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University of TITS: Part 4

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Tue, 25 Aug 2026 21:54:00 +0000

Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science (T I T S): Part 4

In the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee, there is a university dedicated to the sciences. In the time when great benefactors like Carnegie & Vanderbilt were establishing institutions to advance the knowledge of mankind, a private college was founded.
But some knowledge is older than the very hills where this campus was built.
Join us for a series of stories. Learn how generations of scholars have seen their lives changed by what they experienced at T I T S.

Now, here’s another legend in the series.

Chestina, the frumpy professor becomes something else!

A 10-part series, based on the posts by D D D Dave. Listen to the ►Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Author's Note:

It may be hard to believe but I do research from time to time to try to add some reality to my stories. And one day I was looking for "Unfortunate" names. You know, like JOhnny Cash's "A Boy Named Sue.” Well, imagine my reaction when I discovered that way back when, Chestina was a real name! Busty Dusty, Chesty Morgan and others took on their stage names. Back in the day, some folks named their little girl Chestina! So I had to write a story about Chestina.

My name is Chestina Smith.

Every one calls me Tina. Tina Smith. And I'm fine with that. The fewer people that know my legal name the better as far as I'm concerned. My parents loved me, I'm sure, but in trying to pay homage to some ancient fore bearer they didn't do ME any favors, I'll tell you. And I think they knew it. They were the ones that started calling me Tina when I was too young to remember. They never called me Chestina that I can remember.

They explained to me that one of Mom's early relatives was one of the first people to homestead out west somewhere. At least I didn't get her full name! That would have been too much to bear!

Anyway, Chestina Lovebody, had been a pioneer and my Mom was very proud of that! But since Mom was born Sally Anne Smith, and she married Stanley Smith, she really didn't have any comparison. And everyone called me Tina, thank God!

Anyway, to move this story along I'll skip over the awkward childhood, the nerdy high school geek-dom and the buried-in-the-books college years that have led up to when this tale begins.

So, I'm Tina Smith, PhD. Not Doctor Smith. You don't call a PhD, Doctor. That's only for medical doctors. And Tina Smith, PhD has an abiding interest in ancient cultures.

I was lucky to get a position at Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science, or T I T S. Despite the name they are one of the foremost places of learning about ancient cultures, old religions and lost civilizations.

As a member of the faculty I've been active in trying to get the name changed. Or at least modified. How about Tennessee Institute of Science and Technology? T.I.S.T,? Any acronym would be better than T.I.T.S. So incredibly sexist! Like it comes from some stupid wank story on the Internet. But apparently the original bequest that set up the school insisted. Probably thought it was funny! Sexist pigs!

Anyway, things have been unusual around here for the past six months or so. Weird stuff. The Library has been having a series of black outs. The lights will flicker from time to time. Maintenance says that there is nothing wrong. Nothing they can find, any way.

Another thing is that the co-eds all seem to have changed? Morphed? They look different. They dress differently. Act different. Talk different. Gone are the usual bib-overalls. The bulky sweaters, the comfortable boots and such. All gone.

Now they wear heels. Stiletto heels. Mini skirts are all the rage. The mini-er the better. And if they wear jeans they are skin tight or short or both! With crop tops. Or sweaters and blouses unbuttoned down to here. Or further. The other day I reprimanded a student in one of my classes because you could see her areola and her nipples would pop out when she bent over. Which she was doing. A lot! She wasn't wearing a bra either. No one wears bras any more! Seeming to be past the Double D size, her boobs, I mean breasts, were huge. And firm! They jutted straight out from her chest like a pair of nose cones on missiles! It was unsettling. I don't think she took me seriously. Later, after class I saw her pull some random jock into the Maintenance Closet!

When I got there the door was locked. But I could hear what they were doing! And what they were doing was not something that should happen on campus. Not even here at T.I.T.S.!

But it was happening. All of the girls on campus were dressing like bimbos. They were showing off their legs, their toned abdomens. And their breasts! Did I mention that the average breast size seems to have blossomed?

When I first came here there was the usual range of boobs. Now it seems to have skewed toward the larger sizes. In the last several weeks it's become unusual to see a set of breasts smaller than a D-cup!

And I've noticed some odd administrative behavior too. Some unknown got promoted to an endowed chair! From out of nowhere! That never happens! And the staff in that office seems, well, strange, in so many ways.

So, to sum up, I'm a mid-thirties Professor of Ancient Cultures. I poke around in dusty old buildings around the world and publish the interesting discoveries when I make one. And recently the most interesting discoveries are taking place right here on campus!

So today I got to the office and there was a crate waiting for me. The label said it was from The Brubaker Ancient and Comparative Religions Office. That was the newly created endowment. And what did they have to do with me?

Well, the crate held an ancient Artifact which apparently they had been unable to identify or learn anything about. They wanted me to apply my expertise and let them know.

So, okay. I grab a couple of maintenance guys and we dismantle the crate. It contains a really, really old oddity. It was a few inches taller than my 5' 8", it looked like a mirror. But from an age before they had developed glass because it was polished metal. Oval in shape and made of some sort of golden colored metal. The accompanying papers said that the material was a complete mystery. No one had been able to figure out what it was made of. Not gold, not brass. What ever it was, it was very highly reflective and resistant to corrosion. As old as it was the mirror was in pristine condition. Not so for the frame and support. They were in very bad condition. Nothing could be made out of the symbols on the frame that surrounded the mirror. Mostly they were so worn as to be unreadable. Those that could be made out were from some unknown language.

So, another mystery to be examined.

By the time I had uncrated it and red thru the material that came with it I was at the end of the work day. So I grabbed the cloth that had been draped over the mirror and went to replace it.

I took a moment to look in the mirror before I did so. And I guess I was more tired than I thought because I felt something wash over me. I staggered for a moment and then recovered. I covered the mirror and went home.

After a great night's sleep I was up early. As I did my ablutions I noticed that I really felt great! Even my reflection seemed perky and upbeat. My comb passed thru my hair with out encountering the usual tangles. I was off to the start of a great day!

Back in the office I did my email, answered some phone calls and then got started on my most recently acquired mystery.

Taking off the drape once more I began a close examination of the mirror. I couldn't make out the runes or symbols. They were too corroded and worn. The mirror, as I have mentioned, was pristine. Not a mark on it. No mars, no smears, no scratches. No indication that it had not been made yesterday. Let alone hundreds or thousands of years ago.

I couldn't find a seam in the framework. Looking at the back of the object revealed nothing. The back was the back. Just unpolished. And without ornamentation at all.

I stepped back to take in the whole of the item.

As I did so I felt that feeling wash over me once more. It only lasted a moment and then I was fine. I didn't give it a thought. At the end of the day I had gotten no further despite my best efforts.

Two nights in a row I had a great sleep. Showering the next morning I found that an incipient pimple had faded over night. In fact I thought my complexion looked pretty good for a change. Since childhood I had been what my Mom referred to as "splotchy.” She had always said I would grow out of it. Maybe that was starting to happen in my mid thirties. I could only hope.

The next day I got another, smaller package from The Brubaker Ancient and Comparative Religions Office. It contained some printed material that had been found in the same area as the Object.

After a few hours of work I thought I had found some symbols on the mirror's frame that might match some of the printed materials.

Several times during the course of the day I had stood examining the Object from a distance. Stepping back to look at "the big picture.” Each time a swift wave of something had washed over me. But each time it was gone as quick as it came. I made a note to see my Doctor in case I was coming down with some thing. Despite these episodes I felt I was starting to make some progress on the Object. Nothing major, just a feeling of slow, persistent progress.

The next week passed without incident. And while my complexion had cleared up and my energy level was higher than normal I put that down to the fact that I was getting a solid eight hours of sleep ever night. I felt great! And happy. And every once in a while, horny!

And then the next weird thing happened.

I went to my hairdresser for my normal two month appointment. Not weird? Wait.

So I'm sitting in the chair. Waiting to get my roots touched up. Is mid-thirties too early to worry about grey roots? Anyway Midge had just started when she says, "So what's going on here, Tina?"

"Huh?"

"When did you start to dye your roots yourself? And why red?"

Huh? What are you talking about? I haven't been coloring my hair."

"Well your roots are coming in red for some reason. What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, I guess. Just give me a trim and we will see what happens, okay?"

And that is what we did. For some reason I didn't freak out. Normally something like this would have caused me to have a conniption. See a doctor, whatever. But this time I just went with the flow. I wasn't in any pain, I was just having the color of my hair changed. And growing. In two weeks my hair grew about six inches!

At the same time that my hair was growing it was becoming curly! That was new. And the new color was really attractive.

I was rapidly becoming a redhead! A particularly spectacular color of redhead! It took less time than it should have. I had grown out to the point that I had Midge cut my hair drastically and now I was a redhead! A horny redhead. I was masturbating every night. I had masturbated in the past, of course but now it was more often. And it felt really, really good! A few minutes diddling myself and I was cumming like a howitzer! BAM!

At the same time that the hair on my head was going from mousey brown to fabulous auburn locks the hair on the rest of my body was vanishing. My legs were free of hair, so were my armpits. From the neck down the only hair on my body was a small vee patch just above my cootchie!

Some other things were also changing. My weight was dropping. I noticed that my clothes weren't fitting right anymore. My skirts and pants were becoming loose. My sweaters and blouses, tighter.

I had always been pear shaped. Big, fat ass counterbalanced by almost nothing up top. Floppy B-cuppers, 42 inch hips with a fatty 38 inch waist. No one was going to look at me with lust in their eyes, I knew that. Dammit! I was coming to realize that I so wanted men to look at me with lust in their eyes! In fact I sometimes dreamed of having men, luscious, muscular men, wooing me! I hadn't had those kinds of dreams in a long time! But now I was! Almost nightly.

And anyway, my clothes did not fit. So I dragged myself off to Marshall's to get some new clothes. Ones that might fit me a little better. I hadn't done any exercises or anything. But I'd lost inches off my hips and waist.

By this time I'd sort of put two and two together. Something about the mirror was having an effect on me. I was looking better every week. My complexion was no longer splotchy. It was porcelain clear. No acne, no pimples. I looked like I didn't have pores! And sort of golden. Like I was lightly tanned without my having been in the sun at all. But not brown. Golden!

Losing weight and going from pear shaped to hourglass shaped. Without doing any workout. Weird, but I'm not complaining. Just going with the flow.

And the flow keeps on coming. My breasts have firmed up. They sit high and proud on my chest. No longer saggy, no longer drooping. My breasts have become real life BOOBS! Not nearly as big as most of the other girls on campus, but they are well shaped and beautiful! And a nice handful I find out as I stand in front of the mirror at Marshall's and cup my hands under my tits.

Below my perky handful of boobs I have a svelte waist that leads now to a pair of hips that seem to somehow promise wonderful things as I pace around the dressing room. Turning to look at myself, now dressed in lingerie, I can see that I have what I have heard is called a "bubble ass"! I don't know where it has come from but I now possess a killer body! Sexy, slinky and magnificent in all regards! It has to be the Object, the mirror. There is no other explanation. Every time I stood in front of it and felt that feeling wash over me, something was changing. Something was happening to my body.

And I liked it! Looking at myself in the dressing room mirror I loved what I was now seeing.

And I needed clothes to match the new me. Working with one of the salespeople I returned all the stuff I had originally picked out. In its place I found other options.

When I had tried on some things that I would have worn before I found problems with them. They didn't fit at all well. It was uncomfortable, wearing them. The sweaters and blouses were too loose, too frumpy and not nearly appropriate for the 'new' me.

I tried on tight and low cut. They felt good! They made me look even better! And I liked the new look!

My old choices for pants and skirts made my legs itch. Only if I wore mini-skirts and short-shorts cut high was I comfortable. Or leggings. Even though they covered my legs completely, they didn't itch at all! My amazing legs wanted to be shown off, I thought to myself. And so did my breasts! That itching sensation was always there if I didn't flash cleavage or highlight their size by wearing tight, SKIN tight, clothes!

Paradoxically, I found that some loose tops felt good. The ones that gaped open to reveal my breasts when I leaned over. The kind that would allow a peek at my constantly erect nipples! The ones that I could pull the neckline down to display my wonderful cleavage!

So, tight and sexy or loose and sexy were my new options for clothing.

I went back to the office the next day in my new togs. I drew admiring glances everywhere I went! Girls were jealous. Guys were turned on! And so was I! The more looks I got the hotter I got! It was as if my libido had been turned up to "Over Heat"!

But I wanted to see if the changes were restricted to me. Could this mirror be the source of the strange "sexification" of the co-eds that I had been noticing?

So I called in one of the Graduate Assistants, Marcie. She had not yet been affected as far as I could tell. She was a plain Jane for sure. Just a little overweight, not attractive, drab hair, no makeup and no sexuality that I had ever observed.

"Jane, I want you to stand in front of the mirror, here.' I instructed her.

I let her stand there for a couple of minutes. She started to look at me quizzically, She didn't seem affected at all. I finally just sent her back to her work while I tried to figure out what was going on.

That night I went to one of the local night spots. I had never been there before but it was fun! I got asked to dance several times which was nice. It was a little disconcerting to feel my dance partners rubbing themselves up against me. It was even more strange to feel myself responding! I was rubbing my breasts against them. Letting my groin move against them. feeling excited as I felt their cocks getting hard as I teased him with my body.

I even gave one of my dance partners a secret hand job! Right there on the dance floor! What was I thinking? What if someone had seen me?

What I was thinking was that it was such a turn on to tease a man so

University of TITS: Part 3

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Mon, 24 Aug 2026 21:54:00 +0000

Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science (T I T S): Part 3

Now, here’s another legend in the series.

Movie night with Chelsea and Veronica.

A 10-part series, based on the posts by D D D Dave. Listen to the ►Podcast at Explicit Novels.

That night we watched a movie we had rented. Chelsea tossed a blanket over our legs to lessen the night chill. As we watched the movie I held hands with Chelsea while Veronica kept up her attention to my groin. Veronica snaked her hand into my lap. It was nerve racking. No matter what I did Veronica's hand would slip back into my lap and tease my hard on! If Chelsea glanced down she would be able to see what was going on!

At one point I excused my self and went to the bath room. I had to wait a couple of minutes until my cock softened enough that I was able to take a piss. When I walked out Ronnie was waiting for me in the hallway. She slipped in front of me, put her hands in my front pockets and pulled me to her. She dragged her tits across my chest and pushed her pelvis against my thigh.

"Um, I like the feel of my boobs rubbing against you," she told me with a wicked gleam in her eye. "When I'm not wearing a bra, like now, it feels so good against my nipples!" She slipped her arm into mine and walked me back to our seats.

"Look who I found," she announced as she pushed me down to sit between the sisters.

"Um, yeah," responded Chelsea who was focused on the movie. Ronnie's hand stayed in my lap almost all night.

That night I had a hard on as I got into bed but Chelsea wasn't interested. As I lay there I have to admit I thought of seeing if Veronica was still up. But I rolled over and went to sleep.

Over the next couple of days Veronica continued to tease me. Flashing her boobs every chance she got. Showing off her cleavage with low cut blouses. Wearing tighter sweaters that showcased her tits! And groping me every chance she got. If we passed in the hall she would push her tits out and make sure to rub them against me as we passed. Some times she would stand behind Chelsea and pull her blouse up over her bra so I could see her big tits. Most of her bras were low cut and showed off her cleavage.

Other time she would just cup her tits in her hands and show how big her tits were. And they were BIG! She wobbled them back and forth, grinning at me while showing off her figure.

I made sure to not be home alone with Veronica. It didn't really help. She constantly flirted with me. Always standing in ways that showed off her figure. Arching her back, letting her big tits jut out. Swinging her torso from side to side so her titties shivered and shook in front of her! Cupping her hands under those huge tits, plumping them for me, showing me how large and firm they were.

She would stand where Chelsea couldn't see her and pull her top up over her tits to show how they were overwhelming her bra. Or she would not have a bra on and she would stand there, topless, letting me stare at her boobies! I thought they seemed to be getting bigger and bigger.

It wasn't my imagination. One afternoon in the kitchen Veronica pushed herself up against me. Grabbing my ass in both hands she made a production of massaging her titties against me. "I had to buy another bra this morning," she announced. "I wear a Double-F cup bra now. I love my bigger boobs."

"I can't believe it," she continued. "When I started working at the college I was a shy, introverted, over weight, out of shape frumpy old woman. I had no interest in sex. Now I'm fit, toned, and big breasted . And my boobs are getting bigger, too! I love the attention they draw and the attention they get from my lovers!

"And that's the other thing!" she went on, "I was disinterested in sex before. Now I spend a lot of my time prowling the library looking for guys to fuck! I seem to have a sixth sense. I can look at a guy and tell what he likes. And somehow I know exactly how to do all sorts of things. I'd never had sex until I started at the Library. But all the guys say I'm really, Rally, good at it! I can make a guy cum in only a few minutes if I give him a hand job. And I enjoy making them cum. They have no control. It's all me! But it's not jus hand jobs! It's sucking and fucking! I love to get guys all hard for me, teasing them with my titties and then swallowing their cocks.

I love giving blow jobs! And I'm really, really good at it! For one thing, I don't have a gag reflex so I can swallow a cock all the way down. I like doing it and I know that the guys love it too! It makes them cum so hard and so fast when I swallow them whole and then look into their eyes while they dump their cum into my mouth and throat! God, I love that! I love the feel of their cum. How it slides down my throat. How it feels in my mouth. How it tastes! And I love the look on their faces when they cum. When they realize that I have complete control of them. I can make them cum so fast! Or I can make them wait until I'm ready to drink them down!" She was stroking my hard on while she was talking. Getting me harder and harder.

"Have you ever had a deep throat blow job?" she asked before licking her lips salaciously. "I love having a cock down my throat while some lucky guy pumps his cum into me!"

"I'll show you," she declared as she sank to her knees. In seconds she had my pants down to my knees and my steel-like shaft buried in her throat. As promised, she was gazing up into my eyes. I could tell she was smiling as her lips twitched around my shaft and her tongue rubbed the thick tube on the bottom of my shaft. Her mouth opened even further. She pushed her tongue out to lick the front of my ball sack. God! It felt amazing! In seconds I grabbed her head and held her in place while I emptied my balls into her eager mouth. She never missed a drop! What a cock sucker!

Just as she was licking her lips of any leftover cum I heard a key in the door. Quick as a flash Ronnie was on her feet and she stood between the door and me while I pulled my pants up and tried to appear innocent.

Chelsea came in and announced that there were groceries in the car and would I mind bringing them in.

As Chelsea turned into the living room Veronica turned to me.

"I want this to be mine!" she announced as she grabbed my crotch. My cock was, despite having just been emptied and the close call, still mostly hard. Smirking at me, Ronnie blew me a kiss and licked her lips. "I'm going to do all I can to make you mine. You are wasted on Chelsea. She doesn't know how to treat a man like you! She can't HANDLE a man like you. Not like I can! And I'll prove it!" She was gently fondling my cock as she spoke. She took a moment to pull her shoulders back and show off her amazingly well developed figure. "Just look at me! Double-F! I'm more of a woman than Chelsea could ever be. And I don't think it's over yet, either! You're going to be mine, all mine, darling!"

I admit I loved the blow job, but Veronica was freaking me out. Her attitude was completely different. Prowling the library looking for fuck partners? Enjoying giving blow jobs? Way different for her. And her looks were changing. Not just the boob growth, which continued. Her lips seemed fuller and more, I don't know, pillowy? Anyway, she was no longer a frumpy Librarian. She had become a sultry looking vixen. Her hair, now that she was letting it out, was getting longer and seemed to be changing color, getting reddish highlights.

Chelsea was noticing the change too. And not really approving. In one conversation with me she actually said the Ronnie was looking slutty! Which was a little harsh I thought. Was she getting jealous of Veronica?

One night Veronica pranced into the living room where I was reading a magazine. The TV was droning in the corner but I wasn't paying any attention. Particularly when Ronnie showed up in a skin tight blouse and mini skirt that really showed off her figure. She had been continuing to expand, her tits seemed to be the size of volleyballs now. There was no way to disguise her voluptuous figure. And she didn't try. Instead she reveled in showing off how curvy she was becoming. Every day she found another way to flaunt her body. Her legs, her hips and, always, every day, she would show off her big tits. Tits that were getting bigger and bigger!

Ronnie sat down across from me on the sofa. At first she didn't say anything. She waited until I looked up and then she gave me a little smile. "Hello, Darren. How are you?"

"Fine" I replied, as always a little wary of what might be coming.

"I bought this blouse a few weeks ago. I really like the color," she announced. She looked down at the blouse. It was a light blue color and buttoned up to a v-neckline. A hint of her cleavage could be seen. "But I'm afraid I may have to replace it soon. It's a little too small now."

Slowly she raised her eyes to mine. She locked gazes with me.She smirked broadly as she sat up straighter. Still looking me in the eyes she slowly pulled her shoulders back. Stress lines leapt into being across the front of the blouse. Gaps appeared between the buttons as she flexed to stress the blouse even more. "Yes, I'm afraid I'm going to have to replace it," she repeated. Smiling she looked down at her chest. She slowly inhaled and expanded her bosom. First one and then another and then another button gave up and were launched across the room. One landed in my lap!Right on top of my newly sprung hard on!

The blouse was open to the waist. Exposed was a lovely, much over-burdened bra. Breathe-taking creamy cleavage was on display as Veronica slowly stood up and stalked toward me. Her hips swiveled and those enormous cans flexed up and down with each step.

Stopping a step in front of me, hands on hips, she bent over at the waist, bringing her gigantic chest right in front of my staring eyes. No way was I able to look away. She was the biggest breasted tease I'd ever imagined!

"I will have to replace this blouse, Darren. And I'm afraid my 34 Double H bra is too small for me now, too!" Slowly she shimmied her torso allowing those huge titties to bounce and quiver. "See how I'm over filling these cups?" She ran her finger along the bra line pointing out how her massive breasts were spilling out over the top of the cups. "And my big titties are trying to escape here, too," She drew my attention to where there were small folds of flesh being squeezed out from under the bra's underwire.

"It's only a couple of weeks old and already it's just too small to be comfortable. I'll have to order a few new, larger bras since I've outgrown this 34-HH bra." There was more pride than sorrow in her voice.

"What do you think, Darren? Am I getting too big?" Smiling down at me she used one hand to draw me into the cavernous gap between her breasts. With the other she mashed her titanic breast against the side of my face. I'm sure that if anyone had been watching it would have seemed as if my entire head had vanished! So big! So DAMN BIG!

It was too much for me. She was too much for me. Her enormous chest was just too much for me to try to resist any more. I brought my hands up and crushed her breasts against me. I licked and sucked as much of her flesh as I could manage to reach. Shaking my head side to side I motor boated her bloated bosoms while she giggled and laughed.

She enjoyed all the attention that I was lavishing upon her. I was now running my tongue along the over flow of her boobs above the bra. Ronnie reached into the giant left bra cup and, with some effort, extracted her purely enormous breast. Like a ravenous beast I latched onto her nipple and chewed, sucked and licked that nubbin until it was rock hard and as big as a large thimble.

Veronica continued to gasp and moan in pleasure as she drew out the matching breast for my attention. Her hands were clasping me to her chest while her fingers were twined in my hair. She didn't have to hold me in place. I had no intention of going any where!

While I remained fixated on attending to Veronica's breasts and nipples she reached out and began to caress my hard-on thru my pants. She lowered my zipper and managed to get my throbbing cock out into the open where she could stroke it. Using long, languid movements she drew my cock to it's full length. She was licking her lips in excitement as she felt it grow longer and stiffer in her grip.

"Oh, I've waited long enough. Let me at it!" she cried as she pushed me back onto the sofa. In a flash she was undoing my buckle and pulling my pants down past my knees. As I kicked them off she yanked off my underpants and grasped my cock with both hands.

"Oh, My, God!" she exclaimed. "It's bigger than I remember, so hard and long! I just love it!" She swooped down and started licking and sucking on my now fully stiff cock. Her tongue flashed out to run up and down the shaft. Then she circled my cock head with her tongue before she took the head into her mouth,

With loud slurping sounds she began to suckle on the head while still stroking with both hands! Her tongue was lashing my cock head, encouraging the flow of pre-cum. She sucked it all up as fast as she could. After a few moment she began to push her mouth down my shaft. First the head and then an inch or two was brought into the liquid warmth of her mouth. Then several more inches, until my cock was hitting the back of her mouth. With out any noticeable difficulty she pushed her self forward allowing my cock to force it's way down her throat. It was an exquisite feeling!

Up and down she went, slow and then fast she went. Finally she pulled herself away and sat up. Looking me in the eyes while licking her lips of any fluid that she hadn't caught she made sure to show me how much she enjoyed cleaning up after herself.

"I think you will love this," she cooed. Smiling at me she made a production of pulling her titties free of the bra and blouse. She tucked them under her boobs. Grasping a nipple in each hand she trapped my cock between her tits.

"I love giving tit-fucks," she informed me. "I'd never even thought of it until recently. And the bigger my tits have gotten the better I have gotten at doing it! Tell me you don't love this," she dared.

Slowly she began to work. She rose and fell. Forcing her tits up and down my hard shaft. Keeping the rhythm she began to make little circles with her hands which resulted in pulsing pressure against my rock hard cock. It felt amazing!

Pausing from time to time she would extend her tongue to lick up the precum that was oozing from my cock head. Then she would return to her task, forcing her huge breasts up and down my cock. Then she would press down hard on her pillows which exposed several inches of hard cock. Her head would swan down and she would pull every inch she could reach into her mouth. Her face disappeared from sight as she took me deeper and deeper.

Gasping for breath she rose again to continue the magnificent tit fuck she was administering. "Like that, Stud? Am I giving you a great tit fuck, or what?"

"The best, Ronnie, the best! So skillful! So good," I groaned.

Still smiling at me she made a production of squirming out of her blouse and bra. I watched, enthralled, as her huge hooters moved and bounced in reaction to her movements. She then stood up and stripped out of her skirt. She didn't have panties on so I could see at once that she was dripping excitement down her thighs.

"Now, honey," she purred. "Now, at last. I want to see what this is going to feel like." She lay down on the couch, spread her legs and motioned for me to climb on.

Without a word I slid between her thighs. My hands were drawn at once to those giant pillows that were shifting from side to side on her chest. My hands were too small to coral the massive mounds of breast flesh. But it was a lot of fun to try!

She grabbed my cock and pulled the head to her cunt lips. Licking her lips she grinned up at me.

"Now! Push it in now! I need to feel what this huge cock feel like as it slides into me!" Her hips were moving from side to side, mashing my cock head against her cunt.

I leaned into her, making my cockhead push into her.

"OH!, Oh, Oh, Oh, that is So big," she moaned in response. "So big, you're cock is stretching my cunt lips! It feels so fucking good! More, you big cocked fucker, slide more into me!"

Following her orders I pushed more and more of myself into her hot, wet, pulsing cunt! It was an amazing feeling. Her hips were moving, side to side and back and forth. We were fucking in tandem. as if we had practiced for months! God, I was having an amazing fuck! The best fuck I could remember. With my girlfriends's giant breasted sister!

Soon enough I was pushing all the way into her cunt! Unlike Chelsea she wasn't objecting to getting deep-cocked. She loved it! She was banging her heels on my ass. Pulling on me with both hands as she groaned and moaned, pleading for more and more. Harder and harder, as hard as I was banging her she was asking for more and more.

University of TITS: Part 2

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Sun, 23 Aug 2026 21:54:00 +0000

Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science (T I T S): Part 2

Now, here’s another legend in the series.

Mrs. Anderson, That Mountain of a Woman.

A 10-part series, based on the posts by D D D Dave. Listen to the ►Podcast at Explicit Novels.

After the Brubakers had left The Presence had visited again.

"You did a great job, Sport! Really proved my point! Thanks, but the bad news is you can't keep that oversized sex stick! Besides, no human woman could handle it!"

But don't worry, I've got a great bonus lined up for you!"

I had argued with It and we finally agreed that I would be able to keep some of the enlargement.

So I was now hauling a foot long erection in my pants! And thick as my wrist as well! The women went wild for it, as you might imagine. And thanks to the intervention of The Presence, even the women that I had been with earlier seemed to remember this new appendage as being my normal cock.

I was just getting used to having such a massive prick when I wandered in to the office several weeks later.

"I understand that you are interviewing for the new position to be your assistant." Mrs Anderson looked at me over her reading glasses. "I would like a chance to interview. I've been with the Institute for years and I think I deserve the opportunity to at least interview." That last was said half defensively and half pleadingly. I had just been appointed the "Brubaker Professor of Comparative Blah blah blah.” Or something like that.

Mr. Brubaker had been so pleased with the way his trophy wife had become more tractable after the fucking I'd given her that he had decided to endow the chair as long as I was appointed to the position. Which the Dean had been happy to do. Even congratulated me on my "Excellent Interaction with our Alumni!"

The endowment came with funding for an office, staff, expenses and the promise of several supervisory visits each year from Mrs. Brubaker!

And now I was starting the process of interviewing for office staff. I could hire one full time and three part timers/interns. I was really looking forward to the "interview" process. I had a couple of really major attributes I was looking for in all of the positions. Heh heh heh!

Mrs. Anderson had been the Department Secretary as long as I had been here. No one noticed her. No one ever saw her outside of the office. Hell, no one had ever seen her anywhere other than at her desk!

All anyone could say about her was that Mrs. Anderson was a mountain of a woman. She must have weighed in the 250 to 300 range. Probably more. And it was not a somewhat over weight, pudgy range. Mrs. Anderson had multiple chins and rolls of fat everywhere that you could see as she sat behind her desk. Her hands were almost swallowed by her wrists. Her upper arms were the size of whole hams and jiggled while she typed. Hell she jiggled when she sat still. And, again, not in a way that was cute or enticing. Frankly, I tried to not look at her too often. It was up setting.

Although, now that she had drawn my attention I noticed that she didn't appear to be quite as obese as usual. Really hard to tell under the tent like muumuu that she was wearing. Nonetheless, I had no interest in talking with her. I was looking forward to "Interviewing" as many buxom, tight, toned, bra-busting college co-eds as I could before hiring an assistant. It was one of the major perks to the new position. I was hoping to do it year after year, too!

But I knew that I had to at least grant Mrs. Anderson an interview or she could cause a stink.

"That's fine, Mrs. Anderson. Would you like to come by this afternoon or would tomorrow suit you better?"

"Tomorrow will be fine, and thank you," she replied.

The next morning there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Anderson entered. But this was not the mountain of a woman that I had expected. It was Mrs. Anderson, but not as I had ever seen her! No pants suit. No muumuu No billowing scarf to obscure her upper body.

As she approached I looked her over.

She was wearing sky high heeled boots that laced up to just under her knees. The slit in her skirt reached almost to her hips. As she strode into the office that slit parted to show dark stockings which I could see were attached to garters. She wore a double breasted jacket over a white turtle neck. Her body pushed the jacket far out from her body. The hem of her jacket was over a foot from her body where it hung at her hips. Her boobs had to be huge to make that jacket hang like it did. My interest was piqued! Piqued? HELL, my boob radar was ringing alarm bells!

She endured my examination with equanimity as she settled into her chair. In fact I thought I saw a hint of pride on her face as I tried to reconcile her current appearance with the mountain of a woman that I had ignored for so long.

"Excuse me for saying this but you seem to have changed quite a bit, Mrs. Anderson." My voice quavered just a bit. She looked totally different!

"Yes, I know. I started doing Pilates."

"Oh? How long have you been exercising?"

"Almost three weeks," she replied.

"Three weeks?" I was incredulous. Three weeks and she had gone from a mountain of blubber to, well, I wasn't sure what she had become. But she was no longer a mountain of blubber! Whatever was going on on campus seemed to affect different people in different ways. But the overall result was gigantic breasts and a certain, um, freedom of attitude.

She continued. "I have not lost much weight but I've been transformed, nonetheless; Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I've left my husband. He couldn't cope with how I was changing. I feel like a caterpillar that has metamorphosed into a butterfly!" She threw her long reddish hair back over her shoulder.

"That's an apt analogy," I commented. "You have certainly changed your look."

"It's not just my looks that have changed," she replied. "I find that my entire outlook has changed. I enjoy the glances from others. I enjoy watching people that see me and their reactions."

"I've seen the list of the people that you intend to interview." How had she done that? The list was supposed to be confidential and only on my computer. "I know the sort of things that you are looking for in the applicants. I'm so much more qualified than you can imagine!" Her voice was filled with certainty.

"Let me show you what I mean" she was rising from the chair as she spoke.

She dropped the blazer to the floor as she rounded the desk. It seemed that the blazer had been containing her mountainous breasts. I had never seen anything like them!

Her sweater was not low cut, revealing almost nothing. But it bulged alarmingly. The ribbing was stretched to the limits. And the threads of the turtleneck were pulled taut trying to contain her Herculean boobs. Her breasts swung in front of her. They stretched out over two feet from her chest! Maybe more! I hoped to be able to measure them to be sure. I could tell that there was some sort of a bra under that stressed out sweater. But it was clearly inadequate. There were hillocks of flesh evident where she bulged out of the bra above and below. And to each side! Her bra was obviously failing to keep control of her inordinate amplitude.

Those massive torpedoes were much wider than her rib cage, pointy and super big, I didn't think she could reach her nipples, they stuck so far in front of her.

Her skirt dropped away as she joined me on my side of the desk. Those gargantuan breasts almost reached my face while she was still a step or two away.

I could peek below her bosom to see her legs in leather boots, stockings and garters. Those garters framed a minuscule black leather thong before disappearing under her bosom.

Moving languidly, she slid her arms out of the sleeves and, with some effort, pulled it up over the protrusion of her massive bosom and over her head.

After a slight pause she drew her shoulders back, forcing her tits to rise and project even closer to me. The sweater slid to the floor. Now I could see her undergarments. A black leather-like bustier and matching bra. A bra of immensely titanic proportions. The bustier drew her waist in to a shocking degree.

Her bra, even as large as it seemed, was over whelmed by the size of her massive boobs. Those titanic mounds rose up out of the support of the bra, over flowing to the sides and rising until the upper curves almost reached her shoulders. Extra flesh was trying to escape to the sides and bottoms of her stretched out cups.

This was the body of a top heavy seductress who demanded the most from her mates. And the hair with its reddish highlights and her make up only emphasized this. Smoky eye shadow, brilliant red lip stick, pendant ear rings that sparkled in the light just brushed her shoulders as she prowled toward me. I was spell bound in my chair.

She swiveled my chair so that I was facing away from her. I heard soft slithering sounds of fabric, a few soft grunts and then nothing. I could sense her moving behind me.

As I sat in anticipation I felt a weight descend on my head. She was resting a boob on my head! I was enjoying the feeling when the heavy softness slowly began to slide downward. She was now resting both boobs on top of me. They slowly flowed downward, covering more and more of my cranium.

As I watched I saw them descending in front of me. They reached ahead of me farther than I could estimate.

She was allowing her breasts to encase my head. Now over my ears, her breasts continued downward. In seconds they were resting on my shoulders! At the same time I felt her push inward with both hands and forearms on each side. The opening between her breasts in front of me closed, blocking out all light and most of the air. I could still feel her breasts on top of my head and resting on my shoulders as she began to rhythmically flex and manipulate these totally gigantic titties. I wondered if my head was even visible? Again and again she squeezed, released, pushed and pulled. She would lift those gigantic gourds and allow them to once again fall onto my shoulders while twisting and moving behind me. The pressure changed as she worked. It was one of the most erotic feelings I had ever experienced.

I had had titty-fucks in the weeks and months since I had encountered The Presence. But this was the first time my head had been titty-fucked! Mrs. Anderson was titty-fucking my entire head!

She slowly removed her incredible immensities and started to slide around in front of me, dragging those oversized ovoids against me as she went.

"My ex-husband used to enjoy that, until he couldn't keep up with me and left. I love doing it. I love feeling someone between my titties. I love knowing that they have never had a similar experience. There aren't many women as well equipped as I am now. I had to make this bra myself, you know. No one carries anything near my size and it costs hundreds of dollars to have one custom made for me." I couldn't tell if she was complaining or bragging.

She leaned toward me. Her breasts, still resting on my shoulders almost blocked her but she managed to force herself deep between them so that she could run her tongue up the side of my face before she began to kiss me. Her lips were plush, warm and soft. That sexy tongue demanded entrance to my mouth and then she gave me the hottest, scorching kiss I had ever had. She was licking, moaning, panting and mewling with pleasure as she continued to press her lips to mine.

She was pulling herself to me, her body pressing against me while we kissed passionately.

"To think I used to sit at my desk and feel sorry for myself. Always being jealous of those skinny skanks with those puny double D cups! Hah! But now look at me!" Her voice was demanding as she pulled her self away from me so that I could take in the amazing vista that was the new Mrs. Anderson.

"Pilates has been amazing! Look how big my tits are now! If I had known I would have started a long time ago." Somehow, I thought that there was more to it than just Pilates. I suspected The Presence had something to do with it. She had changed from a grotesque mountain of a woman into, into, well, into what I was gazing at in front of me.

It was a staggering sight and I realized that at some point I had reached full erection. It was uncomfortable! As I reached to adjust myself Mrs. Anderson smirked as she recognized my situation.

"Oh, you like what you see? Don't you? You like what my amazing body has become, don't you?" She knew that was the truth. "I'm still getting used to it. But I love it. I love how men stare in disbelief at how busty I have become. I love how they stare. Even if I don't try to show off, they still stare.

"And they get boners. Just like you have now. Come on, show me. Show me how you got horny feeling my boobs around you. How you got a big old stiffie from looking at me. Come on," she urged, "show me!"

So I unzipped and reached in. Pulling out my cock, I showed her how her amazing body had affected me.

"Oh, it's so pretty!" she gushed. "And so big! I had no idea you would have such a large cock! It's gorgeous!" She took to her knees next to me and started stroking my cock with her left hand. "So, so hard. So smooth, so pretty,' she cooed again.

