“There,” she said, huskily. “You can stop thinking now.”
Mike pushed the nightgown up and over her head, pulling it down to pin her arms with a quick twist of the fabric, and rolling over so he was on her.
“I also found a good dungeon,” Mike said, stopping for a moment in her.
“You’re still thinking?” Anastasia gasped. “And you stopped.”
“I can’t let you think you’re in charge,” Mike said, chuckling. “If I let you think you’re in charge before long you’ll be running the place and then it’ll be nothing but work, work, work all day long.”
“If you don’t start working soon…” Anastasia said, trying to lean up to bite his shoulder.
Mike ducked back with a laugh and grinned at her.
“If I don’t start working soon, what?” he asked, teasingly.
“I can get… my arms…” the girl replied, struggling to get an arm loose.
“Ah, ah,” Mike said, dropping his weight on her and clamping a hand over her mouth. “Don’t think so!” He still didn’t start moving, though, just stayed in her, grinning faintly and looking her in the eye.
Anastasia glared over the clamped hand, then closed her eyes and bore down, trying to push him out.
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Mike said, firmly, pressing back. The harem manager had some of the strongest muscles he’d ever encountered and it wasn’t exactly easy, but he was already in place. Pushing him out wasn’t in the cards.
Finally, Anastasia went limp, looking pleadingly at him over the hand and muttering into it.
“That’s better,” Mike said, starting to stroke. “Time to prove who’s boss.”
Normally he either worked on her with tongue and finger to bring her to climax or simply took his own and figured he’d owe her. Tonight he did neither, instead pounding at her like a steam press, hard, fast and constant. He slid his left hand up behind her, grabbing her left wrist and pinning it up behind her back, then began pounding, keeping his hand clamped over her mouth.
Anastasia fought back, wrapping her legs around his hips and trying to pull him out while wrestling to get a bite on his hand. But he had her fully pinned — she wasn’t going anywhere — and he had a thumb under her chin, holding her mouth firmly shut, her head pressed back into the pillow. After a few moments the girl lay back, half exhausted from the struggle, letting out a low moan and closing her eyes.
Mike took this as a signal to redouble his efforts, keeping the speed constant but pounding in harder. As the girl started to pant he removed his hand from her mouth and grabbed her hair, turning her head to the side brutally and sliding his tongue up her exposed throat, then biting down on it like a vampire.
At that Anastasia climaxed, letting out a shriek of pleasure and clamping her legs powerfully around his waist. Mike didn’t slow up, though, he just kept pounding.
“You’re not done, yet?” Anastasia moaned as the last of her shudders passed.
“Not even close,” Mike replied, not even out of breath. “I figure I can keep this up for about, oh, six hours.”
“Oh, God,” Anastasia whimpered, lying limp.
Mike just chuckled, evilly, and kept going.
“You’re looking chipper this morning,” Adams said as Mike walked into the kitchen, whistling. “You didn’t wear yourself out last night, did you?”
“Only for crunches,” Mike said, getting a cup of coffee. It was just a bit after four o’clock in the morning, o-dark-thirty in military parlance, on the first day of training. First call was five but the trainers were going to be at the barracks at four-thirty to wake up the trainees, most of whom had partied well into the previous night.
“Think I should go down and join the rest for first call?” Mike asked.
“Nah, let them have the fun,” Adams said, chuckling.
Vil let out a groan as the lights in the bay went on and grabbed his head at a bellowed: “FIRST CALL!”
“It’s before dawn,” Edvin muttered from the bunk above him.
“ON YOUR FEET YOU KELDARA WANKERS!” Sergeant McKenzie bellowed. “PT UNIFORM! FALL OUT IN FIVE MINUTES!”
“Crap,” Vil muttered, rolling to his feet and clutching his head again. “Which one’s the PT uniform?”
“The gray one,” Dutov said, stumbling out of his bed and opening his footlocker. “And we’re to wear the new shoes, the ‘running’ shoes.”
“They want us to run?” Edvin asked.
“Apparently,” Vil said, looking around for the sergeant and belatedly realizing he was supposed to be in charge. He shook his head for a moment against the hangover and then stood up. “ON YOUR FEET! GET IN PT UNIFORM! NOW!”
“Oh, what a bunch of sorry looking sons of bitches.” Adams chuckled, walking down the blocks of recruits who were stumbling through their first class in calisthenics. Jumping jacks did not require a high degree of physical coordination, but from some of the green faces most of the Keldara didn’t have a high degree of physical coordination this morning.
“Teach them they can push through a hangover, anyway,” Mike said, trying not to smile. “I’ll probably cut back on the run this morning, though.”
“About time for that,” Adams said, considering the series the Keldara were supposed to go through this morning.
“Call it when you’re ready,” Mike said.
Adams looked over at Sergeant Heard, who had the nearest set of Keldara. They were deliberately going to let some of the female trainers work with the militia so they could see that women could “hang.” The female Keldara were going to be their heavy weapons support, not to mention positional defense. They were going to have to learn that they could depend upon females for support in combat. Showing them the examples of the trainers would work to that end.
Heard nodded over at Adams and turned back to her group.
“… Two-three-twenty-nine,” she called. “One-two-three and HALT! Attention in the ranks!” she shouted as one of the Keldara bent over, gasping. “You think that was hard! You don’t know what hard means, boys!” The last word was said with such a note of bitter contempt even Mike flinched.
As the other five teams halted their jumping jacks, Adams took a center position on the formation.
“Company, ten-shut!” he called. “Platoon guides. Post!”
The trainers waved the team leaders over to take their places in front of the team formations and trotted to the rear. The team leaders had hastily snatched their guidons from their holders. Each was a field of blue with the name of the team on it. When they were in position, Adams spun in place.
“Kildar! The company is formed.”
Mike walked over and saluted Adams who, in turn, trotted to the rear of the formation.
“Good morning, boyos,” Mike called to the Keldara. “I think some of us drank a bit too much last night. The traditional method for dealing with that in the military is to sweat the liquor out. Which we’re now going to accomplish. A soldier has to learn to deal with discomfort. Fatigue, pain, cold, lack of food and sleep. That is what we’re going to teach you to do, to keep going even when you think you can’t. Because when you’re in mission mode, there’s no excuse. You either do the job or you die and your squad mates die with you. So when you think you can’t go any farther, you’d better find it inside or you’re not going to be any damned good to anyone except as pig-slops. Company! Left-FACE! Quick-time, march… double time… MARCH!”
“What’s wrong, Oleg?” Mike asked, sympathetically, trotting over to the team leader, who was looking pretty shaky.