One Safe Place (37 page)

Darcelle's inner vision pictured this, and she felt more dampness and tingling.

“A little over a year ago, a woman who serviced me…she told me she couldn't do it anymore because she found someone to marry her. It messed me up, and I have gone without ever since, but you feel me under you. All I have known since is porn, Vaseline and my hand.” He laughed, and she did, too. Mintfurd took his hand and rubbed and squeezed her ass several times. She groaned for the squirrels and the birds to know her feelings at that moment.

“I-I-I have a rather sensitive ass, and it don't take much of a touch to get me off.”

Mintfurd laughed, and she felt the vibration his body gave off. Darcelle was on fire with the possibility she would feel a man soon.

“I'm glad you have a sensitive ass. Besides me staring at it all the time I could, I would . . . Okay, let's finish talking about us. Whew.

“Does my size give you pause, because as I said, I've only been with the kind of women that could handle me the best.”

“I'm flexible, and yes, I may be a small woman, but you see I have breasts, I am top-heavy, and you see all this booty. Don't let the small waist and my shortness fool ya, Big Boy. You don't scare me.”

“Then yes, I want to get in your bed, and for you to lie in mine. But I must add, my dear, I want love from you. If you can find a way to love me, that's what I need.”

Darcelle placed her eyes inches away from his pretty handsome face. They both stared almost through each other's eyes as if searching. Her lips rested on his, and they froze as blood rushed to their lips and warm breaths intoxicated their passions. She felt his hard-on pushing and stirring under her. She moved her hips in a circling motion as if his hardness was inside her. Their lips parted and she slid her tongue into his mouth, and he sucked her tongue and her air. They kissed hard and liquid escaped from the corners of their mouths as their lips were all over each other's. Darcelle dry-humped his raging-wanting-to-escape hardness. She stopped and lifted off his lap quickly.

“Stand up,” she ordered him, but he acted as if he didn't understand. “Stand up, Mintfurd.” He did, and she squatted easily down and she rubbed the side of her face on the length of his long dick. She felt his girth and the twinge she felt between her pussy lips almost made her feel she had to pee.

She pulled at his sports pants waistband. She had to stand to work them over his hardness. Her eyes blinked. His dick was pretty like
his pretty, handsome face. Mintfurd's dick head looked molded for an art display of perfection, and he dripped a thick stream of clear life from the opening. The clear, syrupy, pre-cum slowly but surely ran down the thick vein under his dick and over his balls. He appeared to be a slow-running faucet. She watched the stream come to the end of his tight ball sac, and she caught the thick drip in her hand.

In the middle of nature, his dick seemed to be as thick as the fir trees around them, and it pointed straight up to his belly button and maybe above it. Squatting down and looking up at a man, she saw his head was in the sky.

Darcelle wanted to get her mouth on his dick. With it being the size it was, she could sense she could suck as hard as she wanted; it was going to feel wonderful in her mouth, but first she wanted to make his face lose its composure. She took the slipperiness in her hand and wrapped her forefinger and thumb tightly around his powerful dick head, and she squeezed and stroked. This time he was the one who groaned, and the forest absorbed his guttural animalistic moan. She stroked his hardness as more clearness came forth as if someone needed to turn off a valve. Mintfurd was getting off, and was humping the air, and she masturbated his hardness, and then he felt her mouth on his dick. She was sucking hard on the shaft near his balls as she stroked him.

Her head was angled, and she could see his unrestricted facial expressions. It made her reach under her sports bra and squeeze her breasts. She pulled on her nipples and then slipped her hand down and into her wet opening. Her pussy throbbed.

She thought about sitting him back down on the stump and climbing on his dick, and riding him right there in the middle of the forest. She was fantasizing while having a real fantasy. She could
see her naked ass squatting on his dick, as she was bouncing up and down on his hardness with her arms wrapped around his neck. She imagined she could look out over the water as the sun was falling to sleep, and feel him rising inside her lonely internals. She wanted to feel her skin rubbing on him wholly and unconditionally, but she fought off the thought of riding the dick that was in her hand and against her lips. She stood up.