She leaned over and ran her lips up and down the shaft, mewling in pleasure as she worked.

"If I had more time I'd show you how well I can suck a cock, but I don't want to wait. I want to feel this pretty, pretty cock in my poor, neglected cunt."

With some difficulty she stood up and turned toward the office desk.

"Sometimes I have trouble with these gigantically massive, oversized melons," she half apologized and half bragged. "I have no idea how much they weigh but I still weigh over 240 pounds as I've changed so they must weight a Lot!"

With a grunt of effort she hoisted both gigantic tits onto the desk and leaned over to present me with her surprisingly svelte ass.

I didn't need anymore encouragement. I dropped my pants to my ankles and moved behind her. I knew that she didn't need any preparation but I took a moment to slide my fingers up and down her dripping wet cunt lips. I smoothed that fluid onto my cock head and eased myself into her.

"Oh, yes, yes Yes!" she howled as her cunt was pushed out of shape! "I love it! It's even better than I hoped! It Feels So Fucking Good!" She started pushing back against me. Within a few moments my pelvis was pounding against her ass cheeks. Faster and faster we went. Harder and harder we pushed against each other. She was taking every bit of my hefty, foot long cock with each stroke and loving it!

"More, more," she moaned as she leaned forward as far as her tits would allow her. She smiled back at me over her shoulder. "Give me all of it! I need it all, I have to have it. You're a great fuck, and I want you to do me as long and as hard as you can!" She turned back to face forward but her hands reached back to try to pull me to her even harder.

Acting in the spirit of the moment I leaned over her back and reached out to hold onto her boobs. It was impossible! I couldn't reach her nipples, they were too far away. I couldn't get a grip on her tits, they were too big, to solid for me to get any purchase. I had to settle for running my hands over the acres of tit flesh that was in reach. As I pounded her I felt her cunt start to clasp and spasm.

Mrs. Anderson wailed in ecstasy. "I'm cumming, cumming cumming on your beautiful giant cock. I'm cumming, I love it. I fucking Love it!"

I grabbed her shoulders to hold on and fed her long slow strokes until she got her breath back. Then I picked up the pace again.

Within a few minutes she was going thru another cunt rattling orgasm. Crying out in pleasure she made sure that I knew how much she was enjoying what we were doing.

I slowed down again to let her catch her breath. She looked over her shoulder.

"Don't stop, don't stop! Make me cum again. Pound my cunt until you cum. I want to feel you spurt up my cunt, I want to feel you cum in me!"

I was looking at her, watching the light in her

University of TITS: Part 1

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Sat, 22 Aug 2026 21:54:00 +0000

Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science (T I T S): Part 1

Now, here’s another legend in the series.

Unexpected summoning leads to erotic adventures.

A 10-part series, based on the posts by D D D Dave. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

The day I met God, started off the same as so many others. I stopped in the Department Office, picked up my mail and said hello to Mrs. Anderson the Department Secretary. Headed to my office. Just like every other day.

I'm an Adjunct Professor at Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science, or T I T S. Adjunct is pretty far down the totem of academia. But I was hoping to get a full time job. My area of expertise is Ancient and Comparative Religions. Exciting, right?

One of the few perks for an AP is that I get an assigned cubicle in the Library. I call it my office. There isn't a door so anyone going by can see I'm working. But it's mine, all mine.

It's quiet, I can nap or read or prepare for classes without being disturbed. And that's where I spend most of my time when I am not teaching a class.

I'd just settled in when Jillian came by. She's one of the Assistant Librarians. And if you think Adjunct Professor in unimportant, well, Assistant Librarians makes us look like rock stars!

I'm sure that you've seen Jillian. You may not have noticed her but you've seen her. Jillian is every cliche of a Librarian. Stick thin. Drab hair pulled into a messy knot at the back of her head. Skirt to mid calf and billowing around her as she moves. White blouse under a half buttoned cardigan. Dish water blue eyes. Behind thick glasses, of course.

Without acknowledging me she dropped a small pile of books on my desk and left. By the time I realized that one of books were not meant for me it was too late and she was out of sight.

"Crap" I muttered to myself. I would have to get the book back to the front desk. Oh well.

The book was an old one. Bound in leather of some sort. The cover had an embossed profile of a woman. She was very obviously female. Her profile looked like a upper case P. Yeah, just like that: P.

Look; I'm a boob man. Always have and always will be. So the cover was interesting and I opened it up to see what it was about.

What it was about was about a long time ago. It was not written in any script I'd ever seen. A little like ancient Hebrew. Or older. But for some reason it seems to make sense to me. Almost like I could hear it in my head as I'm looking at it.

It seemed to be a collection of prayers or entreatments. It was only about 50 pages long. By the time I get to the last couple of pages my mouth is moving in sync with the sounds in my head. I'm mumbling under my breath as I find parts that I can sort of read when someone asks me what I want.

"What is it that you seek, young man?" the voice asked.

"Huh?" I had thought I was alone. I looked around, there was no one there.

"I asked what is it that you seek, Sirrah." Sirrah? I still didn't see anyone.

"Wha,” I never was the quickest guy around. "Who's there?"

"God! You summoned Me! Get to the point." I heard frustration in the voice now.

I summoned? Me?

"Um, I don't know what you're talking about and I still can't see you!" There's that quick witted response I was so famous for.

"You red from the book. You summoned me. What is it that you seek?" The lights flickered and went out.

"There was a time I could have darkened the Sun!" The voice said. It sounded peeved. "How many years have passed?"

"Um, I have no idea?" I ventured.

"Let me explore." I got the feeling of being alone but only for a few moments. Then the Presence was back.

"Alright. I'm up to date. Here's the 411. You have summoned me from a rest of more generations than you could conceive. In the time of Ago there were many like me. Now, most of us are gone. Lack of followers I suppose. They left for other realms, other, you would call them, dimensions.

"But there are still some that continue to worship as they did in the past. In that time Ago you would have been an Acolyte or Priest of mine instead of studying other more recent iterations.

"You do however, still revere the tenants that were the basis of my worshipers."

"Um," I broke into the monologue. "Exactly what was it that you worshiped?" It seemed unlikely but everything I was hearing seemed to have a ring of truth to it.

"Look inward, sonny boy! What is it that You worship?"

"Guh, you mean,” my voice died away in a gurgle. Was the voice suggesting what I thought? "Boobs!" the voice boomed. "TItS, BREASTS, Juggs of the jumbo size! You adore, admire, love and worships big tits! The bigger, the better!"

"Well," I temporized, "I wouldn't say,”

"I damn well would, kid! I can see right thru you, you know! I can see what lurks under that veneer of sophistication. And I can see how you have been and how you have wished and hoped to be!

"Well, this is your lucky day! I may not be able to darken the Sun any longer, apparently that's bad for the climate, but I can sure as Hell make one of my last Acolytes get some satisfaction! So, here's the deal, bucko! You are going to have a lot of fun! Your desires will be met. You needs will be satisfied. Your thirsts will be slaked! You will achieve those things that you have hoped for without knowing.

"Your life is about to become magical! I'll be back to check on you in a while.

"Have fun, sport!" The voice stopped and the Presence seemed to fade away. The lights flickered back on.

I looked around. No one was with in sight. I was all alone.

When I went to the front desk no one had noticed the power failure. And the book, when I handed it back across the desk, no longer had the embossed profile of an impossibly busty woman on it.

"Working too hard," I decided. I headed home, showered and slept.

A week later I noticed that my pants were looser. I'd lost five pounds in a week.

Otherwise, nothing happened. I still looked at the coeds at Tennessee Institute for Technology and Science. I prowled the Internet for busty porn. And I dreamed of the day I could hook up with some woman with a magnificent set of badonkadonks. I lost another three pounds. I found that I was able to climb the five flights of stairs to my cubicle with out getting short of breath.

The Presence may have been right about my interest in the fair sex with the large mounds on their chests. But the reality had always been that I had admired from afar. The one memorable event I had had was a brief dalliance with a girl in High School. She'd sported a larger than average pair. But, as I had found out, most of it was cotton, not flesh. She padded her bras. It was enough to make a grown man cry, let alone a virginal eighteen year old. Since then I'd had a few experiences but none over a 'C' cup. Most of the time I couldn't even muster the courage to approach a well-constructed woman. The larger the bust the more inarticulate I became.

A few weeks after what I had begun to think of as 'my delusion' Mrs. Anderson smiled at me when I picked up my mail. Mrs. Anderson had never smiled at me before.

In fact, thinking back on it, I realized that several young ladies had smiled at me recently.

I had almost recovered from that surprise when it happened again. When Jillian stopped by my cubicle with a couple of books I'd requested she said "Hi."

Another break from the usual. She actually said hello and looked at me for a moment. But just a moment and then she was gone again.

In the next week over a dozen ladies smiled at me as I passed. And one of the baristas where I got my coffee asked me if I "liked it hot?"

She was flirting with me! That had never happened before.

Slowly it sank into my brain that things were some how different. Two things finally penetrated my fossilized brain: One, I was seeing a lot more cleavage, tight sweaters, and blouses that strained to cover bountiful bosoms. Along with shorts and tight skirts. All the girls on campus were showing off more and more. I put it down to the advent of Spring. And Two, I gained some weight in the crotch. I'd never been what you might call "hung.” But I seemed to have gained some heft. I was at least an inch longer and a bit thicker than before. More of the promises made by The Presence?

Then Alice, another Assistant Librarian, stepped into my cubicle.

"I need a hand. Can you help?" I agreed and we walked down the hall to the storage closet. She had lost some files and thought that they may have fallen behind some cabinets.

Sure enough, I was just tall enough to dig them out from where they had landed.

"Oh, goodie! You found them! I thought that they were lost for sure!" Alice was bouncing in excitement. Her cable knit cardigan rose and fell loosely with her movement.

"Glad to help" I answered. As I turned to put the folders onto the desk she flung her arms around me and hugged herself to me.

"Umm," I was surprised. She had never even touched me before. Now here I was, able to feel her body against mine. Able to feel her thighs, her crotch rubbing mine. I was able to feel her surprisingly full breasts as they pressed against my torso. It had the expected effect. I could feel my cock starting to get hard. I could feel the swelling begin as the shaft straightened out and began to stiffen in my pants.

She could feel it as well. Instead of moving away from me she pulled herself tighter against me.

"Umm, I never noticed how cute you are," she breathed, looking into my eyes. "How did I never notice you before?"

"Umm," Her eyes were locked on mine as she lifted herself up to kiss me. On auto pilot, I responded in kind as we locked lips briefly. Her tongue darted out to caress my lips as she pulled away.

"And how could I have not seen this?" her voice rose in pitch as she cupped my crotch in her right hand. "You have a nice cock, don't you? A really nice cock!' She glanced up. "I like cocks, you know."

She licked her lips while caressing my still growing shaft. She sighed as she laid her head against my chest. Her breasts were rising and falling with her breath as her excitement grew.

"I can't wait to see this!" she exclaimed. She pulled back and was on her knees before I could react.

"Now you just stand still while I assess the situation. This won't take long," she assured me.

Deftly she unfastened my belt, pulled my pants to my ankles and yanked my shorts down. My half hard cock bounced out into the open and hung in front of her stunned expression.

"Jesus! This is a nice cock," she yelped. "So nice!"

"This is the nicest fucking cock I've ever seen! How have you been able to keep this under wraps so long?" I'd never heard her swear before. She was always so demure. She was staring up at me while both hands were running up and down my cock. She didn't seem so demure now!

"Urgh,” It was all I could say as I felt her lips caress the tip of my rapidly stiffening cock.

Her tongue flashed out. Slithering around the head of my cock, she then dragged her mouth down to the root of my shaft before she pulled back up and wrapped her lips around the cock head and sucked lightly.

"What a pretty cock! I just love it!" she exclaimed.

Reaching up from her kneeling position she swiftly unbuttoned my shirt. She stood up and while sweeping the shirt off my shoulders she again pressed herself against my torso.

"Oh, you feel so good! You're so muscular!" She was right. Looking down I could see that I had developed a firm six pack to replace the slight paunch that I had come to accept in the past few years. I looked damn good!

"You look so damn good." She echoed my thoughts. "I just want to eat you up!" Her eyes roamed over my body while she pulled her sweater off and dropped her knee length denim skirt to the floor. She wore only a modest pair of panties and a bra that was larger than I would have guessed.

She grabbed my cock in one hand and pulled it into her mouth. With her other hand she released her bra and dropped it to the floor.

Her mouth was flashing up and down my cock. She was taking more and more in on each stroke. I cupped her head in my hands and encouraged her to suck my cock. It felt wonderful. Her free hand was squeezing and pulling on her boobs.

"I need to feel this in me," she exclaimed as she hoisted herself up on the work table. "Come on, fuck my hot wet cunt!" Yeah, really not so demure now.

I moved into position between her legs and slowly fed her the head and then most of the shaft of my cock. It was as if I'd practiced the maneuver.

"Oh, that feels so good when you slide it in and out," she moaned. Her hips started to move beneath me.

At first I was so caught up in the events that were happening that I didn't notice anything except the hot, tight cunt that I was ravaging. Then, as I settled into a rhythm, I noticed.. a few things were happening.

As I watched, her hair lightened in color, become a very pale blonde, almost white. It grew longer and longer. And her skin, formerly a pasty, ashen hue, was becoming tan while her freckles disappeared, one after the other. For some reason this didn't freak me out. I just kept up pushing myself into her as fast and as hard as I could.

"Oh, baby, I want to drink you down when you cum," she moaned. "Let me know when you're ready so I can wrap my lips around your cock, honey!"

No one had ever offered to do that before, it made my cock twitch to think of it.

"Not yet," I responded. "Just a few more strokes, your cunt feels so good!"

"When ever you're ready, stud." she told me. "When ever you're ready." She smiled up at me as I slid back and forth on top of her.

I watched as she moved. Her chest seemed to swell. Her nipples were slowly drawing closer to my chest as we fucked. Her mounds blossomed. She had been a B-Cup when we started. She was bigger now. Firmer too! Those bigger breasts jiggled firmly and they were still getting bigger!

At the same time her waist drew in, her abdomen becoming more defined while her boobs continued growing. They were real melons now. Perfect, pink and erect, her nipples jiggled and shook as we moved against each other.

Finally I could take it no longer.

"Now," I groaned as I pulled back. I slapped my cock against her lips and she sucked it in as far as she could. Her lips, which had been some what on the thin side were now lush pillows which clung greedily to my shaft while her hands encouraged me to blast my load down her throat.

My shaft seemed longer than when we had started but she made no mention of my apparent growth. She just growled in her throat and sucked harder and harder. I was right on the verge when she cupped my balls and massaged them to encourage me to blow!

She was groaning and moaning while slurping up all the juice I had to offer. Rope after rope of cum shot from my cock and was greedily gulped down her throat! Her tongue flashed out to lick up every bit that remained on my shaft as I slid to rest beside her. Both hands were now

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 21

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Fri, 21 Aug 2026 13:56:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 21

Ajax's Funeral

Book 3 in 21 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

The Isle Of Salamis, Greece

Two Weeks Later

The Greeks spent their combined fortunes to decorate the cedar coffin, cut from the finest trees on Cyprus, to insure it had all the grave goods a King of Salamis would expect as well as the weapons which drew him to the other side so SzÃ©lAnya could kill him. My two tomahawks plus a bronze dagger with a sheeth of gold and seeded with precious gemstones; Greek symbolism on one side and Amazon symbolism on the other.

Ajax was buried with plenty of scented bags to disguise the smell of decay. The man himself was wearing his death mask; again gold with gems along the crown. Even in death he looked so massive. How had I ever thought I could defeat this man? In fact, I knew I couldn't, thus my deception. He remained a hero, finally felled by a Divine Dragon in my stead.

That was the tale; the Truth; I had revealed to the Teucer and the remaining ten Mycenaeans. They had nodded, some even looked from me and Aya over to the grave which housed their departed leader and shook their heads.

"The daughter of Typhon, eh?" Eruthros chuckled. "It would have been how he would have wished to go; a raging Goddess only he could wound, if not kill."

"Oh, he did that alright," I met his gaze, not sure if I dared meet his smile with one of my own.

"Atta says he shouted his war cry multiple times," Queen Aya added, "and made the Goddess SzÃ©lAnya cry out in pain. It says as much in the rolls of my People; now and forever."

That got more nods all around. It was hard for these men to stay dour in her presence, my fey monarch and holder of the heart of my Fatherhood. One of the others spoke up.

"We do not forgive you for what transpired before the Walls of Troy, Nasusara AssiyaiÅ¡hamai, but forgiveness is not necessary. If what has transpired before has also lost all meaning with so many dead then let us both agree to let it be."

"Please, call me Aya," Aya smiled up at the gruff warrior. "Yes. In Amazon etiquette we call it 'committing this to the nothingness'. It will do neither of our people any good to simply pile on more bodies upon the graves of others. Let this be a new day and see what destiny offers us instead of ceaseless vengeance. I do not forgive you for Troy either, but I know we all have shed enough blood over what has passed."

That got nods all around. Aya took out the blade she had kept in her knapsack and offered it to me.

"You knew the man," she commanded in her piping voice. "Place this upon his chest as a final gift from the Amazon Hosts to the People of the Kingdom of Salamis; let both find the paradise we've been promised. May WÃ¡nax Ajax find his old friends who have gone before him be waiting. They have waited for so long." That earned nods all around.

I went forward to place the dagger on the sarcophagus, Chaz, as my Brother, walked beside me while Eruthros remained behind talking with Aya. Around them stood four of the Queen's bodyguards/tutors. Beyond stood the other dignitaries and their own entourages of attendants and bodyguards as well. Even the Great Khan had sent one of his most senior advisors to be present for the ceremony.

How important the Egyptian Rite folks were wasn't something I could figure out from just a glance, or two. Even the Illuminati, standing in for no one else but Alal were here to show their respects both to the fallen King and to the Grandson who had slain him. The Gida had one of his/her own offspring representing their faction despite all contributions as security went.

Personally, I would have felt better if Pamela had come, but she claimed to have another family matter she had to take care of at the last moment and couldn't attend. Besides, she assured me, I couldn't be safer with all the trained killers who would be guarding their ambassadors for such an important event.

She had given me Chaz as my other family member to stand by my side as well as Alkonyka, the Champion of SzÃ©lAnya who had been boning up on her martial talents since I had brought her and her sister home from Romania. Surely that would be enough. Needless to say, the Condottieri and the Seven Pillars had politely refused the Egyptian Rite's invitation to be at the gravesite which left me deeply concerned, but not enough to back out at this juncture.

Aya had decided it would be bad for her morale if she sent me while refusing to come along. Once more, I failed to overcome her passionate yet logical counters to my worries about her safety as the date to arrive approached. My 'Spidey Senses' were tingling and I didn't like what reports we weren't getting on any possible Condottieri retaliatory strikes aimed our way.

It was serendipity that on the same day of the funeral, the final phase of Operation AkÅ¡a Loksti went into action. Hopefully that would disrupt their plans if they had any. Likewise, there were no reports that suggested the Condottieri were even aware of our moves against Angola which I put down to the Amazons and Coils working so well together. I guess I shouldn't have begun the day feeling so fucking positive.

Back To Operation AkÅ¡a Loksti (White Swan)

The unit's overall commander considered massacring the lot yet finally decided to let her hand stay even though the main force needed them. She left two BVP-98's and their ten Amazons behind to round up the prisoners while she and her M-84 MBT raced southeast because those ladies (and guys) sounded like they were in a world of hurt.

They were alone, yet she and her lone tank were expected to turn the tide. What they discovered was a huge Angolan left hook coming at their defensive position above the Loge; tanks and APCs were fording the Loge closer to the ocean than expected and building up their forces on the coast road /EN100. Something had to be done and quick.

The unit commander knew that minutes were something they may not have so she backed her tank up and deployed her warfighters forward without their own M-98 APC's. The Angolan build up was ignorant of the build up behind them, so when they started rolling forward, she dropped all hell on them from behind. Every two Amazons had a Khanate-built 9K1 35 Kornet Anti-Tank Guided Missile set up and opened fire.

The immediately turned 17 precious T 72 into so much burning wreckage while using RPG fire to send the Angolan APC to similar fates. At the same moment they opened fire, the two trucks bringing resupplies for the unit arrived. Most importantly, they brought eighty more shells for the M-84 to use. There was even more good news.

The crew of the T 95 Degman suspected they could bring their tank back to the fight inside an hour though her mobility would be questionable. She told them to hurry up. She wasn't sure they had an hour. Already the rebel air force had joined the struggle after plastering the supply elements in the rear. Unfortunately the Angolan air defenses were more robust than suspected.

Two SU22 were turned into fireballs with two more limping back to base, most likely removed from the fight entirely. That was as third of their ground attack force gone already and the day wasn't over yet. Still, the Angolans were sluggish to respond. Before their artillery could recognize the threat, the Amazons dropped some 120mm loving on them with their mortars.

The Amazon commander was using her smaller mortars to drop hate on the Angolan infantry which was deploying from their APC and trying to remove her from her vulnerable position. There had to be about a thousand of them coming her way too. Still, by coming her way they were no longer trying to unravel the main defensive line on the high ground above the river.

At the point they decided to start exchanging RPG fire with the dug in Amazons around the road, she brought her own APCs forward to rake the Angolans with dedicated autocannon fire. That broke the back of their charge and sent them scattering back to their own APC, which weren't all that safe. It turned out the Angolans were on the clock too.

The moment the central defensive line beat back the attack by the T-55 tanks of the 101st Tank Brigade, their supporting artillery began dropping hell on the artillery supporting this flanking maneuver. It was just in time too because the Amazon commander didn't have enough firepower to keep them suppressed.

Then it was the job of the remaining T 72; the best tanks in the Angolan inventory; to drive away her deployed infantry and sole M-84. First they concentrated on the M-84 who gamely dispatched T 72 after T 72 once the ATGM fire had removed their reactive armor plates. The whole area around the tank blossomed in clouds of 125 millimeter fire.

In a flash, all of the M 84 reactive armor on the front and the front of both sides had been stripped from her and the remainder of the tank looked streaked with the indentations of the follow-up hits. Seeing as how the tank was about to be destroyed, the Amazon leader order her to withdraw. She was about to be annihilated for no gain.

The M 84 instantly launched a disruptive cloud of smoke grenades around her to shield her actions as she beat feet to the rear. The T 72 kept firing into the general location as they kept coming their way. The ATGM the Amazons were using were failing to penetrate the glacis armor of the Main Battle Tanks they were facing.

With the tank withdrawing, the APC's had to withdraw around the bend in the road as well. Their 30mm guns would have no effect on the onrushing behemoths. Still, the Amazons gamely kept up their fire from their hastily made foxholes. They had to keep the enemy focused on them just a few more minutes until the forces above them on the high ground could shift around and come to their rescue.

And then a miracle occurred.

The T 72 pulled up short and shifted their fire from trying to dig the Amazon out of their holes and back to the main road where, the T 95 had appeared through the dust and smoke. Not only was she launching her own grenades to give her some shelter, her engine was expelling masses of black smoke; proving she was now dead to the world. The Degman spoke first, exiting a T 72 into the afterlife with a single shot.

Her barrel shifted and then was wreathed in smoke as she took three hits to her turret's armor. That shot ripped away the reactive armor plates there, but the tank itself was undamaged. Exit another T 72. Shells were exploding all around her and even hitting her glacis armor to little effect. Exit another T 72, and then another in rapid succession. Two of the M-84's from above had finally shifted around and were firing into the now exposed flank of the Angolan thrust.

The next salvo of ATGM was simply too much for the remaining tankers. They fired off their own smoke grenades and began backing up toward the river. Their infantry scrambled to keep up; and not to be overrun by their own vehicles. The helicopters arriving was simply icing on the cake. That rout was on and the firing continued. Even 'her' M 84 returned to add her own firepower to the debacle.

Her timely arrival and superior placement of her small command had broken the back of the Angolan offensive, and then the terrible slaughter took place, just as predicted. The Angolans simply abandoned their towed artillery and the oncoming air assault concentrated on the fleeing mobile batteries as well as their few remaining anti-air assets.

It was a complete disaster for the Angolans. Their conscript soldiers threw away anything which could slow them down in their flight to the rear. For the combined forces of Cabinda and Zaire, there was only the time it took to rearm and refuel then the pursuit took place. Well into the night, they followed the remaining elements of the Angolan army, some ambitious Amazon scouts going so far as to see the lights of Luanda before calling it quits.

In the capital there was complete panic. Their army hadn't been beaten; it had been Utterly destroyed. With the enemy coming on fast to their doorsteps, the leaders got into their fancy automobiles and fled south, some not stopping until they crossed the border into neighboring Namibia. Then they had to fall down on their knees and beg for immediate South African aid.

The South Africans were coming, but so was the United Nations and the other countries in the Lusosphere. They were reporting the Angolans being skunked on their national news networks along with the massive celebrations in Cabinda over their surprise liberation. Jailed and recently escaped leaders were on the balcony of the military governor's palace to announce the creation of their new nation.

They also called on their countrymen to rise up and take up arms to defend their newfound liberties then thanked God on High for their liberation. Best of all, the military which had done the deed was already seen moving off to the frontiers to protect against 'foreign' intervention while leaving the people free to chart their own destiny.

Elections were promised as was a new constitution. It had been a tremendous victory and the rebel forces responsible, wanted seemingly nothing. What they did want was anonymity. They had done what they had done to give the Cabindan and the Bakongo of Zaire breathing room to chart their own course and they would be around only as long as it took for them to decide on what they wanted to do now that peace, prosperity and all that oil money was finally theirs.

While some of their leadership living in exile griped about the 'backroom deals' which permitted their new nation to exist, it was subtly explained to them what their options were; Freedom, or Angola. If they really didn't want to surrender up some of that control to the 'third party' aka the Amazon Host and give them Soyo then the Amazons and their allies could simply go.

No one wanted that so the Amazons got their small archipelago, the Coils of the Serpents got their diplomatic status, and their people got to live without fear of being arbitrarily arrested, or robbed of their petroleum birthright. They wouldn't be completely happy, but they were free to gripe about it as much as they liked, because that was what real freedom was all about.

As for that Amazon Commander? By midnight that evening, her reduced command, though battered, low on fuel and ammunition was at the outskirts of Ambriz... and there were no more Angolan soldiers left to kill. They had won the Battle of the Loge and in doing so, seized a new homeland for her people; the Amazonian City-State of New Themiscyra. Queen Aya would be so proud.

If only she knew her Queen had almost died that very day, but she didn't so her warrior's heart was allowed to beat softly as she grabbed some much needed shut eye. With the dawn tomorrow she would begin their retreat back to the Loge and the relative safety their new neighbors offered in exchange for their freedoms.

Eulogy

Back To The Funeral, The Isle Of Salamis, Greece

'I love more than I hate'.

I had been babbling that for twelve weeks. I'd convinced others to say it; even feel it yet it wasn't until I found myself staring into Eruthros' dead eyes did the full colossal weight of those words come tumbling down.

'Love more than hate?' Hate had bourn Eruthros through the Endless Black Sands for Three Thousand Years. His hate, focused by Ajax and aimed at the Amazon Race. Three thousand years. Hate rarely cares about guilt. They had wronged the Amazons; there was no doubt of that in anyone's minds. For three thousand years, neither side had cared for the others' excuses.

In the last minute of Eruthros' life, he had thrown away that reality-rending weight for the epitome of his rage; its ultimate personification of the Amazon spirit; and all he had to do was 'nothing' to let hate take its course. No blade, or bullet was necessary; no push, fist, or kick. All he had to do was nothing and the Amazons would have been robbed of their Queenly House for a second and most-likely final time.

Had he thrown his body over Teucer? Highly understandable. Teucer was his fallen Lord's half-brother.

Had he taken himself to safety? No one was immediately trying to kill him and shelter was a few steps away, so he would have been temporarily secure.

Eruthros deliberately ended his life with no greater certainty than had he pushed the barrel of the gun beneath his chin and pulled the trigger. Had he deliberated at all, it wouldn't have mattered. Bullets were buzzing around over 1000 meters per second. Lifetimes had collapsed into the Nano-second. In that pulse, Eruthros acted out of the purist of human instincts. A child was in danger and he was the closest adult who could make a difference.

He threw himself on Aya. That was the instinctive human reaction. They had been speaking pleasantly before the first bullet's impact. Aya's closest Amazonian protector had absorbed the entirety of the machinegun chatter devoted to ending the Queen's existence; and still was. Her other three closest guardians had been removed by dedicated sniper fire. Our foes Absolutely were going to kill Nasusara AssiyaiÅ¡hamai, the diminutive monarch of their hated foe.

The rest of her bodyguard was too far away. We; Queen and diplomat; had gone to the grave side to pay our last respects when the ambush was launched. They had shredded everyone else around her and only her tiny size shielded by larger, female corpses had kept her alive up to that moment. There was no one else left capable of saving her. There never would be.

What followed was a deliberate decision which could never be denied. It was a choice made knowing it would cost him what short time he had left to provide Aya with whatever hope the living might still provide.

Laying prone and unmoving, the enemy might shoot him, or they might wait until they had dispatched the others. Eruthros knew he was critically wounded already.

Moving would ensure the assassins kept firing at him (and Aya). If he succeeded, he could propel her to a place where she would be safer, if only for a minute more.

"Har nahkuitki."

Eruthros' last words; 'have no fear'. Was that aimed at calming Aya, or inspiring himself? Since the word were in the Amazon tongue, who knew?

I was looking at him, still trying to figure out a way to get to those two. I looked into his eyes. He did not look into mine. I thought he was looking at the spot between myself and Teucer where we shared an impossibly cramped bit of temporary shelter. For all I knew, by that time he wasn't looking at anything at all. His brain had fired off its final orders and the body, though mangled, obeyed.

I saw a high-velocity round transect his torso as he pushed himself onto 'all fours'. There was no way that tumbling projectile missed both lungs and heart. His strong right arm kept Aya pressed to his chest as he went from knees and elbows to toes and left palm.

"Har nahkuitki."

His lips muttered the words as blood spewed forth from his mouth and nose. His left knee pulled toward his chest, allowing his body to tilt in that direction. That gave Aya a few more inches worth of bloody shelter. I was sure he was hit again. Rock fragments leapt off the ground; shattering the stones they had most recently vacated.

His left thigh flexed, surging him forward. The left palm directed the thrust upward before rising off the ground entirely and encircling Aya. As the right leg began to fulfill its role, a bullet pierced it. With the femur splintered, the brunt of the action was taken over by the uncoiling muscles.

By the time the left knee returned to his chest, Eruthros' body had molded around Aya's. Bullets were coming in from above and behind. Only the meat and bone of his arms shielded her from the ricochets. He took impacts from the back and right simultaneously, causing his body to twist in an unnatural angle. His light protective armor, worn specifically to be 'unobtrusive' for this ceremony, wasn't enough for this ammunition specifically designed to defeat it.

He refused to let go despite the hydrostatic shock ripping his insides to pieces. Teucer and I caught him, drawing his crashing form between us. I did him poor service. I flipped him over to retrieve Aya. Absently I noticed his wide eyes sta

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 16

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Thu, 20 Aug 2026 22:43:15 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 16.

Graduation Day.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"You know nothing of what you speak of, Ishara, yet you now feel free to insult us," she simmered.

"Don't know, don't care. It was all before my time. I care about the 'here-and-now' as well as what we do in the future. What I am asking you is what concrete item or 'thing' can be provided to House Zorja to put this blood feud behind you. Name it and House Ishara will endeavor to procure it for you."

"We are not merchants," Jana's eyes narrowed.

"No. I didn't imply you were. If you want new sandals for everyone in your House, I'll find you new sandals. If you want 100,000 acres of ranchland, I'll find you the land. Name it," I persisted.

"Our prestige cannot be bought," she 'explained'.

"No, but a blood feud with House Ishara can be avoided by making a request of us in the same way as expressing your desire to harm my daughter can be expressed by denying my offer," I hardened. "And 'fuck you very much' if you think I won't use every son, daughter, mother, aunt, and uncle of Ishara when I come gunning for House Zorja too."

"You wouldn't dare bring outsiders into this," Klavdiya interjected.

"Why not? The offices of Ishara handed House Zorja the coup of the century; the capture of the People's Liberation Army Navy nuclear carrier. A member of House Zorja commanded that task, yet they did so by leading forces marshalled by House Ishara, outsider forces. You may wish to keep playing by old rules concerning who is and isn't part of a House, but I am not so constrained, sisters."

"So Klavdiya, if House Meenakshi pursues its blood feud with House Zorja, House Ishara will gleefully join them in the pummeling. And we have Isharans in the 9 Clans, the Khanate and the Illuminati who will gladly help us out in slapping them around like the old-fashion curmudgeons they are showing themselves to be, or, House Zorja may request a gift from House Ishara and we will happily clear accounts between them and House Meenakshi in the name of our daughter, Parvati. Their choice."

"You are still on the mats," Elsa reminded me. Sikia coiled protectively next to us.

"And you said something about a lesson being long overdue," Pamela smirked, "Kitten."

"Cáel Ishara," Shawnee said in a soft voice, "perhaps it is germane to the argument: the fault of the blood feud rests with House Zorja, not House Meenakshi."

I fell on my back, carrying Tad fi with me. She gasped out in surprise while remaining closely cuddled with me. Her right hand never left my lips.

"Why does no one tell me this shit?" I moaned.

"You are hard," Tad fi announced. "Are you ready to have more sex?" She was sounding upbeat about our prospects. She was also ignorant of our surroundings being deaf and blind to the mortal realm.

"Gossamer Wing," I created a pet name for the augur, "we are lying on the sparring mats of a large combat arena in the central Full-blooded training center for Havenstone with roughly 500 sisters in attendance (the audience had grown). While I am enticed by your scent, words, proximity and sweet memories of what we've shared, I'm probably going to be badly beaten up really soon for a terrific diplomatic snafu."

"But then we can have sex?"

"Yeah. I'm totally up for having sex with you after they release me from Medical," I assured her. I looked around her to a very unhappy Mahdi.

"Can you find it in your heart to forgive House Zorja? Anything I can,"

"Yes," she abruptly cut me off.

What the fuck?

"At this time, my hatred of House Ishara, and you in particular, make any grievance I have with House Zorja pale in comparison. You have bewitched my only daughter. She bares your child, and it will be a wonderful child if the soiled augur you've stuck your cock in is to be believed," she ground out bitterly. "I want to go home. I want to find enemies to kill. And when I do, Cáel Ishara, know each and every one of them will carry your face in my mind."

She turned to Jana. "Do you agree that we both hate Ishara enough to put aside our current differences?"

Jana studied Mahdi, me, then Mahdi again and agreed. She stood. Mahdi stood. They clasped arms like Amazons, then hugged like sisters.

"Agreed. He is much worse."

My thoughts on the matter. Woot! I was having sex! Oh, and I was making Aya happy by ending a blood feud.

"My admiration of you continues to increase," Krasimira looked at me. "This diplomacy stuff is harder than it looks yet you pull it off so effortlessly."

"Yay me!" I muttered.

"Keeper, are we done?" Sikia asked Krasimira.

"I believe so," the older Amazon rose to her feet. Sikia was far faster in rising.

"Mahdi of Meenakshi, you have insulted me and my augur. Defend yourself," she snarled. If Tad fi hadn't been immediately present, Mahdi wouldn't have even warranted a warning no doubt.

"Had you done your job," Mahdi flowed into her fighting stance, "you both wouldn't be pregnant."

"Whoa now," I struggled to rise while keeping Tad fi close and my body between her and the Meenakshi/Zorja side of the mat. "Sikia, I can't let you fight. You're pregnant too."

"Don't be stupid, Cáel Ishara," Sikia retreated off the mat, so she could shed her jacket and footwear. "Amazons have fought pregnant for thousands of years."

"Hold on now," NYPD Sgt. Larisa Kutuzov said in English as she moved forward. I was a millisecond too late. Larisa's foot touched down on the mat and Marlene Zorja popped her one, a hand chop to the larynx. The senior cop stumbled forward.

"Mom!" shouted Nikita. Marlene followed up with a leg sweep, putting Larisa face first on the mats, then a fist strike to the back of the head, knocking her out. Neat and tidy in less than two seconds.

Nikita was about to charge in when Chaz stopped her.

"Footwear," he advised in the tone of voice I had learned to associate with him and imminent violence. The moment he stopped her, he was quickly removing his own socks and shoes. Virginia and Pamela were doing the same. I was allowed freedom of movement because I was holding Tad fi. Krasimira exited because of her unique status. The rest were already barefoot.

"Gale, could you please stay with Tad fi," I tried to hand her off.

"No," Gale looked me over. "I will fight." No hint on whose side she would be fighting on. Krasimira came to my rescue.

"I'll take her."

"Tad fi," I told the augur, "I have to go get beaten up now, but I promise I will be back for you directly."

"This is not your fight," Krasimira said. "The words and deeds are Sikia's."

"A, she carries my child and B, the deeds being called into question are my fault."

"You told me once they were the Will of Ishara," Krasimira mused.

"We are one in the same," I gave a lopsided grin.

"Be careful," Tad fi pleaded. "Your future is a chaotic jumble, I cannot see,"

"Eh, I've been very bad. We'll talk about it later. Gotta go," I headed onto the mats.

Pamela was giving the ground rules to the 'normals': No 'fair warnings'. No 'fair play'. No 'time outs'. You fought until unconscious, or you surrendered.

"This is going to suck," Virginia assessed our odds. Two Amazons had removed Larisa from the mats and were tending to her. Nikita was kneeling by her side until she heard Virginia, then came our way.

Besides Sikia, we had Pamela, Chaz, Virginia, myself and Nikita. Oneida stepping up was nice. She wasn't a great combatant, but we dearly needed the help. Gale joining us was, unsettling. Amazons don't play fair, so this could be a ruse.

