My birth name is almost a cliché; John Jones. So that you can understand how really screwed up I am, as will be clear from the following story, I came from a broken home. It was broken in many ways, not just because my biological parents divorced. My father left when I was five and my stepfather left when I was 13. I don't know why my father left, but my stepfather left because he couldn't stop my mother from sleeping around.
After my stepfather left one of the guys that my mother brought into the house tried to attack my sister, who was 16 at the time. I filled his ass with birdshot so we didn't see him again, although I personally lived in constant fear of retaliation. That is I lived in fear of retaliation when I had time to think about it. Usually I did not have much time, though, because I was the responsible one in our family and I was taking care of my sister, three years older than me, and my brother, four years older.
Despite the fact that my father's and stepfather's losses were hard on me, they were much harder on my sister and older brother. Both of them got into drugs. My older brother committed suicide when I just turned 18, and by then my sister was a prostitute. I left my family at that time and I haven't been in communication with them since.
Fortunately, I did have a couple of things going for me; these things were not acquired skills or traits, but rather I guess I got most the good genes in our family relating to intelligence and endurance. While I was not particularly academic, I always did extremely well on aptitude and IQ tests. Since I only had a high school education despite my "aptitude" I wasn't able to qualify for many good jobs. But when I took both intelligence and aptitude tests, followed by a physical test, with the Army I was given the opportunity to join a clandestine government organization having a budget that is nowhere a line item in any agency's request for appropriations. I found that this agency, which I will not identify but simply refer to as "SCA," did the dirty work for the CIA, NSA, and the military.
Apparently based upon how I scored on the aptitude test I first took with the Army, and subsequent aptitude tests which were written, oral, and hands-on, it was determined that I would make the perfect explosives expert. I worked for almost three years training for just that. I learned to improvise explosives from almost anything, and how to use every detonator and military grade explosive known to mankind. I even invented a new type of device that SCA quickly incorporated into its arsenal but kept secret from everyone else, including the military and CIA.
By the time that I was twenty one I'd been sent to Iraq to work on a six person team doing all sorts of shit that no one else would be willing to do; most was likely illegal under International Law. Every member of the team had a particular specialty. Since SCA "didn't really exist" contrary to what you've probably heard we did have female operatives -- two in fact -- on the team.
One female operative, Cheryl, was a communications expert. I have no idea how many languages she spoke, but I never saw her meet anyone who she could not communicate with in their native tongue. She also was a whiz at handling electronic communications equipment.
The second female on the team, June, we called the "navigator." I do believe that you could drop her anywhere in the world and within a few days she could find her way to any other place in the world. While she did use a sophisticated GPS system, she didn't actually need it; it was almost like she was a carrier pigeon and had her own unique internal system that was tuned into the Earth's magnetic field, or some such shit. Whenever we couldn't get a GPS signal, or the one we got conflicted with her instincts, we followed her instincts.
Both June and Cheryl also had kick-ass personalities and could handle rifles and grenades as well as the average male combat soldier. They were both about 5'8" tall and 140 pounds. Neither was what most men would consider beautiful, but if you like a hard body they definitely were sexy. They did occasionally grumble that their tits were too big for crawling on the ground or comfortably fitting their backpacks, but none of the four guys on the team ever complained.
The other three male members of the team, Tom, Jack, and Rock, were the toughest SOB's I've ever seen in my entire life, before or since. None of them was particularly big -- but for what we had to do size was more a disadvantage than an advantage. They were all about 5'10" tall and 180 pounds. I'm 5'11", 190, but any one of them could kick the shit out of me with one hand behind his back; I did get much tougher by interacting with these guys, however, and they all taught me "dirty" fighting techniques. All three were also expert marksmen; they could hit a quarter at 100 meters. They also could assemble, disassemble, and use any hand held weapon known to mankind.
I spent two years in Iraq doing all sorts of either amazing, or horrible, shit depending upon your outlook on things. This included blowing up an entire Iranian platoon that was trying to cause some sort of trouble in Iraq. Neither the Iranian government nor the U. S. government ever acknowledged their existence so I guess I didn't really kill twenty five people in that encounter after all.
