The Republic Is in Danger

The darkened room, where shadows knew their place, held close to a sharpened edge of silence. Not the kind of quiet you find among the safe mediocrity of upscale living. Nor was this the dusky soundless earphone shrouded detachment of the overfed, pampered and techno distracted numbness of a generation adrift. Instead, the atmosphere was similar to a postmortem in the aftermath of a disturbing autopsy. Of those present, peering into the shades of grey and black, death was a familiar face. In fact, their profession usually involved a terminal solution.

"Another tragedy, major," the general said grimly. The national news, or something claiming to be news worthy, blathered in the background. Superficial at best, the infotainment embellished foolishly about the cause and effect simplicity. "A shooting at a mall. Fucking domestic terrorists once again. The story repeats itself endlessly to mesmerize the public."

"Yes sir, general, not much you can do to protect everyone all the time," the major answered. She stood behind her mentor stared out the window of the cabin with him. "Let's talk about it," she encouraged. "Review our plan and think about the consequences."

"Precisely," he replied with a whispered breath. "We need to alter our plan."

An unpretentious A-frame styled log cabin sat quietly among the wooded acres in a remote and secure location near the Great Smokey mountains. An ample expanse of acreage ensured defensible terrain. The safe house was part of a growing network of concerned private citizens. Many among the coalition of various factions were police officers, fire fighters and former military personnel. With each day, more would join up. A rebel alliance slowly evolved secretly ever since 9-11 when more than one enemy attacked the World Trade Center.

"Alpha group wants to call a meeting," the red headed major told him. Fit for the fight, deviously well trained, she made a ruggedly attractive presence. A tough hard working woman, she was fearless and dedicated to her beliefs. "In response to the mall."

"Of course they do," the general, close cropped grey hair, high and tight, like an Army ranger, said with a smirk. He turned and gazed with his steel grey gaze into her eyes. "Thank you for being a good partner, Rosey. You're a true warrior without any doubt. "

"You're welcome, my friend," she winked and gave him sly smile. "But, that sounds ominous. I know that tone, Rook. We shared a lot space for a long time."

"We're about to come out of the closet and cross dangerous ground," Rook said. "All the social media, commentary, lobbying and politicking have resulted in little change. In fact," he paused and said after a second or two, "things are getting worse and devolving."

"Regardless, I want you to know, where you go, I go with you, I don't care what the fuck happens," the Georgia peach told him with a syrupy southern drawl. Strapped to the belt of her tight faded jeans, she rested her hand on the butt of her stainless steel Colt .45 pistol. She had two of them, and at least one was always nearby. A face full of freckles, she cocked an eyebrow and her blue eyes sparkled. "Have gun will travel anywhere, side by side, to the end."

"Likewise, my friend, my comrade, my partner. My god you have big guns," he teased with a smile and they hugged for a moment. "We're a good team."

"My guns are real, baby, no after markets here," she teased as well. "Alright, back to the issue at hand. Don't be a pussy about this, let's do it. New action plan, pull out the 'term limits agenda' as we discussed. We'll go to the meeting and listen to what they have to say."

"Agreed." He reached out and they hugged. "The republic is in danger. We must act." He picked up an unlit expense imported cigar and chomped on it. "I don't like open windows." He stood to the corner of the framework. "Yeah, we have an early warning system, but you know how suspicious I am. Anyway, you're right. We need to get organized."

"I know, someone is always watching. I'll send out a signal through back channels," she began as they loosed their embrace. "We'll find neutral ground with trusted confidants and stay off the grid. We don't want to leave any digital footprints. Cloak and dagger renewed."

"Make it so, thank you," Ronin replied to Red, her nickname. "Top secret in all phases."

"Brigadier General Ronin Rook, what's in a name," the peach said in her throaty southern twang with a sensual inviting tone. "A ronin, a lone warrior or knight from ancient times, who knows the essence of pain and suffering, and owes allegiance to no master but an ideal. As to a rook, a castle, even a battlement, a bastion to stand against the enemies in a game we cannot lose."

"It's the only game worth playing, Big Red," he said affectionately to his counterpart.

"Out there," the strikingly attractive red head said and pointed out the window into the darkness. "Some around the parts want you in the game in a really big way."

