Damaged Goods

They arrived at their destination, which was only a mile or so south from the field turnout. The western sky was flashing up again like a neon billboard on the Vegas strip. The second wave of the storm system was going to crash hard on the countryside. Dylan had pulled the vehicle into the long driveway that led to the yellow building.

The same yellow building that Delilah had imagined as the home of a creepy serial killer.

He ran to the main gate and swung it open with his entire body. She gulped as he returned to the vehicle. He smiled at her as he saw her exasperated look.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"You never told me you lived in the creepiest place imaginable." she answered bluntly.

He gave her a look of surprise, "Why is this place creepy?"

She answered, "Let's see, barbed wire fence around the building, spot lights standing overhead, large swinging gate. It's looks like a bunkhouse at a concentration camp."

He snorted with laughter and she glared at him with eyes so piercing, yet so striking.

She screamed as she punched him on the shoulder, "It's not funny! How the fuck do I know that some serial killer doesn't live here?!"

He gave her a shit-eating grin, "That would imply that I'm a serial killer."

She rolled her eyes and made a horse noise, "I guess so, that is if you lived here."

His grin remained intact, "Of course I live here. I have lived here for a few months now."

She didn't believe him, or didn't want to believe him, "Why the hell would you live in a place like this?"

He knew they weren't going anywhere until she felt completely safe, "This is my uncle's shop and quote unquote extra house. He's an electrician and he works from here. Since he decided that he could trust me enough, he lets me live out here on my own as long as I followed his strict rules. I have done that to some degree, but since I turned eighteen and I am gainfully employed, he's been lenient with me as late."

Her fears weren't quelled enough for her to trust him. She just shook her head obstinately.

He heaved a long breath and said sagaciously, "This is interesting. Little Miss Daredevil can't bring herself to go into a scary-looking building."

She laughed angrily as if she was a hornet's nest that had been violently poked, "Nice try, jackass. See if you get any more at all."

He shrugged his shoulders, drove past the gate and parked the car near the rear of the building. He jumped out of the vehicle, opened the rear door and grabbed her rucksack off the seat. She watched his actions and became pissed at him all the more. She jumped out of the vehicle and tried to tackle him. He anticipated her action, so he backed himself against the wall by the door and threw the rucksack under his foot. She reached out to grab it but it would not budge.

"Let go, Dylan! Give me my bag back!" She hollered like an angry mother bear.

"Do you trust me?" He asked simply, waiting for her to make the correct answer.

She stood about two feet away from him and folded her arms in frustration. Heaving a great big sigh, "I don't know."

Dylan arched his eyebrows as the thunder cracks continued overhead, "Dee, you told me you love me and we made love on the back of my car. How can you say you don't trust me?"

The bluish glow from the sky illuminated her as she threw her arms up in the air in further aggravation. "I am having a bad vibe about this place."

He became more frustrated with her response, "You're the one who wandered into the meth house up the road to stay overnight. A place like that could explode if the wrong glass bottle breaks."

She winced, not wanting to admit he was right, "I know about those places, Dill. More than you can even fathom. I had a feeling the place would be safe for the time being."

He responded, "Have about you feel safe with me? It's safer inside than it is out here. I don't want us to be remembered as a pair of human lightning rods."

Dylan released his foot from her rucksack and put his key into the lock. He opened the door, went inside and extended the welcoming gesture. She sighed once more, picked up her rucksack and came inside. As the door closed behind her, another thunder crack occurred and the rain came down again.

He had flipped on the overhead light and it illuminated a short hallway that led to the main hallway about ten feet from the door. She was still standing by the door as he gave her a somber smile.

"Welcome to my humble home," he remarked with his arms extended wide open. "Follow me down the hall a bit."

She gulped as she noticed the ugly, jaundiced fibrous wallpaper than lined the wall of every room and hallway. The floors were covered with a steel gray carpeting, the kind one might find in the basement of a home in a nearby town. She left her rucksack by the door, turned to the left down the long hallway and noticed Dylan about ten yards away from her. On the left side of the hallway were four rooms, each a bedroom used primarily by cooking and security staff when the place was operational years before. The right side of the hallway had three rooms, also bedrooms used by visitors, the commanding officer and the female staff. She whistled at how ordinary, how devoid of life, how militaristic the structure felt to her.