“I want you to stroke that dick for me. I want you to cum on my ass.” They both heard others walking the trail laughing, and singing, in the distance. They were far enough away, yet she placed her fingers to her lips to tell him to keep the noise down, but she wanted to hear him get off. She quickly licked her fingers for him to see. He was so high on the whole ordeal. Mintfurd didn't know if that was his wetness on her fingers that her tongue devoured, or her own wetness she tasted. It didn't matter; he was getting high watching her.

He groaned almost too loud. She missed hearing that sound, and she missed making a man lose control. She had always been skilled at doing just that—never mind that it had been a long while.

She turned around and slipped her top off, pulled her sweatpants down and stepped one leg out along with her soaking panties. She wouldn't be putting them back on. Darcelle was short, but her womanly features were on par with any curvy woman. Her ass was art in how it curved and was slightly larger than one would think. Her body was athletic, but short.

She placed her hands above her knees and started working her ass for Mintfurd to enjoy, and he was feeling his hardness throb in his hand. The huge man had his pants down at his ankles, and his massively sized hands were stroking his hardness with potent strokes. She worked her ass in a nasty, gyrating motion.

Darcelle spoke in a hushed voice. “Let it go, baby, I need for you to get off. Look at my ass; it wants you. Here, look at this.” She leaned over more and reached back and pulled her ass cheeks apart, and it didn't matter that she was so much shorter than he was. He could see her plump pussy lips, and a tight puckering asshole. He moved in behind her and squatted down so that his balls and the shaft of his dick touched her ass.

That was it; that was the touch that made him want to shoot his warm release of cum hard and he did as he backed up. As he stroked his dick head, he shot on her ass and his thick cum swam down the crease. He groaned and threw his head back and then down. His breath was heavy and his chest expanded. His warm release of cum slipped down and off her pussy and onto the ground. She turned to hug him, but he was still hard.

“Come on, Big Boy, let's go before the cops come knocking on a tree and arrest us for doing what they would like to do.” She squatted down, lifted his pants and marveled at his powerful-looking thighs. She wanted to feel his power, and it was coming soon.

P
salms Black, Suzy Q, and EL'vis, who had flown back to the East Coast, all met in Killeen, Texas. Psalms flew into Houston, Suzy Q into San Antonio, and EL'vis into Dallas. Each drove into Killeen and they stayed in three separate places. A plan was in place. They came to get even for the wrong done to Gabrielle, and to send a message.

The Duck would be in Killeen to meet with business leaders. He had been clueless about what had happened to his assassins, and so he had kept a low profile until now. But, it was time for him to come out of his hole. The government provided tax dollars to The Duck, just like Gabrielle, for expensive security, but they were not the Secret Service. A highly trained, highly qualified, private security company protected him.

Psalms tracked the team protecting The Duck. Psalms knew the head man from his days as an agent. The man had served under five other presidents, and now was an independent security contractor. Tracking him would set their plan in motion.

The week before, Suzy Q had stalked the man into a stylish restaurant, where he sat with a couple of his agents, having dinner. She had tracked him with an electronic device from Mintfurd, and she had captured all his phone calls using the cell tower switching stations.

The success of the plan depended on total coordination. They
didn't use cell phones, but old-fashioned walkie-talkies to transmit in code instead. Psalms understood The Duck's security had their own high-tech abilities. Morse code and walkie-talkies were a limited, low-band type of communication that would pass below their radar.

The Duck walked out of the meeting, escorted by his security team, to a convoy. The convoy was heading back to Dallas, a two-and-a-half-hour drive on I-35 N. They would never get to the freeway. In three blocks, life would change for America.

Once out of office, presidential staff and ex-senators didn't have motorcades that would draw city or state police to help provide security during travel. Security became much more of a low-profile patrol of protection.