Against us were all three Zorja and both Meenakshi; I imagined Rhada felt she had something to prove to her mother. They'd picked up ten other Amazons and Rhonwenn Nemain. Klavdiya joined them to counterbalance her baby sister. Eight to seventeen; ouch.

"Damn," a familiar voice from my first days on the job spoke up from behind me, "we almost missed this." I didn't dare look over my shoulder. Desiree stepped between Chaz and Virginia. Rachel came up on my left and Tiger Lily on my right. At the tail end of our line was Mona, Meridian, Brielle and Wieslawa. Fifteen to seventeen was looking much better, especially considering Desiree had brought five Security Detail warriors with her, all of whom were moving to further bolster our numbers.

"Rachel," Elsa looked to her underling, "you have no idea why you are fighting."

"It is for Cáel. So it must be for a better tomorrow," Rachel laughed.

"Very well," Elsa smirked.

"You!" Mahdi pointed at me, and we both charged. It was a jumbled nightmare of clashing bodies, war cries and flashes of movement all around. Our side had two main advantages -

While Chaz was by no means the best hand-to-hand combatant present, he knew the basic Amazon style and most Amazons didn't know his. Added to his overall height and bulk advantages, he bought us time.

Of greater importance, Rachel, Tiger Lily and Mona had extensive training working as a team, which none of the opponents had.

Elsa was the most dangerous individual on the mat. Pamela was the second most dangerous, so Elsa grabbed a couple of partners and ganged up on her to drive her off the mats. Chaz went next, out-Elsa'ed and beaten unconscious. The issue was, it took her too long to accomplish those two feats. By the time she rounded on me, Rachel and Tiger Lily, our half of the field had wiped out theirs. It was six of us (me, Rachel, Tiger Lily, Gale, Wieslawa and Desiree) versus four of them (Elsa, Marlene, Klavdiya and Rhonwenn).

Still, I was facing Elsa, so a judicious bit of treachery was required.

"Gale," I huffed and puffed, "please retire. I don't want you to fight your sister."

"What?" Gale snapped. She'd taken a beating, yet remained feisty.

"No, fighting her sister is okay with me," Desiree scowled. "We are still facing fucking Elsa."

"All the other women you have mated with have failed. I remain," Gale trumpeted.

"Oh, you are right," I half-turned. "All the reason you are more precious to me."

"Really?"

"Of course," I deepened my introspective appreciation of her.

"Oh," and Klavdiya punched Rhonwenn. That was an 'oh, Cáel Ishara must actually care for my baby sister and not be just a Playa' on Klavdiya's part. Yeah. I'm a horrible fucking person at times.

Rachel, Tiger Lily and I rushed Elsa. Marlene pivoted to ward against Klavdiya while Gale and Wieslawa stormed in against her. Desiree helped Klavdiya finish drubbing Rhonwenn before they combined to force Marlene off the mats. Elsa chose to go down swinging in a dogpile of bodies. I took an ear-ringing blow to the head which allowed Rachel to apply a chokehold and it was lights out for the Head of SD.

After some water bottles went around and those concussed returned to wakefulness, the resolution of the brawl was decided. Mahdi apologized to Sikia. It was short, terse and sparing of any empathy, yet was within the bounds of Amazon etiquette. She departed with Rhada, which left me to pick up the pieces, starting with Nikita's mom.

"Oh," the older woman moaned then, "Ms. Fredrickson? What are you doing here?"

"Avenging you, Mother," Nikita fluffed up the truth. "She, Cáel and the others cleaned house on the woman who jumped you and her allies."

"Desk Sergeant," Desiree gave a curt nod.

"This isn't over," Larisa winced as she moved to a sitting position.

"Mrs. Kutuzov, it is over," I headed off a colossal waste of time. "This is my daily life and part of your daughter's life with JIKIT. You will find scant witnesses and no tape recordings of these events. This craziness is just another day in the life here at Havenstone. You stepped on the mat and thus became fair game to any physical confrontation an opponent cared to mete out. Consider this sovereign soil of an independent nation-state."

"We," she looked around. "You kicked their asses?"

"Definitely," Pamela gave a feral snarl.

"This is plain nuts," she shook her head, winced in cranial pain, then put her aching head in her hands.

"One of the reasons we've put our dating in hiatus," Nikita comforted her mother while looking at me, and smiling affectionately.

Ah, for fuck sakes! I was engaged to someone else and having a dozen kids by ten different women. How could I still possibly be considered viable dating material? Oh yeah, martial valor, laughing at death, I hung out with truly exceptional cool people and I would always be in need of saving, a plus for a crusader like Nikita.

I had so many allies to tend to, but only one who seemed to be making an exit. I swooped down on Tad fi long enough to place her fingers to my lips.

"I'll be right back, friend of a friend in need," and off I went. I caught Tavi of House Stolgos just outside the door. She wasn't avoiding me. She'd been observing Chaz and he had been otherwise occupied.

My British companion had played a pivotal role in the combat and taken his beating like a man. He'd been rendered unconscious. So had many others, so no stigma was attached to his loss. Post-battle, he had chosen to sit on his haunches, knees up, talking to several of the Amazons, both kneeling and standing. A few had been bystanders and a few others foes.

He stayed on his ass to reduce his height advantage. Letting Amazons make eye contact while not having to look up at you created definite benefits. His good natured approach to his role in the fight and pummeling earned him positive vibes as well. He made it clear the tussle to him was not macho-personal. He was my 'brother / sister / sibling' spiritually-speaking via Pamela adopting us both as her 'grandsons', so my fights were his fights. Sikia had my (Caél's) child, so that bond extended to her as well; family.

Pamela and I had schooled him on Amazon psychology and those lessons were now paying serious dividends. 'The Male' hadn't wanted to fight them; 'Amazons are tough' he'd confessed, he knew this because he worked with several every day on JIKIT~ but family was on the line, so he fought. Mahdi had apologized, so the matter was settled. The other Amazons he'd fought? They had fought for their reasons and he was okay with not questioning them about it.

Why? He was conscious of his conspicuous status as a 'guest', knew he was in no way an Amazon, and was not privy to what motivated them. He didn't want to be an Amazon. He had his own, much younger, martial tradition he was proud of, yet was eager to learn from the vastly greater Amazon war lore because 'winners' didn't have a gender-bias and no other tradition could compete with the Amazons' 3,000 years.

Under normal circumstances, the women around him wouldn't have given credence to his praise. He was a male after all. Through the tiny tear I'd created in their insulating social fabric, Chaz was building upon his own exploits. In the after-battle analysis, the Amazons reflected on the realization Elsa had concentrated on him as her number two objective, second only to Pamela who scared everyone who knew anything about her. That bolstered Chaz's appeal.

For the Amazons who thought a male would get all pouty and cry over being beaten up by a girl/girls, Chaz was breaking the mold. He wasn't angry. He was amused. The fight had been a learning experience and he'd felt honored to watch, no matter how briefly, a warrior of Elsa's caliber fight. He'd explained 'I', Cáel Wakko Ishara, considered Elsa one of the top 5 combatants I'd ever seen, which included Ajax the Unconquered. The others were Sakuniyas, reborn Amazon and former Queen of Assyria, Saint Marie, the Golden Mare, and Pamela, the Cliff-walker.

More happy Amazons because the list's only non-Amazon was a dead Hero from the Trojan Wars and it was well known I 'got around' (aka dealt with violent outsiders.) Chaz was telling the truth, almost. The 'fifth' person on the list was Alal, but explaining him would be difficult, so Chaz edited him for this particular audience. Good man.

In the hallway, "Tavi, a moment," I called out. She slowed down, took a few more steps allowing me to catch up.

"Yes Ishara?" she gave me her best neutral look. Yep. She was jealous.

"I beg two favors from you," I quickly went down to one knee in her path. That caught her off guard and left her in the awkward position of me being terribly close and staring up at her.

"I, I will listen," she muttered.

"I would like to know if you are pregnant," I asked very softly. Yes, she was, but she didn't want to tell me. She contemplated pushing past me. It would be very easy. "I know I am stepping beyond the boundaries between warriors. Please. My destiny has brought you two together. I am at fault here." 'Fault' was the key word.

"If I have a son, he will be given to the Queen," Tavi's face was stern and unforgiving. "He will live."

"That's not what he's worried about," I shook my head. "He wants to be a father to your daughter, Tavi. He wants to introduce you to his mother and grandmothers, maybe his sisters too, if that can be arranged."

"Huh?"

"He is not like me, Tavi. There is no other in his life, but you."

"I, I will not leave my House for him," she protested angrily.

"He would never ask you. That doesn't mean he doesn't want to remain at your side for years to come. He can be a father to your child and not be a part of House Stolgos in the same way you can be a mother to your child and not be a part of Clan Tomorrow."

"Oh," she furrowed her brow. "How would this possibly work?"

"I have an 'in' with the Queen," I winked. "I'll work out something."

"He knows I will never stop being an Amazon," she elucidated intensely.

"Absolutely. He is an intelligence operative after all. He's figured a few things out for himself."

"Why doesn't he tell me these things?"

"Tavi, he threw his body on top of me to shield me from a bomb blast, so he's undoubtedly brave, but telling you what is in his heart is scary for him. As his brother, I see behind his silence,"

"Oh, what should I do?" she was vexed.

"Go back in there, demand to speak with him and tell him the truth," I stood up.

"The truth?"

"That you are going to have a little StolgosTomorrow-ite running around sometime next year," I exuded confidential friendliness.

"Cáel Ishara," she tilted her head slightly, "you don't know much about infants, do you?"

"Nope," I pseudo-confessed. I actually did know something about newborns. I'd studied up so I could make a move on a cute girl whose free time was eaten up by babysitting, so I 'helped out'. Oink.

"They aren't 'running around'," she turned to head back into the gym, "until the ninth month at the earliest. Normally, running doesn't happen until the eighteenth month."

"My fiancé has a three-year old, so she should be able to help me through some of the hardest parts," I babbled along. Tavi didn't give a crap.

In we went. Tavi stormed straight toward the bevy of Amazon babes concentrating on 'her' Chaz.

"Color Sergeant Tomorrow," she abruptly interrupted. "A moment of your time."

"Ladies," Chaz uncoiled himself from the surrounding women. The Amazons were either mildly pu

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 20

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Thu, 20 Aug 2026 13:55:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 20

The 5 guys struggle for survival

Book 3 in 21 parts, By FinalStand.

Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Pulau Setan Wanita, Indonesia - Island Of The Devil Women.

The 150 Condottieri mercenaries stealthed onto the Island of the Devil Women pre-dawn, but waited until the island was fully awake before launching their assault. They did this because the majority of the women slept in one conjoined area while during the day, they spread out, thus were hopefully easier to overwhelm in bite-sized chunks.

When the attack went in, Khalid Adzharia, Brian Fung and Trent Grant were in different areas of the Havenstone compound. When neither was being milked of their seed, they had jobs to perform on the island. Neither was permitted a job which allowed them access to either transport off the island nor any long-range communication gear. All computer access was monitored and by LAN line only.

Trent Grant remained a financial investigator though he currently reported to someone not nearly as high up in that branch of Havenstone as he once enjoyed. Brian was in the same boat in Acquisitions with the high hopes of working himself up in importance to the point he would leave this prison-island; at which time he would leave Havenstone for good.

Khalid, who had been there the longest, had a different outlook on things. He realized this was where his life ended. There would be no escape unless he managed to vacate the island under his own power and with his own initiative. Worse; for him; he had begun to develop an emotional attachment to three of the ladies on the island. He was screwing them constantly even after being milked.

Worst of all; one of the ladies was now pregnant with a child who could only be his. All the 'old male' population had been sent away (exterminated) so he, Brian and Trent were it, on an island of roughly five hundred Amazons. Neither of those two men had the stones to cross him on this matter and he'd made it clear to both those three women were 'his'. The surveillance officers monitoring the trio found that sense of male possessiveness 'amusing'.

Trent? Trent had developed a personal hatred for Brooke and, by association, all the women in her sorority. After all, Trent had all his lies perfectly balanced inside Havenstone only to have Brooke stop by and fuck things up for him. Now he was a prisoner, milked of his seed daily and was constantly being hit on by a bevy of beautiful Indonesian women. His predicament was All Brooke's fault.

Like Khalid, he realized the only escape from this feminist hell was in his own capable hands. Again, the security women tasked with monitoring the two of the three found their plans to escape to be amateurish and filled with a willful misunderstanding of what Amazons were all about; aka they were all sneaky bitches.

They had tracking devices sown into their clothes along with some of their jewelry; offered to them by women the men had slept with as signs of their gratitude for being chosen; being tiny microphones. All their plans were immediately reported and recorded for further examination; in case there were actually any flaws in the island's security.

The one monitoring Brian was deeply depressed though. Her 'guy' was an utterly dull ignoramus. He made no realistic plans to escape, formed no essential bonds with any of his captors nor with his fellow prisoners, and was an otherwise diligent little weasel. These Indonesian Amazons didn't hold much reverence for the weasel btw.

The Condottieri did a good job of spoofing the island's defensive net. Their one mistake was purely accidental. As they closed in one of the office complexes, they stumbled upon and were encountered by two Amazons out for an early morning run. They were avid joggers who normally 'did their thing' around dusk, but had an important teleconference that night so improvised.

Even as the two ladies went for their sidearms they were 'neutralized' by the Condottieri squad they'd encountered. At the main security hut, the guardian on duty noted two heart signals spike; then stop. The odds of both having immediately fatal accidents was so unlikely as to be impossible.

Even as she reported the incident to her superior, she put the whole island on silent alarm. If nothing else, it would be a good surprise exercise for her fellow Amazons. All around the island, the women went into instantaneous defense mode, gathered up their assault rifles & PDWs and, not being attacked, went hunting for their attackers. That was standard protocols.

Back at the security base, all those Amazons went for their body armor first. It was normally too hot and humid during the summer day to wear them. That accomplished, they dispatched their sole squad of SD's (Security Detail) to the sight of the first incident; the death of the two runners.

At the same time the on-sight Condottieri commander accelerated his own plans, indicating all units to immediately launch their assault on the closest work areas instead of waiting for all the other teams to be in place. In one instance, a Condo team ran smack into the stealthing forward SD team. Bullets were exchanged.

The SD came out on top as they were more accustomed to making head shots than their opponents. They also reported their situation to the Security base before continuing to advance. Since ten men invading the island made no tactical sense, the islands 'War Chief' went to full alert; it was time to hunt down and exterminate the enemy presence in their home.

The Condottieri leader knew he was in trouble when one team reported coming to the sanitation work base only to find it unoccupied; those Amazons were already out hunting down their foes, while another detailed the alertness of the Amazons in the area they were assaulting. The sounds of automatic weapon's fire and grenade explosions began echoing all over the island.

Gunless.

Needless to say none of the men had firearms though they knew each Amazon was armed with a knife and pistol. They also knew were they kept the heavier weaponry yet were afraid to approach that area of the complex because they had little doubt the Amazons would shoot through any human shield they had just to make them suffer. Besides, none of them knew the combination to the gun locker; yet.

When death came calling, each man approached the situation differently. Brian's Acquisition section was in the same part of the complex as Banking. There, day in and day out, he looked over prospective properties for the Amazons to purchase. His reviews were entered into the system by another Amazon. Gaining so much knowledge of how the Amazons operated, he promised himself he would one day expose them, once he was safely away, of course.

"Pick up the pistol," hissed a coworker across the hall where Brian cowered. He was not so much terrified; he was definitely afraid, but not unmanned by it; as he didn't feel this was his fight, so why become involved? The Amazon supervisor had been moving down the hall, when she was suddenly taken out by a sound-suppressed PDW. She had dropped her pistol as she expired.

The two of them; the coworker Amazon and Brian; were now being pinned down by that same fire pattern and the lone Amazon wasn't enough to keep them at bay for long.

"Pick up the damn pistol," she growled his way, and then the grenade came bouncing down the hallway.

It went off, stunning him and knocking him over, further into his cubicle. When he came to a man in jungle camouflage came rushing forward and put a three-round burst into the woman across the hall; he thought her name was Citra; then turned on Brian.

"Don't shoot," Brian pleaded. "I'm a guy; their prisoner. I can tell you all kinds of things about their organization. Please, don't kill me."

"Command; I have a male prisoner here," the merc said over his mouth mic. "Roger that."

"Let's go," the man directed. "We are getting you out of here."

Brian couldn't help but smile. He was escaping and sooner than either of those other two idiots were. He wanted to laugh out loud, but decided against it. The merc pushed him ahead of him and the two began racing away from the battlefield. Indeed, Brian had escaped, but only into Condottieri's cruel custody.

Trent and Brian.

Trent's space in Financial Investigations was larger than Brian's small unit. Because of that it received attention from two Condottieri squads, moving in from different directions, trying to catch the Amazons in a crossfire. It almost worked too. Only the team's supervisor's quick thinking kept that from happening. Still, their situation was dire.

"Here," Laras, the team supervisor handed Trent a pistol. "Today, everyone fights."

"I, this isn't my fight," he shook his head. Laras glared. She was about to turn away when Trent called out, "Wait! I'll do it."

She gave him the firearm and pointed to a thick support column.

"Stay there and be prepared for Amazons to fall back to your position if things get bad," the Amazon commanded. Almost as an afterthought she gave him a spare magazine as well.

As she rushed off in another direction, Trent contemplated shooting her. At the last moment, before he raised the gun, he decided he didn't mind the captivity as much as he would risk trying to join up with the attackers. After all, they could be much, much worse. Instead he took his position at the column, and just in time. He saw a grenade flying through the air, coming his way.

He ducked behind the column and hunkered down. The grenade went off as an airburst blew less debris in his direction. It was still a staggering experience. Trent shook the cobwebs out of his brain then peaked around the column in the direction the grenade came from. Two men in body armor and camouflage clothing were rushing forward toward the downed Amazons in his section.

"Fuck this shit," he muttered before steading the pistol with his left hand. He was by no means a marksman, but had taken an anti-kidnapping course when he was eighteen. Up came the pistol and he began firing. Alternating between the two combatants every two shots until he was empty.

"Oh God," he nearly wept. "I'm about to die." Neither man was dead.

Then a body slammed into him, knocking him to the floor. He was about to start showing the fucker some martial arts moves when he realized it was an office worker of his; Nadia by name; and she had brought along a coworker Trent had never gotten to know all that well. Those two ladies brought up their PDW's and opened up on the two men Trent had been holding at bay.

Trent crawled back behind the column and behind Nadia. When she stopped to reload, she stole the pistol from his grasp, popped out the magazine and reloaded for him; even chambering the round.

"Good job Trent," she grinned. "Now let's kill these bastards."

"I; ah; okay," he meekly agreed. Honestly, he was terrified, but even the changing dynamic; his gun being reloaded; hadn't changed the prisoner-warden mindset which drove him to survive. Off the two women went, Trent in tow. Battle wasn't as glorious as his ancestors had described. It was awful and he never wanted to experience that again if he could help it.

The Assault.

While Trent's group sought out financial opportunities within the scope of Havenstone's possessions, or new acquisitions, Khalid's group sought out the same information concerning operations of Havenstone's enemies. Though he had never admitted it, even to himself, he relished the challenge. This was some James Bond bullshit he was caught up in here at Havenstone.

When the assault began, he was at the water cooler, chatting up his; he hated the term; baby mamma. She and the other Amazons found his lack of understanding of the pregnancy situation to be amusing. After all, she had only known a week thus was only seven weeks in that condition. Then the silent alarm went off.

"I didn't know we were having a drill?" Mutia, his lover, commented.

"Then this might not be a drill," one of his coworkers replied. The ladies began sprinting toward the gun locker even as they checked the readiness of their sidearms. At the locker the supervisor was directing the women to their battle stations; Mutia was in the 'reaction force'; even as another Amazon handed out the assault weapons and the bandolier of spare magazines.

"What are you doing here?" the supervisor asked him. "Go back to your station and take cover there."

"No," Khalid protested. "I want one. This is my home too."

"Wait here," the supervisor said. Khalid nodded.

"How do we know you can be trusted?" she asked once the last of the Amazons had been armed and rushed off to their station.

"Mutia is carrying my child," Khalid explained. "That is who I'm fighting for."

"Here," the supervisor said," as she repeated the process with Khalid. "Join the 'reaction force'. When there is a breach, you will go to it. Kill everyone who isn't one of us."

"Understood," Khalid nodded. Inside of him a fury was building, but for the first time in months it wasn't aimed at any woman, or group of women.

Someone was threatening his lover and his child, for fuck's sake. They had to pay. Khalid jogged off to join Mutia and the others. The supervisor began going over her positions so was on the opposite side of the building when the Condo team blew an emergency door and penetrated the building from that direction. In this case, their object was not just to kill as many Amazons as possible, but to locate their on sight computer network and download whatever sensitive data lay within.

As the sounds of the fighting echoed through the building, the supervisor ordered the 'reaction force' to proceed to the 'sound of the guns'. Khalid, ahead of the others, began jogging in the general direction of the bullets.

"Khalid, wait," Mutia called out.

"They are going to the computer room," he intuited. "We need to hurry."

With him in the lead, the Amazons rushed to keep up. Khalid was saved by the expedience of the Condottieri sentry looking the other way for an instance combined with the sponginess of the wooden floor absorbing the sound of his foot falls. The two men collided, but Khalid was both the bigger man and consumed by rage. He slammed the stock of his PDW into the man's face once; twice; three times. As the enemy slumped down, he stomped on his neck, breaking it.

"Let's go," he whispered to the rather impressed Amazons.

And Khalid led the way. As the 'reaction force' burst into the Computer Room, they caught the Condo's unprepared for their sudden arrival. Bullets began to fly around the room. In the exchange of lead, Mutia was hit in the chest; a really bad wound. Seeing that, something inside Khalid snapped. His military lineage was nothing compared to that of Trent, but some of his poorer relations had gone on to become police officers.

Still, he had an ancestor in the 54th Massachusetts Regiment in the Civil War. When he first saw the film Glory his heart had swelled with pride. In that instance, he felt that ancestor calling to him the way Denzel Washington's character had cried out to his fellow warriors in that climactic final scene. After that, he didn't remember much else.

In the classic sense, he went berserk. He fired his weapon on fully automatic until it was empty then he charged. He was hit twice yet refused to succumb to the shock and pain. He slammed into the closest Condottieri, lifted the man up and threw him at two others. He jumped on that jumbled pile of humans attacking with inhuman ferocity.

His fists, forearms, elbows, knees and feet were all weapons and he didn't stop until an Amazon pulled him off. Then she finished off the mangled men with her pistol; each earned a shot to the nose bridge. For a second no one said a thing.

"We've got a breach on the other side of the building," the Amazon related. "Can you still carry on?"

"Sure," he slurred slightly, coming down from that organic combat high.

"You've been shot twice and stabbed once, so I'm just curious," she pointed out.

Khalid looked down at his own bloody body then back up to the Amazon.

"Mutia?"

"She might pull through," the Amazon shrugged.

"Let's go then," he shook his head a few times to clear the lingering cobwebs. The Amazon took his PDW from him, put in a fresh magazine then returned it before turning and headed out the room, Khalid followed along to the best of his ability. Only later did Mutia explain things to him. He hadn't experienced 'Black Rage'. What he had gone through was much older and more primal; a trance-like fury in which he never lost focus on who the enemy was; and who wasn't.

It was something the Amazons had a long history with; those special warriors who could set aside pain and debilitating wounds for the sake of one's people. His hate had never been focused on the Amazons, and that was a critical thing and noted by all who saw him fight, or recover.

"Maybe we were wrong about you," the supervisor said to him after the battle was over and the surviving Condottieri had escaped back to their boats.

Even then, over eighty littered the island dead; the Amazons were not interested in taking prisoners. In contrast, the Amazons suffered thirty-eight dead and seventy-one wounded enough to need some time to recuperate. Khalid and Trent; but mostly Khalid; were given new respect by the Amazons and the offer was given for them to return to 'the World' and Havenstone if they so desired.

Brian had been recaptured, but also was given the possibility of returning to the outside world. After all, his genetics hadn't turned out to be all that exceptional when put in the crucible of battle. Needless to say, all three men agreed to return to the World. Captivity, no matter how attractive, or meaningful, was still slavery in their minds.

Brian signed every bit of paper they put before him, such was his anxiety about being caught trying to escape with the Condottieri. Trent signed with greater trepidation. Though he had acted with some sense of martial ability, his heart hadn't been it. Khalid showed the most regret and it took both Trent and a recovering Mutia to convince him to return to his world and his family.

Since he harbored the desire to see his child come into the world, he decided to remain in Havenstone; not even a 'Runner', just a male. When he finally met up with Cáel and Felix, he was clearly surprised they'd both made it on the outside. The lunch they shared on Khalid's second day back in New York City was eye opening for the lot of them that was for sure. Still, each of the five of the New Hires had survived, in one form or another.

Finally Back Home

Havenstone Headquarters, New York City

I biked into work early Tuesday morning. I had spent most of Sunday recovering from the Great Hunt and my grievous wounds inflicted on me by Elsa. Monday had been devoured by my flight from Buenos Aires to New York. I had stumbled into my apartment late Monday night to find Odette, Timothy and Sovann waiting for me.

They hugged me and congratulated me on my victory in the Great Hunt without me telling them a damn thing. They read it on my face and in my posture. Afterwards I showered and went to bed. Odette cuddled up next to me, but didn't demand sex so I went without. I was so damn tired inside and out from the three day ordeal.

Felix Shines.

In my mind's eye, I went back over the events as they unfolded, Felix's stunning reversal of fortune saving my ass, and even my whispered memory from Alal. I made a mental note to contact my blood brother, the Great Khan, and thank him for his gift of the ninja team which also saved our combined asses on more than one occasion.

Yet, real sleep evaded me. Instead I was submerged in a combination of my own thoughts and memories with those of Alal; is growing up into his powers and the secrets he had seized from the Ancient World as well as his own current immortality; his avatar of willpower

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 19

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Wed, 19 Aug 2026 13:53:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 19.

The Great Hunt.

Book 3 in 19 parts, By FinalStand.

Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

â€˜The Hunt is never an easy thing because in the Wild there are things which hunt the hunters'

September 11^th: First Day Of The Great Hunt

Central Argentina

Felix was still nursing his hurt hand when I came back from my Ishara-space.

"Well?" he smirked.

"Plenty of good news," I smirked right back from the place where I had dropped when Felix had cold-cocked me. "Suffice it to say the weather on the final day will be in our favor; no more precise answer than that from the goddess SzÃ©lAnya; plus our horses will not throw us, or give away our position. That's from the Goddess Epona by the way."

"Finally, the Goddess Ishara will be watching over us and our travails... she will send omens to warn us of hunters closing in as well as talk to me in my dreams. Apparently she doesn't want me; us; to shame her in this contest so is taking this competition seriously. Mind you, this means the other goddesses will be taking this contest seriously as well, so we have our work cut out for us again."

"What is Ishara the Goddess of again?" the teased me.

"Oaths, love and medicine," I repeated my answer.

"Fine," the grinned, "is there any goddess in my corner?"

"None that bothered talking to me," I snorted. "Want me to knock you out and see what you can see?"

"Nah... I'm Felix Melena. I work better alone."

"You mean in alone in a team of two, right?"

"Yeah; a team of four actually, Nyilas. Don't forget our mounts," Felix motioned to our two horses.

I was ecstatic because they had brought Peppermint down from 'Summer Camp' for this romp through the Pampas. To me she was the perfect mare for this endeavor.

Felix had been gifted with a spirited gelding named 'Thunderbolt'; 'Rayo' in Spanish. He was a black haired beast with white sox and a white diamond on his forehead. Felix had wanted a stallion, but the Horse-mistresses of Epona had nixed that choice as highly impractical for a horse-virgin such as himself. I had to agree as stallions had far too much spirit and the likelihood of one making noise when it smelled an unknown mare was far too high... so a gelding it was.

Not that an 'unknown' mare was that much of a possibility. See, we had been put down where the other thirty huntresses would also be starting from; a makeshift corral our host Freehold had put together as the entrance to some 'badlands' in which the hunt would be taking place. There ten Amazons; with their own mounts; manned the place, fed the horses and made sure no one cheated out of the starting gate.

We had our 24 hours head start on our pursuers, but that didn't turn out to be the huge edge we thought it would be. We were given the first part of our map... which led to the area we would find our second part of our map... and so on until sometime late Saturday night, or Sunday morning, we would find the final part of our map which would direct us to where our extraction point would be.

We were to be extracted at Noon; not sunset as we had originally been told; on Sunday. Actually, anytime between ten minutes before to ten minutes after... so fair this was not seeing as we were novice outdoorsmen. Still, those were the rules we were given so off we went early Thursday morning. In the truest Amazon fashion, this was to be a contest which required the utmost skill and endurance to win.

Heading out, Felix and I were deciding on what the enemy strategy, or strategies, would be. We figured some would start by simply trailing us seeing as how they were better both at tracking as well as doing so from horseback. The second group would follow a different, but equally difficult 'Treasure Hunt' toward our final point of extraction and wait for us there.

I reminded Felix that neither he nor I nor any of the Amazons would be riding our horses to death, or even injury, because that wasn't the Amazon way. Such callous disregard for one's mount wasn't in them and we had to follow that dictum, or suffer irreparable harm to our own 'honor' should we do so and somehow win. Doing so and losing... we decided to not even go there.

This also meant we had to take time for our horses to graze and find water for them to drink along the way. After getting that lecture, Felix wondered out loud if it wouldn't be a better idea for us to let our horses loose and 'hoofing' it ourselves seeing as how the Amazons would also have to follow the same horse etiquette. I had to remind him reluctantly how much faster horses could travel. Horses were the way to go.

The difference was there was no rapid charging across the landscape with the Sun at our backs as we headed out. No, we took it at a steady trot until we hit our first terrain feature; a steady gradient cut in the side of a canyon which had been created over the millennia by the forces of wind and rain. Down we went. Our horizon sunk down until all we had were the walls of the canyon.

Our map directed us to take this route to the first 'treasure horde', whatever that was. By the way we were moving and how the Sun slowly crawled up above us; recall it was almost 'spring' down under; we figure we were making good progress toward our first target... which we located without too much hassle around noon.

It was a Bonanza! Not for us, but for the horses. We had four bags of grain for our mounts. We humans received some sort of indescribable jerky (since it was probably not human we decided to eat it... later [it turned out to be the local flightless bird and it tasted like chicken jerk jerky too!]). There was also the second part of our map which led us farther out into the wilderness. Off we went.

Third Treasure Trove.

By evening we had found our third treasure trove. The second had contained two compasses and two hatchets (Yippee!). The third had contained two sections of twenty-five meter rope and some flint and tinder so we could start a fire. Felix was all for this as it was butt-numbing cold already and we were damn tired from a day full of riding.

We compromised by creating a banked fire. We also decided to sleep instead of pushing on. It was pretty dark outside even with the three-quarters Moon above. We definitely didn't want to walk our mounts into something which could bring them up lame this early in the contest. I assured Felix we couldn't abandon them and leading them would be torture. Essentially we would be disqualified.

I won the compass toss and got to sleep the first part of the night. Felix woke me around Moon-set and then I kept watch; there were predators about, or so we believed; until sunrise. Then we ate the last of the jerky, fed and watered our mounts then head out once more. This time our hearts began to hammer within their cages and every noise had sinister implications.

See, the Amazons are cheating bitches of all cheating bitches and could have started after us at 12:01 last night and pushed on following our trail through the night. Being expert horsewomen and spectacular trackers they could do shit like that. We, their prey, had to be clever in other ways. What those ways were weren't relatively apparent though.

Maybe Pamela could show up and, after slapping me upside my head, give me a clue. No Pamela arrived though so we were on our own. Shortly after the Sun crested the canyon walls; we kept to the canyons just in case; we came across the fourth 'trove'... and it was chilling. We received two binoculars and some more jerky (it was to be our lunch). The binoculars were the chilling part because if WE had some then most likely the Amazons behind us had some as well.

Also, the way from our fourth treasure to out fifth put us in the horns of a dilemma. We could either cut over the sides of the canyon to where the fifth treasure trove/map was, or keep to the canyon and travel three times the distance. After a quick discussion followed by some 'rock-paper-scissors' (complete with a prayer to Dot Ishara), I won, so up and over the side we went.

To reduce the size of our silhouette, we dismounted and led our horses across the... and stumbled across a herd of cattle; Sweet Mother Ishara! We moved through the herd, waved to the accompanying Amazon gaucho, and went on our way. Felix muttered something about my 'dumb' luck. He-he-he-he-he... We talked to the gaucho, turned on the charm and convinced her to not tell any of our pursuers we had come by this way.

She was like nineteen years old and I could tell really took a shine to Felix... so he promised to come back and visit her the moment he won the contest. After we departed her and her track-erasing herd of cattle, I pulled him aside.

"You had better keep that promise to that girl. If you don't, she and her kinfolk will hunt your ass down and tag you like a mule deer in the Yellowstone," I cautioned him.

"I know. I know," he grinned. "These are some crazy ass bitches. Besides, being the lone male in a freehold of women has its own appeal."

I thought we were in safe territory again when Felix finally asked that doom-laden question.

"Cáel , where have all their dudes gotten off to?"

'Oh shit', I mused. How much of the truth could Felix handle?

"I'm only telling you this because I like you," I said then took a deep breath. "They sold them to the Nine Clans... they are a bunch of assassins."

"Really?" he studied me. Like he was going to catch me in a lie after four years of dating the most dangerous game on this Earth; girlfriends.

"Really. Where do you think they get those legion of ninja and combat fighters from? Sure their life expectancy isn't what we have, but it is much better than they would have if they stayed home." There was some part of the truth in that.

"That seems... short-sighted."

"What do you think guys like us are for? Now they won't have to kidnap local passer-byers for weeklong orgies."

"How come words has never gotten out about this?" Felix was relentless.

"It has from time to time, but Havenstone makes sure such reports are relegated to the realm of tabloids and UFO aficionados. If that doesn't work, they bribe some people to bury the story. If that doesn't work, they kill some people."

"Now that I believe," Felix nodded.

"That they kill people to keep their secrets?"

"Absolutely. They look like the kind of girlfriend who wouldn't be happy unless she burns your balls before your eyes after you break up."

"How succinct," I nodded back.

"So, are we ever going to see Khalid, Trent, or Brian again?"

"Sure... they are only being kept prisoners and milked of their seeds... but I can arrange for you go to go meet them if you really want to," I offered.

"No thanks," Felix shook his head then grinned. "They washed out while only you and I remain. Let me find them on my own and get some sort of permission from Ms. Love (Katrina) first. I thought Khalid was kind of cool and Trent was the kind of brother I could invite out for a beer, or ten."

"Not Brian?"

"Brian was too invested in himself and his weevil-ing ways. I couldn't trust him at my back, or with my girl. Mind you, I wouldn't trust you with my girl either, but we are otherwise okay."

"Smart move. I have exceedingly low impulse control around the ladies plus an over-developed libido."

"Yeah," he smiled my way. "I'd trust you in a knife fight, but not with someone I loved. You are way too smooth, Nyilas. Way too smooth."

"What brought that revelation on?"

"Ms. Lee (Brooke). Normally I can mend any fence with any girl I come across, but not with her after she'd been with you. I admire that," he studied me.

"So, are you and Gene going to be a regular thing?"

"Yeah. I think so. I still expect me to be getting plenty of tail at Havenstone once I win this thing, but having a less-lethal girl on the outside wouldn't suck either."

So much like me... I admired that about the guy.

"Once we win, don't ya mean?"

"Sure thing, Nyilas," he chuckled. "I figure it helps me to help you across the finish line. The better standing you end up in the better an ally you make back at work."

"That reminds me; Katrina told me they are going to spin this; your participation in this inaugural Great Hunt is that all sins are forgiven; yadda, yadda, yadda. Thus you still walking around Havenstone being the bad boy you are."

"Clever lady and always thinking ahead. Is she seeing anybody?"

"No, and dude, you don't want to go there. She is far too clever by half to fall for any of our reindeer games. She scares me," I cautioned him.

"All the more reason to pursue her," he snorted.

"Go for it," I shrugged. Hey, I'd warned the guy.

"What about that blonde number I saw you with... Elsa was it?"

Oh, he knew exactly who Elsa was, but he was acting all nonchalant about his treatment at her hands.

"Yeah. Elsa. What about her?"

"Is she in your stable?"

"Nope. Not really," I shrugged. "Going after her too?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Good luck with that," I sighed. He'd learn the hard way.

"There is something you are not telling me."

"Yeah. She has the hots for me. Wants to own me... and not in a good way."

"Oh... is that your way of cautioning me to be wary of her?"

"Most definitely. Elsa is one scary lady and she already knows who and what we both are."

"What are we?" he was eyeballing me again.

"Hunters on the prowl. Guys who like a challenge. In your case, the guy who only wants the best. I'm more of an omnivore."

"You mean you are a man-slut," he snorted.

"Got me," I chuckled.

"So, you think she's out of my league?"

"No. I think she is Katrina's friend and Katrina sees right through both of us. Elsa might not have those interpersonal skills, but she's twice as lethal. Trust me on that; I've fought her."

"How tough was she?"

"Beat me black and blue then choked me out because I wouldn't surrender."

"Oh... I'd like to get her on the mats."

"Good luck with that then. Become a 'Runner' and there is even more I can tell you about her. Right now it is all simply in-house stuff."

"Corporate confidentiality details, eh? Executive Services purview and stuff like that. Man, I was wrong to look down on your branch of service. I apologize."

"Why thank you. I honestly never thought I'd get a sincere apology from you."

"I can be wrong once in your lifetime," Felix laughed, "and I'm man enough to admit it."

"Oh... and thanks for the sim-cards. They helped me get off that deserted atoll."

