Dark Erotic Fiction

CASTLEMAN TRUST CHAPTER 55 — NAUGHTY NINJA NEGATED

Peter J. Foster

May I never grow complacent! Cougar County is a remote section of Oklahoma. “Remote” means that the road network is sparse and that few people live there. I had lots of eyes watching for strangers—the place wasn”t deserted. For some reason everybody in Cougar County was friendly to me. When strange people showed up, the grapevine told one of my slaves and I was notified. It was better than radar.

That grapevine was important at the moment because governor England was staying at the Bar BQ Ranch with her grand niece, Darcy. My former classmate and lab partner had avoided being arrested for treason and terrorism by volunteering for conversion to Person of Limited Rights status. Governor England signed a warrant for the arrest of one Citizen Darcy Freedman—but slave Darcy was off the law enforcement radar screen. Off until after the next election, that is. No telling what the new administration was up to.

“Oh my God!” Governor England exclaimed. “Are those coyotes?”

“Suzie adopted them. They”re still pups. I found a dead female coyote about a mile away.”

“Who is Suzie?”

I called over my grizzled German Shepherd, the pack alpha.

“Father got her from the Air Force five years ago. Suzie had puppies,” I explained. “She used to guard the B-52 fleet. She has a reputation as a biter. When she came to live with us I was only 16—and at first, she was in charge! Now she lets me be in charge—she runs my dog pack, but she lets me be in charge.”

“He is not joking,” Colonel Murphy said as Montana, one of my Army slaves, rushed up to me and saluted. It looked a bit strange, a nude slave standing at attention and rendering a hand salute. As Colonel Murphy told how Suzie trained me and the other dogs, Montana informed me that a black Garret Motors SUV with Oklahoma vanity plate TRN123 with three men and a woman had stopped for gas and asked direction to the Bar BQ Ranch. “That”s the secret to Peter”s dog training success. Suzie does the training and Peter takes the credit.”

“How typically male,” the governor dryly observed. “You men take the credit for making babies, too.”

“We help,” Colonel Murphy pouted.

“Governor, Colonel,” I reported, “Professor Morrison”s truck has been spotted and is about 30 minutes away. I need to alert your protection detail, Governor.”

“No, I”ll do that,” Governor England said. “My orders are that you attempt to capture them. Don”t take any unnecessary risks, of course, but give them a chance to surrender.”

“Ma”am, I need clarification,” I said. “I have combat arms people with me. Do I ask them to play cop or soldier?”

“What”s the difference?”

“Cops arrest criminals and gather evidence for trial. Cops use the minimum force necessary to control the situation and effect capture.” I glanced at Colonel Murphy for moral support. “Soldiers, especially combat arms soldiers, destroy the enemy. We will use our most powerful weapons at maximum ranges to minimize our own casualties. That group is equipped for close combat and is very skilled. If they don”t surrender, we cannot handle them with anything less than concentrated rifle fire. Your protection detail needs to guard you. If you need it, my pilot can fly you to safety.”

“I”ll be safe here, young man,” the governor”s eyes were hidden behind thick glasses. “Flying isn”t safe. You do what you need to. One question—won”t dead bodies raise eyebrows?”

Colonel Murphy laughed.

“See that building?” Justin Murphy pointed at a squad bunker-like concrete shelter with a tall chimney. “Peter has a lot of slaves. He doesn”t eat them when they die and he really doesn”t have room here for a cemetery. That”s his private crematorium. Four bodies? No problem. The car—I know people who will make it disappear.”

“Good. We don”t need publicity. Take care of it, Lieutenant. And get me my niece.”

Darcy was working out in the gym under Bonnie”s watchful eye. I left her there with instructions and got suited up. It was getting dark.

The actual operation was anticlimactic. We were able to keep tabs on the car by simply flying a single-engine light plane at 8,000 feet, high enough so that it was lost in the night sky (we cheated and didn”t use navigation lights—a no-no) and high enough that the engine noise wasn”t readily discernable. The night was crisp and clear. I was in the plane with radios and a pair of night vision binoculars. The hot engine showed up as a green blob that made the rest of the truck stand out. The truck parked on the gravel road and three figures got out. Their black ninja costumes gleamed in the half moon”s light—somebody washed their clothes with commercial detergent containing brighteners! I was able to follow them from there because the three talked to Professor Morrison in the car using ordinary “family-band” walkie-talkies. Their radio security was lousy! They even talked about kidnapping the governor and “rescuing” Darcy over the radio. I had Michelle, the pilot, pull an orbit of about six miles in diameter, placing me about five miles from the car—close enough to see something with the binos and far enough away to keep from spooking them. On the radios was a new girl, Maya. Her name means “princess” in Arabic—ironic for a slave.

“Heather,” I said into my radio, “have Darcy call them.”

I didn”t need to say anything more. I monitored the cell phone call in the cramped cockpit.

“Professor Morrison, this is Darcy. Listen carefully, please. You are being watched. I am commanded to ask you and the others to surrender. Peter is running the show and he won”t let you get away. Don”t give him an excuse.”

When Professor Morrison started the engine, Montana began firing an M-14 rifle into the engine compartment of his truck. Yes, the rifle had a silencer—and with the Starlight scope Montana couldn”t miss at 60 yards. Don”t think that the shots were totally silent. For one thing, they still broke the sound barrier. For another—well, have you ever thrown rocks at a metal shed? Imagine the racket when faster bullets strike a metal truck and punch pieces out of its engine. Professor Morrison didn”t even get to shift into gear before his engine quit working. He got out of his car and began running down the road. He was on his radio telling the others to get England.