Stationed in a closed-down business looking out through blinds, Psalms observed. The convoy turned left and drove down a rarely traveled street, on their way to the freeway. As he waited he laughed, but without humor. The former president and his administration had brought on this recession that had closed down hundreds of businesses. Psalms thought about the pain of politics. Politicians did not weigh the honest effects of the suffering of real people. Many cities had streets of business that used to thrive and had survived decades of down years, but the last recession had made many streets into little ghost towns. Super-mega stores of cheap goods from sweatshops in foreign lands sent Americans to the unemployment line or worse. Big banks with no regulations overinvested in bogus investments due to the former president and his administration giving tax breaks to their rich friends. Psalms shook his head and smirked at the claim that giving corporations tax breaks would generate jobs; it never worked. This time it crippled the last of the mom-and-pop small businesses.

Psalms chuckled again. He was in a boarded-up store, a byproduct
of the administration that Gabrielle was a part of, and they targeted her to die for not supporting this part of the grand scheme. The little abandoned store would help bring some justice. Psalms did something way out of character; he drew a smiley face in the dust on the floor with his gloved finger.

Psalms pushed a button. The engines died shortly after that. The three SUVs all stopped. The second one collided into the first one, sending the third truck crashing into the middle one. Psalms pushed another button and the door of the middle SUV unlocked.

EL'vis had tanned his skin to take on a different look, to confuse someone who might try to identify him. He was dressed as a gun-slinging Mexican cartel drug dealer, with fake tattoos on his forearms that Popeye would envy. Likewise, Suzy Q had disguised herself in a hoodie and a spray tan, and they rushed the middle SUV and pulled out the sleeping Duck. They had their man. They dragged him to the building where Psalms waited. The few people who saw their big guns stayed way back, almost frozen.

Mintfurd was the mastermind. The former Olympic and world wrestling champion was also a double science major with a double Ph.D. in electronics and biochemistry. Over the years, Mintfurd perfected his sleeping gas, how to use it and how to apply or deliver.

• • •

How did Mintfurd and Psalms come to understand that each had an avenging way of life? The two of them had witnessed each losing on points a few times at national wrestling tournaments over their four years of college. Despite the fact that one day they might have to wrestle each other, they spoke often when at wrestling events. In talking, they put one and one together and discovered that the same referees had scored their losing matches when both of them knew they had not lost. Individually, they thought maybe they
were victims of some unlucky calls. The lightbulbs went off when they spoke about their losses. An examination of those referees proved they sided against all black wrestlers. No one had ever said anything. Mintfurd and Psalms conspired to put the fear of God in those referees. They retired when illicit pictures of each of them with black prostitutes had made their way to all the coaches. Mintfurd and Psalms had forged a partnership of righting wrongs with brains and brawn.

• • •

By tracking The Duck's lead security officer, they'd found the parking garage with the company's security vehicles. Psalms evaded the security system, broke in, and without knowing which vehicles they would use, installed the sleeping gas in every one. Electronic signals controlled the delivery. Psalms hit the switch the moment the SUVs moved away after The Duck's meeting. This was no game: if by chance the gas didn't work, each vehicle had a bomb installed inside. Gabrielle had permanent scars from an assassin's bullets—it was eye-for-an-eye time.

Bound and gagged, they threw The Duck in the trunk of a car sitting in the alley behind the building. Three cars left the alley and kept space from each other to signal trouble. They drove twenty minutes to a house on a private road outside of Dana Peak Park. Suzy Q took the lead. The Duck knew EL'vis and Psalms, as each had crossed paths in the Secret Service world. Suzy Q was the ace in the hole. She could hide her face, but wasn't going to. She was going to take The Duck to a psychological river and baptize him with the fear of his death.

When he awoke from his gas-induced slumber, the fear almost killed him. Suzy Q had a souvenir for him. A tooth with the engraved initials,
T.D.,
made his eyes bug out. It was a tooth from
the assassin that had shot at Gabrielle. The Duck's response told her, along with Psalms and EL'vis who watched on a camera in another room, that he recognized the tooth.

For the last twenty minutes, Psalms had monitored the news and police radio. The networks had asked if it was a terrorist network that was targeting the personnel of the former president. Over a month ago, the former Secretary of State narrowly had escaped an assassin's bullet. Now the former chief of staff had been ambushed and abducted, possibly by terrorist Mexican drug cartel warlords who might be angry at the United States.