"No problem. That was Katrina's idea though."

"Well, you got them to us so surreptitiously the Chinese suspected nothing."

"Don't you mean those rogue Albanians?"

"Yeah... them too," I laughed along with him.

"I think we can be friends, Nyilas," he grinned.

"I think so too. I didn't think so originally. On the first day you and the others treated me like the country bumpkin, but now I think you see me as a survivor... just like you."

"Precisely. You know I had the option of leaving Havenstone... no matter how this affair turns out."

"And you didn't take it? Who offered you this opportunity anyway?"

"Katrina."

"It might have been a ruse," I warned him. "These bitches don't play fair."

"I took that into account... but I love the challenge of this place. It is like no other work environment on Earth. Challenges every day, hot women all around, and the chance to risk my life on a monthly basis. Screw regular corporate America. I've found the place where I belong."

Felix sounded so enthusiastic. I hoped he understood the fate he was embracing. I also hoped he found a niche in Havenstone which allowed him to live out his life... hopefully a long, long life. Maybe I should warn him about the 'cliffs'? Perhaps once we had won and were safely back in Havenstone's motherly embrace.

Hiding.

Fortune favored us backtracking from our seventh treasure trove; our dinner and more grain for the horses. A few birds flew up out of the brush ahead of us. I took that as a sign from Ishara.

"Felix," I hissed. "Hide!"

We looked around and found a draw away from the main canyon floor for us to slink into. I used some brush to cover our side tracks then ran back to cover.

No sooner had I gotten there than two Amazons came trotting past us. The lead one was Svetlana Inara and she was tracking us from the saddle. The second one was Beatrice Astarte who was scanning the environment as they moved together following our trail up this vein of the canyon. As soon as they were around the next corner of the vein, Felix and I mounted up and raced down the other way.

The sand floor covered our hoof-falls and we had to go that way anyway. We had barely covered the distance to the next draw when we spotted two more Amazons following our earlier trail this way. We had Two Amazon parties on our trail and it wasn't even Friday night yet! This group spotted us and gave chase. They must have ridden their horses hard to get this far because we quickly left them in our dust.

This allowed us to slow down a bit and deviate over to where the eight 'treasure' was. Our map had us going back down his particular draw which I thought was most unwise, so we went over the lip of the draw dismounted and led our horses at a rapid run; for us humans; across the greater landscape. Thank SzÃ©lAnya, a late afternoon rainstorm fell upon us as we dropped down into the next vein of the canyon before the pursuing Amazons crested the draw we had exited.

We walked through the rain until the sun set then debated what to do next. We were going to need light to figure out where the eighth treasure was at; they were all somewhat hidden. We had to keep moving no matter what because we doubted the Amazons on our asses were going to let up. We decided when we got close to the eighth treasure horde I would do the searching while Felix stood watch on the entrance to the draw.

Using a hatchet I cut off a branch from a bush and set it alight so I could see what I was doing. It took me twenty long minutes to figure out where the treasure was hidden... night-vision goggles and the map to the ninth map piece. Gleefully, I went back down to where Felix was except... no Felix. Oh Shit! I slipped back and put on my night-vision goggles, got a hatchet at the ready and returned, scanning about.

I spotted one Amazon... she was Carla Nemain... and I recalled her being teamed with Ella Mielikki. Anyway, I tried to sneak up on Carla and it almost worked. At the last moment the cloud cover cleared and the three-quarters Moon revealed me. She spun on me with twin fighting sticks while I tried to brain her with the flat side of my hatchet.

Yours truly took two punishing blows to his ribs while only clipping her with my hatchet. Still, the blow appeared to cause her to stumble so I pressed my advantage. I knocked one of her two sticks out of her hand then missed twice. I thought I heard someone coming up hard behind me. Well... fuck!

"What do you have?" Carla grumbled. "Are you trying to kill me?"

I kept silent, pulling out my second hatchet and pressing my luck a little further. I disarmed her and then hammered her down with a hatchet to the top of her skull. Down she went. I spun around just in time to see Ella Mielikki coming at me with a lasso. She launched it a second too late and I was ab

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 18

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Tue, 18 Aug 2026 13:52:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 18.

Can You Segue?

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

So exactly who was going to be sympathetic to their plight, who we cared about?

Beyond my fevered dream of making a difference there was a pinch of reality. See, the Cabindans and the people of Zaire were both ethnic Bakongo and the Bakongo of Zaire had also once had their own, independent (until 1914) kingdom which was now part of Angola. The Bakongo were major factions in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC)

(formerly for a short time known as the nation of Zaire, from here on out to be referred to as the DRC and in the running for the most fucked up place on the planet Earth, more on that later)

- and Congo (the nation) yet a minority in Angola. Having an independent nation united along ethnic and linguistic lines made sense and could expect support from their confederates across international boundaries.

The Liberation Air Force

The Earth and Sky operated under one constant dilemma; when would Temujin make his return? Since they didn't know and it was their job to be prepared for the eventuality if it happened tomorrow, or a century down the line, they 'stockpiled', and 'stockpiled' and 'stockpiled'.

That was why they maintained large horse herds and preserved the ancient arts of Asian bowyers, armoring and weapons-craft. That was why they created secret armories, and sulfur and saltpeter sites when musketry and cannons became the new ways of warfare. They secured sources of phosphates and petroleum when they became the new thing, and so on.

All of this boiled over to me being shown yet again I worked with clever, creative and under-handed people. The Khanate came up with a plan for a 'Union' Air Force {Union? More on that later} within 24 hours, and it barely touched any of their existing resources. How did they accomplish this miracle? They had stockpiled and maintained earlier generation aircraft because they didn't know when Temujin would make his re-appearance.

They'd also trained pilots and ground crews for those aircraft. As you might imagine, those people grew old just as their equipment did. In time, they went into the Earth and Sky's Inactive Reserves; the rank and file over the age of 45. You never were 'too old' to serve in some capacity though most combat-support related work ended at 67.

When Temujin made his return and the E and S transformed into the Khanate, those people went to work bringing their lovingly cared for, aging equipment up to combat-alert readiness. If the frontline units were decimated, they would have to serve, despite the grim odds of their survival. It was the terrible acceptance the Chinese would simply possess so much more war-making material than they did.

Well, the Khanate kicked the PRC's ass in a titanic ass-whooping no one (else) had seen coming, or would soon forget. Factory production and replacement of worn machines was in stride to have the Khanate's Air Force ready for the next round of warfare when the Cease-fire ended and the Reunification War resumed.

Always a lower priority, the Khanate military leadership was considering deactivating dozens of these reserve unit when suddenly the (Mongolian) Ikh khaany khairt akh dÃƒÂ¡ÃƒÂ© (me) had this hare-brained scheme about helping rebels in Africa, West Africa, along the Gulf of Guinea coast/Atlantic Ocean, far, far away, and it couldn't look like the Khanate was directly involved.

They barely knew where Angola was. They had to look up Cabinda to figure out precisely where that was. They brought in some of their 'reservist' air staff to this briefing and one of them, a woman (roughly a third of the E and S 'fighting'/non-frontline forces were female), knew what was going on. Why?

She had studied the combat records and performance of the types of aircraft she'd have to utilize... back in the 1980's and 90's and Angola had been a war zone rife with Soviet (aka Khanate) material back then. Since she was both on the ball, bright and knew the score, the War Council put her in overall command. She knew what was expected of her and off she went, new staff in hand. She was 64 years old, yet as ready and willing to serve as any 20 year old believer in the Cause.

Subtlety, scarcity and audacity were the watchwords of the day. The Khanate couldn't afford any of their front-line aircraft for this 'expedition'. They really couldn't afford any of their second-rate stuff either. Fortunately, they had some updated third-rate war-fighting gear still capable of putting up an impressive show in combat; providing they weren't going up against a top tier opponents.

For the 'volunteers' of the Union Air Force, this could very likely to be a one-way trip. They all needed crash courses (not a word any air force loves, I know) in Portuguese though hastily provided iPhones with 'apps' to act as translators were deemed to be an adequate stop-gap measure. Besides, they were advised to avoid getting captured at all cost. The E and S couldn't afford the exposure. Given the opportunity; this assignment really was going above and beyond; not one of these forty-six to sixty-seven year olds backed out.

No, they rolled out fifty of their antiquated aircraft, designs dating back to the 1950's through the mid-70's, and prepared them for the over 10,000 km journey to where they were 'needed most'. 118 pilots would go (72 active plus 46 replacements) along with 400 ground crew and an equally aged air defense battalion (so their air bases didn't get blown up). Security would be provided by 'outsiders'; allies already on the ground and whatever rebels could be scrounged up. After the initial insertion, the Indian Air Force would fly in supplies at night into the Cabinda City and Soyo Airports.

The composition,

14 Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-21 jet fighters; though she entered service in 1959, these planes' electronics were late 20th century and she was a renowned dogfighter. 12 were the Mig-21-97 modernized variant and the other two were Mig-21 UM two-seater trainer variants which could double as reconnaissance fighters if needed.

14 Sukhoi Su-22 jet fighter-bombers; the original design, called the Su-17, came out in 1970, the first 12 were variants with the 22M4 upgrade were an early-80's package. The other 2 were Su-22U two-seat trainers which, like their Mig-21 comrades, doubled as reconnaissance fighters. The Su-22M4's would be doing the majority of the ground attack missions for the Cabindans, though they could defend themselves in aerial combat if necessary.

6 Sukhoi Su-24M2 supersonic attack aircraft; the first model rolled off the production lines in the Soviet Union back in 1974. By far the heaviest planes in the Cabindan Air Force, the Su-24M2's would act as their 'bomber force' as well as anti-ship deterrence.

8 Mil Mi-24 VM combat helicopters; introduced in 1972 was still a lethal combat machine today. Unlike the NATO helicopter force, the Mi-24's did double duty as both attack helicopter and assault transports at the same time.

4 Mil Mi-8 utility helicopters, first produced in 1967. Three would act as troop/cargo transports (Mi-8 TP) while the fourth was configured as a mobile hospital (the MI-17 1VA).

4 Antonov An-26 turboprop aircraft, two to be used as tactical transports to bring in supplies by day and two specializing in electronic intelligence aka listening to what the enemy was up to. Though it entered production in 1969, many still remained flying today.

2 Antonov An-71M AEW and C twin-jet engine aircraft. These were an old, abandoned Soviet design the Earth and Sky had continued working on primarily because the current (1970's) Russian Airborne Early Warning and Control bird had been both huge and rather ineffective; it couldn't easily identify low-flying planes in the ground clutter so it was mainly only good at sea. Since the E and S planned to mostly fight over the land,

They kept working on the An-71 which was basically 1977's popular An-72 with some pertinent design modifications (placing the engines below the wings instead of above them as on the -72 being a big one). To solve their radar problem, they stole some from the Swedish tech firm Ericsson, which hadn't been foreseen to be a problem before now.

See, the Russians in the post-Soviet era created a decent AEW and C craft the E and S gladly stole and copied the shit out of for their front line units and it was working quite nicely; the Beriev A-50, and wow, were the boys in the Kremlin pissed off about that these days. Whoops, or was that woot?

Now, the Khanate was shipping two An-71's down to Cabinda and somewhere along the line someone just might get a 'feel' for the style of radar and jamming the Cabindans were using aka the Swedish stuff in those An-71's. The Erieye radar system could pick out individual planes at 280 miles. The over-all system could track 60 targets and plot out 10 intercepts simultaneously. NATO, they were not, but in sub-Saharan Africa, there were none better.

Anyway, so why was any of this important?

Why the old folks with their ancient machines? As revealed, since the Earth and Sky had no idea when TemÃƒÂ¼jin would return, they were constantly squirreling away equipment. World War 2 gave them unequaled access to Soviet military technology and training.

Afterwards, under Josef Stalin's direction, thousands of Russian and German engineers and scientists were exiled to Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan who were then snatched up (reportedly died in the gulags/trying to escape) and the E and S began building mirror factories modeled on the 'then current' Soviet production lines.

So, by the early 1950's, the E and S was building, flying and maintaining Soviet-style Antonov, Beriev, Ilyushin, Myasishchev, Mikoyan-Gurevich, Sukhoi, Tupolev and Yakovlev airplanes. First in small numbers because their pool of pilots and specialists was so small.

The E and S remedied this by creating both their own 'private' flight academies and technical schools. They protected their activities with the judicious use of bribes (they were remarkably successful with their economic endeavors on both side of the Iron Curtain) and murders (including the use of the Ghost Tigers).

By 1960, the proto-Khanate had an air force. Through the next two decades they refined and altered their doctrine; moving away from the Soviet doctrine to a more pure combined-arms approach (the Soviets divided their air power into four separate arms; ADD (Long Range Aviation), FA (Front Aviation), MTA (Military Transport Aviation) and the V-PVO (Soviet Air Defenses; which controlled air interceptors).).

It wasn't until the collapse of the Soviet Union and the independence of the various former SSR's that the E and S program really began to hit its stride. Still, while Russia faltered, China's PLAAF (Peoples' Liberation Army Air Force) began to take off. Since the Chinese could produce so much more, the E and S felt it had to keep those older planes and crews up to combat readiness. The younger field crews and pilots flew the newer models as they rolled off the secret production lines.

Then the Unification War appeared suddenly, the E and S-turned Khanate Air Force skunked their PLAAF rivals due to two factors, a surprise attack on a strategic level and the fatal poisoning of their pilots and ground crews before they even got into the fight. For those Chinese craft not destroyed on the ground, the effects of Anthrax eroded their fighting edge. Comparable technology gave the Khanate their critical victory and Air Supremacy over the most important battlefields.

What did this meant for those out-of-date air crews and pilots who had been training to a razor's edge for a month now? Their assignment had been to face down the Russians if they invaded. They would take their planes up into the fight even though this most likely would mean their deaths, but they had to try.

When Operation Fun House put Russia in a position where she wasn't likely to jump on the Khanate, this mission's importance faded. The Russian Air Force was far more stretched than the Khanate's between her agitations in the Baltic and her commitments in the Manchurian, Ukrainian, Chechen and Georgian theaters.

With more new planes rolling off the production lines, these reservist units began dropping down the fuel priority list, which meant lowering their flight times thus readiness. Only my hare-brained scheme had short-circuited their timely retirement. Had I realized I was getting people's grandparents killed, I would have probably made the same call anyway. We needed them.

The Kanate

The Khanate's #1 air superiority dogfighter was the Mig-35F. The #2 was the Mig-29. No one was openly discussing the Khanate's super-stealthy "Su-50", if that was what it was, because its existence 'might' suggest the Khanate also stole technology from the Indian defense industry, along with their laundry list of thefts from South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, the PRC, Russia and half of NATO.

Her top multi-role fighters were the Su-47, Su-35S and Su-30SM. The Su-30 'Flanker-C/MK2/MKI were their 2nd team with plenty of 3rd team Su-27M's still flying combat missions as well.

Strike fighters? There weren't enough Su-34's to go around yet, so the Su-25MS remained the Khanate's dedicated Close Air Assault model.

Medium transport aircraft? The An-32RE and An-38. They had small, large and gargantuan transports as well.

Bombers? The rather ancient jet-powered Tu-160M2's and Tu-22M2's as well as the even older yet still worthwhile turboprops; from 1956's; the Tu-95M S16.

Helicopters? While they still flew updated variants of the Mil Mi-8/17 as military transports, the more optimized Kamov Ka-52 and Mil Mi-28 had replaced them in the assault role.

Bizarrely, the Khanate had overrun several Chinese production lines of the aircraft frames and components; enough to complete fairly modern PLAAF (Peoples Liberation Army Air Force) FC-1 and J-10 (both are small multi-role fighter remarkably similar to the US F-16 with the FC-1 being the more advanced model, using shared Chinese-Pakistani technology and was designed for export,).

They did have nearly two dozen to send, but they didn't have the pilots and ground crews trained to work with them, plus the FC-1 cost roughly $32 million which wasn't fundage any legitimate Cabindan rebels could get their hands on, much less $768 million (and that would just be for the planes, not the weeks' worth of fuel, parts and munitions necessary for what was forthcoming).

Meanwhile, except for the An-26, which you could get for under $700,000 and the An-71, which were only rendered valuable via 'black market tech', none of the turboprop and jet aircraft the Khanate was sending were what any sane military would normally want. The helicopters were expensive; the 'new' models Mi-24's cost $32 million while the Mi-17's set you back $17 million. The one's heading to Cabinda didn't look 'new'.

The Opposition:

In contrast, the Angolan Air Force appeared far larger and more modern. Appearances can be deceptive, and they were. Sure, the models of Russian and Soviet-made aircraft they had in their inventory had the higher numbers; the Su-25, -27 and -30; plus they had Mig-21bis's, Mig-23's and Su-22's, but things like training and up-keep didn't appear to be priorities for the Angolans.

When you took into account the rampant corruption infecting all levels of Angolan government, the conscript nature of their military, the weakness of their technical educational system, the complexity of any modern combat aircraft and the reality that poor sods forced into being Air Force ground crewmen hardly made the most inspired technicians, or most diligent care-takers of their 'valuable' stockpiles (which their officers all too often sold on the black market anyway), things didn't just look bleak for the Angolan Air Force, they were a tsunami of cumulative factors heading them for an epic disaster.

It wasn't only their enemies who derided their Air Force's lack of readiness. Their allies constantly scolded them about it too. Instead of trying to fix their current inventory, the Angolans kept shopping around for new stuff. Since 'new'-new aircraft was beyond what they wanted to spend (aka put too much of a dent in the money they were siphoning off to their private off-shore accounts), they bought 'used' gear from former Soviet states; Belarus, Russia and Ukraine; who sold them stuff they had left abandoned in revetments (open to the elements to slowly rot) on the cheap.

To add to the insanity, the Angolans failed to keep up their maintenance agreements so their newly fixed high-tech machines often either couldn't fly, or flew without critical systems, like radar, avionics and even radios. Maybe that wasn't for the worst because after spending millions on these occasionally-mobile paperweights, the Angolans bought the least technologically advanced missile, gun and rocket systems they could get to put on these flying misfortunes.

On the spread sheets, Angola had 18 Su-30K's, 18 Su-27, 12 Su-25's, 14 Su-22's, 22 Mig-23's, 23 Mig-21bis's and 6 Embraer EMB 314 Super Tucano (a turboprop aircraft tailor-made for counter-insurgency operations), 105 helicopters with some combative ability and 21 planes with some airlift capacity. That equated to 81 either air superiority, or multi-role jet fighters versus the 12 Union Air Force (actually the Bakongo Uni o de Cabinda e Zaire, For as Armadas de Liberta o, For a Area; Liberation Armed Forces, Air Force (BUCZ-FAL-FA) Mig-21-97's.

It would seem lopsided except for the thousands of hours of flight experience the 'Unionists' enjoyed over their Angolan rivals. You also needed to take into account the long training and fanatic dedication of their ground crews to their pilots and their craft. Then you needed to take into account every Unionist aircraft, while an older airframe design, had updated (usually to the year 2000) technology lovingly cared for, as if the survival of their People demanded it.

A second and even more critical factor was the element of surprise. At least the PRC and the PLAAF had contingencies for attacks from their neighbors in the forefront of their strategic planning. The Angolans? The only country with ANY air force in the vicinity was the Republic of South Africa (RSA) and they had ceased being a threat with the end of Apartheid and the rise of majority Black rule in that country nearly two decades earlier.

In the pre-dawn hours of 'Union Independence Day', the FAL-FA was going to smash every Angolan Air base and air defense facility within 375 miles of Cabinda (the city). Every three hours after that, they would be hitting another target within their designated 'Exclusion Zone'. Yes, this 'Exclusion Zone' included a 'tiny' bit of DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) territory. The DRC didn't have an air force to challenge them though, so,

Inside this 'Exclusion Zone', anything moving by sea, river, road, rail, or air without Unionist governmental approval was subject to attack, which would require neutral parties to acknowledge some semblance of a free and independent B U C Z. Worse for Angola, this 'Zone' included Angola's capital and its largest port, Luanda, plus four more of their ten largest urban centers. This could be an economic, military and humanitarian catastrophe if mishandled.

The Angolan Army did not have significant anti-aircraft assets. Why would they? Remember, no one around them had much of an air force to worry about. The FAL-FA in turn could hit military convoys with TV-guided munitions 'beyond line of sight', rendering what they did have useless. It got worse for the Army after dark. The FAL-FA could and would fly at night whereas the average Angolan formation had Zip-Zero-Nadda night fighting capacity.

Then geography added its own mountain of woes. As far as Cabinda was concerned, there was no direct land line to their border from Angola. Their coastal road only went as far as the port of Soyo where the Congo River hit the South Atlantic Ocean. Across that massive gap was the DRC where the road was not picked back up. Far up the coast was the DRC town of Muanda (with an airport) and though they did have a road which went north, it did not continue to the Cabindan border.

Nope. To get at Cabinda from the south meant a long, torturous travel through northeastern Angola, into the heart of the DRC then entailed hookin

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 17

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Mon, 17 Aug 2026 13:50:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 17.

The last days before the Great Hunt.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Can the scorpion ever stop being a scorpion?

"Do we get our legally permitted weaponry back?" The bishop still held my hand.

"Sure. If it makes you feel better."

"I would like to meet your people then," he gave my paw one last shake then released me. "Shall we go?"

"I will have someone take you to your car. I want to briefly meet with the President, of Havenstone, then I'll join you in the garage. We'll drive over to JIKIT and I'll make the introductions. Good enough?"

"That is acceptable," he nodded.

"What about you two?" I regarded the nun and the Swiss Super-soldier. The nun remained vigilant, and silent. The Swiss' eyes flickered to his boss before settling back on me.

"It is what I volunteered for," he stated firmly.

"Okay. Please never say I didn't give you a chance to take the sane way out. Also, Bishop NicolÃƒÂ¶, circumstances have conspired to up my prospective wedding date to January 1st."

"That will be more difficult. Why the change?" he remained grim.

"We are having twins. By March, this will be very visible."

"That is, unfortunate," he shook his head.

"You have no idea," and then a brainstorm. "And I am curious about resurrecting the Order of the Dragon, the Societas Draconistarum." Technically that meant 'Society of the Dragonists' which was more appropriate than the literal Ordo Draconis.

"Precisely how do you plan to recreate a crusading Christian Order which was the purview of the Hungarian monarchs?" he didn't sound the least skeptical, just curious.

"I have billions of euros to fund such a thing," I winked. "Of far greater critical importance, I know where I can find the supernatural guidance and spiritual imperative for such an organization."

"You are going to produce a dragon?" his eyes grew larger even as he fought down his fear. Good man. He was adaptive. He'd need to be.

"I never said such a thing. That would make me sound crazy," I smiled broadly. "Besides, when I say 'dragon', you think 'devil' and that's way too pedestrian for where we are going."

"I am not a moral relativist."

"Neither am I. I'm out to save lives and nurture the drive in the human spirit to reach for freedom, love and liberty. As you might imagine, I'm pretty freaking outnumbered."

"I think you are crazy," he re-evaluated things.

"I just might be. In all honesty, you should back out now. Take your two compadres back to 25 East 39th Street (the Holy See's Permanent Observer Offices to the UN in NYC) and report 'Mission Failure'. You'll most likely live longer," I reasoned.

"I am not afraid to die," Sister Rafaela Sophia finally voiced an opinion.

"That's idiotic," I scoffed before the bishop could reprimand her for opening her mouth. "You should be."

"My soul is in God's hands," she set her jaw.

"Does he talk to you?" I countered.

"His message is clear."

"Not what I asked. I asked if he specifically directed you to toss your life fruitlessly away as an object lesson for the reckless, or careless?"

"This is uncalled for," NicolÃ³ intervened.

"Nope. I bet you a phone call to my Brother to physically restore your bishopric that there are four people in this room who have murdered in cold blood," I kept eye contact with the nun, "and she's the odd one out. Right Juanita?"

"Yes, Ishara," Juanita slipped up. Her spycraft, like mine, needed work.

"You were in the military?" the bishop asked my bodyguard.

"Was? I am. Right now," she related. "I will be until I die."

That earned me looks from the three Catholics.

"She is loyal," NicolÃ³ nodded slightly toward her, referring to Juanita's declaration.

"Huh? To me? Nope. She's loyal to my office, which we shan't get into right now. Back to you, Sister Rafaela Sophia. Are you out to be a martyr, or has some saint, or angel, given you a directive the other two seem to be unaware of which causes you to devalue your life?"

"I am devoted to the One True God, Christ, our Savior," and Juanita snorted, "and the Virgin Mary," the nun stated firmly. "I don't hear voices in my head."

"Juanita, that was rude. Apologize to our guest," I kept looking forward.

"No." Well, fuck you too.

"Gun," I commanded. I held out my left hand.

"What? No. I will not give you one of my guns," she resisted.

"Juanita, give me your primary weapon, or I will ask Pamela to beat you up the moment I depart for the Great Hunt. After yesterday's stunt, you know she will," I threatened. Fair, I was not. She drew a Glock-20 and handed it to me. I went through the routine, dropped the magazine then ejected the round before opening the door.

Oh look, there were four SD chicks outside, ready to escort my visitors downstairs. I didn't even need to waste a phone call. It wasn't like the conference room wasn't being monitored.

"Excuse me," I took a half step out the door then hurled all three items down the hall. Looking back at Juanita. "Go fetch."

"Fuck you," she snapped.

"And insulting her faith was as degrading to both her faith and her as me doing this to you is degrading to you right now," I lectured her. "It is important to her, therefore it is important to me because she is my guest in the same way it is important to me that I let my bodyguard do her job without being a total asshole all the time. Now go get your God-damn weapon," I barked. Off she went. I left the door open.

"Now Sister Rafaela Sophia, the point of all this is: I don't give a crap if you are willing to die for God. In fact, that makes you less than worthless to me and the team. I want to know if you are willing to put other motherfuckers in the ground so that Bishop NicolÃƒÂ¡, or Mathias, might get to keep doing their jobs."

"Murder is a sin," she declared.

"Go home," I sighed while shaking my head.

"She answers to me, the Church and God, not you, Mr. Nyilas," the bishop stepped forward.

"Then you can go home too," I shrugged. "I'm not asking for remorseless killers. I'm asking for people willing to kill to get the hard work done and best of all, for people who know the difference."

"Everyone on JIKIT is a professional soldier, or killer?" he asked.

"No, but the ones who aren't don't carry guns and know to get down when things get funky," I bantered.

"I vouch for her," he insisted. Juanita came running back into the room.

"Cool beans. I don't know you either."

"You apparently know my service history," he volleyed.

"Yeah. Ten years a foreigner in the service of France, then you went straight into a university which turns out Jesuits," I riposted.

"What turned your life around?" he evaded. That was okay. I'd gotten what I wanted. I was willing to bet he had read every bit of public information about me and it was rumored the heavy Catholic membership in the FBI had its benefits to the Church as well. Not so much as to give them insight into JIKIT, but,

"Someone risked their life for me. It's been pretty much downhill from there," I confessed. It was the truth. After Katrina gave me the life line on Day Two, it had all spiraled to the revelation of my heritage, Dad's death, Summer Camp, the Hamptons, Romania and Aya's kidnapping.

"A person, a soldier, died saving my life," the bishop empathized. "Her story is similar. She seeks redemption. She is not suicidal. I am staking both our lives on it."

Did he mean him and Mathias, or him and me? I wasn't certain. Still, it was good enough for now. I'd gotten a look at their emotional make up, even the relatively quiet Swiss.

"Very well," I agreed. "I have to go see the President about my new job description. I'll catch up with you at your car." To the SD team leader, "Take them to the garage. I will join the group of you very soon."

"Yes Ishara," she nodded. I exited the room, Juanita in tow. Two SD entered. I was gone before the Papal team left. Upstairs we went, with one last chore to discharge. I had to check on Ms. French to be absolutely freaking sure it was Shawnee, because anyone else would spell disaster.

{8:30 am, Monday, September 8th. Last day}

A Room full of asistants:

Well, there it was, the office of the Executive Director to the President, and not 'Executive Assistant', because this was Katrina's final 'fuck you, no, just her final 'fuck you' before the Great Hunt got underway. I shouldn't assume things, dang it!

Anyway, according to the gray-haired matron running gatekeeper to the Office of the President, this was where I was supposed to show up. I shot Juanita a worried look. She glanced my way and shrugged, momentarily willing to not give me shit about the past 24 hours because where I was situated would determine how easily she could do her job.

In we went. In the suite were three desks, the 'big' desk situated at the far end of the office space and two far more modest ones on either side of the entryway. The room expanded beyond the chokepoint formed by the two closest desks into a cluttered area. The walls were cluttered with inset bookshelves and portraits of women. Facing one another were a loveseat on my left with bookend plush chairs in an 'L' facing and a full sofa on the right. There were end tables at the ends of the sofa and the corners between the loveseat and each chair.

As the door opened, I hadn't knock as this was my office, or so it seemed, the occupants, who had all been sitting in quiet conversation in the central section, began reacting. Oh look; Constanza! I nearly had a heart attack before I realized there were three other Amazons also in the room. Sadly, none were behind the 'big desk', so I couldn't tell who was in charge. Two of the other three choices weren't too much better. First off,

"Ishara," Marilynn Saint John stood to greet me. I'd last seen her when I'd dedicated her grandmother's (Hayden's) spirit to the halls of my ancestors, not hers, after forcing the political crisis leading to Hayden's suicide; her taking herself to the cliffs and in doing so, destroying the Amazon Cult of Blood Purity. Marilynne was clearly still bitter with me. Umm, I could still incite passion in women I hadn't slept with, yet, woot?

"Cáel," the senior-most and only friendly face in the room spoke next. Thank goodness it was Beyoncé Vincennes, Head of House Hanwasuit and House Ishara ally.

"Cáel Ishara," the third individual was deferential which I wasn't sure how to take as the last time I'd encountered her, yeah, things hadn't gone well either.

"Beyoncé ," I started off with a smile. From there, I had to figure out, ah, Beyoncé 's eyes flickered to Constanza then Sabia. I knew Marilynn, with her young age, had the least seniority, "Constanza, Sabia, Marilynn. How's tricks?"

Glum faces by everyone except Beyoncé . I didn't ask about Sabia's particular well-being. It had been months since I'd beaten her into the mats of the Full-blooded gym. She'd attacked Yasmin, the Brazilian Hottie and my Brazilian Jujutsu sparring buddy, and I'd retaliated by ambushed her when she turned her back on us. Besides, she'd been giving me shit before I even could see straight.

Constanza was minus her left eye because of her dire insult to me. If she wasn't capable of working, she wouldn't be here. If she appreciated my 'mercy' in sparing her life; her insult was worthy of her death; Constanza hid it well. I hadn't spared her expecting a change of heart. I hadn't felt words alone warranted anyone's death. I was a big boy and could take a few insults. House Ishara, as represented by me, could care less. These days, my sisters would be less understanding despite them knowing my heart.

"Constanza Landau of House Jaya and Marilynn Saint John of House Anahit are Assistants to President Shawnee French," Beyoncé eased things along, "so will be working closely with us, at least for the short term. Sabia Noel of House Guabancex, who I now think you know as well, has joined you as the other 'Assistant' to the 'Executive Director to the President', (that would make me an 'adept', but adept at what?), and since two of the three Regents are unfamiliar with the workings of Havenstone proper, Shawnee has asked me to perform in that role."

Beyonce' was, or had been, Havenstone HQ's CFO (Chief Financial Officer). From what I was quickly piecing together, she would essentially be making all the day-to-day decisions concerning the running of Havenstone (how the Host made the majority of its money) until the Regents got up to speed.

Only Buffy had actual experience with the New York office and, from what she had told me, solely within Executive Services. While ES knew 'who' did what inside Havenstone, they weren't aware precisely how those Amazons got their jobs done. That would have been an impossible task. Katrina could do it, but she knew it was beyond the ability of most of us 'mere mortals'. Since we were currently at war, the Host needed Katrina completely focused on her duties as Chief Spy-mistress, not baby-sitting the adults.

Shawnee indeed had much gravitas among the other House Heads. Not only had she risen up to lead a First House, she had performed heroically during the final days of the last Secret War. Afterwards she had moved into the realm of Amazon jurisprudence and mediation. Until yesterday, she had lived in a House Arinniti freehold in Minnesota's Great Lakes region thus her desire for the 'Training Wheels' period.

The Regency would not rule through telecommunication (the upper echelons feared being eavesdropped upon beyond the standard Amazon (read: paranoid) levels) and Havenstone: New York was the center best situated for the current war-fighting operations, so here she lived. I was sure a team from Executive Services was buying, outfitting/spy-proofing and fortifying a dwelling suitable for the President of a Fortune 500 company. Hayden's home would remain the domicile of Sydney thus Marilynn.

The same rigmarole would be done for Rhada and Buffy (though I imaged Buffy would bitch endlessly). Publically, they were VP's of a company worth hundreds of billions of dollars and they had to present the public trappings of such leaders.

Why did the Amazons do this; unmask their leadership to public exposure? Legal-simple: they could request and expect all levels of public and private security for their executives who happened to also be important officials of the Host. Certainly not all executives at Havenstone were officeholders, House Heads, or House Apprentices, but the high level of competence which permitted one often led to the other.

Beyonce':

As an example: Beyoncé wasn't the most 'bad-ass' lethal chick in House Hanwasuit. As she was preparing to be casted, her intelligence, creativity and diligence at her future craft, finances, was noted by the Host and the members of her House. In due time her name was circulated as Apprentice and the elders approved. When her elder cousin, the prior House Head, took herself to the cliffs, Beyoncé assumed the top spot. Beyoncé wasn't even one of that woman's three daughters.

Mirroring her advancement in her House was her advancement in Havenstone's Accounting, Acquisitions and Banking Divisions until she was appointed CFO Havenstone HQ; the supreme financial authority inside Havenstone, though the individual regional branches had a greater degree of autonomy than you might normally expect from a 21st century conglomerate, or a Bronze Age autocracy.

I had to constantly remind myself, despite the near-constant feuding, Amazons exhibited a phenomenally higher level of trust than I'd ever found in any other society I'd ever witnessed, or read about, before. Though technically Beyoncé could have gone to President Hayden to enforce her decisions; or now the Regency; she was far more diplomatic in her approach in dealing with the other 'continental' CEO's and CFO's.

That meant she had to wrangle the aspirations and resources from:

North America (including Latin America, the 'Canadian Arctic' and the North Pacific Ocean),

South America (includes both the South Atlantic and South Pacific as far as Samoa),

Europe (mostly Central Europe these days plus Antarctica, the 'Russian' Arctic and the North Atlantic),

Africa (mostly West-central Africa),

India (the subcontinent plus the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean) and,

Southeast Asia (which includes Australia)

All of which suggested Havenstone hadn't redrawn the Amazons' geographic demarcations since the late 19th century. As an example, an East African venture, say in Tanzania, was as likely to be under the purview of Havenstone: India (due to its control over the Indian Ocean) as Havenstone: Africa (which traditionally had no East Coast holdings due to their constant struggles versus the Arabic slave trade).

Returning to Beyoncé : initially she had held the proper 'conservative' (aka man-hating) mindset. My behavior during that first Board Meeting began to change her opinion of me and the New Directive. After the Archery Range incident, Beyoncé became a vocal proponent of the New Directive and faced challenges within her ranks. House Heads do not have to accept challenges and Beyoncé didn't, reasoning with her detractors they had no alternatives save the 'Old Ways' which spelled doom for the Amazon Race.

Bing-bang-boom; I became the Head of a resurrected House Ishara by the Will of the Ancestors and Beyoncé was vindicated. Not necessarily in the New Directive, but in her support of me thus the rebirth of a sister First House. The purge following High Priestess' Hayden's death was her ultimate absolution. The Ancestors and Destiny had spoken and shown Beyoncé had been piloting House Hanwasuit along the proper course all along.

Back to my current circumstances:

Oh, why was I Assistant to the Executive Director to the President? It gave me direct access to the finances of Havenstone which was a critical leg of the war-fighting stool; people, morale, money and equipment. As Chief Diplomat, I helped with all four of those in varying degrees, allied troops, allied victories, allied bank accounts and allied armaments.

The Great Khan, my spiritual 'Blood-Brother', was ramping up his logistic support for my Amazons in Africa, Asia and the Americas. We were 'Allies in the Struggle' and he wasn't going to wait for the Condottieri to begin coordinating with the Seven Pillars to declare them to be his enemies. They were already fighting the Amazons and 9 Clans, his allies, so their fates were sealed.

In Japan, my Amazons provided small yet highly effective strike groups which the Ninja families furnished all the support services for. Everything from food to bullets to medical attention as needed. Without reservation, we shared their death-grapple with the Seven Pillars.

From the dispatches I was getting back from my family members and envoys in Japan, we were making serious diplomatic inroads with the Ninja. Once again, it was the Amazons shocking capacity for violence as well as their fanaticism, professionalism and proficiency which all impressed our hosts and terrified our enemies, and this from people of a philosophical mindset which had them historically battling samurai.

The Black Lotus were running around like rhesus monkeys on crack cocaine unleashed in a China Shop and given RPG's. While the Amazons couldn't help them in China, Indochina and Thailand; the Khanate could and was. The Amazons were of more help in the Philippines, Malaysia and Indonesia, where the Black Lotus and Amazons were going everywhere on the offensive against the Seven Pillars whil

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 15

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Sat, 15 Aug 2026 13:47:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 15.

A Butterfly wants to kill the World?

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Although Love is both fire and shadow, we often forget to take comfort from the coolness of the memories when the burning flames are absent

There were precisely two things, okay, four things, keeping me alive. The fourth thing would come to her later when her 'furious was replaced by her 'curious'; as in how I knew her inhuman lingo; which would lead to my legacy with Grandpa.

