And when a man enters me, the orgasms come like machine gun fire. The sensation is so intense, it would send a mortal woman to the emergency room-- and the psychiatric ward. But my body just relishes it -- and wants more."
She refolded her legs on the bed and somehow ended up a few inches closer to him. He noticed that he was breathing as if he was in a road race.
"So, I'm sorry if I got a little bit carried away with you back in the library." The rich honey of her voice oozed over his willpower. "And I'm sorry that you're having a hard time thinking clearly now. But I can understand. My sex appeal is that phenomenal."
Ethan grimaced with mental effort, trying to reconnect to that sense of indignation he had felt only minutes earlier as he had sullenly stared out into the night.
"But trust me, I'm offering you a very good deal. You'll have an opportunity to make a difference. I'll pay you whatever you want. And although several of us girls have romantic attachments, all of our libidos exceed what monogamy can deliver. We all need sex, and you'll be in the middle of our little cabal. You could sample every dish on the Pu Pu Platter."
Ethan released an involuntary sigh. He felt his eyes sliding down the nape of her neck. The top button of her flannel was undone, and his eyes slid further downward. His resolve too, was sliding -- downward, downward.
"I suppose it would have been more fair for me to make my request by email rather than in person. That would have given you the space to clear your head." She repositioned herself, knee only an inch from his, breast only an in from his chest, and those lips...
"But I couldn't take the risk you'd say no. I had to be sure Besides, breaking a man's resolve is so... easy." She smiled and sighed again. The horizontal stripes of her flannel shirt went through comical contortions as the rode over her protruding nipples, and the firm cantaloupes of flesh under them.
A moment later, Ethan emerged from a stupor to realize that he was all over her. He had torn her shirt open and hefted her massively firm tits in his grateful hands. He had buried his desperate mouth in her full, red lips. He had risen up on his knees and was slowly pressing her head back to the pillow.
"I need you Ethan-- on my team tomorrow, and in this bed, right here, right now. Are you ready to satisfy my needs?"
"Yes," Ethan grunted as he struggled to undo his belt. "A thousand times yes."
As the birds outside announced the new day, the smell of pancakes drifted up the stairs and tickled Vicky's nose.
Vicky rolled luxuriously between the sheets, reveling in the post coital sensations of her body. Everything always felt fantastic to her, and all of it in exhilarating detail. 400 treat count -- she said to herself as her nipple grazed the top sheet. She somehow knew that without looking at the label. Her skin was that sensitive.
She thought back to the train rescue and imagined what Jared's reaction might be as he now saw it on the morning news. He would probably be proud. Upon realizing that, she felt a warmth come over her.
Briefly, she toyed with the idea of going to see Jared now. But no, she could do so much more. If she had accomplished this after only one day, what could she do with a week, two weeks? No, by the time she went to Jared, she wanted her record of good deeds to be beyond dispute.
Ethan set a plate of pancakes down on the bed. She smiled, and saw his body quiver in response. She took a knife and fork from him, cut a mouthful, and popped it in his mouth.
"So, what was it about the Geology materials that had you so fascinated?" he asked between chews.
Boom-- in an instant, the pleasant post-coital sensations were gone. A deep and angry yearning came over Vicky, a tsunami of emotion injected by an extraterrestrial power. The aliens are coming soon, her gut told her. And these worthless earthlings will be destroyed. It would not be years from now, or even weeks. It could be within days.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly. Somewhere in the background of her mind, Ethan asked what was wrong. But she ignored him, forcing herself to breathe.
In and out, she reassured herself. Let the wave pass over you. After a minute, she managed to open her eyes again.
"About the geology-- I get my powers from a force that is beyond this world," Vicky explained with effort. "When they are away, the world is my playground. But when they return, they will command me, make me their minion. They plan to extract enormous quantities of the earth's resources, so much so that the planet will be barely habitable after they leave."
She could see the blood drain from Ethan's face.
She continued, "it will be my job to destroy whoever gets in their way."
"So what do we do?"
"We wait, and hope. The aliens may come tomorrow; they may wait a thousand years. I have no way of knowing." She grabbed the fork again, hoping to force herself another bite of pancake, force herself another moment of normalcy before the doom.
Long moments passed before Ethan mustered a response. "When the time comes, isn't there anyway you can resist their commands?"
"No. Even the thought of their coming is overwhelming to me." Vicky felt the angry yearning return. She tensed her muscles, like a patient getting a shot, trying to distract herself from the pain.
"Do you think you can control the urges they are injecting into you?"
"I'm trying," Vicky explained. But then she felt a warmth on her lap: there was a small puddle of liquified stainless steel forming on the comforter. She had been holding the fork too hard. "I'm trying," she reiterated, "but I'm not making much progress."