"What is this place, Dylan?" she asked with a puzzled expression on her face.

"This is a missile alert facility, or an M-A-F as the boys in blue used to call it." he replied as if he was a tour guide at a museum.

"A what?" she asked.

"A missile alert facility. This is was the place where the bombs could be launched by trained air force officers if the Cold War ever turned hot." he replied in the same tone as before.

"This place really has a cold feeling to it. It seriously gives me the creeps." she stated as she moved to where Dylan was.

"This place hasn't been active in fifteen years. In fact, the feds buried the structure underground after they pillaged it. There is no way we can get down into the capsule where the bombs were launched from. All that is left is the structure we are currently standing in." he answered as he looked into her worried eyes.

He flipped on the light in the room on his right side. Inside was a queen-size bed covered in a blue bedspread, a bedside table, a black dresser, and a small closet that wasn't built into the wall. The room was spartan by its very definition.

"This is my room, and back then the cooks lived here." he said without much fanfare.

He then moved across the hallway and flipped on the light, and there was a large bathroom with red-brown tile on the floor. There was a large tub, a separate shower, and a long vanity and toilet along the opposite wall.

"This bathroom only had two working showers, two working stalls, a urinal and three working sinks back then. This was the men's bathroom. Before my uncle purchased this place, my other uncle had wanted to turn it into a luxury home for his wife. She was always wishy-washy on the idea, so much so that uncle Peter sold it to my uncle Harald. A lot of remodeling was done before the switch was made, which is why the bathroom is so nice."

Moving further down and across the hallway, Dylan flipped on the light so Delilah could see the large kitchen. It was modern in every sense of the word with stainless steel appliances, oak cabinetry and a large island in the middle of the room.

"You weren't kidding about the kitchen, were you?" Delilah asked, some her fear melted away a little while before.

Dylan shook his head in negative fashion as he walked across the hall and flipped on the light. Delilah saw the washer and dryer and realized how wrong her reaction had been.

Delilah shut her eyes, moved her downward and sighed, "I am sorry, Dill. I knew I should have trusted you when you brought me here."

He shrugged his shoulders and heaved a sigh, "I don't know what you've been through up until now, but I will tell you that you will be safe here. I'll be here with you."

She broke he said that, and a tear appeared in her right eye. He took his right hand and held her cheek. He rubbed her eye slightly with his thumb to wipe away the tear and she grabbed his arm to wipe away more that were appearing. He reached around her back and pulled her toward him, their eyes staring at each other longingly.

"Don't worry, Dee. Everything will be fine. Let me show you the rest of the place." he said he took her left hand with his right hand and led her to the front of the structure. There was a partially-opened space that contained both the dining room and the sitting area. The large space had been partitioned by an L-shaped wall to make the two rooms. There was a doorway that led to a garage that contained a white Ford F150 labeled with the words "Good's Electric". On either side of the garage were rooms where Uncle Harald kept his tools and his office. Dylan took Delilah into the tool room on the southeast side of the building. He showed her where the old elevator shaft had been before Harald had the wall knocked out to make the elevator room and the security office into one open space. Delilah was taken with every piece of information had offered.

As the door to the garage closed behind them, Delilah asked an important question. "How did your uncles manage to get their hands on this place?"

Dylan chuckled as they sat down on the couch right in front of 27-inch TV. It was butted up in the corner formed by the L-shaped wall. He leaned back a little bit and she snuggled in next to him.

He stared up at the ceiling as he told the tale, "My grandfather had purchased the quarter-section back in the 1930's with the intent to expand his farming operation. The feds came along in the 1960's and used eminent domain to place the building here. About twenty years ago, the feds realized the nuclear missile program needed to be cut up here because it was a fiscal, maintenance, and political liability. After the missiles were removed and the field structures were destroyed, the original landowners had the first chance at buying the land back. Well, since Uncle Pete was now the landowner, he bought it back for less than $10000."

She just nodded in reply and looked at him, noticing his far-off look. She rubbed his cheek with her left index finger and he came out of his daze. He looked at her and smiled.