The top three reasons -

She had poked my chest. It was a challenge, calling for one of my guardians to come out and play. The avatar knew I was the chosen heir of the Goddess Ishara and my goddess had devoted a good deal of time and effort to my survival and continued service in her cause. If Ishara made an 'appearance', it would be enough reason to not eviscerate me for my foul treatment of her august personage.

Nope. It seemed Ishara was busy at the moment.

Still, she most likely knew SzelAnya had shown a keen interest in me in Romania, though I'd never told Selena, or any other member of the 9 Clans, the Dragon's Daughter had killed Ajax for me. Figuring out SzelAnya, a storm deity, had helped me and Aya escape from our kidnapping in the midst of a cyclone in the Pacific Ocean wasn't much of a reach.

But no bolt of lightning coalesced from my chest to singe her finger. No clap of thunder. Not even a cloud with a hint of disfavor appeared above us.

Her obsidian fingernail began penetrating my shirt, touched my skin, then drew my blood, and something 'twitched'.

That would be Contestant Goddess #3. She wasn't actually hanging around me. She didn't have to. She'd left me a memento of our last shindig before we parted ways. That was the nightmare-inducing episode where she, the chthonic goddess Sarrat Irkalli, had compressed one man's body into a dagger and then proceeded to suck another's soul into it to use as a power source for an Airbus 350 (a commercial airliner, if you didn't know).

I still had that snaggletooth-looking thing at my back. Well who the Hell was I going to leave it with? Honestly, the only people I felt could keep it safe I loved too much to curse with it. Anyway, the second her divine claw touched my blood, the long dormant weapon whispered to me in a somewhat bored, lofty feminine voice from beyond the grave,

Do you want me to discorporate this pathetic has-been for you?

Quick check. Only the avatar and I, and her priestess-savant heard that. Of course, in downtown, New York City, noon Sunday, how weird would such a declaration be? The avatar's eyebrow arched. Her big bat-ears (still looking human to the normal viewing public) flicked this way and that, figuring out precisely where the threat originated from. Slowly, her once poking hand began to slide across my chest, along my ribs and around my back.

She touched the dagger. Nothing.

Gingerly, she drew it forth. I'd had a makeshift sheath made. As the blade made its journey around me, she took a half-step back to better observe it.

"Please don't kill him!" Theddy squealed. "We haven't had sex yet!"

Being 'who' and 'what' she was, the avatar did what came natural. Fortunately for Theddy, I'd become accustomed to working with psychopaths.

She stabbed the dagger at Theddy. I clamped my hand down on her wrist. The claws of her left hand came down on my constraining wrist. My free hand came down on that hand, trying to pry it free. It was a hopeless struggle, except.

Yes, my old friend 'except'. Except the avatar was holding the dagger. As powerful as Itzpapalotl was, she wasn't pushing against me. She was pushing against Sarrat Irkalli.

Itzpapalotl was a living, breathing terror machine who killed and received sacrifices on a regular basis.

Sarrat Irkalli hadn't been actively worshipped in 3,000 years.

Uneven contest? Oh yeah.

See, Itzpapalotl had spent the past 500 years continuously fighting against the Weave to keep her fingers on this side of reality.

Meanwhile, for the most part, Sarrat Irkalli had sat upon her throne in the Sumerian Underworld with hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of souls toiling under her watchful gaze for eternity. Sure, her version of Hell wasn't getting any fresh deposits, but she knew how to milk the system well.

Even the bad karma for the dagger's creation wasn't hers. She'd stolen it from the foolish Gong Tau sorcerers who had meant to enslave my soul, aka one-third of the Baraqu-Alal-Cáel deal she'd worked out millennia ago. It was the Weave giving her a 'freebie' for playing by the rules, if you considered the Weave sentient.

And now Itzpapalotl was touching it. Whoops. It wasn't as if Itzpapalotl was stupid. It isn't like there are tons of magic weapons running around, much less soul-munchers like the one I had. Rationally, who would give a novice like me, a weapon like this? I say again, 'whoops'.

Once I'd figured this out, I couldn't stop being me.

"Theddy, do you like girls?"

"What?" she squeaked. Here was this psycho trying to drive a Smilodon incisor into her bosom and I was giving her a sex quiz.

Itzpapalotl was really starting to struggle now.

"I, ah, are you okay?" she continued.

"Oh, I'm dandy. I'm serious. You think this chick is hot? I mean, would you do her in a three-way?" I proposed casually.

"Timothy?" Sovann.

"Bro?" Timothy to me.

"It's all good. Sovann, you want to know what my life is like? This lady who came to discuss business with me today is an immortal mass murderer. You give the word, I'll let go and this knife is going to cut her up like a Ginsu blade on market day because just cutting her heart out isn't going to be enough. Worse. Eventually she'll get back up."

"Timothy?" Sovann repeated, this time with more concern. He thought I was nuts. I released my left hand. The blade flipped up, twisting in the avatar's grasp. That was the point her minions figured out something was wrong.

"El Amado?" the priestess-savant called out softly. The three goons began reaching for 'things'.

"Call them off, or I open my other hand," I cautioned the avatar. She spared me a swift, hostile look. My fingers tingled.

"Esten quietos!" she snapped. They stopped.

"Cáel, bad day, or not. This isn't you. Stop it. The girl's in danger," Timothy spoke up. He didn't mean Theddy. He meant the avatar.

"I'm being a real asshole, aren't I?" I sighed.

"Pretty much. You never let the bitches get to you before. Girl pops an attitude, you smile and move on. Life is too short," he reminded me. Too true.

"I'm going to put my hand over the blade," I told Itzpapalotl. "When I do, you can let go."

She didn't say anything for several seconds, even after my left hand covered the semi-serrated edge.

"Why should I trust you?" she sizzled.

"Because 'me' letting anything bad happen to you would make me a total, judgmental jerk. I don't know you. Whatever you did before you showed up today shouldn't matter to me. I acted stupidly. I should have stopped you. I didn't. I didn't even warn you and I could have. I was angry, and not even at you. Just angry and I apologize. Now, let go."

"Why?"

"Hi. I'm Cáel Nyilas. Can I have my knife back? Please?"

Blink. She released it. For a millisecond, it wanted to do something else because bitches are bitches. It didn't, so my palm wasn't sliced open. My right hand took the hilt. I carefully put the blade away.

"Yes," Theddy gulped.

"Huh?" Sovann shook his head at the sudden evaporation of the life and death tension. Welcome to my life. Theddy meant 'yes' to the 'girl-girl-guy' thing I had proposed earlier. It pays to keep things prioritized.

"What is this movie you were talking about?" Itzpapalotl asked. Had she forgiven me for anything which had transpired? Bwahahaha, no way. She was taking the initiative and going with Option 1 from my earlier insane diatribe.

"Wait!" Sovann nearly shouted. "You nearly, I don't know, threatened Cáel's life and tried to stab Theddy and now you think you can go with us to a movie?"

"I told you," Timothy put an arm around his shoulder, "life with Cáel is rarely dull."

"I thought you meant he was fun to party with, or something like that," Sovann looked up at his lover. "I thought his uncle showing up, and trying to kill him and then being blown the fuck away by those women and federal agents, and that other girl who pointed a gun at us, is this the new normal?"

"I love you, Sovann," Timothy grew compassionate. "Cáel is my best friend. He'd never deliberately hurt either of us and normal friends are something he has in short supply. Today being a great case in point."

Ten seconds passed.

"The title is 'As Above, So Below'," Sovann addressed the avatar, "and what do we call you?"

Since 'if you are not a worshiper and addressing me, I normally am about to kill you' would sound really cool in Olmec-ic, but I might be asked to translate,

"How about we go with 'Obsidian', please?" I pleaded with her.

She knew I was currying favor now; and behaving like a weather vane caught in the wall of a tornado; she gave a gracious bow of her head.

"Obsidian will do for now. Is the Legend of the dagger 'business'?" Translation: it had better not be.

"No," I smiled. "It's pillow talk." Rancor, 'how presumptuous', followed by 'but that dagger ups the count to three Goddess interested in him', and next to recalling all the trivial babble about me being a sexual dynamo (I prayed my PR was that good) having some relevance. Her chimera emotions allowed me to get a few more crucial words out, because even women who aren't sleeping with me are jealous.

"Esta mujer fue la primera en ofrecer bienes funerarios tras la muerte dee mi padre," I reinserted Theddy back into my close company. For some reason, Obsidian considered me unreliable thus had to verify what I'd just said.

"Did you make funerary offering upon his father's passing?" she asked Theddy. Let's think about this. The wacko chick questioning Theddy had tried to stab a huge freaking blade into her not a minute ago. Fleeing in terror while screaming for the cops? Nope.

"Yes. I baked him some walnut and caramel chip cookies," she nodded. "It is a family recipe." Sovann looked over the three of us, then back to Timothy.

"I told you 'that's impressive cocking like I've never seen before'," he explained.

"She may remain," Obsidian 'permitted'. Theddy wrapped up my right arm with her left and gave it a squeeze. She wanted attention/explanation.

"Obsidian is a Master Vampire, Theddy," I leaned in and whispered. "Before she was turned, she was captured in a raid by the fey, mentally, spiritually and physically raped and made into their sex-slave. Part of her spirit never healed properly. While this imperfection allows her to walk around in daylight, her heart can never hold on to any emotion for long, so she is forced to forever seek passion, no matter how dangerous, from the world around her."

Revealing secrets? Ha. I had noticed Theddy had every work done by Laurel K. Hamilton in her place, including the comic book series.

"You are not supposed to know, so act like I didn't tell you anything, okay?"

'Okay,' she mouthed back at me. I could see it in her eyes. My chaotic life suddenly 'made sense' to her because a best-selling fiction author said so.

Obsidian thought the movie was; hilarious. She couldn't stop snickering, giggling and poking at me as horrible shit happened to the various actors. She thought the plot was 'insightful' and wouldn't stop whispering to me throughout the entire thing. During the closing credits, I told her I'd get her the DVD for Christmas; she knew the concept behind digital technology, but didn't own any; she kissed me.

The first kiss was fierce and joyous with the added benefit of her tongue doing things no normal tongue could do, it stretched. Not sure how I felt about that. The second kiss was more sultry, longer and came with some accompanying body action which, I'm no virgin. Not even close. She was on my left side, so when she twisted in her seat, her left leg insinuated itself between mine. Her left hand cupped my jaw and held my head in place as her lips played along mine.

A dance of the scorpion perhaps? Tender at first, then suddenly stabbing, dominant and brutal. My lips and tongue battled back, using my superior Kiss-fu to nullify her natural strength and agility. She liked it. By her moaning, she liked it a lot. As the kiss progressed, more and more of her flowed from her seat into my seat, body facing me. Her body rose over mine, forcing my neck back to maintain contact.

"So, Dot Ishara is hovering around somewhere close, isn't she?" I murmured as our lips separated barely a centimeter apart. One chick kissing you to make another one jealous. It's happened to me plenty of times. Obsidian didn't give a damn about Theddy, or any other mortal woman in close proximity so,

"Yes," she purred. "Do you mate with her?"

"A man does not brag of such things, but no, unless heavy petting counts?"

"What will she do to you when I steal your seed?"

'When'? Why was I not surprised? Why was I not surprised another concussion was in my immediate future either? Was it possible I was, learning?

"Chastise me for not fighting harder," I breathed across her lips, "and, in case you forgot, I'm on a date with the girl beside me."

"Who I care nothing for," she sent a cruelly playful look Theddy's way. Wisely, the girl shivered.

"Who I am indebted to and how I honor my debts might matter to you," I hazarded. My words hurt Theddy's feelings. That was on purpose. Obsidian took pleasure in me hurting Theddy because she was basically a vicious monster.

"Yes?" I pressed her gently.

"Yes," Obsidian allowed, easing up slightly both romantically and physically.

"And Theddy, if you believe I'm with you solely because of some sense of obligation, you clearly haven't been listening to your recordings," I shot the human girl a wink.

"Oh."

"Am I, or am I not, a sex-obsessed little monkey?" I teased her. Theddy giggled. I paid for my diversion with four obsidian claws to my ribs outside of Theddy's view. After all, it wasn't like Theddy could possibly compete with her for my attention. Considering Obsidian's legendary ability to rip open her opponent's ribcages and feast upon their hearts, I slipped my left hand, the one next to her between her legs and stroked her cotton-slacks covered cunt.

Theddy hugged my right arm and put her head against my shoulder. Not to be outdone,

" Qu un centenar dee hombres se quemaron vivos como el sonido?" Obsidian inquired with sexually sadistic hunger. Ah, memories of burning 7P Commandos.

Whoops. Theddy knew Spanish.

"No lo s . Ten an respiradores en," I replied casually. "Si lo desea, puedo describir lo que se siente al tirar de una flecha de guerra lanzar mi propio muslo."

"Eep," slipped out of Theddy's lips.

"Why did you do that?" Obsidian looked over us both.

"Well, I was showing a little girl I believed in her,"

"And she shot you?" Theddy gulped.

"No. She hit the target I was standing next to. A co-worker mistook me for a cardboard cutout of a Jehovah's Witness and let fly. Seems she had issues with organized religion as well as a reaction to the oscillation effect of florescent lighting and ceiling fans."

"But why did you pull the arrow out?" Theddy asked. "Couldn't you wait until you got to the hospital?"

"Mosquito," Obsidian menaced, insinuating Theddy was a pest.

"I wasn't thinking rationally at the moment, I work in an asylum, I had a hot date in a few hours, any of those three will do," I smiled at Theddy.

"Copil such as Cáel don't bother with petty human conventions," Obsidian turned my gaze back her way with her hand on my jaw. 'Copil's were 'god-touched' in her lingo.

"More than one girl?" Theddy mused.

"Four."

"Okay," she sighed happily.

"Theddy, three under-age girls and the police office he was dating acting as their chaperone," Timothy intervened. "He hurried home so he could keep a promise to the children, not for sex." Bastard. He really was my best friend. He didn't mention my post-injury, pre-festivity sex with Odette giving me a few extra, urgently needed Brownie Points to suggest I might be a decent human being.

"You are a wonderful guy," Theddy ran a fingernail over my free hand. Clearly I was 'wonderful' enough to risk Obsidian's anger over. The screen went blank as the last credits scrolled away and the room was plunged into darkness. Five seconds later, the lights snapped on.

Pain!

"Fuck," I hissed. It wasn't any extra physical trauma causing me discomfort. No, a metaphysical dam had burst within and my stream of conscious thought had been turned into a white-water rapids. The competing cyclones of thoughts in my mind had stopped cooperating and my hypothalamus was letting me know I was in danger.

"Cáel", "Cáel", "Bro", and "Ishara" all came in rapid succession. I needed some space both tangible and social.

"I need to step outside," I eased Obsidian off me and stood up. My sense of my personal danger was ratcheting up. While I had been studying Obsidian, so I could screw her, I had discovered more and more Alal-badness.

The light display had ignited a series of pressing implanted memories which had been clamoring for my attention. Things like not all 'divinities' were stewards of the Weave. Some even wanted its destruction, preferring risking all on a chaotic restructuring of reality over what existed now; things like Obsidian. They weren't attempting to do so because they thought they had no chance.

But there was. A real serious chance to unravel reality existed; and it was staring her in the face. It wasn't 'me' as in 'I was the Anti-Christ'. But with the torrent of memories pouring forth, I knew where the peril lay and I was completely responsible for it. Hell, I was a prime ally of Armageddon and hadn't even known it.

'Holy Shit!'

I blinked. Timothy was shaking me. We were out in the lobby.

"Oh my God, Timothy," I nearly wept. "What am I going to do?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Is there someone you can talk to about this?" he suggested. Normal folks were around us. Obsidian was at my side. Sovann was behind Timothy with an arm around Theddy's shoulder.

"Theddy," I looked at her. "Can I catch up with you later? I just realized I've screwed up something fierce." I put my best 'really don't want to go but I gotta' face on. Her worried look brightened, she slipped around Timothy and gave me a tingling French kiss.

"I'll hold you to that, Cáel," she murmured when we parted.

"Timothy, go home, I got shit to deal with," I hoped my grin didn't become as feeble as I felt it to be.

"I," he started to say something. "Time not to ask questions?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Wait." I pulled us to the side and went on to my toes, leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Tell Pamela 'he' sent Ajax to kill the Professor, his family and the sisters. They were the targets all along. It wasn't me, or the other women. Just in case,"

"Okay," Timothy patted my arm. It was cryptic. It was the best I could do. See, I wanted to cry so badly.

{2:09 pm Sunday, September 7th; Last day}

Where to begin:

Every

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 14

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Fri, 14 Aug 2026 13:45:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 14.

Guardian Goddess in Manhattan.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"Our Princess grew up around a woman whose keen intellect we rely on to protect us from unseen enemies," Saint Marie's voice became deeper and more threatening. "At the age of ten, she," Saint Marie looked my way as my hand shot up mimicking Aya's identical plea for attention.

"Yes Ishara?" Saint Marie chose to acknowledge me.

"She's nine."

"Fine. At the age of nine, she earned an honorific, Mametu me eda, which I didn't accomplish until my 19th year." 'Yes Ladies, I'm an epic bad-ass and I've been out-performed by a child'.

"She was kidnapped along with the Head of House Ishara. They tortured her by clipping off two of her digits, one at a time, then seared the damage with a blowtorch. She gave them nothing. At the end of the encounter, the two of them managed to defeat thirty Seven Pillar's commandos, over fifteen she disabled personally."

"After killing nearly half as many enemies as the 35 I have personally dispatched in my entire career, she crossed a mile and a half of barren rock in the midst of a Category 4 Typhoon. Cáel Ishara only helped her half of the way because he was engaged with the last two members of the Seven Pillar's team."

"I have utter confidence the madness here today, while assisted by House Epona and Ishara, was the brainchild of Krasimira. I say 'assisted' because Cáel Ishara spared Kwenhamai's life on the battlefield. Katrina Epona removed Kwenhamai from Romanian custody to keep her out of the hands of those who wished us harm. I was aware Kwenhamai was in New York, but not her precise location."

"My read on the situation is this:

"Aya of Kururiyahhssi was aware of Kwenhamai and Krasimira's plot to adopt her into the bloodline of the first Amazon."

"She was not aware of Kwenhamai's plan to exit the Host in the manner she chose. I read the shock and pain in, Aya's face."

"Our Princess has not given me a single order and I am the only voice here today that matters, I am the Golden Mare and the Council has consistently failed to agree on a Regency."

"Krasimira, why have you done this?" Saint Marie abruptly asked for either a denial, or acquiescence of her perception of events.

"As directed by the Ancestors, the statute of a goddess of a First House was recast then returned to her perpetual spot. It brought new light to a dark, sacred and painful place. In that moment I realized that for the first time in nearly 3,200 years, the descendants of every Amazon gathered before the walls of Wilusa (Troy) had been reunited."

"I was troubled. Was this a portent the augurs couldn't divine? In their council (the augurs) then came up with the words 'speak to our eldest'."

Oh shit, the rest of the Council was racking their minds trying to figure who was the oldest surviving Amazon. I knew for a fact they were overlooking the two top candidates.

"I sought out the eldest Amazon alive. They claimed to not have the answer for my worries. She had far more numerous things weighing on her mind such as her intimate demise. Though I hated sharing the same air with her, I asked her to tell me her greatest regret."

"I had given up on the Amazon Race until an Amazon reminded me, through martial effort, valiant spirit and a kind heart, I was wrong to abandon my faith with my people. Now I will die, unable to pass on my renewed hope because the one Amazon I would trust with my legacy is equally childless."

"I asked her the name of this Amazon she felt was worthy of her legacy. Then I informed her she was wrong and the Amazon in question did indeed have a daughter. She asked to meet the daughter,"

"Last night I requested the presence of a female child residing with members of House Epona," the Keeper of Records looked up at the Golden Mare. "I provided neither the resident female (Caitlyn, Aya's Mother), or the House Head with an explanation."

Female child

Since my revival, Amazons were using 'female' child a lot more often. This meant, the motheer had never told her daughter farewell. The true fate of Aya of Epona would never officially be recorded. She has been born, but never recorded as an Amazon of her true House.

"The three of us met alone. The two embraced; birth mother and daughter. The eldest of us proclaimed she saw the light of Kururiyahhssi in her daughter's eyes. Words were exchanged. The child agreed to be adopted then departed. Further arrangements were made without the child's knowledge as we have recently observed."

"I testify that there is only one Amazon alive today who knows what transpired and I will take those conversations to my grave. Does that suffice?" Krasimira finished. I was already regurgitating my mental quandary with my Isharans. Was Aya really a daughter of Kururiyahhssi?

"I will leave it to the others to contemplate your, bizarre actions, Krasimira," Saint Marie frowned. "As for the rest of you, Aya has impressed me. If she has not impressed you, I do not care. I think she is definitely influenced by those two," Saint Marie motioned to Katrina and me. "It is a given since Katrina was of her blood and she has risked much in the presence of a man she calls 'Atta' and he calls 'Duma'."

"Katrina is a cold, heartless snake and I am convinced she is one of the best 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death' the Host been served by in a long, long time.Ã¢â‚¬Âﾝ Saint Marie paused then looked at me while she said; Ã¢â‚¬Å“ Cáel is a fool who leads with his heart when he should let better women take charge. Fortunately for the rest of us, he is reliably successful despite his multitude of handicaps."

Was I upset about being insulted? No. The truth hurts and a Man needs to learn to roll with the punches. Buffy I could deal with. Katrina most likely appreciated being associated with a dangerous reptile. Saint Marie hadn't forgotten Katrina threating Saint Marie's daughter that was for sure.

"I am considering much of what our Princess would like me/us to do, because it is based in keen insight and well-reasoned thought. She wishes to spare our sons so we will have more warriors in the fight. We have already added men to Havenstone and one to the Council, as was the Will of the Ancestors."

"Let me see, she wishes a bodyguard of fourteen (2 First House and 1 from Africa, Asia, Europe and North and South America, the Amazon presence in Australia was minimal and I doubted they would bring someone up from Antarctica, plus the seven matching Runners) without removing permanent members of any House and allowing all Houses to have access to our future Queen. I approve. It is a fine idea and I wish I had thought of it."

"Should we add Runners directly into the Royal House? She doesn't think so and I feel this decision shows a remarkably insightful into the long history of our People and protects the Council's sensitivity on such matters. I approve."

"Placing our sons into the care of the Royal House? We need to free up as many sisters as possible. Men under the care of the Royal House will be tradesmen and help-mates. Not a single weapon will be in their hands. If none of you have realized herlike will take two decades to implement, it only increases my eagerness to see her become 'casted'."

Aya's hand shot up again.

Yes?"

"I would hope the Council, or the Regents, will consider a 'like' which is not mine. It is a man's and it should be of no surprise the idea is Caél's."

"If you feel it holds merit, Aya, tell us," Saint Marie deferred.

"The 9 Clans have shown some interest in a children exchange programs among our youth as it would provide new techniques we can add to our arsenal an a new avenue to experiment with new ideas. I find the idea to be promising as the Host takes part in affairs beyond our own immediate needs. It would also supply partners between families to be shared for a season or two."

Translation: Amazon women could breed with men of allied Secret Societies to reduce our dependence on our own, much smaller, male population. In the short term, it would go a long way to rectifying the Host's child-bearing problems.

The Council's quarrelsome behavior was biting them in the ass big time. Saint Marie was right, the only opinion that mattered was hers until the Council elected a Regency. Had we not been at war, the Council would have ruled, but we were, so we took orders from the Golden Mare. Even if the High Priestess had been alive, she would have deferred to our designated War Leader on most things.

"Cáel Ish, Cáel Wakko Ishara is a very dangerous and devious male, Aya. Be careful of any council he gives," Saint Marie's caution was more playful than menacing.

"I'll be okay," Aya peeped. "He doesn't have sex with any woman until she is eighteen." That wasn't what the Golden Mare was cautioning her about. We all knew it. Aya was working to defuse a sticky bit of mental juggling, listening to a man's advice.

"On that we can agree," Saint Marie conceded. "Back to what I would 'like' to say. The New Directive is being implemented. I feel it goes beyond the purview of my mandate. I will leave it for the Regency to deal with. Katrina and Tessa have already invested in the groundwork in this endeavor, so I will endorse it if that is the decision of the Regency."

"I have zero desire to add a single Runner to the Security Detail. I will open up slots in the training program if that is what the Regency demands. Each House's policy for dealing with the First Directive is their business, not mine. If any of you wish to consider something the Princess considers to be important, so be it. The idea of 1,000 Isharans does not appeal to me. Look how much trouble their tiny numbers have already caused us and take heed."

Buffy began growling, which amused/worried the Houses on either side of us. Unlike me, Buffy didn't 'roll with the blows' and considered all manner of insults to me, House Ishara and her Isharan sisters to be answerable with violence. I loved her so. There was also no way I'd let her go after Saint Marie. The Golden Mare would crush her; I had no doubt.

"The unwelcome blood feud: are both House Heads ignorant of my forbiddance of such things? Apparently so. Both defied me by tossing insults back and forth. Considering we are at war with two of the most powerful Secret factions, I am angered by both for their idiocy."

"The solution the Princess likes is rather novel," Saint Marie was punishing both Messina and me with her low voice and fiery gaze. Krasimira coughed.

"Yes?" Saint Marie suspended her anger.

"The suggested resolution is not without precedence," Krasimira spoke with a scholarly detachment. "In our early days, the Host settled such disputes in Spring and Fall gatherings by contests of foot speed, hunting, horsewomanship, archery and wrestling. If we revive the tradition, the competing Houses could nominate one woman for each contest to settle the matter. Only the hand-to-hand match would risk either contestant's health."

"I will consider it and render judgement before the Sun sets today," Saint Marie nodded. "The final like pleases me greatly. Dealing with the 52 of you is, Cáel?"

I was on the spot. I couldn't let down my fan base of one, Aya. Perhaps it was five, Buffy (who would never admit it), Daphne (who liked me), Katrina (because she liked fucking with my head) and Desiree (who was less likely to admit she found me funny than Buffy).

I felt I gave a decent effort.

"'A ginormous pain in my hemorrhoids?' the basic one."

"'More painful than having my cornea scrapped with a spoon?' more gruesome."

"'Enough to make me want to give Sakuniyas a surprise French kiss?' most likely to be fatal."

"'Worse than waking up to discover I'm related to Cáel Wakko Ishara?' most horrifying, for both of us."

"'Inspiring me to toss it all away and take up Professional Bikini Mud Wrestling?' a personal fantasy of mine."

"Why do we put up with him again?" one House Head remarked.

"Because I am worried that one," motioning to Buffy, "will stab me in the elevator after a meeting."

"My First, are you acting psychotic around the Council members?" I looked over my shoulder at Buffy.

"Wakko Ishara, it is not an act. I am psychotic," she responded deadpan.

"Are you still packing that thermite grenade?"

"No Wakko Ishara. Daphne stole it from me and hid it," was her quick delivery.

"I love working with you two," Daphne whispered.

"What is it with you, your unsubtle sexual innuendo and me in a bikini?" Saint Marie stared at me.

"I find the combination of brilliance and lethality sexy. Just ask Elsa," I grinned. Then I grimaced as Buffy stomped on my toes. The House Heads and Apprentices on either side of me noticed and clearly expected me to do something, like to show outrage (because she was my underling), or start crying (because I was a guy).

"Prestige," Daphne hissed quietly. "Prestige." She was reminding Buffy that beating me up in public made the other Amazons think even less of me than they already did.

"I will go with (B), the cornea scrapping," Saint Marie gave me a nod.

"Damn it," I muttered. I also got my foot out of the way before someone did any more damage to my phalanges.

'Best Daddy Ever,' Aya mouthed to me. Back to the main action.

"It is not my place to order the rest of you to elect Shawnee, Rhada and Buffy to be the Regency. I do admit I admire the mixture of candidates," Saint Marie declared. I shot Rhada a quick look. She seemed really, really enamored of the idea of being part of the Regency, thus staying in New York for the next decade, or so.

"Before the idea is rejected out of hand, I suggest we ask the three people our Princess would like to be part of the Regency if they would accept the nomination," the Golden Mare continued. "Shawnee Arinniti?"

"I bow to the logic and reason of the proposal," Shawnee replied.

"Rhada Meenakshi?"

"I wish to join my sisters in battle, yet I accept the reasoning behind the proposal," Rhada nodded. "If my Head of House agrees, I will stay and do my part for our People." What was she saying to me? 'You are going to whip me, beat me, torture me, humiliate me and push me to beyond the limits of any pain I have experienced until I pass out; repeatedly'.

"I despair of finding any other compromise," Mahdi frowned. "If my Apprentice understands the greater difficulty she will face gaining prestige among her House-mates, I will consent to this proposal." Essentially a 'yes'.

"Buffy Ishara?"

"I was really looking forward to ripping the spines out of still living foes, but I would be a fool to go against Aya of Kururiyahhssi's smarts. If Wakko Ishara wants to walk out of this room unassisted, he will see the wisdom of this decision as well," she gave me a shark's smile. Daphne had surpassed her limit and punched Buffy.

"Hell ya, I agree," I exclaimed. "Now I know there will be certain times of the day when she isn't stalking me."

"I'll work more pain into our limited schedule," Buffy grumbled.

"Are we sure he is the House Head and she is the Apprentice?" Yet another House Head joined the 'shit on me' train.

It was telling of our group dynamic how we accepted the Pyramid of Pain. The underlings dispensed advice and violence as they felt necessary without their 'superior' getting pissy about it. Buffy felt totally justified hitting me and accepted being hit by Daphne, who continued to act unimpeded as Buffy's rapid-fire translator.

"If I was House Head, I'd handcuff him to me," Buffy clarified for her.

"What she said," I pointed a thumb Buffy's way. I'd have used a finger, but she might have grabbed, twisted and made me scream in pain.

"Perhaps the Council can vote on this as their second order of business," Saint Marie cloaked her command as a suggestion.

"Cáel Wakko Ishara, can I ask you a personal question?" Kohar of Marda caught my attention.

"Shoot, wait, probably not the best terminology in this crowd. Ask away," I replied.

"Have you faced a House challenge yet?"

"Yes. Just last night in fact. We free-climbed the north-face of Havenstone. I beat the next closest contender by three floors. I also had Princess Aya on the roof dropping bricks on anyone who attempted to get past me."

"That means he isn't going to answer you," Beyoncé interpreted for my audience.

"Can't you ever take these meetings seriously?" Febe Mielikki glowered.

"La, Febe, in the past few minutes I have watched the person I love most in the world get her life shat on," I shook my head.

"The only thing worse than seeing this happen to Aya is knowing this is her sole opportunity to not lose her soul, so I'm sucking up my heart's pain and putting forward a jester's persona so I don't put any more pressure on her than she's already been subjected to. Like me, she doesn't want the distinction of being a Person of Note."

"Like me, she knows she must sacrifice her dreams for the sake of our People, the Amazon Host. Trust me, you would rather have 'me, the jester' than 'me, the Amazon' furious with the destiny that has foisted this pain on her'. Do any of you take responsibility for forcing the events of this morning?" I growled. If they wanted to see the other side of the Janus, so be it.

"Had you chosen a Regency in the fucking weeks you've been bickering, Kwenhamai could have been dealt with privately. The fate of the Royal House could have been put off a few years. Had you not all been so dead-set on being heroines of the Host, three of you would have sacrificed your bloodlust, your birthright and the future accolades you could recite on your final night (before taking themselves to the cliff), but none of you did."

"Instead, you set the stage for dumping all of your indecisiveness on the slender shoulders of a nine year old girl most of you had written off as too fractured and frail to survive her 12th year only three months ago. So Febe how do you like the honest 'me'?" I finished off furiously.

It was not lost on anyone in the chamber I was an Amazon raging against the cruelty of fate. Every other bitch in the room knew they had discarded my daughter's life as trivial and I was prepared to unleash violence on the next one to show an ounce of disrespect over Aya's surrendering of her destiny and my grief at failing to find a way to stop this from coming to pass. St Marie had just reminded them that I was 'reliably" successful despite my handicaps. Not an enemy anyone in the room wanted any part of. Saku would have been proud.

A Note:

I have been remiss in informing my readers of the names of the 53 Houses, even though I created it some time ago. I have made a few alterations to the original version as I've had to rethink certain parts of this tale, but here is the list I now use.

List of Goddesses:

The First Twenty Houses in no particular order :

1) Ishara, Oaths, Medicine and War (to North America) (died out 450 CE; Reborn in 2014)

2) (Deceased) Anat, Goddess of War, Fury and Blood Sacrifice (died out 6th cent. BCE); possibly resurrected by Sakunyias

3) Anahit, water, wisdom and war (to North America)

4) Arinniti, Sun Goddess (to North America)

5) Hanwasuit, Sovereign Goddess

6) Illuyankamunus, Dragon God (to North America) (Special Case)

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 13

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Thu, 13 Aug 2026 13:41:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 13.

Hana shines and Aya rises.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Ã¢â‚¬Å“It is selfish to believe that your family will always love you. At some point you will be asked to earn it.Ã¢â‚¬Âﾝ

My equilibrium decided to cut me some slack and not invoke the reflexive vomiting. "It is only me, Hana, Imogen, Deidre, Mom, Buffy, hi Juanita," I hadn't spotted my designated bodyguard standing behind Chaz.

"Don't talk to me right now," she seethed. "I'm furious with you." Yep, she was the Caribbean Buffy.

"Perhaps she's pissed about the five extra Illuminati bodyguards added to the regular two around Hana plus the two circling Ghost Tigers having not a fucking clue what those other armed parties are doing in Hana's company," Pamela joked. She could. Everyone else was giving me crap about my social gaff.

"Hey now. This meeting is important. Imogen and I are going to have a child," I enlightened them. The door chimed open and we piled in with two Amazons whose 'fresh' look indicated a use of the showers within the past ten minutes.

"You consistently maintain particularly low standards," Chaz dryly remarked.

"I sent her here for a check-up and that gave Buffy a chance to meet Mom, Deidre and Imogen, plus two unarmed bodyguards," I kept bailing out the Titanic.

"Chaz, I am happy we aren't going to miss this one (lunch)," Pamela smiled at her two grandsons.

"Cáel, are you going to tell your fiancÃ© you've impregnated your aunt?" Chaz was back to being mildly sympathetic to my 'totally fucked-up' life.

"Yes. I figured Buffy shooting death rays at me from her eyes will garner me enough confusion to get the words out of my mouth without her throwing her drink in my face, slapping me, then storming out," I envisioned.

I got no more shit until I reached the garage for my vehicle. There an armed FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox (did you know when a Federal Agent adds 'Special' to their title it means they have a gun?) stood next to my chariot. She'd drawn the short straw, meaning she had been given the chore of driving today.

I found myself wondering when Yasmin would finally finish her orientation. Her training involved some serious mental challenges including a crash course from the FBI at Quantico concerning modern judicial theory and practice as well as whatever pre-Iron Age jurisprudence the Host practiced.

Javiera promised me (and Katrina) that she would not-so-subtly remind those scholastically-groomed legal minds that a (couldn't use the word 'Amazon') legal code they followed had existed, with minor tweaking, as a successful social instrument for over 3,000 years. If they truly behaved in a respectful manner, the owners of the code might even show those people the Codex on the original horse-skin, written in Hittite cuneiform.

Anyway, everyone assumed I had a good reason for heading to my apartment (aka need to retrieve a sleepy Odette.) Had I repeated 'the Bitch stole my fortune cookies', they might have simply taken me to an Asian-inclined grocery store. As we hit the second story landing, Chaz in the lead, we heard a passel of folks come down toward us from the fourth level.

I didn't think there were that many people on the entire floor. Chaz and Pamela each went for their holstered pistol, while keeping them hidden in their jackets. Wieslawa, who went for her PDW, backed up so she could fire through the stairs from beneath.

Juanita, bless her heart, and Virginia had remained in the S U V because sending in more people would have left us piled into one another. If a firefight did break out, Juanita could bring in some serious hardware to back us up while Virginia called the appropriate authorities before rushing in herself.

Around the corner on the third floor landing came a number of women, early/mid-twenties, physically fit, foreign clothes and downcast expressions. A few looked like they were about to cry. They were all in shirts and jeans, with no obvious weapons. Not looking lethal didn't ratchet down Chaz's vigilance. Me? I was instantly reminded how much sex I had been missing.

"Prince Cáel! You are alive!" spilled out of the first one, a fiery red-head with a billowing, thick mane, porcelain skin and adorable freckles. Her Irish brogue was enchanting. I had to wonder if she cried out in Gaelic during orgasm. Wasn't I about to meet my future bride plus numerous other love interests?

She was fit, curvy and wearing an aqua shirt which exposed her midriff with a belly ring bearing a pearl drop, the requisite tattered skin-tight jeans and soft leather calf-boots.

"Why wouldn't I be alive?" I grinned, like a pirate discovering an all-girls school oceanographic classroom in need of plundering.

"How do total strangers know how unlikely it is that you would still be alive?" was Chaz's spin on things.

"We talked with your roommate. He said you had moved to Svalbard where you suffered an excruciating painful, yet richly deserved, death in a lemming stampede," she pouted, "and then the UN had your ashes exiled to Pluto because the Sun was too good for you."

9, 10, 11 ; 12 of them looking, 3 with pale blonde hair that eerily reminded me of my fiancé, another red-head, two russet and five with deep, dark brown, or black hair. They were all fit, fit, fit! With an air of 'I graduated college only to discover: 1) no one was hiring Saline Soil Scientists, or 2) I no longer want to do any of the things I wanted to do when I picked this major. I was familiar with both types.

Timothy would have been at work and Odette would have invited the troupe in to regale them with all sorts of tales, which would have included a tour of my bedroom. They clearly had missed Odette so, now I recalled; that particular excuse was one of the ten I had given the guy in 4B should anyone suspicious come calling.

