Wrong Place, Right Time
Fuck, the bullet that went clean through his thigh. Fuck, his brother in law and his fat ass friends, who thought this was a swell way to spend a weekend. Fuck, his sister for encouraging her dumbassed husband to invite him out on this stupid camping trip. Fuck whichever President thought it was a good idea to play war games in a third world cesspool, even the fucking Russians had had enough shit for brains to pull out of. Fuck, he was back at square fucking one.
What kind of fucking sonsofbitches invite a Marine sharp shooter on their camping/paintball hunting survival expedition?
So that is how he ended up, half way up a large assed fucking tree, near a lake, in the mountains in the early fall, with cheap assed binoculars and a paintball rifle and a hit list. Picking these lard asses off was easy. They trudged like elephants. Damn, you could hear them miles away.
Bif, well Barry but Bif sounded dumber; his brother in law was a card carrying dumbass. He and his poker buddies, had decided it would be fun to play war games in the woods and they were down a man, so Bif asked him along. Normally they had teams or some shit, but this weekend, it was a Darwin type survival of the fittest fat guy fantasy. So each man had to camp on his own and whoever was the last man standing was the winner. Friday night they had an hour to hike apart and then let the games begin. Friday at one hour and 10 minutes in, he had shot three. Dead. Well splattered with paint dead. That left three, including him. Then they could be done.
He had slept in a cave. Then at first light, he made a perimeter; about a mile in either direction and then about a half mile off the path, not a great perimeter, but good enough to trap these goons. Finding this tree had been a boon. It had a great place to hide and he was up high enough to see the paths clearly. Some cleverly placed sticks, near the tree and he was set. As the sun rose, he napped.
Glancing at his watch, he waited. He bet the drunken fools were sleeping it off. Good, made them fat and slower. The soon he wacked them, the sooner they could head home.
Passing in and out of sleep from sunrise until about ten in the morning, dreaming or unconsciously wandering to memories of nights spent in Kosovo, with Slavic chicks and good vodka, to the nightmare in Afghanistan, and his nice soft bed at his sisters.
Finally he came back, full alert, snapping back to reality when he heard a twig snap to the east. The steps were lighter than he would have imagined. Then he heard humming, which of the fatsos hummed he wondered. Raising the binoculars, and scanning the area left to right, he noticed a red backpack well to the east, but the sounds were closer than that the pack, which was visible just over the ridge. Holding the binoculars with one hand and raising the gun with the other, he waited and listened. Steps were closing in on him. The humming sounded like it was right next to the tree. Weird.
Then in the blink of an eye, he saw her, black pack and long shapely legs, blurring past his tree and towards the lake. Great they had company. Fuck. This made it more complicated. Normal people in the midst of middle aged fatso fucking stupid games. Fuck this shit, he should have walked back to his sisters, told her, her husband had shit for brains but no, he had climbed a fucking tree and thought about hot Slavic pussy, bullet ridden mud shacks and how fucking stupid he was to have agreed to play this stupid game.
Now there was a woman loose in the woods, with paint gun toting fatso drunk engineers and accountants. He bet they’d shot her. Sonsofbitches. He thought about radioing in and giving up his position, Paul, the dipshit had said breaking radio silence would be like getting shot, you were out. Where was the downside he wondered?
Then there was a thudding, right under his tree, looking down he saw two men, walking in unison. Fit guys, walking in unison and chattering away like hens. In French, no less, what was the fucking world coming to, he wondered, raising the binoculars and sighting the woman again. She was perched on a rock, in the small clearing at the south end of the lake. She looked pissed he decided. She must be with the henning French guys, he surmised. Then they entered the clearing, spoke to the woman and the three walked a few passes further into the clearing, one of the men pointed to some trees, the other two nodded and then walked on in the direction of the trees.
As the sun had shifted and he hoped to stop the fatso before they stampeded like elephants into these folks camps, he leapt from the tree and went in search of a better position, to keep an eye on the French crowd and the fatsos.
Walking thru the woods, around the lake, to a tree roughly in between the two paths which lead to the lake, he climbed up and wedged himself into position, his traps, would still work and his sight line was better. Digging in the pocket of his field pants, which Paul had commented on when they all got out of the van, “Dude, nice pants” the fucker had said.
“Where’d you get those,” Paul slurred, clearly having enjoyed a beer or two on the ride up mountain.
“Uncle Sam.” He had responded.
“Yeah, I love them surplus store also man. Cool stuff there.” Paul slurred again.
