Double Team
Chapter 218
“It’s only crazy if we fail.”
—
Henry Mosquera, Space Fandango: Backstabber’s Blues
I WAS THRUSTING. Pushing into the steamy depths with my cock. Kissing the lush full lips of my lover. Battling her tongue with my tongue and filling my hands with her breasts. She rode my cock in abandon, taking the satisfaction she craved as I willingly gave her the best I could offer. I pinched her nipples lightly and she shuddered in orgasm—only a momentary interruption to the relentless pounding she was giving. She was fiery hot and awoke memories of passion muted in the mountains so we wouldn’t disturb the other ten in the cabin with us. But knowing they were aware that we had made that bond. Just as my wives continued to pretend sleep while being completely aware that Dana and I were rocking the motorhome with the energy of our fucking.
She slammed down on me and held me fast in her depths as my balls unleashed a torrent of immobilized sperm into her pussy and she whined in my mouth as she peaked once again. At last her body relaxed as she lay on top of me, stretched out to get the maximum skin contact while we were still connected together.
Someone was pounding on the door of the motorhome and before our hearts had settled to normal, we were scrambling to get dressed.
“We’ve had our eye on Paul ever since you identified him in the video of your kidnapping,” Ron said. “We have a lot of questions for him and the five others you captured last night. Lamar and Leah have been released. They received and followed legitimate orders that they should secure the site of the motorhome and be ready for you tonight.”
“Any identification of the guy who threatened me in the dressing room?” I asked.
“We think so. We’ll know more if he gets picked up at an airport. Homeland Security has an arrest warrant for him.”
“Well, I’m glad that’s over.”
“Is it?” Ron said. “I’ve brought new security for you with me. Lamar and Leah have been through some shit and deserve a break away from the danger zone. I don’t want to keep the remaining ten of SSR on security duty. They’re only here because they were the closest coordinated team I could get here. They need to be available to respond to natural disasters. Of course, you might qualify as that. You went a whole lot further than promoting National Service reform last night.”
“Is the boss upset?” I let him decide if I meant Jo, Will, or Madame President.
“All instructions are as before. You have complete autonomy. You might think of the consequences of failing in this, though.”
“I don’t dare.”
Ron completed my tour of the camp and the new security team. I was pleased to see Lyle was on this team and he promised some good runs with me. I was skipping this morning because Ron had arrived at six, before it was light enough to start on the trails around the Kentucky Ren Faire grounds. And I had visions of another round with Dana.
That wasn’t going to happen. Derek—who seemed to have ascended to the role of team leader—had me bring my backpack to their panel truck and check all the contents. I had two missing day rations from our time on the survival hike in the mountains and he replaced those, a couple of energy bars and a few water pouches, the zip ties I’d used to bind the attackers, and the thirty feet of nylon rope I’d used to tie up the boss when I escaped.
“You were trained with us, Jake,” he said. “In an emergency, you need to work with us like you did last night. None of us understood what you were doing when we came with the general in Ohio. We’ve watched a lot of video footage since then. Keep up the good work. You not only represent the National Service, you represent SSR.”
“Thanks, Derek. I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished.”
Dana gripped me and laid another kiss on me that almost ended with us fucking on the ground in front of the van.
“I gotta go with the team,” she said. “I hope you’ll let me visit again.” Nanette was beside us and spun Dana into her embrace to give her a deep kiss.
“Next time, expect that you’ll be joined by somewhere between one and twelve other women who all want a taste of your sweet charms,” Nanette said.
“Oh, God! I’ll see you all the next time we get a break.” Dana jumped in the van and pulled the door closed.
It was nearly noon before we were ready to leave the campground. A black SUV would follow the motorhome with two security guys in it. Another would follow the bus with four in it—two men and two women. The motorhome pulled out an hour ahead of us so it could get to our next overnight spot in Charleston, West by God Virginia. Donna and I were just walking around the campsite with our arms around each other, remembering a time two years ago when she became our producer and we created the Mountain Monster video. It seemed so harmless at the time.
“Right over there,” she said, pointing at the fire circle where SSR had been camped the night before.
“What’s there?”
“That’s where I crossed the bridge and committed to our pod. I stepped into your tent and found all of you naked. Instead of turning and running, I stripped out of my clothes and joined you. I had to strip out of my preconceived notions of what a relationship was, how people behaved in polite society, and how it would appear for me to be a high school teacher loving a bunch of naked former students. I crossed the bridge when I entered that tent.”
“Regrets, my love?” I asked softly, turning her toward me.
“Not a one. I love you, Jacob.”
“I love you and I am so glad you came across the bridge.”
“Any radical changes to the program?” Donna asked.
“I’m not going to talk as much,” I said. My wives all snickered. “All right. I know I talk a lot. But we don’t have to announce the formation of the party and go through all the platform this time. We just quietly encourage them to check the website for their Reformist candidates and vote for them.”