I imagine twelve hot, English-as-a-Second-Language girls might be considered, a bit odd. See, his was my address of record. I lied about my actual apartment, so random people who came looking for me went to him instead. This arrangement had been made prior to my understanding of the nature of my employment at Havenstone.

I'd neglected, telling him to move out and go far, far away? Poor guy. I'd find a way to make it up to him later.

"Actually it was a southern vole immigration incident that was set off by the Bulgarian consulate offering repatriation for the first 10,000 applicants," I frowned, clearly traumatized by memory of the incident.

"These poor southern vole, native to the vacationer-friendly Black Sea resorts, were accidently introduced to the coldest inhabited place in the Northern hemisphere and they've been trying to get home ever since, that would be the equivalent of a century and a half in 'vole-years."

"Despite the UN trying to quarantine any news of this Cricetidae catastrophe, I decided to evacuate the six most critically injured vole using a Bortolanza Pluto ultralight, which he must have confused with the UN sending my ashes to Pluto," I explained.

Mind you, the 'southern' voles are native to, among other places, Norway, the owner of Svalbard. They were also native to the Bulgarian Black Sea coast so, The Pluto ultra-light, once built in Italy, is now called the 'Puma' and made in Canada, has a maximum range of 675 km, which would leave me crash landing into the Barents Sea, 260 km north of the northernmost airport in Norway, rendering me and my voles so much frozen food.

"You are an animal rights activist too?" several of the girls gasped. Yes. Yes I was. I was an animal and I was all for me having rights.

"Please, don't tell anyone about this," I grew serious. "I don't want my philanthropic efforts to be publicized. What I do, I do for the Earth's endangered ecosystems because it is what everyone should do, not because we suddenly feel bad about neglecting it."

"E haere koe ki te whai kia nui ai," Pamela snorted. I'd ask her why she knew Maori later, right after I figured why Grandpa knew it.

"Ko toku mahere whanui," I replied. The girls looked confused.

"I'm also trying to revitalize endangered languages and revive dead ones. It is more of a hobby than life pursuit," I informed them.

"You really are a modern-day noble warrior-poet," the red-head leader sighed.

"Nah. I'm just a guy," I shrugged. "Besides, Ba ch ir fear a bheith ar eolas ag a gn omhais, n a oidhreacht." (A man should be known by his deeds, not his heritage).

"Sa ch s go bhfuil misneach, t s il agam," she replied using my 'family' motto.

"Jos on jalot on toivoa,", "Ahol van b tors ga, van rem ny," and "cesaret oldugu yerde umut vardir," all followed. 'Where there is Valor, there is Hope' in Finnish, Hungarian and Turkish. I got the sneaking feeling this wasn't a college field trip gone awry. These chicks were coming at me with a purpose that included more than sexual gratification and a kiss good-bye. Ugh.

"Thank you," I genuflected, paying honor to their reciting of my personal vow. "Anyway, you appear to be looking for me, but I am afraid I don't know any of you. Taking into account that I have a late lunch date with my fiancé in a half-hour and will be taking notes at a feminist convention at 8, what can I do for you?" I was establishing my escape plan.

"We have come here to join you," an assertive, dusky-skinned one smiled. I had to think about this. I was a bit tired. Taking all twelve of these girls on in one orgy was currently beyond me. I'd do eight tonight and the last four before breakfast tomorrow. Ah, happy thoughts of the Lacrosse Finals.

"What exactly do you plan to do with Mr. Nyilas?" Chaz interrupted.

"We are the (Irish) 'Na conairte soith an S aghdha ar', (Hungarian) 'A szuka kuty kat Herceg Nyilas', (Turkish) 'Prens ok u Kaltak K pekleri' and (Finnish) 'Narttu koirista prinssi jousimies'," they chorused.

Pamela snickered. All of those fancy sounding names were variations on 'the Bitch Hounds of Prince Archer/Nyilas (with the Irish going for O'Shea).

"You want to be my bodyguards?" I gawked. Lacking lions, the Irish choice of the 'fur-balls of death' were hounds. Being women technically made them 'bitches'. I had to move fast. Any second now Wieslawa was going to figure out these over-anxious non-Amazons were trying to replace her.

"You do realize I've left piles of dead bodies in my wake, right?" I nearly choked. Pamela slapped me on my back.

"Of course," they sounded so chipper. Fuck you Internet and 'First Person Shooter' games. This wasn't a fucking game! Trained combatants who joined my retinue met grisly ends and this was their freaking profession!

"Can I think about it? I mean, do any of you have any combat experience at all? Attacked someone in anger? Send off a blistering instant message?"

"Some of us have (combat experience I was assuming). We won't let you down."

"You do realize Ms. Dubois is going to kill them, don't you Sir?" Chaz sent me a chilling look.

"Ms. Dubois?", "who is that?" and "kill us?" floated around.

"Ms. Dubois is my blood-hungry ferret who wears a 'naughty berserker' human suit to trick the masses."

"Three of us have military training," one of the Finns spoke up.

By that they meant they had volunteered for military service in their native countries, then left after their first term because they found military life to be boring. On the 'plus' side, all but one had martial arts experience and six of the twelve had been a member of a Gun Club of some kind. Yep, Buffy was going to kill them, all twelve at once by herself.

"I'll make you a deal," I offered. Chaz was giving me his 'I'm a stone yet clearly unhappy with you' face. "At 7:15 tonight, you will show up at Havenstone. I will sign you in, we'll go upstairs to one of the gyms and then warm up for fifteen minutes. When you are ready, or 7:30 rolls around, we are going to the sparing mats. If I lose, you can stay. If you lose, you will write this off as one of a legion of ideas that look good in print yet are foolish in practice. Do you accept?"

"How many of us do you have to beat for us to join with you and your Crusade?" the lead Irishwoman asked.

"All of you. I will fight you all at once. The mat space is quite extensive."

"You mean all twelve of us against you at the same time?" one of the Turks blinked in disbelief.

"Yes. I am not disrespecting you, any of you. You've shown initiative, courage and a spirit of adventure. I found all three to be both admirable and worthy of reward (i.e. I will gladly have sex with you). What I am also telling you is of the three people with me, the only one I can most likely defeat in single combat is her," I motioned to Wieslawa, "and I'm only saying that because she is 19 and relatively new to the art of killing."

Their eyes flickered to Pamela. Chaz was scary without even trying. Pamela could be threatening, or appear harmless, as she wished.

"Chaz is a professional military man from a long line of diligent warriors and in a branch of service that requires close contact with hostile individuals, teams, tribes, clans and nations."

"The woman behind me is much, much worse. I've met precisely three people who could possibly kill her and I killed one of them. Would you agree, Chaz?"

"Absolutely," he concurred.

"We know who you two are," a Finn spoke up. She had a dazzling smile and cleavage that had to obscure her toes when she stood.

"You do?" Pamela played nice. For once, it was technology biting her in the ass, not me. Yay?

"You are Rhingyll lliw Siarl Yfory," the Irish lass looked at Chaz. That was Welsh, and meant Color Sergeant Charles Tomorrow, I imagined his superiors in the British military weren't going to be happy with any of us, him being a 'secret military operator', emphasis on the 'secret'.

"And you are Sverkhsekretnykh Shpiona Vsemed Svaya," the Turkish girl pointed at Pamela. Pamela snorted. In Russian that meant 'Super-secret Spy Pamela Pile'. Since Pamela in Russia was pronounced 'Pamela' they had gone back to the origin of the name of Pamela, a fictitious 17th English novelist creation using mangled Hellenic, which translated as 'all-honey'.

'All-honey' in Russian was Vsemed. Pamela snickered. Oh yeah, those twelve had combed through millions of articles and pictures to figure out who Chaz was and who Pamela claimed to be. Actually, one of my Hungarian admires back when we were all in Eastern Europe had suggested Pamela was a remorseful ex-SMERSH agent turned Princely-sidekick. Pamela jabbed me, the unspoken 'sidekick' thing.

(For those who don't know, in Russian SMERSH loosely means 'Death to Spies', it really existed from 1943 to 1946 and was resurrected by Ian Fleming as a foil for James Bond.)

"Chaz, since Cáel is, without a doubt, already having a stupendously wretched day, we must insist he inform Addison of all three of these developments, in person. I want to see the look on her face," Pamela plotted with the man who had thrown himself between me and an explosive vest, probably out of some psychic impulse that I would suffer far, far worse later, like in today, within less than 24 hours of said act.

"Why am I here again today?" I lowered my head and groaned.

"Are you okay?" a dozen innocent voices cried out.

"We are here to pick up Odette," Wieslawa reminded me.

"Oh yeah, fortune cookies," I mumbled.

"Is 'Fortune Cookie' a nickname for one of your other operatives? Many of them are real enigmas. We can't find out anything about her," one of the Hungarians said. Yeah, because SD doesn't have a Facebook page, or Twitter account. Odette, she was protected by a completely unremarkable lifestyle, but I had a feeling that was fading fast.

"Excuse us," I asserted myself. "I need to get something on the third floor. Chaz began pushing forward while Pamela had my back.

"What are you doing?" to me and "Hey, is that a gun?" to Chaz, then Wieslawa. Pamela was too sneaky to get caught.

"I'm here to pick up Agent Fortune Cookie then head out to a meeting with some really shady characters and my fiancé," I informed them.

"Agent Fortune Cookie," Chaz mused. "She's going to love that,"

"And then," Pamela continued.

"She is going to want a gun," I groaned.

Oh goddess! No! Chaz had joined Pamela and my 'group think'.

"No, I have not," Chaz corrected me, about my mental ruminations.

"I've been coaching him," Pamela faux-consoled me. As my new prospective bodyguards parted for my current bodyguards,

"Do you have psychic powers?" "Where is your android?" and "Is it true you can have sex up to ten times a day?"

"Yes, but we can't talk about it," then, "Which one? We have six models," and finishing up with, "Yes, I can have sex up to ten times a day with each session lasting at least an hour, though I do need breaks for food, drink, quiet romantic conversations and showers, cause shower-sex is so damn fun."

While they mulled that over, I unlocked my door in time to see a nicely-dressed (as if she was about to go out on an expensive lunch date) Odette spring off the sofa. Looking at the crowd behind me, she blessed me with an incredibly happy smile.

"Oh cool! Do we really have enough time for an orgy?"

I wanted to cry.

(A Family FUNction, minus the 'fun' part)

My fiancé giving me a congenial and contented look. Good.

My fuck-buddy/friend Libra giving me a salacious 'you and me are going to hook up soon' smile while dressed in a red, 'business suite/slinky number' combo with a plunging neckline. I put her invite on my mental day-planner. Fellas, if you can't keep it in your mind, forget about it. Print equals pain, believe me.

Brooke had joined the lunch group, sharing a smile and wink with Libra with the secret agreement for a three-way. Sweet! I could do this, hmm, lunch break Friday, yum-yum-yum. She was wearing a beige business suit with slacks, minus the shirt. Only her cunningly cut jacket kept her goodies from exposure.

Hana was a saint for putting up with those two, and me.

Buffy was studying me with the clear desire to put me in a dog cage for the rest of the week. Technically she had to produce my body for work Monday. As for the hot, sweaty, intense Brooke-Libra-Cáel m nage trois, Buffy was reading the undercurrents and setting up a breakwater. At least her attire suggested well-paid, successful international assassin. I wondered if I had paid for her clothing as well. I'd given Chaz's wardrobe a serious upgrade courtesy of Pamela faking my signature.

The gathering was rounded out by Mom, Imogen and Deirdre. Thank God they all had different hair styles and forms of dress. Mom was in 'casual-durable' attire, Imogen was going with the military-chic and Deirdre's get up was in the same style as Hana.

I was pleasantly pleased that Hana had reserved two adjacent tables for what she assumed would be my support network, Pamela, Odette, Chaz, Wieslawa and Juanita, plus Imogen's five and her (Hana's) two Illuminati minders. That made me squeezing my twelve newest over-eager admirers into the mix doable, if not comfortable. Better yet, none of the new girls was dressed for a restaurant this exclusive.

Hana was quietly amused. Buffy was volcanic. Thankfully she was being a volcano on the mid-Atlantic ocean ridge; submerged.

"Chaz, Pamela, explain," Buffy seethed.

"I don't work for you," Pamela playfully bantered back, "Sweet-Cheeks."

"They are part of a clandestine

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 12

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Wed, 12 Aug 2026 13:40:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 12.

The first Ishara open House Challenge.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Odd Happenings.

{8:58 am, Wednesday, Sept. 3rd; 5 Days to go; the Final Salvo; at this time}

I had deposited my Mother in the place I felt was safest for her with OT (Oyuun T m rbaatar) at the Kazakhstan's UN mission. Her being my family was what mattered to them most. I picked her up on my way to work, which made my entrance into the lobby all that much more cataclysmic.

I was traveling light with only Wieslawa iva providing me with security. Chaz, Pamela and Juanita were catching up with their sleep, with a promise of taking me out for a late lunch. That was really them telling me to not leave JIKIT until they came for me around 2:00 pm.

So anyway, me, Mom and Wieslawa walked into the ground floor of the Mil Ma Towers to find eleven people waiting on us. We were in downtown Manhattan in a part of town the NYPD paid particular attention to. What could go wrong, right? Two of the people were Amazons from Havenstone. With them were two fine young men from the US 'don't make me kill you' Department. By this time in my life I was sure they had one which no one talked about.

Five of my expectant visitors were of the same mold as those who protected Hana for me. Not the Ghost Tigers that would have put me at ease. Sure, they were a gang of assassin and in this circumstance; I would have preferred them. As it was, ten sets of highly-trained Illuminati operative eyes kept me, my party and the four guardians of JIKIT in their overlapping fields of vision.

The last two, were doing an impromptu family reunion. They were Aunts 'X' and 'Y', and neither of them smelled like fish, or crab.

"Aunt Deidre," I tossed out there. "What brings you here today?"

It looked like clobbering time! No. Wait. Neither Mom, nor my aunts, were saying anything and they were normally so verbose.

"Sibeal."

"Imogen."

"Sibeal, you are looking surprisingly well for a dead woman," the other one said.

"Deidre, you are looking surprisingly alive for someone who deserves to be dead," Mom bantered back.

"How long have you known about this?" Imogen's eyes flickered my way.

"Not long, a while, more than a day, ah, take your pick," I mumbled. I decided to turn that frown aka 'my gut wrenching terror that my Mother was about to die' upside down aka ramped up my sexy, 'glad to see you in a totally incestuous way'.

"So, what brings you here today and why aren't you waiting upstairs with the rest of my band of cutthroats, malcontents and ne'er do-wells? Oh, and I'm happy to see both of you." Karma was about to bitch-slap the shit out of me and it was so well deserved.

"I'm pregnant," Imogen studied my reaction. Yeah, I had banged her after Deidre, but before Baibre because I am a fucking reprehensible human being and sometimes, I feel I am utterly irredeemable.

"Great news," I exhaled. I so wanted to ask 'so, who is the father?' except that was too cruel, even for an O'Shea.

No one stopped me from stepping up and hugging her. Everyone in the lobby had heard her loud and clear. Anyone who knew me, or even about me, knew she wasn't passing on the information because Imogen liked sharing good news. I kept my hands on her hips while I leaned my torso back until we could make eye contact.

"Does Granddad know?" It occurred to me in that second that Pamela was going to kick herself for missing this and the opportunity to kick me as well.

"I told him over the phone. His reaction was neutral," she responded.

"Whoa, girl? Boy? How are you doing? When are we going to sit down and figure out a name? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Come home with me," she suggested.

"No," Mom snapped. "Next time he steps into your custody, we all know you won't let him get away." She meant the plane trip to Ireland.

"No, Mom," I countered. "I'm a grown man now and I make my own decisions. That being said no, I'm not going home with you."

"Not only am I still in love with the concept of my personal freedom, I have important work to do. People are counting on me."

"We are counting on you too," Deidre stated. "In fact, that is the other reason we came here. We need you."

"Why do I feel that has to do with something besides sex?"

"Can we talk to you in private?" Imogen requested. There were a thousand and one reasons to say 'no'. Things like 'common sense', bad behavior they had murdered my homicidal uncle and the fact they were as morally twisted as their creator. Oh and they were hot and I hadn't been laid in forever.

"Sure. Let's go upstairs. You can have your people sweep the room to ensure our privacy then the four of us can sit down and have a family chat," I offered.

"We don't want her in the room," Deidre indicated Mom.

"We are a package deal," I denied her. "Like her, or not, she is as much family to me as you both are."

They consented far too fast. Either I was falling into their masterful trap, or something horrible had happened. Neither options was palatable to me. The bodyguards departed, Wieslawa last of all.

"What's gone wrong?" Mom preempted me. Her sisters glared.

"Father's body is not his own," Imogen told us. I was trying to figure out the relevance of that when Mom gasped.

"Oh fuck," she said in a small voice. "No serum?" Oh yeah, the refinement of those addictive pheromones Grandpa Cáel had gifted me with. Whatever flesh-form he currently inhabited wasn't one containing his genetic make-up meaning,

"Oh shit," I mumbled. "What can I do?"

"Yes," Deidre replied to Mom.

"Let them die," Mom insisted (to me). Less I forget, she was raised by Grandpa Cáel too. Her being a loving mother to me didn't translate over to her being a humanitarian of any kind.

"The Hell you say," I jumped up and stared down at Mom. "You hate them. I don't. Letting them die makes me worse than him." Grandpa.

"So you will help us?" Deidre moved to the edge of her seat.

"Okay. This is the point where I threaten you into making some concessions, we argue then you eventually cave in because no matter how terrible your futures look, you aren't willing to give up on living. None of that is going to happen. What do you need from me?"

"Come back with us to Ireland so we can finish our experiments," Imogen joined me in standing. Unwilling to give her sister any physical advantage, Mom stood as well.

"No. That isn't even a believable lie," I scolded her. "You don't need to blackmail me into helping you. I'll do it gladly. That doesn't mean I'll let you trick me into doing something stupid. I do 'stupid' all the time. I'm accustomed to it and I know it when its ugly head rises up before me. Try again."

"We could pick a neutral location," Deidre suggested.

"How about Havenstone?" They didn't look like that plan was even worthy of their consideration. "Imogen, inside you is growing a possible heir to House Ishara. An attack on you would be an attack on Ishara. Barring you betraying the Amazons, you would be perfectly safe."

"Wonderful," Mom's sarcasm dripped off every word. "I'm going to be a grandmother to my nephew while my son is bringing a child into the world that can double as his cousin."

"That sound pretty horrible, Mom. It is the truth, but it still sounds pretty terrible."

While those words tumbled out of my mouth, I did a little soul back-searching. How in the fuck was outside of the actual fucking was Imogen pregnant? My existence was a freaking fluke of nature. A few words were bandied about the room while I was lost in deductive reasoning and turning hunches into assumptions and turning those into reasonable mystic hypotheses.

I created the Mojo-Little Engine that thought it could. Specifically, the legacy of Vranus. Legions of little Vranusian sperm had been jumping hurdle after hurdle to keep the faith alive that Vranus would meet his Ancestors with his mission accomplished. I was already half way there.

Still, the legacy of Vranus and the hopes of Dot Ishara hadn't stopped in their struggle just because I had been born. They were still trying to restore the mortal descendants of a Dead House. They were also still spiritually pushing me on to fulfill his last command to save the Arinniti sons.

I was halfway there by returning the offspring of Bolu, Vranus' fellow guardian, back to the fold. It remained for me to round up the purpose of the whole mission in the first place. My semen weren't taking a chance that I could get gakked before that was accomplished. Having knocked up an augur despite the toxic soup she called blood should have been a dire warning to me, I'm an idiot.

When the curse of Sarrat Irkalli clashed with the actions of Dot Ishara, Ishara had won. Sarrat Irkalli sought to deny Alal any children of his own. Dot was insisting the male line of Vranus Ishara continue on. The end result was Alal received his long-denied grandson, who just happened to also want him dead because of a feud that stretched back over two millennia.

As an added insult, his grandson then knocked up one of Alal's genetically manipulated daughters, again giving him something he couldn't accomplish on his own heirs grand-sons and daughters, most who would also want to kill him, being Amazons and members of the 9 Clans after all. Why? Cause Goddesses are bitches, that's why.

That got me to wondering when would be the next time I was going to meet Ishara. I hadn't suffered severe head trauma in while and she was overdue for some snuggle time, witty banter and a fortune cookie. I'd try to be careful. It wouldn't do any good, but I had to try.

"Why are you crying?" Mom touched my arm.

"No reason," I lied.

"Why don't we make plans for tonight?" Deidre insinuated herself next to me. "We'd like to meet Hana. From what I understand, Father likes her."

"No can-do," I sniffled. "I've got an orgy with 159 women at 8 o'clock, except there won't be any sex, or fun of any kind. Basically, I have to convince a roomful of women to not beat me up and take my stuff."

"You don't have to go," Imogen had finished boxing me in I had a chair behind me and Momma-clones all around.

"For the same reason I'm going to take care of our child, Imogen, I have to go to this meeting. People are counting on me to do the right thing without telling me what the right thing to do is."

"That's unfair," Deidre empathized by stroking my chest.

"Not so. This is just another day in the life of a new hire at Havenstone Commercial Investments. Every day is like this and in five more days, the real fun beings." That wasn't entirely accurate. I had one good, stress-free week. It was when Carrig put me in a coma. That week I had done pretty well for myself.

{9:28 am, Wednesday, Sept. 3rd; 5 Days to go}

I trundled my latest 'Assistant-in-Charge of keeping the hopes of future Isharans alive' (I didn't want to call Aunt Imogen, or any other woman, my 'Baby-Mamma'), along with Mom and Deidre, for a meet-and-greet with Buffy. I had spelled out in no uncertain terms that Buffy was the power behind the Ishara Throne and thus making 'her' believe they were playing on the up-and-up was their best hope for easing relations between the O'Shea and the Amazon Host.

After they left me (with the assurance we'd be getting back together for lunch, with Hana), I made three calls. I needed to make a formal request to Katrina (any Illuminati member(s) entering any Amazon facility was her purview) and another to Elsa (as a sign of respect) that Aunt Imogen and two unarmed bodyguards, max, needed to see our medicos about a delicate issue.

The third call was to Buffy to enlighten her as to both the arrival of another one of my aunts (so we needed to get along peacefully with her) and that Aunt Imogen was carrying yet another potential heir to House Ishara. I suggested it would be a symbolic gesture if a member of House Ishara could hang around for the visit, as it might impress upon Imogen our House had a vested interest in keeping her alive.

"Another one?" Buffy sizzled. "And this one is your aunt?"

"It is a date then," I stumped her.

"You are going to take your pregnant aunt out on a date?" Buffy's sizzle meter was rapidly climbing to Krakatoa proportions.

"Nope. I'm setting up a date for us. You, me and a quiet location at 12:01 am Tuesday morning, my First. Later in the morning, I'll be heading out to wherever they have stored Felix so we can work on some cooperative strategy."

"And if I say 'no'?" She was terribly grumpy.

"Ugh, I guess I'll go bar-crawling with Odette and Timothy, Gay and Lesbian bars only. That way I know I'll behave."

"And if they say 'no'?" she was slightly less hostile.

"I'll know you threatened their lives, and then you and I will finally find out who is better on the mats. Trust me, it will not be an experience you will enjoy."

"I don't know. I think I'd like that."

"No. You start threatening the other people I love and you will not be happy; I guarantee that, Buffy."

She realized I was both serious and angry. She had stepped out of bounds, the 'bounds' I had set up two hours earlier during our elevator ride.

"Is the meeting still on for the night?" she evaded my disappointment.

"Yes. Will you be there?"

"Of course," she grumped.

"Buffy, don't bother showing up if you can't separate 'us' as friends, 'us' as Wakko Ishara and my First, and you as my apprentice.

"Making me miserable in the first relationship doesn't help the latter two one bit. I try not to be an irresponsible asshole as House Head. More than anyone else, you know what I will sacrifice to be Ishara and one with my Isharans. I'll also step out and be plain ole 'Cáel Nyilas' when events permit."

"But I am sick and tired of people not taking my desire to be foolish and care-free seriously. Being a dogmatic ass-hat isn't in me, but if you can't work with that, from here on out we are Wakko Ishara and Buffy Ishara and nothing more. I will still trust you as an Isharan, but not as a friend. Your choice."

"Don't be such an asshole!" she snapped.

"Screw you!" I fired back. "I made a fucking effort to plan out some personal time with you, disguised as a joke; you knew it and you still decided to be a ball-buster. Like I need another fucking ball-buster right now, with all the other shit on my plate. You know better!" I was screaming. The people in JIKIT were working overtime at not staring at me.

"I'm under a ton of stress here too," she snarled. "I have to deal with the Council, keep our House growing and fulfill my obligations with Executive Services."

"Do you want to quit? No longer by my 'apprentice'? Go back to working for Katrina full time?"

"Really?" she whispered.

"Of course the fuck not!" I shouted. "I didn't pick you for the job because of your sterling personality, or your bedroom excellence. I picked you because I had, and still have, utter faith in your ability to do whatever is necessary to overcome the landfill-sized colossal ill-fortune the Ancestors have dumped in our lap."

"I'm just asking you to stop being a whiny, over-sensitive cunt and remember: it was the psychotic bitch who I chose for the top spot," I rumbled.

"I'm going to kick your ass," she seethed.

"Nice to know. We on for Monday night?"

Pause.

"Yes," and she hung up. Two seconds later my phone rang again. "Buffy?" I answered. "And don't be late!" she menaced, then hung up again.

"So," Addison turned my way, "are you praying for World Peace to break out, or Nuclear War?"

"Hardy-har-har," I griped.

"Now that your personal drama is temporarily derailed, we have something for you to look at," Mehmet motioned for my attention. "Ever heard of Kofuku no Kagaku?" I shook my head. "It translates over as 'Happy Science' and it is a cult-like organization in Japan."

"Cool beans. Why do I have a sinking impression it is not a front for the Ninja?"

"That is what we want you to find out," Addison took over. "Of critical importance is the news conference their leader, Ryuho Okawa, gave earlier this afternoon/morning (~ 3:17 pm Tokyo time = 2:17 am East Coast time ~), especially a very relevant part of his interesting public announcement.

"He claims to be the Earthly manifestation of the Supreme Being. That is old news. Today he claimed that Temujin of the Khanate was the reincarnation of the original Genghis Khan and, with him, Ryuho, as the unifier of theological forces and therefore serving as spiritual advisor to Temujin, they would usher in a new period of Peace throughout Asia."

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," I exhaled.

"He also claims that Japan is in the midst of an epic struggle, both spiritually and in the physical sense. The 'ancient guardians' of Japanese purity, the 6 Ninja Families, are at war with the depth of all Evil, the Chinese Seven Pillars of Heaven by name, who are determined to drag all of Asia away from the Light and into the Darkness of pain, degradation and slavery.

"In fact I quote: 'Alone among the nations of the Earth, only the Japanese cultural identity can stand firm against this global menace. Only the Japanese can keep the torch of true Enlightenment aloft. Only the Japanese can guide the development of the Khanate into the Supreme Empire it is meant to be'."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say this guy is pseudo-religious, a Japanese ultra-nationalist as well as anti 'all things Sino'," came out of my mouth.

"Correct."

"None of the Secret Societies would do something so public. Temujin's background is a mystery, but no one in the Khanate is calling him a reincarnated spirit, and they know the truth," I continued.

"This guy is pretty nutty," Mehmet confirmed. "He also claims to channel Buddha, Mohammed, Christ and Confucius. His followers worship him as the Earthly manifestation of the 'Supreme Being' named El Cantare, which is yet another name for any number of ancient supreme deities. And he claims to consult with the 'spirit guardians' of national leaders and aids in their mystic defense, with the aid of the Five Sacred Sisters' Spirits."

Clearly this man was insane. Unfortunately, insane didn't make someone wrong,

"Ah Hell," I muttered.

Mehmet and Addison perked up; after all, figuring out the bizarre was my position on the team.

"He probably is insane, and I can't blame him," I sighed. "He isn't El Cantare; he is in touch with the Weave."

"I have a feeling this is 'not good'," Addison murmured. "How bad is it?"

"The Five Sacred Spirit Sisters are most likely the five augurs who died in order to save Temujin, which, in turn, allies the 9 Clans with the E and S and Amazons to 'save' Japan, though it is not 'saved' yet."

"Technically, the Weave IS the Supreme Being. It's largely indifferent, yet capable of doing both good and ill in response to outside (aka mortal) stimuli. If you can observe the Weave, you might be able to see the most likely path destiny is taking as well as the key players screwing with that destiny.

"That would include the Gong Tau sorcerers and the ninjas use of their own brand of magic; and God only knows what other mystic tricks the others have been attempting."

"How do we get them to stop?" Captain Delil

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 3

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Wed, 12 Aug 2026 02:54:07 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 3

Cáel's second vacation with Aya and friends.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Loving your enemy is easy. You know precisely where the two of you stand

Just in case anyone cares, I do not hate China or the Chinese People. As a Global Power, the PRC is fair game as a great antagonist. Not only do they have, as of 2015, the world's largest economy, largest population and a truly global Diaspora, they also have a rather totalitarian governance system that enables them to devote scary levels of resources to any endeavor they set their minds to.

I usually paint all governments to be entities capable of great good (rarely achieved) and great evil (because it makes such enticing fiction). In my stories, it often falls to the people within those institutions to make judgment calls on what is the right thing to do. In my final analysis, there are no 'Evil' governments, just evil people who use the system to get what they want

(Right where we left off)

"Aya," I spoke to her when she'd finished up by giving Mu a strong dose of a pain killer, "Now go back to the galley and find the nice medic-lady there. She has a bottle filled with some of those kick-ass sedatives. Inject everyone else but me, you, Zhen here and Mu, Mu's had enough drugs for one day."

"Okay," she popped up. She turned fearlessly to face her former tormentors and jailors.

"I had them all swear an oath to Ishara to not kill, harm, or restrain you in any manner, so have fun hunting them down. You've got about thirty minutes."

"Is Dot with us right now?" she gave me a bone-tired smile. I nodded. "This is going to be fun," she shouted and off she went.

'I'll be by her side', Dot whispered to me. She rose forth from the seat within me and followed Aya out into Seven Pillars Hell. Technically, I believed it was the Diyu of the Fiendish Child. Those malicious bastards suffered every accident, misfortune, and nearly-impossible odds malfunction in the process of being subdued by a 9 year old Amazon.

Four of them died in the process of trying to kill her, when stopping her became obviously impossible. Two had their guns blow up when they tried to shoot her, dismembering their hands and wrists. One guy was strangled in his emergency oxygen supply mask. The last guy lunged forward, slipped on a cup and broke his neck when his head was caught in a folded armrest.

Twenty-eight nerve wracking minutes later.

"All done," she gave me an exhausted yet triumphant chirp. "Should I strap Mr. Mu into a chair? He's passed out."

"Zhen, buckle your brother into a chair and hurry back. I'll hold us steady until you get back."

Remember, I had only the use of my left hand. My right had to stay on the dagger to keep things powered up.

"Buckle-up after you've gotten Duan Mu secured, Aya. That's his proper name."

"I know that. I was trying to keep them irritated so they would act irrationally. You taught me that," Aya bathed me in her sinister ways and means.

Finally, it was down to me and Zhen.

"Do you think we will succeed, Cáel Wakko Ishara?"

"I'm giving it my best shot."

"The little girl was right," Zhen groaned. "She told us we'd regret not killing you in New York when we had the chance. I thought she was being an annoying spoiled brat. I was wrong." Pause. "I know you have no reason to answer me truthfully, but when we, the rest of us, die, could you make sure my brother's body is returned to my father so that he can join our ancestors in the family grave?"

"Why do you think I would lie to you now that we are alone?" That was a loaded question. I did the majority of my lying when I was alone with a woman.

"I, will you give me your Oath, in your Goddess's name?"

"Nope. My Goddess has pretty much been exhausted by your boys trying to break their vows to me and Aya. I'll tell you what I will do, "

"What?"

"Show me your tits and I'll promise to do my best."

"What? You want to see me naked?" she grew indignant. "No!" It was her being a vaginal virgin (I knew the type; good oral technique and bed play, but no 'go-uppy' the cunt, or ass) and me not being Han Chinese, therefore being a 'Stinky Barbarian'.

"Listen, I've never flown a commercial jet before and neither have you. Odds are we are both going to be dead in the next ten minutes. After all the hell you have put me through, can you at least give me some fucking inspiration. No one will ever know. Besides, imagining the perfect swell of your breast and the smooth tautness of your stomach, well, you are so damn perfect it is distracting!" I protested against the World's grand injustice (me not being Han and thus not worthy of seeing her goodies).

"Do you really think we are all about to die?" she studied me.

"I'm doing my best, but, yes, I believe we are," I stared deep into her dark brown orbs.

'You are despicable,' Ishara chortled. 'I promise you, plant your seed and she will bear you a son.'

"Very well, hold onto the controls," she said as she released her joystick. She rolled up her padded (high-tech body-weave) shirt carefully. I was a past master of looking while pretending not too look. Still,

"Can I look yet?" I hesitantly questioned. Sure, we were about to slam an Airbus-350 into the Pacific Ocean, or a concrete runway, no lights, in a cyclone, but she was 'working it'. For all she knew, this striptease would be her last living memory.

"No." A few seconds passed.

"Now?"

"No." Oh, her top was just cresting her highly aroused nipples, she had tiny, erect nipples. The smallest I had ever seen, but long, almost like tiny awls. Finally she'd played it out as long as possible.

"Okay."

"No, wait," I begged. "Let me make sure everything is stable. I want to look at you for as long as I can. This will probably be the last happy moment of my life, so I want to make the most of it." That made her happy. I puttered around for five seconds, then pivoted around to take in her full, topless view. I didn't say anything for the longest time.

"Aren't you done yet," she grumbled. "We are about to crash."

"Oh, sorry," I turned away. She rolled her top down quickly and we returned to trying to keep the people we loved most in life alive. I sensed as sense of disappointment in her nonetheless.

"Perfect," I whispered. She caught it.

"What did you say? Is something wrong?" she worried, studying her crippled command console for any errors she might have missed.

"I said 'perfect'. I knew it, your body is perfect," I confessed. Pause.

"Oh, "

"Now I have something to live for," I declared.

"I will never let you see me naked again. This was a one-time thing!"

"That's two things I have to live for then," I countered.

"Bringing us in alive and seeing me naked once more?" she had to be sure.

"I was going to say 'seeing you naked again' and 'living', but I can see that your priorities make more sense," I conceded.

"Ah, you are right, that I am right." Pause. "Good luck."

"On seeing you naked again, or surviving our landing."

"Let's start out by landing the plane.

"And then, Duan Zhen?"

"We will see, Cáel Ishara."

{9 pm, Tuesday, August 16th; 23 Days to go}

{aka 2 am Wednesday, Aug. 17th; 22 Days to go (Havenstone time)}

(The following is in Mandarin until I note otherwise)

"What are you doing?" I struggled to keep the panic from my voice.

"Killing all these alarms," Zhen responded. She was grinding her teeth in frustration and fear. "There is nothing we can do to fix those problems."

"My, right rudder, its barely responding," I grunted. This was fly-by-wire, not typical manual control, so my concern was entirely mental, not wanting to miss our turn south into the sole runaway on Johnston Atoll. With the steady degradation of the plane's electronics, we wouldn't make the 360 for another pass.

Landing from the southern end of the runway would put the cyclone force winds behind us. There would be no way for the plane's two inexperienced pilots to make that miraculous landing happen. No, we had to approach form the north, into the winds and allow nature to slow us down.

"On it, I'm good," she confirmed that her co-pilot's systems were still doing their job. "Tell me when we are making our final approach." Zhen, my Seven Pillars of Heaven co-pilot (and designated assassin), couldn't see where we were going. Our avionics had perished earlier in this disaster.

Goddess Dot Ishara was communicating with Goddess SzélAnya who was frolicking in this maelstrom; the Draconic Storm Divinity was in her element. Dot was 'in' her element as well; her last living mortal descendent (me), if you didn't count all those unborn offspring I'd been contributing to in the past few weeks.

'Are you thinking about me, Wakko?' she whispered into my mind. I was Wakko Ishara. I was supposed to be Yakko, but that hadn't worked out. As the 'main girl' in the relationship between me, the leader of her Amazon House, and Yakko Ishara; my first Ishara ancestor; she earned the slot of Dot (see Warner Bros.) Ishara.

One of her earliest gifts to me was to make my mind inviolate to ALL supernatural penetration which was the reason she was bothering to ask about my thoughts and intentions.

'Yes,' I thought back. 'I'm worried you are expending too much energy on my behalf, Dot.'

'Opposed to leaving you alone with SzélAnya? I don't trust her around you. She'd make a little Dragon-offspring/avatar with you if I'm not careful.'

'If you aren't careful? Don't I get a say in all of this?'

'No. Trust me, she's clingy and you are more active than a whole temple of Babylon's whores. Her mortal avatar would further bond your two legends together and your Legend is already the prop, placed with House Ishara.' Translation: My Goddess was clingy. After all, she'd meant to say my legend was her 'property'.

"Flaps!" Zhen yelled at me. "Check your flaps. Mine keep shorting out."

"On it," I replied. I'd 'zoned out', so she'd screamed at me to get my attention back on task. Altitude, 1200 meters, which meant flaps at, fuck if I knew.

"What do I set them, Oh Shit!" I realized I'd forgotten something horribly imperiling.

"What?" Zhen shot me a furious look.

"Fuel! We've got to start dumping the fuel!" I screamed.

"Why?"

"Fireball, Zhen. If we hit hard, this bitch will barbeque us," I spit the words. "Don't you watch any airplane crash movies?" I added.

"The Airbus 350 has plenty of, safeguards,"

"You mean like all the other ones that have failed us in the past half hour?"

"Opening main tanks #1 and #2," she grumbled. "If we are struck by another lightning bolt we could blow up in mid-air."

