The Weapon - Apocalypse - part 3
By Diana the Valkyrie
Pretty Flamingo Phone Sex Service



Duncan:

Hey, supper just arrived! Wendy must have ordered it, bless her, she's looking
after me even while she's not here. Yum, bhajees. OK, take an hour off, old
chap, feed the face. Maybe I can find a short trip for her next time. These
ten day marathons are hard on both of us. Still, at least she'd be home for
our anniversary. It's hard to imagine, it's been almost a year since she
arrived and totally changed my life. And she's changed things for a lot of
other people too. The forest fire, the war on drugs, ending that civil war,
and getting kittens out of trees, all part of the job. There's always another
kitten stuck in a tree. But the thing is, we can do more good by hiring other
people to do things than by doing them ourselves.

She has this big thing about babies, and it's hard to argue, she isn't wrong.
Sure, there's lots of bad things in the world, you can fight other battles,
but this one is hers, ours. There's so many kids in the world who don't get
any chance at a decent start in life, and we can make a real difference for
some of them. She looks after two of them personally, Matty and Rosetta, but
that's not the main thing, the main thing is the Bombay and Delhi baby rescue
centers. We can hire people at a really keen wage to take care of the kids
there, a little money goes a long way in places like India. Just twenty bucks
a week to feed and care for each kid. It really gets to you; we just spent
that much on my supper. I do have to eat, and we aren't exactly living in the
lap of luxury here. But I wish she was here. The one luxury I really want. Why
did I come up with this stupid shipping idea?

The phone rang. "You in bed, Duncan?" "Not yet, love." "It's late, you should
be turning in." "Yeah, I know. But. No big incentive, you know?" "Sniff"
"Yeah"

Long pause.

"If I were with you now, I'd pick you up and carry you upstairs." "If you were
here now, Wendy, I wouldn't need carrying, I'd race you." "I'd carry you
upstairs, dump you on the bed, then jump on top of you. Then I'd hold you down
while I got off your shirt and trousers, making sure that I rubbed myself
against your body as I held you down. I'd let you keep your socks on, but
nothing else." "Mmm" "I'd turn you over and rub your back, massaging away all
the stress, and while I did it, I'd slide my other hand underneath and tickle
your balls." "Unnnh" "And I'd keep doing that until you started to moan, then
I'd get underneath you and touch you gently until your erection was so hard it
was starting to ache." "Mmm." "I'd be soft and wet, and you'd enter me; you'd
try to push in hard, but I'd use my hands to slow you down, so you couldn't go
fast, just a slow pace. At first. You'd be on top of me, but you wouldn't be
in control, you're never in control when you're with me. I'm more dominant
than you, I'm more dominant than anyone, physically and sexually. I always
control our lovemaking, even when you think you are. Sometimes I let you think
you're in charge, but I always end up showing you that you aren't. I'd let you
speed up a bit, and I'd start to grip you inside of me, my juice extractor."
"unnnggh" "My hands are stroking your back, my mouth is clamped on to yours,
my tongue inside your mouth, and you're pumping as hard as you can, but only
fast as I'll let you. You break into a sweat now, you're gasping for breath. I
bring my cape up and around, covering you with the silky stuff, blotting out
the rest of the world, so you're in a cocoon with me, safe and warm and
protected, and your orgasm strikes you like a thunderbolt from Thor, like a
river of electricity stabbing from my wet pussy and focussed into your
genitals, you lose awareness of everything except the pleasure/pain of the
intense orgasm that my moving body was forcing you into, you yell and scream
my name, and shout for me to stop, but I won't, not until it reaches the
threshold where extreme pleasure begins to shade into pain, but I'd never hurt
you, I slow down and hold you close to me, let you slowly get some control of
your body back, let your breathing gradually get back to normal, let your
heart stop the fast pounding, let your blood pressure get back to normal, let
the sweat evaporate from your body as you lie on me and breathe deep, and let
your exhaustion float you off into a deep sleep while I keep my arms around
you and hold you close."

"Oh Wendy."

"Oh, Duncan."

"Uh, I think I'd better go to bed now." "Night, sweetheart." "Miss you,
Wendy."

She'd do a great phone sex service. Hmmm. I'll write that down, it's an idea.

. . .

Next day, I went out to get the necessary for the celebration. Cake, candle
and bottle of champagne; it was Wendy's first birthday tomorrow - if birthday
is the right word. Well, it sounds better than
roll-off-the-production-line-day. And I organised a bit of a party; I invited
George and Felicity, who were now engaged, and I arranged for Lan Ho, Captain
Gossage, Vlyd and a few other folks to phone up while we were partying, I
thought that would make a nice surprise. Then I hit the phones, asking my
contacts what ships they might like transported to where, dates, cargoes,
tonnage. I tried to keep a fairly up-to-date spreadsheet on the bulk cargo
market, but it was so damn big, so much going on. And if a cargo needed to be
moved fast, it would go air freight anyway, and we weren't doing that. Hmmm.
Now there's a thought. If the cargo or the container can stand up to a vacuum
and a few g's, she could deliver anywhere in the world in under an hour, via
the sub-orbital route. And the fuel cost would be nil, as usual. Maybe I
should start branching Pretty Flamingo out into air freight? One very big
advantage in that, she wouldn't have to be away for days and days at a time.
"Pretty Flamingo, when it absolutely has to be on the other side of the world
an hour from now"

Trouble is, there's only 24 hours in the day. She works 24/7, she doesn't
sleep while she's hauling ships. Actually, I don't think she sleeps when she's
at home in bed with me, either, I think she's just pretending, I don't think
sleep is something she needs. And while she hauls, I try to ginger up new
business. Starting a whole new area would be a bit too much, I just wouldn't
have the time. Oh well, nice idea. Maybe one day.

There's so many things she can do that would be good earners. And there's
pretty much no limit to how much we can spend on rescuing babies. I asked her
once, how many babies did she think needed help. She said "A billion or two."
I think she counts us all as her babies. I know she counts me as one.

It's hard for me to understand the way she thinks. She looks like a woman, and
she's pretty good at acting like one, at least most of the time. And then
she'll say something so weird and alien, something that really drives it home
that she is really different. Like the way she doesn't seem to have grasped
the idea of money, although I've explained it often enough. I mean, she knows
that $1000 equals one baby taken care of for a year, but she can't see why
this isn't already happening.

I'm not sure that I can either, come to that.

. . .