The only thing that kept me sane my two years in Iraq was that the communications expert, Cheryl, and I got along famously. We hit it off from the first minute that we met. Cheryl was two years older and more sexually experienced than I was, but a very willing teacher. We violated about every SCA regulation possible regarding "fraternization" but considering the success we had in our operations no one seemed to care. Also, since our navigator, June, was as sexually liberated as a woman could be, she was happy to fuck any one of Tom, Jack, or Rock if they needed to get their rocks off. Thus, our team had one advantage that most soldiers or agents in Iraq didn't have -- a great sex life.
While every sexual experience with Cheryl was memorable, the most memorable was the night before what ultimately was our second hardest assignment. She crawled into my sleeping bag in the middle of the night stark naked -- just like I was. A sixty-nine is not easy in a sleeping bag, but we pulled it off. By then I knew exactly how she liked her pussy eaten but I had a little surprise for her. After sucking and licking her clit sufficiently to occasion a first orgasm I gave her a "shocker;" that is two fingers in her "stash" and one in her "trash," at the same time that I was sucking on her clit. Given the effect that it had on her if we had been on a bed instead of in the confines of a sleeping bag we either would have been catapulted off of it, or she would have shattered the headboard -- maybe both.
Cheryl had the mother of all orgasms, and before she came completely down from it I got face-to-face with her and buried my sword in her scabbard. She was almost lifeless -- except for her moans -- for the first dozen thrusts, but after that she apparently decided that she needed to fuck me harder than I was fucking her. It resulted in a sexual wrestling match which ultimately landed the sleeping bag in a spot a good twenty feet from where we had started. When I came it was like Roman Candles exploding and god damn if she didn't come -- and squirt -- at the same exact instant. She later told me that it was the only time in her life that she had ever squirted.
I remember gaining consciousness sometime later with my softening cock still inside Cheryl and her comatose and moaning on top of me. I rolled her to the side and she slept on my shoulder until morning. The other four members of the team simply chortled when she dragged her ass back to her own sleeping bag and clothes just as dawn was breaking. My sleeping bag was still wet from her squirting but I vowed never to wash it.
My last operation in Iraq defined my life as much as my family life did. We were to recon an Al Qaeda group. When the mission was described to us all six members of our team thought that it was a suicide mission, and we wondered why a drone couldn't do it. We complained vehemently and at one point refused to go. After a few changes were made and we were promised a discharge from SCA and a bonus after we were debriefed we decided to give the mission a try.
When we made contact with the Al Qaeda group it was apparent that the intelligence that we had been given was way off. The end result was that Tom, Jack, and Rock were killed in fire fights, and June and I were wounded, although still completely functional. I did blow up a hillside that rained heavy debris on the Al Qaeda camp sufficient to kill, or allow we three survivors to safely approach and kill, what ended up to be (counting those that Tom, Jack, and Rock had killed) roughly 100 terrorists.
We got a big surprise in the terrorist camp. As anyone who followed the activities in Iraq knows, hundreds of millions of dollars of U. S. currency just "disappeared." Roughly fifteen million dollars of it was in the Al Qaeda camp.
The three in our team still alive were beyond furious about the mission. We thought that SCA knew that it was a suicide mission and sent us anyway, and got our friends killed. We talked for most of the night about what we were going to do, and came to a unanimous conclusion.
Since we had a fully functional decent sized vehicle, and between the three of us all the skills that we thought we would need, we decided to fake our deaths, take the money, and get new identities. Cheryl made a perfect distress call indicating that the other five members of her team were killed and that she was next, while June and I fired weapons in the background. Then Cheryl pretended she was shot and destroyed the communications equipment.
We decided to return to the States, through Turkey, with the money. We would split $12 million, four each. The other $3 million we would divide between Tom's, Jack's and Rock's families.
How we got back is a complete adventure novel in itself, but not relevant to this story. In the end it worked out almost perfectly. We each had to spend about $120,000 to accomplish it but we ended up in New York City with the best new identities money could buy and roughly $3,900,000 each. My new name was Austen Browne.
Since the U. S. government disavowed that our team ever existed, Tom's, Jack's and Rock's families learned about their deaths from us, although we obviously did not identify who we were and swore them to secrecy. The $1,000,000 in tax-free cash each family got obviously didn't make up for their loss, but it did help tremendously.
Our last night together, Cheryl, June and I had a threesome. While we had had a few during our sojourn back to the U. S. this one was special because it was in ideal surroundings; a luxury suite in a Four Star NYC hotel. Also, the women shaved their pussies and all of us had gotten stimulating and relaxing massages that afternoon.