Complacency kills. I found it difficult to believe that the neo-ninja walked up the road. Okay, there was a lot of brush along the sides. When Professor Morrison called, the trio had just entered the ambush. I saw the floodlights come on. Those rifles didn”t have silencers. I was able to see some muzzle flashes. I ordered Michelle to land.

“Ramrod, we have three horses corralled,” my radio crackled. I was using simple voice codes that wouldn”t attract suspicion when overheard. Another voice reported “The fourth horse is on his way to the corral.”

So much for prisoners. If they were alive, the code phrase would have been: “Cows in the barn.” Corral meant dead. I left no ambiguity in my orders—if the neo-ninja resisted, they were to be shot. Once down, they were to be shot again, then the dogs would check them for explosives. I got out of the plane as soon as it stopped at the hangar and I boarded the pick-up truck with the remainder of my team. In a few minutes my girls brought the bodies into the crematorium for inspection.

My caution was rewarded. Between the three of them, the neo-ninja warriors had seven fragmentation hand grenades and two demolition charges made from ten pounds of dynamite. They also had three crossbows—no match for rifles, but quiet. Professor Morrison was caught with a machine pistol—I didn”t know anybody still carried that little Czech Skorpion. It has itty bitty 20 shot magazines and a high rate of fire—and a cheap detachable silencer.

Darcy promptly threw up dinner when she saw the four bullet-riddled naked bodies.

“I suppose that was necessary,” Governor England said as she surveyed the dead. Tough woman. I was feeling green myself because the four stank. Gut shots liberate fecal matter and intestinal gases. Darcy was escorted inside. “This didn”t happen, gentlemen. If it were known that organized rebellion to the White Slave Act existed, it would encourage more rebellion. Are you finished with the bodies, Lieutenant?”

“He”s finished,” colonel Murphy said. “Burn them, Lieutenant.”

Ordinarily that would be illegal. What made it legal was that I operated under a sealed executive order. These people had given up legal protection by making war—and they could have regained those protections by simply surrendering. While actively fighting, they were an immediate threat to my soldiers. The neo-ninja trio foolishly fired crossbow bolts at the spotlights. Professor Morrison emptied a magazine of .32 ACP—that Skorpion fires really fast—and he was hit by fire from two rifles and two shotguns. The actual shooting took less than three seconds—eight women fired about four shots each. Then there was that second volley to prevent grenade attack—the Viet Cong and North Koreans liked to do that. They also liked to rig bodies with explosives.

The crematorium was designed to burn up to two bodies at a time. Professor Morrison and Hamilton Bridgeport were the first two down the memory hole. I left the crematorium in capable hands and attended the debrief. Yes, the soldiers were naked. I joined them. Attending the debrief was one of the protection detail.

“This place is more secure than the White House,” Captain Martin remarked.

“Safer, too,” Governor England remarked. “Sunday evening I need to go back to the capitol.”

It was Friday, December 7th.

A short time later I was showering with 18 naked soldiers. There were another four still on duty, but I needed to spend some time with my women warriors. The debriefing took longer than the gunfight—of course. Officially, the gun battle never happened. I regularly held life-fire exercises, so a few gunshots were nothing out of the ordinary. The four people were never here. Evidence from the shot-up SUV included written plans to kidnap the governor—or assassinate her if that proved impossible. Perhaps the neo-ninja warriors could have silently penetrated the governor”s security screen—we will never know. Given those explosive, they could have succeeded.

Not only the governor, but Darcy was to be killed if she couldn”t be rescued.

“I”m taking my niece with me,” Governor London told me as she walked into the shower. “Peter, you are cute and all, but it still bothers me to see you naked. Oh, don”t get dressed on my account. Do I have to keep Darcy naked all the time?”

“Your call, Governor. My doctrine is nude unless circumstances dictate otherwise. It is cold outside. You don”t have any slaves.”

“I”m getting them. Weren”t you told? You will lease some slaves to me for housekeeping duties at the Governor”s Mansion. If I win the next election, I will have an all slave staff. If I lose, two things will happen. I plan to move here if I lose the election and volunteer to be my husband”s slave. The new governor will want reliable slaves to run the mansion. He might ask you to provide them.”

Angelica had commanded the ambush party and was first. Montana was also with me that Friday night. Heather was eight months pregnant and Jane was four months pregnant—they liked sex even while pregnant, but Doctor Granger advised them to take it easy. Not so with the two soldiers. They wanted it rough. Montana fastened Angelica spread-eagle on the bed and allowed Jane to strap Montana”s wrists to her own thighs. Both soldiers were dripping lubrication—there”s something arousing about surviving sudden violence, especially when you are on the winning side. It is something that rape victims aren”t told—they can get sexually aroused because their blood pressure elevates. It isn”t desire or lust—it is the result of a racing heart and extreme fear. Excitement is excitement. The body doesn”t know the difference. Sex takes place mostly in the mind. For example, Angelica needed—really needed—me to flog her nipples and pussy with a riding crop. No, not cut her up with really hard slashes—just stimulate with the sharp slaps that were hard enough to sting. Then I mounted her and rubbed my body against the throbbing skin. When we were spent, Jane had some other slaves clean us up and I drank some tea.

Then it was Montana”s turn. The sniper was helpless to resist me—just the way Montana preferred. No whipping this time. Just hard ravaging of a helpless woman. Montana had been warmed up by Heather and Jane while I was servicing Angelica. I don”t remember who cleaned me up afterwards, but I fell asleep between two contented women. It wasn”t a bad way to end a day.