"Yes, my dearest, there is that. I appreciate the reminder. Most are living a fantasy about what they want to do. But, for now, this moment in time, we agree there are too many billionaires, dirty politicians and robber barons." The general offered. "What will they do in response?"

"They will defend their wealth at any cost," she said without hesitance. "The oligarchs will form alliances with anyone who will do their bidding. There will be betrayals amidst chaos, many will die and the powerful will do anything to survive and ensure their decadence."

"That we must keep in mind," the general muttered under his breath and clinched his cigar. "Nonetheless, it is time for forced term limits and early retirement for the greedy who steal from the people and exploit the resources. The pathology of the American aristocracy must come to an end." He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "We must get to the action. But what form of insurgency? No matter what, there will be backlash. Retribution will be swift."

"Roger that, sir," Rosey said softly. "Termination by extreme measures. We need a Robin Hood to take the fight to the oligarchies that rob and plunder our country."

"Yes, I agree. The Alpha group wants direct action, you know that, right?" The general said and asked with a skeptical hint, which was part of his persona. "They want rebellion." He shook his head and paced, hands clasped behind his back. "They're imagining some twisted notion of a Hollywood movie script. The reality defies their simplistic thinking."

"Yes they do, but most of them are terribly frustrated by their own lives," the major offered by way of tentative explanation. "I was listening to one of them expound upon the necessity of an armed uprising, a revolutionary style insurrection. He was fascinating, not unlike the UFO group that wants to hasten the alien invasion of the planet. The crazies are everywhere."

"Of course, my dear. We're in the onset of the zombie apocalypse." He pondered her words. "Yes they are, my friend, the armchair commandoes sound brave sitting in the safe mediocrity of their living rooms, or the church pews, or even in academia." The general added an air of boredom. He yawed. "Both side of the social spectrum have their witless untested novices."

"Well, I asked the so-called commander of the Alpha group a few questions," Rosey said and put her arm around his fit and trim waist. We were sitting there down at the local pub having a beer. "After he'd finished his tirade about a conspiracy or two, I just wanted to know one thing. So, I asked, 'how often you get fucked?'" She chuckled. "No sex warps your thinking."

"And, his response was on the low of side of average fucking," the general answered.

"This fat fuck doesn't get fucked on a regular basis," Rosey told him. "That's the real issue, fuck or be fucked. Lot's aspects to that concept, you know?"

"There's part of the problem for the vast majority out there," Ronin picked up on her commentary. "If more people were fucking there be less anxiety and healthier people."

"Frustration mounts the gelded gluttony of amative selfishness," Rosey claimed.

"I like that." The general smiled at her and interlocked his fingers with hers.

"Yeah, took me a moment to pull that one out," she teased him. "Speaking of pulling out." She gripped his waistline attempting to grab a flesh handle, but got muscle instead. "We need to relieve some tension." She squeezed his butt cheeks. "We need our other partner here too."

"Oh yes, my dear," he said and reached behind him to feel her presence.

"When she gets back, we'll wear you out," Rosey promised. "Meanwhile, these various groups are gonna start something. And, we gotta stay above it all, be smart."

"They don't get it," he went back to the topic of rebellion. "This is serious. It's not 1776; this is a whole different era of entrenched bureaucracy with lots of firepower." He rotated to face her and they hugged. "It's a fat, bloated and out of shape populace."

"You're right, you don't march into the nation's capital and take over," Rosey agreed. Rose Big Red Bush, the enticing but thorny mountain woman could fly a helicopter, hunt like a bloodhound, fight like a badger and nearly fuck you to death, wanted to make a point. "We need to be careful, Ronin. A few of these people are on the edge. Some are spies."

"That's a good point, my dear. We're being watched and caution is warranted. A very powerful government, including our brothers and sisters," he started to say. "Many we hold in high regard and served with over the years. We learned that three generations ago."

"The UFO's, the Alpha's, and some of the other factions have a superficial notion of the harsh reality," Rosey continued where Ronin had paused. "A covert plan is preferred."

"Yes," he sighed and took her into his arms. "My love, we will cross a deadly boundary. Those who play video games, get wrapped in Hollywood movies, follow social media with too much credence, well, they've never been in the real world. Most have never served in the military, law enforcement or any other kind of critical public or private services."

