Message-ID: <36922asstr$1024672204@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: PleaseCain@aol.com X-Original-Message-ID: <7e.2957f28c.2a4413c2@aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 21 Jun 2002 01:29:38 EDT Subject: {ASSM} [rom fest] Amerikka: A Fully Automatic Love Story by PleaseCain (MF rom) X-Original-Subject: (rom fest) Amerikka: A Fully Automatic Love Story by PleaseCain (MF rom) Date: Fri, 21 Jun 2002 11:10:04 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates Copyright 2002 pleasecain@aol.com AMERIKKA: A FULLY AUTOMATIC LOVE STORY by pleasecain@aol.com A trio of gunships thunders above the compound in tight formation, their blazing searchlamps sweeping the land below. They hug the length of the arroyo and bank out of sight. Freeman Butler glares from his post, squeezing the cold barrel of his freedom-enforcer, knuckles white with rage as the infernal roar dissipates in thin desert night. The Invader's force-strength and ordnance surrounding the Free compound are superior to their own. The Defenders bide their time, exploit openings, and remain true to Christ's example, to Galileo's and John Brown's, or any of the martyrs. Faith, diligence, patience. Channel the anger. Turn it to something better. A walkie-talkie crackles in the faraway blackness. They are out there, at the perimeter. Hundreds of them, thousands, millions. "Status report, Freeman." "Lord!" Butler jumps at the voice. Freeman O'Hara's. "At ease, soldier," she says. "Sorry to scare ya." Butler exhales. "Enemy activity's been unusually intense . . ." "You anticipate imminent action?" she shoots back. "Indeterminant," he says. "Has Alpha and Delta sentries reported increased supply movement?" "Negative," she says. "Although they too note extranominal enemy activity. You?" "I've not observed anything overt, but gut feeling," he pauses, "I think they're coming." "When?" "Don't know," he says, peering through the window. "Twenty-four. Forty-eight." "We ready for 'em?" She nods, their eyes locked in resolution. "Bring it on." "You're relieved, soldier," O'Hara says. "Debrief and grab some shut-eye." "Thank you, sir," he acknowledges, and turns for the door. "Cover!" O'Hara barks, and suddenly the room was a jumble. He is looking up at the ceiling, her huffing body pinning his. Her revolver is drawn. He feels lightheaded, the room growing darker. "Incoming," she whispers, pointing to the wall opposite the window. A red laserdot flits there ominously, silently--a cold, malicious alien. "You've been sighted. Shh . . ." O'Hara crouches to stalk the insidious spy, but it disappears. "You'll catch your breath in a minute." Her hard countenance has melted to motherly concern while she assesses him. Her olive-drab cap lies across the room, so she brushes her dirty-blond hair behind her ear. He has seen O'Hara smile only once before, nailing a rabbit at seventy-five yards. He reaches for her face, but catches himself, his hand in mid-air between them. Her breath washes over his fingers. She closes her eyes and brushes her cheek on his hand. "Butler, I'm scared." Her suddenly smallish voice prompts him to stroke her face and the nape of her neck. They hold one another, quaking. When her tears touch his neck, he can control himself no longer. He pulls her around, lying on top of her. Her barrettes lie on the floor. Her pale eyes flash. She's a woman, he thinks, a soft, sexual woman. He peppers her round face with kisses. O'Hara's hand probes beneath his jacket and teeshirt, exploring the muscled back, and then into his pants, pinching his buns. She has to push him away . . . He wrinkles his brow as he looks at her, catching his breath, wiping the corner of his mouth. She pulls him by his shirt. "Love to me, Butler." Her free hand unfastens her pants. The other still grasps the pistol. "Quickly." Butler kneels and tugs down his cammies, watching O'Hara squirm hers lower. His lovegun springs free. "Hurry," she says, and he's upon her. Her hand guides him in. "Push, yes! Oh!" Nails dig, bootheels spur him deeper. She welcomes him tight and warm. It has been so long since he has felt that sweet friction of a woman. "Come on, come on, come on," she drums in his ear. A sharp rap at his head. Another makes his eyes twinkle with dots. She dashes the pistol handle on his head a third time. He grinds his teeth and drives into her, each thrust pushing her body along the floor. The tip of his Colt plays through her silky hair. "That's it, yes, that's it," she coaches, digging the pistol-butt between his shoulder blades. "Oh, god, ah!" His sperm explodes into her vagina, strings of love threading into her womb. Staccato pulses of light illuminate the small room. As Butler's ears ring, he instantly knows that one of their weapons has discharged. Over the racket and confusion, he discerns gunfire and spotlights outside, heavy mechanization and the blaring of sirens. He jerks in answer to the alert, but O'Hara clutches his body. Over the cacophony of mobilization, she holds him close and speaks in his ear: "I have conceived--there is life inside me. He will survive this holocaust. His name shall be called Freedom." <1st attachment begin> <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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