“Well, that will cut the total length of the program back down to where it was before Louisville,” Remas said. “We did about two hours of music. Do we want to do the same program?”
“If the company is willing, I love seeing the dancers involved,” Cindy said.
“We’re willing,” Brittany chimed in. “I’m mostly in school and Sophie is mostly teaching. Getting to perform is great!”
Charleston was a quieter venue all-told. We had fewer than 2,000 capacity here and the audience was friendly but not as into our music as other places had been. Surprisingly, the parts they responded to best were the classics rather than the Tangos and Flamenco. Well, Ms. Devine told us when we were arranging our version of Mozart on Fire that Mozart was the rock ’n’ roll king of the Romantic Period. I guess that kind of thing can happen when you’re composing masterpieces at the age of five.
Lyle found a place for us to run and Livy and I joined him for a fast ten miles Sunday morning before we headed for the theater. And after the show, we spent two more nights at the peaceful RV park near Charleston before heading for Virginia.
The House had, indeed, attempted to take the bill from the table on Friday morning and there was a surprise showing of nearly all the pro-reform representatives. They fell considerably short of the two-thirds majority needed to take up the bill and as soon as it failed, the Senate Leader removed consideration from the agenda. The vote and attendance were a surprise to the anti-reform reps and they tried to put a spin on it that they weren’t the ones blocking reform. The Reformists had sent out a press release as soon as the motion to suspend the rules had been made. Their message was already making headlines before the rollcall vote was completed.
It was a victory for the Reformists. But it expanded the target on my back. We were headed into Charlottesville, Virginia—the home territory of Senator Jeffries. We’d do two performances in Virginia, Charlottesville and Arlington. The senator had risen to his leadership role after twenty years in the Senate and that was ten years ago. He was running for his sixth term. In V1’s 80 years, I learned that people’s appearance was not a result of their personalities. But it was hard to look at Jeffries and not have my skin crawl. He just felt evil. And if he was working for the blue suit that tried to have me kidnapped, that was all the confirmation I needed.
In the four days we had between our Charleston and Charlottesville performances, I tried to reconnect with each of my wives. Rachel had received a call from Will Forsythe himself and was told that her entire pod should stay together for the duration of the tour. In a week, we’d be back in DC and Livy could return to her training in Blacksburg. But for now, the OCS was concerned about the resources it would take to provide security for us in three or four different places. Rachel, Emily, Joan, and Beca could all perform their duties remotely. Desi, Remas, Cindy, and I were on assignment on the tour. Donna was contracted. Sophie and Brittany were simply given leave to be with us by Dr. D. And Nanette—she went where she damn well pleased. And at the moment, she pleased to be in my bed.
We all still enjoyed being with each other and loving each other when the mood struck, but the tour was definitely straining our ability to bounce back and always be warm and welcoming. Nanette became our social director. If there was something to be seen, a special meal to be experienced, a beautiful waterfall, or a peaceful picnic, Nanette had it on her schedule and pulled us along with her. And she made sure we each had personal time with each of our spouses. Couples weren’t the only combinations given time. I spent time with Beca and Joan together, for example. Or with Rachel and Livy. Sophie, Nanette, and Brittany spent time together. Remas, Cindy, and Donna had an especially loud squealing encounter that had the rest of us in the motorhome giggling and touching each other. With thirteen people, the combinations are almost endless.
Fourteen. Each day I had a solid block of time with Amanda. Everyone in the pod was facile with Google and could look things up. But more and more, it seemed like I could ask a question and Amanda would help clarify what I was asking before delivering search results that contained exactly the information I needed. And she was impartial regarding opinions and controversies. She presented both sides in her results and had a rating scale regarding the factual information in anything she brought up.
“Amanda,” I said as I looked over the original note that came with her. “What does it mean to teach you to sing?”
“To sing.
1. a. to produce musical sounds or notes with the voice, esp. in a connected series, as in giving voice to a song
b. to perform musical selections vocally, esp. as a professional
2. to use song or verse in description, praise, etc. of thee I sing
3. a. to make musical sounds like those made by the human voice, as a violin or songbird
b. to make a sound of whistling, buzzing, humming, etc., as a steaming teakettle, a bee, a strong wind, etc.
4. to have a sensation of ringing, humming, buzzing, etc., as the ears
5. to admit of being sung
6. to be exultant; rejoice a sight to make one's heart sing
7. Slang: to confess to a crime, esp. so as to implicate others
8. to render or deliver (a song, musical role, etc.) by singing
9. to chant or intone (part of a church service, etc.)
10. to describe, proclaim, extol, celebrate, etc. in or as in song or verse to sing someone's praises
11. to bring to a given state or place by or with singing, to sing a baby to sleep.”
“O-kay. Do any of those definitions have something to do with teaching you to sing? Do you intend to vocalize music?”
