chole
Cap on, NB slung over his shoulder, Jensen sprinted through the bushes dodging children's toys and sundry other debris. As he came around a gardenia bush he slowed to catch his breath, but just then he tripped on a tennis racket and both he and the NB tumbled hard to the ground under the bush.
With the NB slung over his shoulder, and moaning, Jensen continued his sprint to the far side of the huge compound, past where the wheeled vehicles could reach. Only then did he stop and reach into his pocket to grab the scope. Removing the cap from the lens, he peered back at the small gaggle of rapidly dispersing people in the quad. "A reporter?!"
He grabbed the Ninja Babe and they sprinted toward the gap in the hedge. She moaned and fell slack as a round pierced her upper thigh. Out of necessity, Jensen lifted her over his shoulder and carried her like a sack of potatoes.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen caught a reporter standing among the trio of battle tanks that were slowly positioning themselves, their turrets facing in his direction. "WTF?!" thought Jensen.
The particular architecture of the building, now exposed by the tank round, captured Jensen's attention for just a moment. He wondered, why on earth would anyone stuff straw inside cinder blocks used for a wall. Suddenly, the Ninja Babe yanked his arm and he was off.
The sudden booming and near instantaneous obliteration of the wall of their room transformed what up until now had been a gorgeously sensual experience. Not that the chaotic havoc that ensued from the strike wasn't sensual in its own way.
As he lay there in his post-coital chaotic frazzle, Jensen thought, "If only life had a backspace on its keyboard."
There was little romance in their activity, at least that's what they thought at the time. In the future they would feel very different about it indeed. But at the moment, it was all carnal lust topped with a serious cherry of danger.
With total disregard to the situation outside in the quad, Jensen and the Ninja Babe went at like feral cats on a hot summer evening, grunting and moaning and panting and sweating.
In moments, they were reduced to primitive grappling and grunting and moaning as their bodies became entangled under the window sill. As the personnel in their vehicles puttered about in the quad, Jensen and the Ninja Babe were making time in the pale light of the afternoon sunshine on the floor of the abandoned complex.
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writing since 2010 · 348 entries · 342 days shown up
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