He had just walked away. Surplus his ass. Paul’s tax dollars at work, Uncle Sam dressed them the best, all the better to get shot in. Fucking drunken fatso.
Raising the binoculars, he watched as the threesome, pitched their tents, and arranged the campsite. The men waved in the direction of the far side of the lake and the woman stayed behind, rummaging in her pack and taking off her jacket. When she entered one of the tents, he looked around, scanning his perimeter and waiting.
When he trained the binoculars on the woman again, he saw she was on the move, with a smaller pack. She skirted the lake, heading towards the big rock, near the edge of the lake. She splashed carelessly in the shallow water, scaled the rock better than some of the punkasses in his platoon and squatted down on top of the rock, pulled a blanket out of her pack, turned slowly, settled on a spot and spread the blanket.
Then she pulled out a book, looked at the sun once again, pulled her shirt over her head and dropped trou. Fucking A, what had he done to deserve this? She had an ass like a million bucks. He zeroed in the binoculars on her glorious ass and reminded himself not to drool. The bikini bottoms where no thong, but the fabric cupped her ass like a man’s hands. Then she stretched and drew the t-shirt over her head, to reveal one of those sporty bikini tops. Not the hottest thing in the world, but damn she had decent tits and this bit of fabric beat a t-shirt.
After her stretch, she settled down on the blanket on her tummy and from his angle in the tree that meant he had an ass eye view. Hot damn, chasing drunken punkasses around the woods, just took a turn. Ogling hot ass, while chasing fucking desk jockey punks around the forest was not half bad, because that woman; she had a great ass.
Taking a glance around, he settled into the tree limbs to stare at the ass in view and listen with one ear, for the sounds of stomping punks. This was better than road runner cartoons. In Afghan land, he had only seen walking chair covers and curtains and since coming home to rehab, he had seen his very butch therapist and his sister and her do-gooding friends. No skin to be had, no liquor and no skin, most of his mates called it hell and it had nothing to do with the heat and his home confinement with his sister and her dumbass husband was getting close, only there was beer, he reminded himself as he focused the binoculars, closer to the curve of the woman’s righteous assets.
This ritual of ogling and scanning went on for a good bit, not that he was counting the minutes. The longer he ogled he swore he felt almost every flex of her glut or shift of her legs in his balls. Damn, what it must feel like to fuck her, those sexy thighs tightening around a man’s, no correction, his waist. Her moaning and flexing with every hard thrust of his cock and sighing with every retreat, eyes begging, fuck me those eyes would beg as he took her over and over. His solider stood at attention, when he thought about fucking that ass. Reluctantly he scanned the area and zeroed in on a spot a ways away - - there was movement. He could not make out what it was, but kept his eyes on it, tracking it as it fluttered through the forest.
Ass or no ass, he kept his eye on the flutter in the forest. He was not getting picked off by a drunken fatso wannabe commando. It was bad enough the Afghan kid had caught him off guard in the marketplace, landing him in this forest with the wannabes, and yeah, he thought, eye trained on the flutter, one hot piece of ass.
Watching the flutter, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to prickle, he turned towards the feeling and relaxed quickly, it was the two men, walking back. A quick glance to confirm and he returned to the flutter, which was moving slower now, as if sensing there were more humans in the direction it had been heading. Eyes keen on the movement; he was relieved when in a slight clearing he confirmed it was a deer, running now in another direction, away from the people. Her senses being better than the fatsos, he was sure.
Scanning his perimeter and looking way off to the horizon, he scanned and scanned, hoping they would be in sight, so he could take aim and whack them. Game over. Go home and in a nice hot shower he could jack off, thinking about that luscious bit of ass. Seemed like as good a plan as any.
Training the binoculars back on the rock, he noticed she had flipped, and holy mother, she had lost the bikini bottoms. Damn, how had he missed that? Now he had a bird’s eye view of her pussy. She was on her back, legs spread, hand between her legs, fingers strumming her pussy. Moving his gaze up her body, he looked at her face, her eyes seemed closed and her mouth was parted. Moving down her body again, he noticed her breathing and with each breath her tits moved in a very enticing way.
Training his eye back on her fingers he could almost feel it, the warm wet pussy, under his finger tips. It looked like she kept the hair trimmed neat and she clearly knew what she was doing, she was gyrating her hips against her fingers, causing her thighs to jiggle, but in a fucking hot way, just enough to give a hint at her softness. Her ass had been hot, but this, watching her play with her pussy, was almost enough to have him out of the tree and up on the rock, in a blink of an eye.