"Won't happen," I feebly jested. "The Storm Goddess loves me."

"Does she love my brother and I?"

"Nah. She wants you and everyone else on this plane dead, but she's humoring me right now."

"Flaps," she reminded me. "Why would she care about you?"

"Having no other useful skills, I am a truly remarkable lover."

Zhen spared me a blistering look.

"You have seized this aircraft from my brother, me and forty of our best Special Operations Strike Warriors. That does not qualify you as 'unskilled'," she lambasted me.

"Oh no? You should see a 'real' Amazon in action," I teased her. "I'm just an intern who hasn't yet completed his 84 day trial period." I also worked the flaps.

"Too much," she snapped. "If we drop below 400 kilometers per hour, these winds will slam us into the Pacific."

I was adjusting the flaps appropriately as we began our final roll to the left when a cloud-to-cloud bolt of electricity coursed through our craft. We didn't blow up.

"Thank you, SzélAnya," I whispered.

"What?" Zhen worried. Fucking up now would be the end of us all.

'Your gratitude is overdue, Cáel,' SzélAnya slipped her murmur into the crashing thunder and another lash of raw, natural fury. 'We will talk later.'

"I thought you said she loves you."

"Umm, did I forget to mention I told her I was going out for pizza and never called her back?"

"That makes no sense," Zhen glared at me briefly. I was gifted with a visual of our plane in perspective to the runway. Yay, five meter waves were smashing into the atoll. I adjusted our yaw to the right.

"We are three kilometers out," I advised her.

"Flaps, spoilers," I went over my limited Alal-knowledge. This stuff worked on a piston driven commercial liner and it was the only flight data I had.

"Landing gear," Zhen responded. She had to throttle up a little because all that drag was cutting into our speed.

'You are being blown too far to the east,' SzélAnya advised. I did the best I could.

"What are you doing?" Zhen was starting to sweat.

"Responding to divine intervention."

"I, I see it!" Zhen's panic turned to exultation as she could finally make out the pale concrete runway surrounded by the angry sea.

Too disasters hit us simultaneously.

"The left landing gear is not fully deployed," Zhen cautioned me.

"We are coming in too fast anyway," I dryly noted. The Goddess had brought me in on target, but she knew nothing about aircraft aeronautics.

The Airbus came down too hard, too fast and our left landing gear snapped on impact. Sarrat Irkalli's parting gift was decay. Every design weak point gave in. The front fuselage broke apart, my hand on the dagger slipped and the power died. The front 25% of the plane spun off to the west while the remainder shot down the runway and off the southern end of the island.

Sadly we went off into the lagoon between the western side and the barrier reef. In a delayed bit of good fortune, our careening section went head to head against a massive storm surge.

"Go!" I screamed at Zhen.

She snatched up her Jian that she had used to pin the undead necromancer Tsu. I was right behind her, though I did stop to retrieve Sarrat Irkalli's dagger and pluck the two bone reliquaries from his neck before following Zhen's tight, athletic buns out of the cockpit and toward Aya. My diminutive better half was still in her seatbelt and clutching the medical bag to her chest.

(English) "Cáel, I think we are sinking," she noted with a twinge of concern and more courage than I felt like utilizing. As Zhen was rescuing her brother the enormity of my mistake sunk in. All the Seven Pillars people were unconscious thus unable to save themselves from drowning. Aya's survival came first. I'd worried about my 'would-be executioners' later.

I swept up Aya so fast it took me a second to realize she was poking me. She had retrieved the trinkets Felix had given Mu, our phone cards, my Dot-treats and my Amazon blade. I quickly strapped the blade to my arm. The water was rushing in through the severed back section.

I turned to see Zhen struggling with her brother. Her look said it all. She expected them both to die. She wouldn't abandon him to save herself and the waves were too rough to make it with him.

"Get as far as you can," I shouted to her over the typhoon strength winds. "I'll come back for you."

Her face expressed how little faith she put in my promise. Zhen had no choice left to her. I cut off two lengths of seat-belt to give Aya a harness to wrap over my shoulder and opposite underarm. I used the second piece to create her harness I linked with my own. {Back to English as the primary language}

"He'll come back for you," Aya tried to assure Zhen while I worked.

"Aya, take a deep breath then expel it," I advised. The second she did I dove into the water. I had never attempted to swim in water this nasty, but I had been dumped into a white water rapids before. That was the best I had.

Somehow in the madness, I pointed myself in the right direction. Once more, the storm came to my rescue. Two monster waves picked us up and pushed us toward the edge of the runway.

'Go to the north end of the island,' Ishara told me. There is a building there that will shelter you, and Cáel, I must leave now. Don't do it.'

'I can't not try,' I replied. 'Can you help Aya?' I gave one last appeal. No reply. I twisted southward to locate the next monster wave. My precious cargo pressed tightly to my upper torso, I flipped over so that my feet were facing toward the onrushing runway. I'm not as dumb as I look, or sound.

I bent my knees in the same way they instruct you when you go cliff diving. Up we went. I pulled Aya and I as deep into the water as possible, up, up, crest and then down-down-down. My bare right foot hit something jagged and sharp. I'd worry about bleeding later. The momentum of that contact tried to tilt me head-first, but I resisted.

My left foot slapped down on a hard, smooth, granular surface, the sea wall. Now I swam backwards with my free arm while I raced to get my right foot back under me. My body ended up surging forward, yet I was in control of my movements once more. I rolled with the impact, taking the brunt to my left shoulder while shielding Aya with my right. Three rolls and I was on my feet again.

"Aya!" I beseeched my companion.

"That was fun," she yelled back over the hurricane force winds. "Let's try to do this next year," the rest was lost. I kept staggering forward in about a foot of water that the storm had flooded over the land. I looked behind me.

The next wave was unfriendly. The one behind that one appeared to be a lot like what I imagined a Berlin Wall-sized tombstone would look like. I ran. I survived the first wave then gave Aya a cautionary squeeze. I felt her tiny lungs inflate, soak up the salt-water spray and oxygen then flush the air back out.

A few more steps then we plunged back sideways into the monster current; the wave had already crashed.

"What did you say?" I shook Aya as we surfaced once more.

"Next year, much later next year," she grinned up at me.

"Aya, do you think you can,"

"Yes. Go find them. You gave her your word," she hugged me.

"Stay on the runway, head north, Dot says there is a building up there that is still intact. Aya, take this," I handed her the pistol and a spare mag.

"Do you promise you won't let me die today?" she shouted over the winds. I had to think about that. Aya rammed the pistol and magazine into her medical bag's side pocket. Oaths had their own power and maybe, just maybe, Dot Ishara would help me honor this one.

"I swear to you, I will not let you die today," I yelled back.

"Then go and hurry," she hugged me as I cut her loose. "She needs you more than I do. Go!" With that, we separated. Aya slugged forward a few steps, was staggered by another wave then turned and gave me her 'thumbs up'.

I turned to the south and the blinding winds and terrible surf. I had to try. Alal kicked in. Jumbo commercial airliners = no help. Shipwrecks = he'd survived a few. I mapped out in my mind the waves, winds and their direction relative to the plane. I could still make out its half-submerged shape.

The edge of the runway had a U-shaped seawall which created a peak that channeled the waves. I couldn't see the structure itself due to the high tide, but I could locate the wall by watching the waves break. If I could get to the outside of the eastern peak, I would have a

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 2

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Wed, 12 Aug 2026 02:53:29 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 2

No Longer An Enemy.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"My Sister wished to know if you speak Mandarin," the brother translated for me.

"Hi, I'm Cáel," I greeted him. "Who are you guys?" He looked to one of the two goons holding on to me. I received a painful kidney punch. I discovered a whole new super-power. It hurt for about two seconds then nothing.

"I asked you a question," he repeated.

"No, I don't speak Mandarin," I lied so well it came across as a dour confession.

"Yet you know the secretive language of the Earth and Sky," he stated.

"Yes, I do. I have a thing for dead languages. Maybe in a few more years, I'll pick up your Mother Tongue as well," I bantered.

No punishment was immediately meted out, so I suspected no one close to me, besides him, spoke much if any English. Jian Bob (my new name for him) didn't relay my insult. I wasn't worth it. He went straight for the reason for our get-together.

"You are going to die, Mr. Nyilas. That is a given," J B began.

"We both know you have done enough damage to our cause to be worthy of elimination a hundred times over. I'm going to show you respect by not lying to you about your possible fate. What you can do is save your young companion. We understand you two are close," he appealed in a very polite manner. Aya snickered.

"Cáel, these people are mentally challenged," she giggled to me, "or hideously misinformed."

"I know, I know," I smiled down at Aya. "Still, they have gone through a great deal of effort to insult our intellect today, so let's humor them a little longer." Jian Bob issued several casual orders.

In short order, a third man had hold of me by the jaw with one hand while trying to hold my eyelids open with the other. One guard held her by the shoulders. A second held her right hand, extending her ring finger. A third man held a knife to her top knuckle. A forth stood close with a small blowtorch.

"She may be a small person, Mr. Nyilas, but she can still die by the Death of a Thousand cuts," he explained.

"I love you, Aya," I told her softly.

"I love you too, Fehér mén" she succeeding in keeping most of the fear from her voice.

Neither one of us could stop this. Aya certainly didn't expect me to compromise the Host for her benefit. She was as much an Amazon as the first Epona.

"First, I wish to know what alerted you to the attack at the Summer Camp," Bob began the interrogation.

"We know you were responsible. We want to know what happened." I looked into his eyes and waited patiently. He nodded to the guard, who shoved my face toward Aya's extended finger until I was less than a foot away.

"Do it." The Order came in Mandarin.

The guard cut the top part of the digit off, one knuckle. I looked at the flesh and bone being cut away. In a clinical manner, I noted how sharp the blade was. I saw the blood shoot forth and heard Aya's little voice cry out in pain. I was pulled back and pointed at Jian Bob again.

"Do I need to repeat the question for you?" he said.

"No, I caught it the first time," I grimaced. "It tells me that you haven't the slightest idea who you are fucking with." Bob made a slight hand gesture and the blowtorch cauterized Aya's stump. Her little lungs belted out a terrible screech that wound down as her feet gave out and she hung limply in the guard's grip.

"Revive her." The blowtorch guy, clearly not his first day on the job, snapped some smelling salts under her noise. Aya revived, sobbing and in a great deal of pain.

"Cáel," she whimpered. "I have found my stillness. I'll be okay now." Her sobs subsided.

"Shall we try this again?" J B remained coolly polite, almost urbane.

"Nah," I joked, "we are both pretty good over here."

"Again." The Mandarin order came. Off went another digit of her ring finger. This time her scream was much more exuberant and forceful. We all know it hurt like Hell, but the world had turned.

"He's going to kill all of you," Aya snickered while she sobbed. "You are all going to die."

"Mu, what is the little girl saying?" she asked Jian Bob, real name Mu.

"She is stating her belief that Cáel will somehow kill us all," he and his sister shared the joke.

"Let us see what her tune is when they start in on her left hand," the woman smiled at her sibling.

That implied they'd cut off her right thumb and fingers, digit by digit, until one, or both of us cracked. The man nodded and Aya's nub was burned again. Her scream was more of a cleansing shout.

"Cáel, do you think I will have a nice horse to ride when I join Epona's herds, or will I get a pony?" Aya whimpered.

"Not a clue," I began before Mu had the face-hugging guard apply a finger strike to my solar plexus. Alal's gift had allowed me to partially organize my brain functions. Coping with pain was a whole lot easier now, but I had to be careful to monitor it because pain was Nature's way of letting you know that there was something wrong with your body.

"What color would you like me to pick up and have waiting for you," punch, "when you finally take yourself to the cliffs?"

"Again."

"This is accomplishing nothing," the senior bald Mo Fo grumbled. "He clearly cares nothing for the child and has been trained in counter-interrogation techniques."

"There is nothing to indicate that," Mu bristled.

"XiÃƒ sh, burn the tip of his left forefinger," senior necromancer commanded. The guy holding my face coordinated with the men holding my arms to free me of my bonds and wrestle my left arm forward. I didn't bother resisting.

It didn't take the commandoes long to figure I had stopped caring. On came the flame and the pain. Oh, I screamed. The pain was real. What had changed was my ability to shuffle it off to an isolated memory file to be tackled later. The bald creep stepped into my field of vision. His eyes were windows to the abyss. My "spirit" sight opened my eyes to the truly inhuman sections of his mind and soul.

"See, normal techniques will not be affective. We will do it, " and they realized the enormity of their mistake by assuming I was paralyzed by the pain. I broke free of the guy on my left and began twisting around the guy on my right. I wasn't getting away, I was going for his QCW O5. I knew their favorite martial arts styles and their weaponry now.

The guy I was rolling behind realized what I was doing (going for his gun), but mistook my intentions. I wasn't trying to get away, or steal the gun (still strapped to his body). That cockhead even helped me out by lurching ground-ward. I swung the gun up, hit the selector and fired two quick bursts.

The first three rounds hit Mr. Blowtorch in his right thigh, shredding it. The second burst caught Mr. Knife guy in the crotch, a triple 21mm castration. Had Blowtorch Guy not been busy trying to keep the strands of his right hip connected to his right leg, he could have stopped the blood fountaining from his buddies shattered groin. That was the end of my joy.

I was born to the ground and the guy whose gun I'd borrowed pulled away. I hit the concrete surface hard. That was only the beginning of my issues. Radiating from the floor was cold beyond cold. I had the sensation of falling into the heart of a cold, dead star. How I even knew what the felt like was an impossibility.

"He feels very cold," protested one of the two guards, in Mandarin; pulling me back to my feet groused.

"If your incompetence has led to his terminal condition," the male twin threatened. I felt the approach of the female twin, her reaching for me. A new intense pain seared me to the cores of my bones. Before she yanked my hair up, my body reignited.

I found myself stared into her pitiless eyes that regarded me with the casual callousness of a veterinarian preparing to put down some rabid stray dog. She ran three fingers over my cheek.

"What are you babbling about?" she snapped at the two commandoes. "If anything, he is feverish."

"Zhen, have him sedated," Chief Necromancer demanded. "Mu, now we will do this my way." Once more I was bound. Someone stabbed a needle into my right triceps. That was a mere discomfort. If I had any consolation, it was hearing Mu ordering the execution of the two men I'd shot.

They didn't have the time and facilities to tend to their immediate emergency needs and taking them to a trauma center wasn't going to happen. Those two went into body bags. I had to assume they would be joining us on the plane, though they'd be in the cargo compartment.

"What are you smiling at?" I heard Zhen snapping before my world collapsed down to a pinhole of light.

"Lady, I don't know what you said," Aya declared happily. "You are probably angry that Cáel has already killed two of you and we haven't even got off the ground yet." I heard a sound I couldn't make out followed by another and finally a third. That resulted in an Aya-squeak. Ah, she'd tried to hit Aya and Aya had dodged the first two blows. Good girl.

"Cáel isn't going to like you doing that," Aya chirped.

"Aya's a winner," I mumbled. I wasn't in control of my senses when they dragged me onto a waiting jet. I wasn't worried. With Aya at my side, I was invincible.

Dreaming

I looked at her face, so youthful, beautiful in her own way, yet far from innocent. She bore a terrible weight. The armor she was wearing, that of a heavy horseman of the steppe, was a leather coat, chain links over her vulnerable regions (throat, underarms and skirt), with the rest being covered by darkened bronze plates.

Her iron helmet was open-faced with mobile plates covering her cheeks as well as the sides and the back of her neck; it bore a white horse-hair plume, it was the only feature of her panoply that would draw any special attention her way. She carried no shield. Instead, she wielded a powerful horn and sinew composite recurve bow. She used her knees to rise up on her mount and fire over the mare's head.

Similarly attired women rode close to either side of this young woman. Both were older; one in her early forties and the other; late thirties. The one to the left bore a lance, not in the couched fashion most people today are familiar with, but used in a double-handed over-head fighting style.

The woman to the right fought with a strange blade. It wasn't saber; an ancestor of that blade perhaps. It was about a meter long, no hand guard, single-edged except for the top 4 cm on the back side which was equally sharp. Her left hand remained free. I think I saw her purpose. If the young woman got into difficulty, her guardian on the right could pull her horse away and lead the woman to safety.

Behind and beside those three rode perhaps three hundred of their sisters. Those in the center were as heavily armored as those three. On each flank were the lighter, faster bow-women, on smaller steeds. The women in the center rode larger mounts that were good for carrying weight and pushing home a charge, while the flanking steppe ponies were virtually tireless.

In the center, identified only by her long golden-mane helm, was the Golden Mare; War Leader of the Host. The Amazons didn't fly pennants or carry banners. They judged the course of battle by that woman's head movements (the mane was quite long) and the shrill horn blasts unique to the Amazons.

Let the barbarians have the all too common deep booming horns calls and their totems raised high for the world to see. Let the Romans keep their trumpets and Legion standards. Amazons had been putting those fools in their graves from time immemorial. Right now, those horns had summoned the Host to a trot.

The Hun, Attila, had tasked the Sarmatian Chieftain, under whose banner they rode, to deal with another crisis, the third this short day. Once more, they directed their horses over Catalaunian Fields. The Ostrogoth had gotten themselves into a world of trouble, those filthy, stinking Germans (why was I even thinking that way?)

First the Amazons had ridden forth on Attila's right, reinforcing the allied Germanic tribes on the Right Wing in their attempt to force a wedge between Aetius' Romans and King Sangiban's Alans. They'd shown the fools the way, but the supporting Gepids cavalry was too timid and by the time they began to approach, the Golden Mare had been forced to sound 'retire'.

The Roman auxiliary cavalry, though of poor quality, had plugged the gap. The Host were too few and too valuable (in their estimation) to die holding a position that their 'allies' might not rescue them from. Next, they had been directed to attack the center of the Alan cavalry line in support of the Huns.

Despite the cowardice of their king, the Alans were hardy fighters and too accustomed to the style of steppe warfare that the Host practiced to be lured away from their position. Arrows were exchanged and brief, brutal skirmishes developed, but no advantage was gained. With their mounts exhausted, the Golden Mare had ordered the Host to retired to their camp to water their horses and refill their quivers.

That bit of common sense and tactical wisdom placed them in their present crisis. Their Ostrogoth allies had been beating themselves against their Visigoth cousins all afternoon, charging up the same cursed slope that any sane commander would have found a way to flank. No, the Germans had failed seven times using the same plan, so they tried an eighth.

Miraculously, they had gained a toehold on the ridgeline and killed the Visigothic King. Like a mob of mindless farmers, the Ostrogoths stopped to celebrate their 'victory' and taunt the Visigoths with the mutilated body of their fallen leader. The Visigoths had been properly incensed and counter-attacked. That's what Princes were for, to avenge their fallen Sires.

As the Host exited the Hunnic laager, they'd seen the calamity unfold. The wavering Visigoth infantry had stiffened their line. Believing the Ostrogoths would press forward, the Horse-tail banner of Attila himself broke away from the central Hunnic body, pivoted to his left and thundered into the Visigoth's exposed flank.

In the din of battle, it may have looked to the Great Warlord that he had a vanishing opportunity for victory. From the valley below, it was much clearer to the Amazons that the moment to break the Visigothic infantry had passed. The Huns were too tired; their mounts frothing from a long, hot afternoon of battle. Without a swift follow-through, the attack was doomed.

At that point, headlong flight for the Amazons wasn't possible. Their long term survival hung on the Hunnic King keeping his Germanic 'allies' in line. They were still somewhere in eastern Roman Gaul, with the Rhine to ford and a land thick with perpetually vicious, blood-thirsty, crotch-scratching, flea-bitten Germanic barbarians to cross before they saw the green rolling hills of home again.

No, the Golden Mare, and that young lady knew they had to do something to stem the tide of this disaster for another hour, then darkness would force the combatants to separate so they could try their hand at battle the next day. As the Golden Mare rode to the Sarmatian Chieftain, a rider came through the dust from Attila. The Visigothic cavalry had returned with a vengeance and the Ostrogoths were folding up.

The Sarmatians (with their attached Amazons) were to 'somehow' repair the situation. As the Chieftain, the Golden Mare and three Sarmatian tribal leaders hastily discussed the actions. They saw the Hunnic Right, under hard pressure from the Roman attack, beginning to disintegrate. Of immediate concern was the rift opening up between the retreating Hunnic Gepids and the Hunnic horsemen holding the center.

King Sangiban had finally discovered his manhood. The Alans attacked through that gap in the Hunnic lines and a rout was in the offing. The Sarmatian Leader decided he had to answer Attila's call. The Golden Mare offered to take her Amazons and whichever tribal leader volunteered first to ride with her against the Alans.

She drew her sword and held it aloft then motioned the Sarmatians to look at her shadow.

"We will hold them off until the length of our swords double (the shadow). Then we are all on our own," she offered. There was no further discussion necessary. There was nothing else to say. The Host and their allies had the fresher horses and full quivers.

The Alans had numbers but no heavy horse present, yet. The Host had answered Attila's call to war and now, nearly a year away from their homes in the forested steppe lands of modern-day Bukovina. At that moment they were wondering how few of them would ever see their horse herds roaming free this side of life.

That was where my vision came in; that woman was 'Ishara', the last of my major bloodline of the first Ishara and this was the last hour of her life. The other two women were the only other two members of that vanishing bloodline. One was her aunt and the other a cousin. Despite the dire peril to their lineage, they joined their sisters in battle.

Even though they were outnumber 2 to 1, the Amazons swept aside the first burst of Alans, scattering their bands and hunting the slowest of them down. Rushing alone to fill the gaping hole in the main battle lines was to abandon all tactical sense. Eighty Amazon heavy horse and perhaps twenty more Sarmatians; they were integrated now; alone simply weren't enough.

For the roughly 300 lightly armored horse-archers, it would be a pointless suicide and that was not the Amazon way. Instead, they scattered the initial Alan rush then gently trotted back down the slope. Of course, the Alans regrouped and followed. It was the battle pulse of steppe skirmishing.

By simply existing, they turned the rushing wave of that first Alan charge into a slowly strengthening tide. The Alans' mounts were tired and in need of water. Their quivers were nearly empty and some were seen at the top of the slope looting the quivers of the fallen. Whenever they could, the Amazons killed those clever souls.

Killing an archer closer to you who only had two arrows left wasn't as economical as killing the one who was both dismounted, thus an easier shot, and about to have fifteen bolts to use against you. Without the constant harassment, the Gepids were able to keep their retreat orderly. In turn, the other Germanics farther to the right kept their mobs relatively intact as well.

Their success earned them the inevitable enemy reaction. From his vantage point, the Roman Aetius saw the vulnerable and unsupported position the Amazons held. If he could push past the Amazon screen, he could still achieve a route instead of accepting a mere victory for his side. The solution was a force of over two hundred Roman Heavy Horse, many of them Sarmatians in Roman service. The troops may have been Sarmatians, but their commander wasn't.

Pro forma, when the larger Roman force advanced downslope, the Amazons obliged them by slowly zigzagging down slope away from them. To a warrior born to the steppe, the Amazons weren't running away, they were simply increasing the numbers of arrows they could fire before the final contest of arms began.

The Roman commander sounded the 'full advance' and obediently, his men rolled forward. The Golden Mare looked to the last Isharan and smiled. Surely the Seven Martial Goddesses (one of which was Ishara) had given them a great gift, a stupid enemy. The Amazon light cavalry scattered to the flanks. The heavies bunched up tightly and went to a trot while still moving away.

By that time, they were on the flat, somewhat muddy floodplain and the Romans kept coming, right along the stretch of ground the Amazons had been churning into mud with their own mounts. Belatedly, the Alan horse-archers realized the catastrophe the Romans were riding into but they hadn't the discipline to form up fast enough to do much good.

When the Romans had cut

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 1

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Wed, 12 Aug 2026 02:52:49 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 1

A Walk In the Park and Aya's Finest Hour.

Book 3 in 21 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Professional, conscript, or volunteer, they all have run away from battle.

A Note on terminology and the metaphor of Cael's World

The terms Weave of Fate and 'Weave ' are interchangeable. Weave expresses the intersection; the sieve that all the possible futures entered to create what we perceive as this 'now'. Fate is the keeper of the sieve. The Present is what is happening right now. It is that infinitesimal which we interpret as Reality.

The Legend is what happens when the present is pulled back through the weave and becomes the past. It is called the Legend because, as the former presents fade into the past, they blur; each becomes less precise and more open to interpretations. (It is as if you were looking at one thing through a prism; as you shift your stance, what you see appears to change.) Within the Legend exist mystic creatures, divinities, demons, spirits, all the Paradises and Hells.

The Endless Black Sands is the final resting place for all failed legends. It is the place where all is forgotten until even former realities break down into the Black Sands. That Alal found a way to cheat this doom and retrieved Shammuramat, was truly remarkable; even though Fate 'balanced accounts' with him by sending Ajax and his war band along that path as well.

If you wonder how that was a balancing, consider this:

The only people Alal cares for (in his own brutal fashion) are Shammy, now Sakura, and his only true offspring in 5,000 years, Cáel.

Fate sent Ajax.

With Ajax available to test Cáel, how could Alal resist the temptation to place one of the planet's greatest killer on a collision course with both of his loves in order to test Cáel?

The Veil is a function of the Weave that protects sentient perception from perceiving the Weave and disguises the otherness of creatures of legend, unless they willingly allow themselves to be seen, which they usually do only so they can 'physically' interact with the Present. Some sentient minds, through horrific trauma such as the Augurs' self- poisonings, through the quirks of Fate via Holy Men, Mad Prophets and Doomsayers such as Temujin, or through the touch of legends such as Ishara, can sense the fluctuations in the Veil and the things behind it. Cáel, in truth, has been shaped by all three vehicles (Ishara, the Augurs and Temujin's legend.)

Oblivion is what awaits Reality if the Weave ever fails beyond its ability to heal itself. This threat is what keeps the creatures of legend from constantly traversing the Weave. They have to weaken the Weave to do so or to use powers in Reality, the greater the distortion they create, the greater the weakening that occurs.

End Note

(Two days ago, with thirty days left)

"That was fantastic, Lady Yum-Yum," I sighed.

"What did you just call me?" she panted softly. We were naked in one of our Task Force bedrooms that was actually used for sleeping, and now sex. I was still pressed against her reposed body, despite our recent exertions. She was on her stomach, arms stretched down her sides.

She was sweaty and short of breath. She still had her wits about her and an awareness of our situation: victory sex, me still aroused and her fingernails scratching my thighs and buttocks. My equally sticky body was pressing down on her, even though I supported my weight with outstretched hands placed on either side of her shoulders.

"Lady Yum-Yum," I mumbled as I kissed the back of her head. "That was the first thing that sprang to mind when you introduced yourself." I could see her working that through her highly complex mind.

"When writing your memoirs, please remember to me refer to me that way," she began to flex her thighs and abdominal muscles, so that her ass was pumping against my hips.

"Only if this helps persuade you to give me a repeat performance."

"I'll consider,," she purred, then paused to catch her breathe. "You are in phenomenal shape, young man. Do any of your other lady-loves have pet names?"

"Nope," I grunted as I withdrew.

She had teased me with anal sex hints repeatedly, yet never delivered. She liked the game and the power she wielded. My body being on top of hers was only an illusion of a tactical advantage. She knew me pretty well already. I wasn't the kind of guy who would use physical strength to overwhelm her vulnerable position. This being so, a cerebral skirmish only excited her more.

We waged a war that was based on intakes of breath, the shimmying of muscles and the trembling of fatigued flesh. The prize for me was the winning. Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke played tricky-clever, but I was better. And at times like this, she admitted it. She gave me what I wanted. I rolled her.

Straight, face-to-face fucking. The Lady's pulsar gaze trapped my vision. She smiled, grudgingly at first, then more and more sensually as my glans returned to her g-spot that it had scouted out earlier. This was 'surrender by the Fathom method'. She gave me what I wanted, so I took what I wanted, and pleasured her at the same time.

"Mmm, you are a bad, bad boy," she lapsed into her trashy West-End Londoner accent. It was perfect and an erotic whiplash when added to her native, refined manner of speech. This wasn't a trick this time, it was a treat. It was a gift, reciprocated. The tactile sensation of her cervix becoming a soft, spongey chalice for my final penetrations was icing on an all-so-luscious cake.

I tendered her a tribute worthy of my first love, Dr. Kimberly Geisler. It was strange to find a woman like her. Outside of Kimberly, I had found only one other woman who graciously offered her ultimate pleasure paean to the hundreds of lovers who had become before. That other woman, it still floored me, was Buffy Du, no, Buffy Ishara, First of my House.

"Oh!" and several heartbeats later, "Cáel!" several hissed series of breathes and then, "Goddess! You are better than good!"

Two thoughts collided within me:

A) I had never seen a more controlled orgasmic explosion in my life. I was going to have to tell Buffy about this, once we were safely in bed. If it was office talk, she'd punch me through a window and that would make Aya cry. I couldn't have that.

B) Goddess? I thought she was Anglican. This needed further study. This treatment was really nice. I leaned in, kissed her. Lady Yum-Yum smiled. "Take me to the shower. Play time is over, Cáel," and she was back to all business.

"You are treating me like a fleshy vibrator," I pointed out.

"But you are a very finely-trained, fleshy vibrator, you wonderful boy," she stroked my cheek. "Shower! Now!" So, like a Good Boy, International Merchant of Death and Chosen Son of a Divine Amazon Goddess, I slid off her, then cradled her in my arms as I rose from our totally trashed mattress.

I didn't smile when it was confirmed that I wasn't carrying her out of any romantic after-coitus gesture. She couldn't walk. Woot! It took a bit of effort to get us into the walk-in shower and to get the water just perfect, all while keeping her cradled. She helped out by keeping her arms tightly around my neck.

"Cheeky bastard," she whispered in my ear. "You are gloating." Then she nibbled on my earlobe for good measure.

"Damn right," I did gloat as I let her slide down to her feet. "You are pretty sweet for an Old Chick." She wasn't angry, oh no.

"If you were trying to get me to say, 'I'll get you next time," she licked, nipped and sucked on my nipple as if I was the one with the mammaries in this relationship, "it worked." Double-Woot! I was going to get that damn four-way! I did coax a vigorous shower-quickie out of my Lady. Afterward, she shifted herself so she could get under one of the steaming showerheads.

"Cáel, why didn't you use a condom," she mused. Gak!

"You aren't on Birth Control?" I panicked. She laughed at me.

"No. I've never been a fan of hormones replacement. I like the way I am. Do you expect the women to do all the anti-pregnancy measures?"

"No," I gulped.

"Don't' be so worried," she laughed. "We had unprotected sex one time. The odds are astronomical that an 'oops' happened, right?" Yes, it was a single sexual encounter, but included three firings of the one-eyed hydra, sigh.

"You are asking a man who has five children on the way, Fathom," I cautioned her.

"Oh, I'll update my files and make an appointment to seen a local, reliable O B G Y N," she slipped back into her unflappable British resolve. "Get along. I need to get cleaned up," she cupped my scrotum, ", again. So scoot." I scooted.

I had updated my condom supply despite the forbiddance Dot Ishara, my Matron Goddess, beamed to me from the Other Side. She could only complain so much. I'd upped my selection of fortune cookies and added a fresh raisin chocolate brownie for my next visit with her. I had to get over to the other side of the floor to get a fresh shirt, and boxers.

Yum-Yum had ripped off my shirt (a little kinky) and boxers (a little painful). I wasn't going commando, so I decided to quick step it before something important happened that required me to yank yet another solution out of my sexually-fueled creative imagination.

How Lady Yum-Yum and I ended up in bed

The Secret Societies' long awaited war had begun in Africa and in India. The Amazons couldn't effectively reinforce these two homeland regions. No, my people's edge came from my stupid stunts (e.g., the fight outside that club in Chicago), the judicious application of a few kind words and a whole lot of targeted killing on my part along with that of my Amazons.

Those actions convinced the Booth-gan (aka the Thuggee, but we no longer say that because it irritates them) and the Coils of the Serpent to toss in their lot with their local Amazons. They did the whole 'hostage exchange' thing as well. Two children from each side. That was a no-brainer on my part. All three concerned parties were willing to let their adults die if necessary. Their children were another matter.

In Asia, the Seven Pillars had made only minimal progress. We now suspected the 7P had planned to roll over the three of the 9 Clans that were in their Sphere of Influence, the now 6 Ninja Families, the Black Lotus and the Booth-gan in rapid succession. A preemptive strike against both the Khanate and the Ninja were supposed to cripple those two factions.

Against the Khanate, that had been a dismal failure. In Nippon, the Ninja were in dire straits and would be decades recovering from the original 7P blitz. But the combination of US black ops help and the infusion of Amazons and Okinawans had staved off extinction for the moment. Strategically, these failed actions were tying down 7P resources that the largest Secret Society had planned to move elsewhere.

In China, the Black Lotus exhibited the same resilience and deceptiveness they'd shown in combating the Seven Pillars by themselves for the past 65 years. The chaos gripping the PRC was a blessing from the Ancestors, the four sacred spirits (lung/dragons, phoenix, unicorn and tortoise), and the nine entities (I now really had to know this stuff.) Word that a 'dragon' had appeared in the West had only heightened their desire to aid in our new alliance.

Those factors meant a reprieve for India. As the 7 Pillars began ramping up their operations; increasing racial tensions, minor terrorist action and military and industrial sabotage; the Booth-gan and Amazon united resources and purpose. The Booth-gan would assassinate 7P operatives and pawns while the Amazons would hit 7P front companies and businesses based out of the People's Republic of China. (This activity also helped ratchet up India-PRC tensions and anti-PRC public sentiment in India.)

In Africa, the Condotteiri had squandered precious hours reallocating resources before launching their assaults. Like everyone but the 7P, they had been caught flat-footed by the renewal of the Secret War. The Coils of the Serpent had never been overly antagonistic toward the Condos, since their interests rarely collided. The same went for the Coils and the Amazons.

Two factors inspired a deep Amazon-Coil bond. They were both groups with deep African roots and a shared Central-Western African spirituality. Added to that was the growing power of the Coils of the Serpent in the past fifty years. Their main opponents had been the Illuminati who had a Eurocentric view. Pan-Africanism was in the Coil's best interest, but ran contrary to European economic interests.

Long term, allying with the African Amazons was a good investment for the Coils. The 9 Clans relationships had already proved to be advantageous on multiple occasions in the past. The leaders of the Coils knew their power was rising with the fortunes of Sub-Saharan Africa. To them, the rise of the PRC and the Seven Pillars was a looming threat in the East.

They had been handed a golden opportunity to deal with this enemy before the enemy was ready to deal with them. They had been 'gifted' with over 2000 highly-skilled, fanatical Amazon warriors as stealthy muscle to add to their own, more subtle arsenal. For the Amazons, it was access to continent wide clandestine intelligence network that could unmask their enemies' hiding places.

The Condotteiri wiped out an Amazon freehold in Cameroon and a few Coils safe houses in Lagos, Nigeria. In the Republic of Mali, over 250 Condo mercenaries were slaughtered at a 'secret' installation and their armory was looted. Ebola kept breaking out in the West. The dominant regional powers, the Republic of the Congo and Nigeria, were tottering as a result of decades of economic mismanagement, civic, ethnic, tribal and religious strife, corruption and unreliable militaries.

The scene was ripe for a secret conflict as well as public carnage. For the Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce (JIKIT), this presented a dilemma. They were involved with a growing global struggle that went far beyond the Khanate and Central Asia. Their secret society allies strenuously objected to bringing any more 'outsider' people into the group.

Handing over covert intelligence to other governmental agencies in the US and UK, then telling them they wouldn't divulge their sources went over like scuba diving with cement goulashes. Explaining to upper level bigwigs that they had a 'trust-based' team went nowhere. Those officials didn't care about a bunch of domestic/international criminals' sensibilities.

They wanted names and faces. They wanted addresses, phone taps and bank account numbers. It would all be 'Secret', 'Top Secret', or 'Eyes Only'. It would all be vulnerable to all kinds of governmental subpoenas too. No threats were made from 'my' side. They'd killed more people than the Black Death and the lives of a few thousand bureaucrats (and their families) in London and Washington D.C. didn't mean shit to them.

Selena did offer to kidnap some family members to get the message across. Javiera put her hands over her ears and began singing 'la-la-la' as she stormed out of the room. Lady Fathom suggested that we arrange a private meeting with the UK Prime Minister and the US President. It took a few seconds for Mehmet and Javiera to realize she wasn't kidding.

That was a nearly impossible task, which on this taskforce meant we had to give it a shot. Let's just say that the US Attorney General, Eric Holder and Chairman John Jay of the British Joint Intelligence Committee thought their respective representative had lost her God-damn mind. I went to the Khanate for help.

Twenty-four hours later Azerbaijan, Turkey, Tajikistan, Armenia and Georgia (yes, two tiny Christian nations) joined the Khanate. The integration of the first two nations had been in the works since the formation of the Turkic Council in 2009. For me, Temujin upped the time table strictly for our benefit. Turkey and Azerbaijan became the two newest states within the Khanate.

The third, Tajikistan was different and the shakiest addition. The unoccupied title of 'Khwarazm Shah' was created, suggesting the Iranian Tajiks had a special status inside the Khanate. 'Khwarazm' referenced the Khwarazmian dynasty that ruled the last of the great, Persian-led, Iranian Super-States and dated back to the 13th century AD. 'Shah' was Persian for King.

The announced status of Armenia and Georgia was quite a bit different. They become 'Protectorates', i.e., semi-autonomous states within the Khanate who were 'vassal' states, responsible only to the Great Khan and his personal representative in the region (ah, that would be me.)

So, the first three entries made sense, strong geographic, ethnic and/or religious ties, plus this was part of the Khanate's agenda anyway. But Armenia and Georgia? That was the doing of the other regional secret society, the Hashashin.