"Lots of wannabes. And, yes we will be careful in our planning and execution of the mission." Her blue eyes held his for an eternity of devotion in the blink of a few moments. "Like I said before. Me and you and of course Morticia, the three are bonded. We know these things."

"Speaking of the prodigal warrior," Rook said nose to nose. Her freckles seemed to animate as she rolled her eyes thinking about the other paramour in her life. "My lovely Rose, where is your crazy sister? That wild woman is out there in the shadows and up to something."

"Morbia, Morticia, Mistress of the dark, my other love, Myla," Rosey commented with a sparkle in her eyes. "She's no doubt gathering Intel near and far and probably kicking someone's ass who really deserves an ass kicking. She said she wanted to reflect on the next move."

"Of course," the general accepted. "I sense what she is up to. My ruminations about those admonished not teach false doctrines, or devotion to myths and magic for the sake of personal satiation beyond that which is the greater good for the greatest number."

"Yes, my dearest commander,' Rose, or sometimes Rusty ruminated with him. "I recall one of your lectures at the local community college. She takes you very seriously."

"Sometimes, she goes off the reservation." Ronin stared into the external darkness. "My thoughts when I said that was about the greed, the deceptions and crimes."

"Really? And you think, my darling, that's what I've been doing?" Morticia whispered sensuously from the shadows behind them. Her stealth tactics were beyond conception, as she was the consummate field agent. "I've been doing reconnaissance."

Morticia entered the cabin, bypassing the alarm system, the ground sensors, automated motion sensitive spotlights, and the hidden pan and tilt cameras. To them, she was unique. You could look for her all day long and she would be standing behind you. For the uninitiated, you would never see her coming, or hear her footsteps in the dark, nor observe any traces in the freshly fallen snow. For all intents and purposes, Morticia, or whatever cover name she used, was a ghost.

"Ah, my love, now I know I'm getting old," the general said. "You got me this time. Not half bad for an apprentice still in training," he joked with her and she scoffed.

"Yeah, right. My loves," Morticia sung in a low deep tone, "always keep the watch."

She walked across the room and gave Ronin a hug. Each step calculated to be precise. As Rosey closed in, they embraced as three. For a moment, they were one in unison with each other. They were the sheep dogs who kept the watch. Morticia pulled back and took his cigar he held at one corner of his mouth. He grinned in appreciation of her antics.

Once between her lips, she whipped out a gold lighter. The flame burner had a skull and crossbones across its surface. That signified a bond between the three with the ever-present specter of death nearby. Actually, a multipurpose tool, the flame from it ignited the imported hand rolled tobacco. An expensive smoke, she enjoyed the smell. The aroma filled the room as she inhaled and slowly, with sensuous effect, blew out a long stream. Pouting her lips in a puckered oval shape, she exaggerated the fit of the stogie in the center of her mouth.

"Nicely done, my dear, you're one of kind," Ronin said comfortably to her. "Well, anything we should know for the good of our team? Or, you wanna keep us in suspense."

"You taste good," Morticia said with a smirk as she puffed.

With the walk of a panther, she swaggered to the carved oak bar, where freshly brewed expresso coffee waited. A raven haired beauty, her dark character reflected her olive skinned exotic nature. Where Rosey was peaches and cream, ginger freckled and woodsy rugged, Morticia was Halloween femdom. Her black skin suit, turtle neck sweatshirt and fashionable hiking boots hid the fit muscular features of her overall physical nature. She tossed off her windbreaker, hung it over a bar stool, and revealed the tailored dark brown shoulder holster. Gently, she tapped the butt of her gun. Who knows what that meant, maybe reassurance of something she could count on.

Her S&W, M&P 9mm pistol rested quietly under her left armpit. Naturally, hers was fitted with a threaded barrel. Sometimes, she liked to do quieter work with an attached suppressor. Nonetheless, the redesign of the pistol came courtesy the techs at a place few heard about. Morticia sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly. She took in the full aroma of the coffee, and for the briefest of a moment, she closed her eyes. She had her ways and no one disagreed.

"You have to admit," Rosey sparked up. "She's got style, Ronin. Something's coming directly, and I know that look. Brace for impact, this'll upset the apple cart."

"And?" The general and Rosey waited for her response, both smiling at her antics. Her ways were unique, and Morticia could care less what others might think. "This'll be good."