"I am sorry, I am just happy and tired right now." he said to quell her worried look.

"Me too, should we go to bed?" she asked with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, but I don't know if I have the energy." he answered truthfully.

"Well, we'll see." she voiced with a tinge of hope.

Dylan lifted himself up from the couch and wandered down the hallway toward the rear of the complex, and Delilah immediately followed. He located her rucksack at the back door and picked it up for her. He walked to the room immediately next to his to show her a spartan room but the bedspread was red and brown as opposed to blue. He pointed to the room, but she shook her head in a negative fashion.

"I want to stay with you." she said simply.

"I don't have room in my closet." he replied.

She raised her eyebrows knowingly, "That's fine, I didn't say I wouldn't have my stuff in a separate room."

He chuckled a bit, "That is fine with me, Dee."

He set the rucksack on the floor just inside the room, and he grabbed her by the left hand. He pulled her inside his room and turned around the correct moment as he let go. She grabbed around his neck and crashed her lips into his. Despite two solid sack efforts, he truly had the stamina of a man his age. He reached his hands under her shirt and her arms immediately flew up toward the ceiling. Her movements still appeared to be in tune with his. He worked at her pants as he lightly kissed her neck, and she worked her bra off as he pushed her jeans and panties to the floor.

For a second, he looked at her breasts with awe. They had grown a couple of cup sizes since he had last seen them. They were prominent and showed no signs of sag. Like a kitten drawn to the mother's underside at the time of feeling, he touched her left nipple lightly with his tongue and it immediately popped out.

Like the lid on a jar of jelly, he thought to himself.

She shuddered and moaned softly in concord. She rubbed the backside of Dylan's head softly with her fingertips as he continued his assault on her left breast, going round and round her aureola like an annulus. Moaning and shuddering all the more, she placed her left hand on his left cheek and pushed him to the right side. His tongue work was masterful in her mind because she was still amped from before, but had subsided to a level five yet she was working her way back to level eleven. Time seemed to slow as he assaulted her succulent, immaculate orbs.

And then Dylan's penchant for variation kicked in.

He knew his soul mate inside and out. He knew where her magic spots were.

He moved his tongue to her middle valley, the one between her orbs and assaulted there and she became all the louder. After hearing her approval, the variation kicked on. He moved his tongue left over her left nipple and then to the right beneath it. His tongue returned to the middle valley for only a split moment and then over her right nipple and back to the left beneath it and then it returned to the middle valley once more. He repeated the process several more times and she sucked on his ear to return the favor, since she knew her soul mate inside and out.

After several moments, Dylan could not take it any longer. He needed to taste her, and he needed her to taste him. He needed to taste them together. He laid flat on the bed and whispered to her to put her velvet glove over his mouth. She immediately turned herself one-hundred and eighty degrees and stared at his underwear.

"Time to bring out this beautiful weapon," she said as she pushed the waistband below his scrotum.

His seven-inch tube of tumescence smacked her on the forehead, but she didn't seem to mind. In her mind, his cock could have been chiseled from stone by Michelangelo. She licked her lips and then licked the top of it like a bad librarian worshipping a carrot or a cucumber. He tasted like a warm, medium-well steak, she thought and it was her favorite. After a couple of licks, she began to work the top side of his shaft in a numerical fashion similar to what Dylan did earlier that night.

She counted loudly for number of times she stroked the top side starting with one and then moving upward three steps at a time. Dylan's being shook as each time she counted and so he decided to return the favor. He pushed his tongue into her oasis and found it to be so wet, so juicy and so flavorful. Even with the addition of his salty white sauce, her sweet box still tasted as superior as before. She remained six steps ahead of him yet his motions were still languid, still strong, still sharp. She immediately screamed in orgasm as he reached the twenty-fifth tongue stroke.

"Fuuu...ck Dillllan! Do that to me again!" she so passionately stuttered that she began working her tongue on both sides of his cock, yet with quicker strokes.

"Oh yeah I will, baby!" he answered in a similar timbre, but without the stutter. He immediately lapped at her clitoris at a more furious yet patterned pace.

As they worked in synchronicity, Dylan silently hoped that he could keep other the prime directive, the one where they came at the same time, together, as one union, one flesh. He decided that he had to do it.