The Caucasus Mountains were the backyard of the Hashashin. They knew who to blackmail, pinch and kill to make the 'take-over' possible. The main stumbling block was the long Khanate-Hashashin history: the Mongols had destroyed the historical stronghold of the Hashashin, Alamut, in 1256 CE. In a way, that disaster had transformed the sect, making it move away from their strict Nizari Ismaili roots and into a more ethnically and religiously diverse group that was centered in the Caucasus region.

Temujin made it clear to this group that he was making a deal under my auspices. Both Armenia and, Georgia (as well as the future Kurdistan, his plans for the creation of that last state were told to me under condition of secrecy) would be part of my palatinate principality (along with Hungary, if we ever got there). Riki Martin defined the terms for me: I was the voice of those three regions in the Khan's court.

They wouldn't have to deal with Muslim Khanate officials. They would deal with me and 'my officials'. If the Khanate had a problem with my principality, they came to me to resolve the issue. That translated to me giving a nod to the existing regimes ruling in Armenia and Georgia (along with the infusion of a few Hashashin supporters.)

Publically the future of those three political and ethnic entities would be confirmed later. The existing governments knew three things.

1) I was that madman who had led the charge in Romania, clearly a man of bravery and humility. The odds were good that I was going to be a man they could rely on to adequately represent their interests with the government that currently mattered the most (aka The Khanate.)

2) The Great Khan thought the world of me and in this nascent New World Order that meant way more than membership in NATO, or begging the United Nations to apply sanctions of dubious value.

3) There would be a change of leadership by about 2040. Children of excellent ethnic parentage would succeed me in this ceremonial role in the region. These new princes and princesses would be the scions of the line of Nyilas and representatives of the various states (translation: I was going to be sexing it up with Georgian, Armenian and Kurdish members of the Hashashin).

That would establish the three 'cadet' branches of House Ishara (Nyilas) (which I've listed because all three alphabets are so freaking beautiful) that could weave the Amazons, 9 Clans and the varying ethnic identities into a quilt that could stand together as a force in the Great Khan's inner circle. This new spate of aristocratic, 'Archer'-themed lineages would be:

1. Moisari, in Georgia.

2. Agegnajig, in Armenia.

3. Ram- alsham, in Kurdistan.

This fiction made the key named entities happy. The combination of all these events applied another jolt to the heart of the global power structure (after all, Turkey was in NATO) and made the US and UK governments back off.

By tidying up the world map, we'd brought our governmental chiefs to the chilling revelation that their sole conduit for insider information regarding the ongoing global calamity had reacted to their intransience by simply letting them be blind-sided by events. After the fact, Javiera and Lady Fathom relayed that message very clearly.

This wasn't 'bargaining with te

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 11

dawkinsblog@gmail.com (Steamy Stories) — Tue, 11 Aug 2026 13:38:00 +0000

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 11
Vincent, Buffy and other family matter.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

It is selfish to believe that your family will always love you. At some point you will be asked to earn it

The main front was stabilizing. The 2nd Army was in tough shape though all three divisions were still in the fight. The 1st Army's 2nd and 9th Divisions had corked up the advances out of Cambodia. As soon as night fell, they would maneuver the majority of the 2nd Division to crush the Alliance forces north of Bangkok. The rioters would be crushed tomorrow morning. They would survive.

This realization came too late to them. The rot of fear had infected the 1st Army, 1st Division and the police force commands. Of more importance, a small group of secretive individuals convinced two senior Thai officers that something had to be done before the city fell, or the Prime Minister reasserted control over the city.

Those two conspirators had the same problem as the Loyalists, enemy troops and protestors in the street. Those officers had no way to contact the crucial enemy commanders, but they knew who did, the Indian Navy. Surreptitiously, they contacted the Indian Navy's Expeditionary Fleet. The fleet's Admiral quickly put them in touch with the Alliance Command Authority and within two hours, a deal was made.

The Great Khan would stop the Alliance offensive if the King of Thailand made a public appeal, no strings attached. This new group of rebels and the Alliance worked out the path they needed to take to reach the King so that the Alliance forces were out of the way and no planes, or helicopter attacked their formations. They even had a TV station that would broadcast the King's speech ending the conflict. All they needed was nightfall.

And that was the true story of how the counter-coup was pulled off, how the King of Thailand was able to talk to the Great Khan and how the Thai government was overthrown. In the final analysis, the Loyalist hadn't fallen before the might of the Alliance. They were done in by a tiny number of Black Lotus operative almost no one knew existed, with a small amount of assistance from JIKIT.

"No wonder the Seven Pillars has never been able to wipe out these guys," Addison yawned. "They are slippery as eels and thrice as lethal. I am glad they are on our side." Several sets of eyes looked at her skeptically. "I mean, I am glad we are currently working toward the same goals."

Thus,

"I suggest we all get some sleep," Addison declared as she stood up and stretched.

Odette was comfortably asleep, so I curled her up and carried her to the elevator. I wanted to go home and forget that I had lost any semblance of a normal life. I didn't know what was worse; me doing the shit I was doing, or me understanding what I was doing. Juanita had gone down ahead of us to pull the car around to the front.

Chaz, Pamela, Odette and I went down in the first wave of the exodus from the workplace. The door opened on the ground floor. I wasn't the first person to notice her. My reflexes had improved to the point I had a moment to recognize her before the people around me sprang into action.

Pamela side-stepped to the right, pistol mystically appearing in her two-hand grip. Chaz, Chaz bore Odette and me to the ground. His level of dedication astonished me. He was shielding us with his body. From what, I hadn't been able to determine.

"Deadman switch," one of my aunts stated. "I want to talk with Cáel." The voice had a stressed tenor to it.

"Back outside," Pamela simmered.

"No."

"Chaz, what is going on?" I asked him. He hadn't moved and wasn't letting me wiggle around to see.

"Explosive vest," he responded coolly. That's right. Chaz was shielding Odette and me with his body.

That is what I found astonishing, his desire to give his life for me. His expectation that Pamela could kill the threat while he was currently occupied was understandable.

"We seem to be at an impasse," Pamela edged further away.

She wasn't avoiding the blast radius. That was impossible in this lobby. No, if it came to firing, she was making it easier for Chaz to get a shot off since the shooter couldn't cover both angles of attack.

"Let me talk to him," my aunt insisted. This made no sense.

"Chaz, let me deal with this," I told my bodyguard.

"Are you sure?" he questioned.

"Not really. As Pamela said, she's not going to let any of us leave until she talks to me and if you kill her, she kills all of you." Chaz let me stand.

Odette was just awakening to the threat. Chaz rose to stand by my side. (Sadly, Odette didn't rate him dying for her.) I prayed I didn't fuck this up.

"Cáel, is that really you?" the women with green eyes and red hair asked me. She sounded desperate, which would explain the suicide vest.

"Yeah, which one are, Mom?"

{9:10 pm, Tuesday, September 2nd; 6 Days to go}

"Yes, I'm Sibeal. Are you my son?"

"Do you mean No! Grandfather Cáel hasn't supplanted my spirit with his own," I took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how I can convince you of this."

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 10
Sibeal Pays A Visit.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

It is selfish to believe that your family will always love you. At some point you will be asked to earn it

{Right where we left off}

It was H-hour plus four.

A Thai soldier fired another burst from his T A R 21. The other four soldiers around him did the same. They were using an overturned car as cover. He saw movement at a building across the street to his right. He fired off another few rounds. The figure fell to the ground. By hard-earned experience, he realized the enemy soldier had probably dived for cover, not been hit.

"Time to fall back. One block back," he hoped he didn't sound too shrill. "You two go first," he indicated the two townsfolk. His battalion major had drafted them minutes after the attack began. Any organized supply depot had been an open invitation for an artillery strike, so he had called for civilians to help carry the ammunition loads instead. These two had been attached to his platoon. Now they were with him.

They nodded, hefted up the crate of 5.56mm and sprinted toward the rear while his men gave them cover fire. They made it. He named off two of his other men. It was their turn to go. After their sprint to safety, it was time for him and the last two to go. They ran past some terribly close flanking fire, but all made it.

This Thai soldier wasn't the squad leader, or even the squad's second in command. He was a lowly Phon Thahan (Private, not 1st Class). Those two men were already dead. No, he was a common soldier who found other men listening to his orders so, by default, he was in command. His initial squad of ten had shrunk down to three. The fourth man had been part of the regimental staff, a driver, sent into the firefight to replace losses. He still could point and shoot, which was all that mattered at the moment.

At the next block he found the two civilians. His men dumped their empty clips on them, then positioned themselves for the next enemy rush. The leader of this ad hoc force took the driver over to the far corner of the building they sheltered behind. Too often, going inside buildings was a death trap. The enemy would corner you then call in their artillery.

"Guard this corner," he told the driver. "I'll be checking up on you." The frightened soldier nodded, then took up his post. Now he had a few seconds to consider his position. He was running out of town to retreat through. Behind him lay open fields. Just then he saw the tale-tell site of a Dragon Anti-Tank missile firing from the next raised roadway to his rear-right.

He couldn't see if it hit anything. There was no huge explosion. Still, it indicated that other elements of his battalion were in the fight. From what little briefing he had been given when the attack started, the major had placed his heavy machine guns and recoilless rifles on each flank to stop the enemy's mobile forces from getting around his command and surrounding them.

Little did the soldier understand he was involved in a textbook defense by foot-bound infantry versus armored opponents. His two townsmen were busy shoving bullets into the thirty round magazines. His men had already engaged the enemy to the front. Gone were the cries of 'got him'. No one gave a damn anymore. They were too exhausted to care. Now they counted the comrades they had left, not the possible number of enemy out there.

Six minutes later he heard the sound of death coming his way.

"Everyone down," he screamed a second before an artillery round flattened their shelter. For a few moments all he could do was gaze up at the heavens. His body hurt, his ears were ringing and the belief that he could stop now, he had given it his best shot and his part in this battle were over.

He pulled himself and examined what he had left. He wasn't hurt if you didn't count the blood coming out his ears. He couldn't say the same for his companions. One of the townsmen had the top of his head torn off, his soulless eyes gazing up to the forever. One of his men had a smoking chunk of meat where his spine should have been. A second one was nursing a bad leg wound.

The third soldier? He was already up and firing. The second townsmen was a bit dazed, yet looked like he could carry on. The soldier crouch-ran to check on the driver. He was laying on his belly. For a second he mourned for that fellow then the man got off a burst, then scooted back. He had been 'playing possum' in order to draw some enemy out. He was alive and fighting.

"We have got to get out of here," he told the man. "Get to the elevated road across the field then provide cover fire for the rest of us." The driver acknowledged the command, fired off one more burst then bolted for the field. The Thai made his way back to his other survivors. He gave them the same order, the civilian first.

The wounded man? He couldn't make it with that leg wound and if any of the others carried him they would most likely die too.

"Cover us as long as you can," he ordered. The wounded shoulder crawled to the corner to relieve the only standing soldier.

"Go," he ordered that man. Off he sprinted. The leader placed two spare clips next to the wounded man, wished him luck, then it was his turn to sprint to safety. Close to the end, a few bullets hurried him along. He found the others had made it unwounded as well. The townsman was already shoving more bullets into the empty magazines.

To his right was the remnants of the squad with the recoilless rifle and a light machine gun. To his left was a group of six Thahan Phran, paramilitary border guards. He rejoined the firing line. The enemy had overrun the buildings closest to them and were faced with the same quandary he had just overcome, the open field. When a man tapped his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was his company commander.

"You've been doing well. I'm placing you in command of this section. We have a Carl Gustav (another version of a recoilless rifle) in the trees over there," the Captain pointed to the right. Hold this position as long as you can. Help is on the way."

Before this fight, the soldier had dreaded this officer. He had been so pompous, so spit-and-polished and arrogant. Now he saw different qualities in the man. He was cool under fire, had his mind on the bigger picture of the fight and the discipline he had instilled in his men was paying dividends the private soldier hadn't appreciated at that time.

"You are Sip Tho (corporal) now," the officer told him. With that declaration, the common foot soldier had inherited 13 more men, the squad of seven to his right and the six Thahan Phran to his left. Combined with his two that made something more like a combat command. The Captain made his way back up the line. The Thai didn't have long to appreciate his promotion. Smoke shells began detonating between his position and the town, obscuring the place.

"Remember," he shouted. "Short, controlled bursts and only shoot at something that you know is out there!" With that, he had established his command of the situation. Several explosions detonated in the wooded position. Half a minute later, a tank appeared and pumped another H E into the position. In doing so, it exposed its side to Thai's section.

The two men manning his Dragon launcher looked his way. It was a shot at a 45 degree angle and any heavy weapons fire would bring about all kinds of hate.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 9
Diplomatic Hell Hole.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"Are we in the right place?" the stranger worried.

"I'm afraid so. Anais, you need to leave."

"Not until you tell me what is going on here," she sizzled.

"She's not here to have sex, if that's what you worried about," I retorted. "Wait, are you here to have sex with me?"

"I barely know you."

"That rarely stops me," I muttered.

"He's a master of bedroom antics," Pamela praised me. "He's pretty much at a loss at doing anything else."

"Thanks Grandma," I griped.

"Your welcome, Grandson."

"We, are here to meet someone," the stranger hedged.

"You came to the right place," Pamela preempted me. "He's definitely someone."

"Fine, redo. I'm Cáel Nyilas," (deep breathe), "NOHIO, HCIESI-NDI, U HAUL, Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege plus a bunch of other honorifics that have yet to be confirmed. I am single-handedly bringing back medievalism to the center of Europe and the Near East. The woman to my left is Pamela Pale, and she really is my bodyguard. The woman to my right is Sgt. Anais Saint-Amour, RCMP, my ex-lover and the person that needs to leave right now."

"I'm not sure I should leave at this moment," Anais shifted possessively. I had to recall earlier this morning, the part where we'd broken up by mutual consent. Yep. That had really happened. I had thought I was whittling down my current list of paramours. Why do the Goddesses hate me so?

"Told you, she can't give up that cock," Pamela whispered.

"As you can see, I have limited control of my life," I told the strange woman. "I know you are here to meet somebody who isn't me. Now you know who I am. Who are you and your companions?"

"I'm Ms. Quincy."

"Sorry; I'm on a first name basis with everyone I meet," I interrupted.

"What's your rank, Honey?" Pamela added.

"What makes you think,?"

"She doesn't think. That's what makes her so dangerous." I explained.

"Hey now," Pamela faux-complained.

"Okay. She's a fledgling telepath, or medium," I shrugged.

"Captain, Zelda Quincy."

"In case you are mesmerized by her tits," Pamela tapped me, "she's packing some serious hardware."

"One of those personal defense gizmos?" I leaned Pamela's way.

"Close, but no cigar. She's my kind of girl, big 'bang-bang', back-up at the small of her back and knife in her boot."

"What!" Zelda gulped.

"She's his knife-fighting instructor," Anais answered drolly.

"Are you Special Forces?" Zelda regarded my mentor.

"Nah, I got kicked out for a consistent failure to observe even the loosest Rules Of Engagement. I'm a free-spirit."

"Oh, you're a sniper," Zelda nodded.

"I like this one," Pamela smiled.

"Ah, thank you." Then, over her shoulder, "I think we are in the right place." Zelda entered the room, followed by a Hispanic panther of a man (kind of like a tanned, slightly shorter Chaz without the cool accent) wearing a long coat, and a Subcontinent-cast woman who looked at everyone as if she expected us to sprout fangs, or start quoting the Koran any second now. She obviously was a brain seconded to this mission very much against her will.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 8
Hell Rains Down.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Would you choose ephemeral beauty, or rugged determination?

Brief Segway :

Senator Susan Collins of Maine, JIKIT's Congressional mentor, at our urging had proposed an amendment to the Taiwan Relations Act Affirmation and Naval Vessel Transfer Act of 2014 which would allow 'Turkey' to purchase six 'Oliver Perry class frigates for $10 million each. The same act already proposed four such vessels to be sold to Taiwan for the same amount as well as giving two to Thailand (and two to Mexico) free of charge.

Things had immediately bogged down in the 113th US Congress. It was too easy for Democrats in both Houses to take the President's position that any additional weapons into the South China Sea area would further destabilize the region. The pro-PRC lobby was equally opposed to the bill. Under normal conditions, that would have been good enough to send the measure off to the procedural graveyard.

Except in the current contrary nature of the US's chief legislative body, this meant Republicans found themselves drawn to the anything the White House opposed. They could claim they found the anti-Communist, anti-Islamic Extremists stance of the Khanate to be attractive to them though none of them felt the need to actually talk to anyone in the Khanate to find out what they were really all about.

We were happy with that policy because true congressional oversight was the last thing we needed. They might start asking uncomfortable questions like...

'Who gave you the authority to do any of the crap you pulled?'

(No one. We lied like big dogs, purloined resources and cloaked ourselves in 'National Security'. Plus we let our elite personnel have a crack at doing what they had so dedicatedly trained to do, wreck things.)

'Wasn't that, that, and that an act of war against the People's Republic of China?'

('No comment'. If that didn't work, we would try 'they will never find out'.)

'Why are 90% of all the names on these documents redacted? We are the freaking Congress! You work for us.'

(Work for them? Not to our way of thinking. We earned our paychecks without any slavish devotion to corporate campaign contributions. We were working so that the lives of Americans and Brits abroad would be that much safer, the world more orderly and for the US and UK to have an ally they could really rely on. We couldn't tell them that. They'd throw us in jail. We'd redacted the records because the names were for people that did not officially exist, or existed in a capacity that didn't imply they were elite warriors, spies and assassins.)

Besides,

('Those are private citizens not in the employ of this group, or any other government agency we are aware of'.)

'We don't care if they are private citizens. We want to know.'

('You don't want to know' followed by some major gobbledygook with the term 'deniable assets' interspersed relatively often.)

'What do you mean; you don't want to know? We asked you a question.'

(We meant you people leak information like a sieve and the people we are protecting aren't going to be afraid of getting revealed. They are going to murder people to ensure they are not; basically you don't know what is going on and we don't want to tell you, for both our safety's sake.)

So,

('Trust us. There are factors we are taking into account that you are unaware of because you don't know what's going on'.)

'Of course we don't know what's going on. That's why we are asking you.'

('You really don't want to know.' We are your highly trained and underpaid experts on this, we aren't raging assholes and we are telling you that bad shit will happen if you force this, thus 'you really don't want to know'.)

'What do you mean; you really don't want to know?? Yes, we do. We are warning you,'

(Okay. Execute Plan B. 'Excuse us for a moment, {create a plausible lie.}'.)

{Pregnant pause,}

Congressman-type: 'It is rather odd that they all had to go into another room to take that phone call.'

{Minutes pass}

'Go see what is taking them so long.'

'What do you mean they are all gone? Find them!'

'What do you mean they seem have left the building? Find them!'

'Who do I call about this? The FBI, Homeland Security, or the CIA?

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 7
Tadifi’s legend

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Meanwhile, Elsa was quietly amused. It wasn't like I could request the SD to force my House Guard to not do something they had been told to do by someone in my hierarchy. That would lead to chaos, and it was unfair to Juanita.

"Fine," I decided. "Get us three some water. Elsa and I will be practicing."

Now Juanita was stuck. I wasn't asking her to leave the room, just leave me alone. I was technically her leader, respect notwithstanding.

"It is good to see you have not become drunk with power," Elsa smirked once Juanita had left on her errand.

"Your mockery is unappreciated," I glared back. I was only kidding. "I haven't seen you around recently. It is good to see you."

"It is good to see you too," Elsa said in a voice far softer and compassionate than I would have preferred. After all, she had me drugged, beaten, then beaten me up again in the not so distant past.

Of course, I had also sexed her up, bringing her to orgasm with my fingers alone. We had also exchanged a burning French kiss in Katrina's office that Buffy was aware of. Then there was the Buffy-Elsa personal feud and the Elsa-Rhada family feud. Balancing that was Elsa's super-hot body and intriguing personality. Sex with her promised to be memorable, more memorable than normal.

"What have you been up to? I'd like to say I've been behaving myself, but I don't want to advance our relationship by lying (right now, about this)."

"You are largely responsible for what I've been up to the past two weeks," she stepped back. She tossed her spear aside and entered her fighting stance. How nice of her to warn me, and get rid of her weapon. How erotically odd of her to give me the illusion of a chance.

"I deny everything," I rocked back. She was blindingly fast. The fact that I was able to block most of the blow was a testament to how much I had learned in the past two and a half months.

"Watashi wa nihongo o hanashimasu', 'Wo shuo putonghu ', 'Wo shuo guangdong hu ' and 'Aku isa basa jawa'," she lectured me as she maneuvered me into a corner with a series of kicks and feints. She spoke Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese and Javanese. That was nice to know.

"Wait," then she kicked me off the mat.

"Amazons don't have a 'time out'," she smiled. I cautiously worked my way back onto the practice area.

"What part did you play?" I readied myself. This time, I went on the offensive. I used my greater strength and reach to compensate (rather poorly) for her superior reflexes.

"Someone had to ride herd on those disparate forces. My status was respected by the Amazons, I had experience dealing with outsiders, plus your person Addison nominated me, and Katrina suggested that you and I were close. That was enough for the Khanate. Your embassy and earlier aid to the Seven Families brought the 9 Clans along."

"And you stole the carrier?"

"It was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to humiliate the Seven Pillars," she grinned. "Riding in a nuclear submarine was interesting, right up there with running around, spray painting translations next to all the markings onboard the captured vessel. Herding regular civilians wasn't nearly as much fun."

"In the annals of the SD, that is going to be a victory hard to surpass," I got out right before my legs were swept out from under me. Before I could roll over, she landed on top of me. She didn't go for a pin. Elsa simply sat there, straddling my hips and looking down at me. We were both breathing heavily.

"I owe you for that," she patted me on my bare chest.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"I'll let you figure that out during the Great Hunt," she gave a sliver of a smile.

"Not you too," I groaned.

"Who else are you worried about?"

"You and twenty-nine other Amazons. By name, Rachel. She's pretty upbeat about her chances and believes she has a score to settle."

"Rachel will be a tough one," Elsa acknowledged.

"Comfortable?" Juanita muttered.

"Yes, I am," Elsa grinned her way. "Thank you for asking." Juanita gave me a look that suggested I do something like protest, or actually try to fight her off.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I wondered.

"I've learned to appreciate your numerous qualities," Elsa enlightened me. "I am also honest enough to admit I was completely wrong about you. You make a good Amazon." That was huge praise indeed and more importantly, it was to a public audience. I was double fortunate that no one was close enough to see Elsa's camel toe resting against my lightly covered hard-on.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 6
Hana finds a place in Cáel's Amazon Life.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

You never really know what you can't do until you've tried to do it and failed

I saw Iskender at least once a week, so I didn't know this was a bad sign. My superiors were wary to meet Iskender because intelligence types like their routines. When assets start acting strange, strange things happen. I knew this to be true. When your normally suspicious girlfriend suddenly acts all lovey-dovey,, she knows; she knows.

Iskender's face showed that he didn't much like this change to our meeting schedule either. Introductions went around. Odette was the only one to say 'Glad to finally meet you' and mean it.

"Cáel Nyilas," he finally turned to me, "I bear a request from the Great Khan himself." No beating around the bush with this crowd.

"What do you need?" I replied. Irrationally, I found myself hoping 'please say you need a second for 'beer-pong''.

"Here is a flash drive with the particulars, but the basics are that we need the United States and the United Kingdom to lend diplomatic support to our efforts to obtain war material and other equipment from other aligned nations," he said.

"Things like?" Addison asked.

"Ships from the United States, tanks from Germany, helicopters from France and computer components for Japan and South Korea," he replied. "This is a list of roughly five thousand items we are attempting to procure."

"Sure, we'll help," I volunteered.

"Cáel, before someone has an aneurism, why don't you find out what your team can do," Pamela burst my bubble.

"Sir, what exactly does your faction think we at JIKIT can do? We are a covert interim unit with limited authority and oversight," Addison stated.

"Wouldn't this be something you could accomplish through your own extra-ordinary resources?" Yum-Yum asked.

"We can only get so much through back channels and shell companies," he replied. "With the quantities the Khanate needs," he trailed off.

"You can't make that many purchases," I nodded. Even I knew an eighteen year old could buy a six-pack with little effort and a so-so fake ID. Buying five kegs was a totally different matter.

There was a silence.

"Iskender, give the team 48 hours to go over this data. We will either return it as if we never received it, or act upon the information on your behalf," Yum-Yum spoke with finality.

"I understand," he bowed his head. "I will await your response."

"I'll see you out," I told Iskender. "I get the feeling you knew this would be our reply."

"I didn't, but the Great Khan did," he gave a weak smile. "Honestly, I don't know what to make of the request."

"We do and I think we can get it done," I assured him. I escorted him to the elevator then returned to the room.

I didn't have to be told what was wrong with this. If your girl finds out you ate fast food with another chick, you can explain it away. If you got take-out, or breakfast at some nice nook, then you had trouble by association. By giving us their Christmas list, Temujin had told us more than what he needed. He was telling us what he didn't need as well.

This gave us incredible insight into Khanate economic and military policy over the next three years. See, you could go to Best Buy and purchase a 72" widescreen TV. It was what Best Buy did. You couldn't show up expecting to buy 500,000 TV's though. To get them you had to tell the manufactures they needed to build them because there was a market for that many systems.

In turn, they need to buy the various components they didn't build themselves. That meant you would need to smelt more copper, produce more plastics and mine more cadmium, because they would be needed. Therefore, what the Khanate was ordering was stuff they expected to get three to thirty-six months down the line. This went beyond the war with China.

As an example, the Khanate was ordering 265 Leopard 2A7 tanks from Germany to be delivered within two years. Germany didn't have those tanks lying around. They needed to build them. They had to expand the factories to build them and therefore produce all the components you needed for a brand new cutting edge tank at a faster rate than ever before.

This also told us the Khanate didn't expect to build enough tanks for their own use, much less export to allies such as Vietnam. Maybe they didn't have the construction capacity, or maybe they were busy building something else. We could figure that out by seeing what else they were purchasing abroad, things like cars, trucks, tractors and locomotives.

This was an excellent and powerful gift. It was also,

"This is poison," Addison began the next phase of the meeting.

"I disagree," Mehmet Ali Sharif (our State department analyst) countered. "This will provide JIKIT with exceptional insight into what the Khanate's medium term goals are."

"It is both," Yum-Yum nodded.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 5
Wrapping up loose ends and moving forward.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Love is like a crossbow quiver. You only have so many bolts to shoot before it runs out

There was a long pause. Pamela took another long breath then an impish grin came to her lips.

"With your luck you'll get those, then end up in the Artic," she scoffed.

"Not the Antarctic? I've got a soft spot in my dreams for penguins."

"Nope. You get to be chased by polar bears," she nudged me. I nudged her back playfully. She gave me a Charlie horse.

"Ow!" I yipped. The two SD chicks from the front of the plane looked back our way. I didn't care about their misconceptions. My muscles needed some self-massages.

"I was pretty scared," I whispered to Pamela.

"Good for you. You were also pretty lucky and I'm sure pretty pissed with your 'Albanian' attackers," she replied quietly. "I missed you too."

I liked the way she read my mind about that. I would have liked it some more if I hadn't glanced to my other side, then fallen straight to sleep.

{1 pm, Monday, August 25th; 14 Days to go}

On Tuesday night, Aya got one of her wishes fulfilled; sorta. I slept in Caitlyn Ruger's bed and I wasn't alone. The Sandman had dropped a Scottish sand trap sized load of sand on me and there was more than enough spillover to flatten little Aya too. Because I lived among Amazons, Caitlyn woke me up at 5:45 in the A M and only so much lollygagging was allowed.

Aya got to sleep for fifteen whole minutes more than I did. She hugged me and kissed my cheek (which amused her three Fatal Squirt compatriots to no end) while I stuffed away my breakfast. Desiree showed up to take me to work minutes later. While Aya showed off her battle scar to the pre-caste Amazons and her Aunt D. (they had not been awake when we showed up the previous evening), I was chided for being late for weapons practice.

Yes. Life and death battle successes meant nothing to the Amazons. If you had a spare moment you had better be training, or working out your mind and/or body. We had no 'weekends', though we did get an quarter day off in celebration for the religious festivals based on the sacred days of the various matron Goddesses. A full day off didn't happen.

7:00 AM saw me with the intern group, just as if nothing had happened to change our relationship over the past two months. Oh, we were different. They teased me about my sunburn and wanted to see my latest scars. I couldn't work with Buffy anymore, since I was her spiritual leader. Due to my 'high risk' status, Desiree was the only other Amazon Katrina trusted me with, so I got to get beaten at her hands for the last three days of the week.

To be fair, I teased Desiree incessantly. I made her smile when she thought I was doubled over in pain on multiple occasions. Beyond that seven-to-five schedule, I exercised after work until six and then managed to bike home in a manner that avoided the paparazzi.

I was easy to track outside of the building by the members of the press (who thought I was still somehow newsworthy) and despite my persistent desire to not talk to any of them. Felix had 'vanished', so I was the only man left. What had happened to him? Katrina allowed me to take a glance. He was at an Epona Wyoming freehold training for the Great Hunt and reveling in his 'lone man in a household of twenty-two single women' status.

Unlike the three other members of our 'first class', Felix got to choose his re-location location and communicated with me daily because he wanted us to create a battle plan for the upcoming Hunt. It was official; it was going to be a two man vs. thirty Amazons affair and there was no rule that we couldn't work together though only two Amazons could win by capturing us and holding onto us until sunset on Sunday, September 14th.

No one except Krasimira, the Keeper of Records, knew what terrain we would be hunted on so we could expect anything from swamps to mountain ranges. The Amazons were in the same boat. Already the House heads had volunteered one member for the Hunt. The ancestors would be consulted for the half who would actually participate. Krasimira had also added her own twists.

House Ishara couldn't compete because technically, I was already their participant. With 52 houses halved, that equaled 26. The final four? Runners. If a runner won, the Keeper would consult the ancestors to see which house they would automatically be inducted into. Eight runners were nominated by the department heads and four of those would be chosen by the Augurs as well.

In a normal organization it would have been thought that Krasimira was abusing her station since there was no High Priestess to oppose her decisions. Not in the Amazons. No. She consulted the Augurs and the Augurs worked the will of the Ancestors and that was that. No Augur would lie about the sacred communications imparted to them. That was inconceivable sacrilege.

What that did mean was that at sunset on Thursday, September 11th, Felix and I would be inserted with a knife, map and clothing into the hunting zone. When the sun rose on Friday morning, the thirty Amazons would be put into the zone. No Amazon could attack another unless they, or their targets, 'possessed' a man. They could team up but only two could win. It was promising to be a great 'get to know your buddies at work' moment for all of us,

What was Felix getting out of this besides his freedom? (His freedom was no longer in danger. House Epona would protect him.) No, for Felix, if he survived free until the sun set on Sunday, he would become a Runner. If he lost, he would have to spend another year as an intern. This convinced me that Felix was totally dedicated to avoiding capture. I was good with that.

Meanwhile for me, it was Brooke Wednesday night, Oneida on Thursday and Timothy and Odette going clubbing with me on Friday night. Saturday was my first House Ishara group activity. We gathered in the early morning at Doebridge, me with a hangover and Buffy giving me crap at every opportunity. Fortunately the rest of my 'sisters' treated me with a great deal more reverence.

Now they all knew about my Summer Camp role, Romania and my kidnapping. Even in their 'man-hating' ideology, I was the exception to the rule; I was reliable, dedicated, smart, lethal and worthy of their trust and respect. On the council front, Buffy hinted to me that there was a way around the deadlock for who would be foisted onto the Regency Triumvirate, but she refused to tell me what it was. That was a cause for concern.

Sunday, I worked with JIKIT, did some Amazon diplomatic stuff and discovered Desiree was my new bodyguard. Katrina thought a full SD team would be cumbersome and my best bet was to remain unconventional and mobile. I agreed because it allowed me to play the field a little more. Speaking of playing the field,

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 4
Rescue and patchwork relationship.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Loving your enemy is easy, you know precisely where both of you stand

(Right where we left off)

The closest Marine had been waiting for me to finish my bonding moment with Menner before speaking. He walked and talked like an officer.

"You are certainly Mr. Cáel Nyilas," he nodded. "I'm Lt. Robeson, United States Marine Corps. I would like to take you and your party home. What is the situation?"

"Lieutenant, this young lady is Aya Ruger. She was kidnapped along-side me and managed to kill over twenty of our enemies, so be careful around her." I was deadly serious about what I said. Aya should get proper credit for all the people she sedated then drowned. Dead was dead, even if it was accidental.

"These two," I pointed to Zhen and Mu, "are L s la ninda and Amar, Taiwanese nationals suffering some shock from the abrupt crash landing of the aircraft. They don't seem to know why they were kidnapped, but they were instrumental in aiding Aya and me making it to shore during the typhoon."

"If you say so, Sir," he nodded. He did believe me, yet a soldier was taught to be skeptical of anything a civilian told him about a military situation. "The bodies?"

"Those are the corpses we found after the storm. I decided we should attempt to place them in your custody so you can figure out who they are," I suggested.

"Sir, I don't think we can let civilians keep their weapons aboard the flight," the Marine Lt. stated since I had both a pistol and submachine gun, Aya had her pistol and Zhen had her and Mu's blades. A Marine NCO sent a party to gather the dead.

"Marine, I am Cáel Nyilas, Irish diplomat, freebooter and Champion of the worst possible causes," I began my spiel.

"You probably have some orders concerning bringing me in alive. I am not so constrained and am more than willing to steal this aircraft and fly back to Hawaii without you. My team keeps their weapons, or you give me your best shot, right now," I met his gaze. He mulled over his options. Two Romanians and two Marines were starting to load the ad hoc body bags aboard the C-37B.

"Normally I don't take that kind of crap from a civilian and I don't want you to think I'm making an exception because of your Security Clearance. I'll let your people keep your weapons, but if something goes wrong, I'm shooting you first," he assured me.

"Done deal," I offered my hand and he shook it.

"Oh and Happy Tibetan Independence Day," he congratulated me.

"What?" I gasped.

Rescue and patchwork relationships

{6 pm, Sunday, August 17th; 22 Days to go}

{11 pm Sunday, Aug. 17th (Havenstone Time)}

{And just this once, 11am Monday, Aug. 18th Beijing Time}

"Oh and Happy Tibetan Independence Day;, nice work.," the Marine congratulated me.

"What?"

"How is that possible?" muttered Mu.

"Yippee! No more burning monks," Aya fist-pumped. Personally, I think she did that for the enjoyment of our guardians and to piss off Zhen and Mu just a tiny bit more.

(Mandarin) "Brother," Zhen studied her brother's pained expression. "What has gone wrong?"

(Mandarin) "The province of Tibet apparently has broken away," he groused. In English, to the Marine Lieutenant he repeated, "How is this possible?"

"I take it you didn't know Peace Talks had broken out?" he grinned. I doubted the Lt. bought my 'these are my two Taiwanese cobelligerents' story, but belief was above his pay grade, so he didn't give a shit.

"Yes," Mu mumbled, "we knew of the proposed cease-fire."

"Yes, you mean both sides actually honored it?" I added. I really had been out things for a while.

"Nearly two days ago, noon, Peking Time, the People's Republic of China and the Khanate put a six month cease-fire into effect which has remained intact for forty-one," he looked at his watch, "forty-one and a half hours." He was being a cock to the petulant Mu. No one called Beijing 'Peking' anymore. I had even ordered Beijing Duck on several menus. Peking was the height of Western Imperialist thinking, or so it looked to Mu.

(Mandarin) "He is yanking your chain, Mu," I explained. "You are looking pissed off at being rescued, which isn't doing my alibi for you much good."

"My apology," Mu nodded to the lieutenant. "Is there any news from the Republic of China? Are they free as well?" That was nice of Mu to call Taiwan by it

ExplicitNovels

University of TITS: Part 4

Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science (T I T S): Part 4

Chestina, the frumpy professor becomes something else!

University of TITS: Part 3

Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science (T I T S): Part 3

Movie night with Chelsea and Veronica.

University of TITS: Part 2

Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science (T I T S): Part 2

Mrs. Anderson, That Mountain of a Woman.

University of TITS: Part 1

Tennessee Institute of Technology and Science (T I T S): Part 1

Unexpected summoning leads to erotic adventures.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 21

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 21

Ajax's Funeral

Book 3 in 21 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

The Isle Of Salamis, Greece

Two Weeks Later

Back To Operation AkÅ¡a Loksti (White Swan)

Eulogy

Back To The Funeral, The Isle Of Salamis, Greece

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 16

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 16.

Graduation Day.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 20

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 20

The 5 guys struggle for survival

Book 3 in 21 parts, By FinalStand.

Pulau Setan Wanita, Indonesia - Island Of The Devil Women.

Gunless.

Trent and Brian.

The Assault.

Finally Back Home

Havenstone Headquarters, New York City

Felix Shines.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 19

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 19.

The Great Hunt.

Book 3 in 19 parts, By FinalStand.

September 11th: First Day Of The Great Hunt

Central Argentina

Third Treasure Trove.

Hiding.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 18

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 18.

Can You Segue?

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

The Kanate

The Opposition:

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 17

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 17.

The last days before the Great Hunt.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 15

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 15.

A Butterfly wants to kill the World?

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 14

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 14.

Guardian Goddess in Manhattan.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 13

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 13.

Hana shines and Aya rises.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 12

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 12.

The first Ishara open House Challenge.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 3

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 3

Cáel's second vacation with Aya and friends.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 2

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 2

No Longer An Enemy.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 1

September 11^th: First Day Of The Great Hunt

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 11
Vincent, Buffy and other family matter.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 9
Diplomatic Hell Hole.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 8
Hell Rains Down.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 7
Tadifi’s legend

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 6
Hana finds a place in Cáel's Amazon Life.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 5
Wrapping up loose ends and moving forward.

Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 4
Rescue and patchwork relationship.