"They want a direct assault on Washington, D.C.," Morticia began with snarl. "Alpha group is dangerous to the cause of saving our country. They will get attention from higher powers and will fuck things up for the rest of us." She licked the edge of the coffee cup. "From my analysis of their data, files, and social commentary, not to forget, their local affiliations, and so forth, they're gonna be a problem." She gripped the cigar with her teeth. "I assessed their intentions and I don't like their motivations or their endless ramblings. We need to distance ourselves."

"We already figured that would be the case," the general answered her.

"That group is far too emotional, which makes them irrational," Morticia went on, crossed the room, slid her arms around Rosey's waist and gave her a kiss. Rosey accepted and kissed her back. Morticia released her and looked into her eyes. "You're right. We need to get laid."

"You know me," Ronin responded swiftly. "I'm always ready for you two."

"We'll see about that," Rosey shot back with a huge grin.

"In the meantime, we put things on hold," Morticia added and began to undress.

"Operation No Billionaires and Special Projects Term Limits goes into temporary suspension," Ronin advised. "We need to focus on the essentials, and sex is the most essential."

"The hell with that group," Morticia said and turned to Ronin. Completely naked and wildly erotic, she reached for his groin and took a handful. "Nice package my love." She squeezed him gently and gave him a fierce look. "My darling, yes, the republic is in danger. In the meantime, every moment of life is vital. I wanna make love to you and Rosey."

"You're right, you're always right, my dear," the general answered holding her gaze.

"Geezus, I'll be hornswoggled, butter my backside and call me a biscuit," Rosey, in her down south style commented and was out of her very tight jeans in a flash. "Holy smokes, with the buildup of tension, my loves, I'd say all three of us needed to bare our souls so to speak." She gave them a sexy grin and moved in for a threesome hug. "It'll relieve the stress."

"I sure like the way you think, Rosey my love muffin," Morticia commented appreciatively. She cupped Rosey's ample breasts, which once free of her bra, hung with well-shaped proportions over her chest. "God, I love your body, so full and delicious, my sweet delight."

"Easy cowgirl, you'll ride me to exhaustion," Rosy muttered with affection.

Slowly, sensuously, and without the slightest hint of hesitation, clothes fell to the floor. Remnants made a trail to the fluffy red rug in front of the fire place. Ripped, muscle toned and glistening with heated perspiration, Morticia's warrior carnality dominated their threesome. Wrapped together, entwined in blissful eternity, they loved each other's essence. Hungrily for their unison, probing and caressing, the unification tasted the depths of their desires. While Morticia mounted Ronin, Rosey suckled Morticia lovingly. Together, they came to the edge. Their freedom, their liberation, and their assertion of inalienable rights came to the summit of their intense sexuality. Of mind, body and spirit, with them carnality merged with wisdom.

Flickering reflections from the fiery rage of the burning logs animated the shadows around them. Locked in furious passion to consume each other, their raging sensuality united in blazing lusty consumption. Nothing restrained them, while their shadows danced a shaded show of unbridled carnality. They held on tightly and let go any thoughts that might restrain their libidinous inclinations. One gave to other freely as to their personal desire for the individuality of unique craving. Licked, sucked, probed and cuddled, orgasmic release came with bursts of mutual joy. As each clutched the satisfaction of climactic culmination, they rested intertwined.

"Geezus, what the fuck, anybody get the number of that freight train?" Rosey spoke first. "I mean to tell ya, talk about plowing a few corn rows. Mercy, that was good." She panted, pulled back from the sweaty embrace, and murmured, "Sex with you two is beyond description."

"You betcha my loves," Morticia moaned lovingly with a pleasurable sigh. "Wow, I think I exploded about a thousand times. Damn baby," she added with a squeeze of Rosey's butt cheeks. "You country gals are really something. I guess milking cows is good training."

"We learn how to milk a lot of things," Rosey gazed at Ronin.

"Whew, with you two, it's always wonderful, so much so, I can't explain the ecstasy," he sighed and held them both with tender care and cuddling comfort. "We become as one."

"A good plow mule always better than a lame horse," Rosey drawled and nestled comfortably in their simmering entangled rapture. "In fact, my furrow has been well-plowed."