"Get up now!" he screamed at her.

Uncertain at what to make of his comment, she immediately complied.

He hopped off the bed and pushed his pants and briefs down and pulled his shirt off. She finally saw his full athletic physique and with the hunter's glint in his eyes, she felt compelled to do whatever he needed.

"It's time to add two to the last position we were in," he stated without a hint of irony.

Delilah knew what Dylan wanted because they were the same equation just made in different forms. She bent herself over the bed and he placed his quivering sword at the threshold of her sodden sheath. He slowly rubbed it along her clit as he held onto her hips rather tightly. She moaned so lightly, begging her lover to rapture her beyond anything she ever experienced before.

"Dylan, fuck me! Fuck me like the coyote does to his mate when she's in heat!" she voiced to her lover and she wiggled her hips, trying to get his shaft into her tunnel.

He could hold out no longer. He slid into her easily and began ravishing her fleetly. Thrust after thrust, she moaned his name loudly and told him to go all the deeper.

"Dylan, fuck me deeply. Give me your fuck stick! Give it all to me! Make me your she-coyote!" she shouted as another torrent of ecstasy ripped through her being.

Dylan looked down at her svelte, hourglass form that was moaning his name and his name alone and realized for the first time that she had perfect proportions. So beautiful was she is in his eyes that he realized he needed to do two things in short order, and so he asked the magic questions.

"Do you love me, Dee?" he asked in the same voice as before.

"Yes, I love you." she answered without pause.

"How much do you love me?" he asked.

"So much that I want you to fuck me every day." she answered fervently.

"Do you want my seed?" he asked.

"Yes, I want all of it!" she cried loudly.

"Do you want your uterine walls painted white?" he asked.

"Yes! I want to have a hundred of your children!" she confessed without a hint of irony.

That was all he needed to know. She was placed perfectly, at the correct angle, the angle that was right and best. He bent over and kissed her neck and she immediately arched her back to take him deeper. The sudden force of her pelvis caused his sperm to release for a second time.

A second bit of perfection, as if the universe had planned it out beforehand.

Delilah screamed at the top of her lungs as yet another inundation of elation tore through like a seismic shockwave. At that moment, the only thing that went through her mind was the truth that she and Dylan were meant to be together, that she and he would be able to have the family they were meant to have.

Unlike the last time she found herself bent over a piece of furniture, a rather uncomfortable piece at that.

She could feel it, a rough, rubbery and rather uncomfortable feeling grating against her vaginal walls. It was as if somebody put sandpaper on the outside the condom he was wearing. She looked behind her and no longer saw the man she loved, but the man who disgusted her, a lecherous freak of a human being. His foreplay was like a stupid jock trying to play a French horn as a frat house prank. She turned her face away and her stomach almost turned after she saw his face mouse the fifteenth letter enclosed by a pair of parentheses. He gripped her hips forcefully as he lost his load within the rubber sock.

He pulled out of her as she remained bent over the living room couch. She stared around the space and saw the beer cans and pizza boxes and empty baggies with parsley-like remnants still within. It appeared and smelled like the kind of bachelor pad that the metrosexual demographic would avoid like a cholera-infested village in a third-world disaster zone. She gagged as she sighed in the fumes of flat beer, stale pizza and lingering marijuana. She pushed her lithe, sensuous, naked form upward and sat on the free-from-the-curb couch. She stared over at the man, or rather the less-than-male being, that left her feeling unfulfilled and used for what seemed like the thousandth time ever.

He was wiry, built with pipe cleaners instead of flesh and bone. Not ripped like a Greek creation from old yet he could pass for a modern day rock star that was both a cocaine and heroin fiend. He had a tattoo on his left bicep, written in black bold print, that said "Iron" and a tattoo on his right bicep, written in the same manner, that said "Lead". He believed his constitution was made of those base elements as opposed to carbon, nitrogen and a multitude of other elements, and it set him apart from the rest of the human rabble. He puts on and zipped up a pair of skinny jeans. He preferred the commando feel as opposed the support guaranteed by a pair of boxer briefs. It also guaranteed his bevy of beauties easy access to his massive claymore when he came around.