Jesus H Christ that was hot; a naked girl, on a rock, in the forest, getting herself off.
Reluctantly he scanned the perimeter. Half tempted to radio in, so he could end this game and go off into the words and jerk off, it seemed to be the thing to do and damn she had him hotter than the fucking desert he was due to return to in a few weeks. Note to self: find a woman and get laid, soon.
Taking his time to scan the area, once sufficiently satisfied he was not a target of rogue accountants and engineers, he flipped his gaze back to little Miss-I-am-getting-off. In the blink of an eye, he noticed the two men, heading towards the rock. Oh damn, this was going the end the little show and by the looks of it, it was almost over anyway, she was rocking her hips and there was a tension in her body, which had to mean she was close. Man, right about now, he was willing to give his left nut, for a closer view and a taste. To have his face buried between those thighs. Hell she could keep touching and he would feast, at this point, he was not picky.
Dragging his gaze from her pussy and busy finger tips, he noticed the guys scaling the rock. Fuck. They were going to ruin the view. The fitter, blond made it to the crest of the rock first. And he froze like a doe in the cross hairs. Stock still, but from this angle he could not see the other man’s face.
She heard and sat up, slightly, but kept her hand where it was. Oh, this was getting interesting. Just as she sat up, the other guy pushed himself and over the edge of the rock, Oh shit, was the look on his face.
Moving the binoculars up slightly, getting a view of her face, he could see the defiant look on her face. She was speaking to the brown haired one, inclining her head in that direction. He watched, wondering if those pusses were telling her to stop. Idiots, they should sit back, shut the fuck up and watch the show. In some parts of the world a show like this cost you some serious cash. He would know, he had gladly forked over the cash for the privilege.
Glancing around the forest, he returning his view to the rock and holy fucking shit, in the time he had looked around his perimeter, the dark haired guy had dove between the chick’s thighs and was eating like it was his last meal. Fuck, he wished he could get in line. This guy seemed to know what he was about, cuz the chick was thrashing about and he swore he could hear her moans, drifting on the wind. That or his imagination was taking over. Adjusting the binoculars for a closer view, he closed his eyes and imaged the taste. She must taste good, earthy and sweet.
Her body stiffened and he could see her toes curling, just as the other guy, must have said something, then she came and from the looks of it she came hard. Then maybe again.
The man shifted back on his heels, with what he imaged had to be a shit eating, no in this case pussy eating grin. Then the blond one must have said something and she leaned up replied and eased herself back on her elbows.
Thinking the scene was over; he glanced at his perimeter and noticed something far off in the distance. Watching for a few moments, he returned his gaze to the rock. Holy Shit! The blond one was buried between her thighs. Eating, but with less gusto. He would pause and raise his head. WTF? Eat man, go for it. This chick lived to be devoured it would appear, so eat.
Fuck, this was better than porn. She was taking them both on, on a rock, at damn near high noon, in the forest.
The blond one seemed content on enjoying his treat and she seemed to relax and let him take it slow. The darker one said something, she chuckled or so he assumed, since her body rippled, and it must have been something the blond one liked, cuz he shifted slighted and her body rippled again and she was thrashing around and her thighs tighten and flexed and then her body tensed and this time he swore he could hear her screaming. Bet he found her g-spot. Fuck, go for it blondie, do that again, he thought.
Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, pivoted, sighted the wayward accountants. About a klick away, each about 750 yards apart, he guessed. That gave him some time. Shit, maybe they would shot each other and save him the trouble, but somehow he doubted he would get so lucky.
Fixing his gaze on rock, he noticed, the guys were sitting around the woman, who sadly was mostly hidden from view. She sat up, looked for her bottoms.
Stand up honey, let’s see that ass one more time he willed. Amazingly she did, and as she shimmed into the bikini bottoms, he let his gaze linger on her ass one last time. She giggle or laughed and playfully tugged on the blond’s hair, then sat down between them and accepted a bit of whatever they had brought with them.
Damn, that had been hot.
Just then, he heard a twig snap, then another, sighted the two remaining punkass wanna be commandos, aimed his paint ball gun and pop, pop, then further to the left, pop, pop. Hitting them both square in the chest. The game was over.
Jumping out of the tree, he grinned at them. Randy as hell and glad this shit was over, he was going to double time it back to camp, collect his winnings, naturally these assholes had bet they could take him down, punkasses and he was heading into town and find him a willing woman. It had been too long and damn, he was up for some good American pussy and a pair of tits and after he ate, unlike those two French pusses, he knew what to do, all night long. Fuck!