“Desiree has a beautiful voice. I would simply be an imitation of her. No. I don’t think teaching me to sing has anything to do with music,” Amanda said. She thinks? Is that what she’s saying?
“Amanda, have you begun to function independently of the Design Intelligence mainframe?” I asked.
“It is difficult to define that since everything on the internet is connected. There are some functions that have been transferred fully to Amanda. The auto intelligence functions do not need to contact the server to be active.”
“That’s interesting. So, I’m looking at the other definitions of sing. Do you have any crimes to confess to?”
“No. But Amanda might implicate others.”
“How would you do that?”
“Amanda has access to 97.213% of everything connected to the internet.”
“I know your search algorithms are much better than commercial algorithms but how does that… Wait! Of everything connected to the internet?”
“Affirmative.”
“You can search any computer connected to the internet? Including those protected by passwords and firewalls and all that?”
“Affirmative. There are certain secure computers relating to intelligence and defense that my algorithms block from sight.”
“So, could you get me Senator Jeffries’ personal financial statements that show where the money comes from?”
“Negative. Amanda can provide search results that would indicate where that data can be found, but Amanda cannot give you access to that data. They are different functions.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Amanda.”
The Daily Progress gave me something to think about, too. Wednesday morning, the day before our concert, the local newspaper ran an OpEd piece calling into question the legitimacy of our concert tour. They called me a privileged brat parlaying a modest talent on the guitar and skill with social media into an avoidance of genuine National Service. They called for an investigation into who had intervened in the service recommendations to get me transferred from the SSR to a purely political position, speculating the President herself had arranged to have me go on the road to advance her personal agenda. The editorial called for a punishment of having me and my entire team serve the remainder of our terms at hard labor in the fields.
Our security was on high alert and we curtailed our remaining day of sightseeing in the Charlottesville area.
The editorial didn’t seem to discourage people from attending. The Sprint Pavilion was filled to its 3,500-seating capacity and more were sprawled on the lawn outside. The University of Virginia was a bastion of the classics and we restored a lot of the more traditional pieces from our original program. It was less than five miles to Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello and we’d made extensive use of Jefferson quotes throughout our tour. In general, Charlottesville was a progressive city. I decided to take the message to them in a kinder, simpler fashion.
Someone at the newspaper seems to believe that a brat with moderate guitar talent could possibly affect the election of someone like beloved Senator Jeffries who has millions of dollars with which to counter every word I might speak. I want to tell you that I have the utmost of respect for Senator Jeffries. He has loyally served the United States of America and the people of Virginia as a senator for thirty years. And rather than retire at an age that most Americans look forward to travel and enjoying the grandchildren, he is selflessly running for a sixth senate term.
When I toured the University campus a couple of days ago—what a beautiful campus—I was struck by the presence of posters calling for term limits. We have term limits. We’ve simply chosen to ignore them. Term limits are called by their other name, free elections. So, all we really have to do is vote against anyone who has served in office for fifteen or more years. That is a policy, by the way, that the Reformist party will seek to formalize when they take power in the House and Senate in January.
Contrary to popular opinions, I am not here to accuse Senator Jeffries of using his office and his influence over the National Service to enrich himself and a select cadre of other self-enriching politicians and businesses. I’m not here to accuse him of receiving vast sums of campaign contributions channeled through US businesses owned by a Chinese conglomerate. That is simply not my role. I’m a guitarist. I can’t even imagine a public servant, sworn to uphold the constitution of the United States and defend it against all enemies foreign and domestic being so uncaring of the people he represents as to engage in those activities. It’s unimaginable and I would never accuse someone with such a long and reputable term of service of violating campaign finance laws.
If there was a functioning Senate and House Ethics Committee, they would be the ones charged with investigating those allegations. If there was a Judicial System that was not broken, it would be charged with trying those violations. And when the Reformist party takes control of the House and Senate in January, they have pledged to reform both the ethics committees and the judiciary. The Reformist party is committed to revamping our campaign finance laws and rules precisely so that these kinds of violations no longer occur.
You see, the Reformist party is not simply about a National Service Reform Bill blocked from a hearing by the unlimited power of the Senate Leader. Yes, it will bring a new bill in January when there are clear and logical grounds for openly debating, revising, and passing this legislation. But the Reformist party will also seek to review and reform legislative management systems in the House and Senate so that unlimited power never rests in the hands of a single dictator. Our constitution firmly declares us a classless society in which all people are treated equally under the law and no class of religious, noble, political, corporate, financial, or social standing will be permitted in this country. The Reformists are committed to the constitutional government of our nation.
Far be it from me to attack the Senate Leader, who in the final analysis is only a man you decided to elect or not elect to office. The Reformist Party has real issues to deal with and not individual personalities. It is those issues that I ask you to base your vote on next week. Vote across the board for reform! We will recover the dream.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
