No Rest for the Wicked

W has retired, and wants to keep it that way. But forces beyond his control call him away from his beloved lake for another adventure.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2024 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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CHAPTER ONE Call of Duty

I never thought I would retire. But then I never thought that I would get old. In the business I am in there aren't many old people. That's because sooner or later your luck runs out. For many people that is sooner. But even if your luck holds out, eventually you get too slow... or Karma, or whatever you want to call it rears up and bites you in the ass. Now that most of my friends and associates are retired... or dead... and their replacements look like someone who just wandered away from a fraternity or sorority party, I have decided it is time to hang up my guns and my lathes and mills and just enjoy my lake property.

Of course, when you have supplied as many people with interesting erotic machines for as long as I have, you have a lot of very rich and powerful people who want you to make "just one more." I always politely refuse them and turn them over to Juan and Juanita. Both Juan and Juanita have been working with me at the shop for many years. J&J Exotic Machines have access to all of my old designs and have come up with some interesting new ones. J&J Exotic Machines operates out of my shop here at the lake. They live in a rather modest small home which I... actually we... built several years ago alongside the big barn that has been one of my major manufacturing sites off and on for many years.

I have already contingency deeded all of the land plus the lake to Juan & Juanita. Their names are on the deed, but I retain full control until I shuffle off this mortal coil, as Shakespear said it. I have most of my other properties set up in trusts for various people. My lawyers will have a very good year financially when they have to settle my estate. The only codicil in the deed for this property is that the ancient, round hunting cabin on the far side of the lake must be kept in proper condition in perpetuity.

I don't plan on doing any shuffling in the near future, so there are also two other houses built near my lake home. They were built when I had to rebuild the lake house after the Monty brothers tried to eliminate me and the entire Inner Circle of The Society. My primary techno-nerd, Boris, actually Barry, and Natasha were also on the hit list. Because all five of the Monty brothers' names started with a W, Boris quipped that "the W brothers have declared war on W." With Boris and Natasha's help... and the help of her KGB father... I won that war. I gave Barry and Natasha the Bald Knob safehouse and a trust fund to maintain the place and keep them on the payroll. That weird-ass fortress is heaven for a paranoid geek like Barry/Boris and his lovely wife, Natasha.

One of those two new houses here at my lake property is for the captain of my personal bodyguards. He and his family live there. There is a basement play room for the kids which doubles as a heavily-armored safe room... just in case. The other house is actually a multi-bedroom barracks for a squad of eight very well-trained men and women, three of which are always on duty. The Monty brothers aren't the only people who would like to perhaps act as dance master as I shuffle off this mortal coil. The bodyguards are well-paid, and they know that I have a contract with another special firm run by Sam Two Feathers to help them avoid temptations. That contract pays off in case of my natural death, but goes into force in case any of my security detail betrays me. That triggers a one million dollar payoff to the man who takes out my betrayer or betrayers. All of my detail know the conditions of that contract and have met Sam Two Feathers. They are very familiar with his work and have great respect for him. They don't show it, of course, but inwardly they are scared shitless of him. If a setup like that sounds paranoid, it's not. You aren't paranoid if there are very rich, very powerful people out there trying to get you. And just because you are retired, that doesn't mean they stop trying.

I was watching the sunset from my back deck when an alarm sounded on my cellphone. It was from my security captain. I answered the phone and a firm, clipped voice said, "Vehicle on access road. No indication of threat. Will advise." I answered, "Roger," and set down the phone.

A few minutes later the video system from the main gate came up on the monitor that doubles as a TV out on the deck. A black Mercedes Maybach S 650 Armored state limousine had stopped at the gate. That got my attention. Then all of the darkened windows rolled down and two people... the only passengers... got out of the back seat. One was Master Tyrone, Grand Master Emeritus of The Society. The other was Mistress Lacy McGrath, Chief Mistress of the Mansion Club. The chauffeur opened his door and the passenger side door, but didn't bother to get out of the car. Master Tyrone was beginning to show his age. So was Lacy. I had heard that she had retired as head of the special branch of Homeland Security which dealt with "unique cases," but was still chief Mistress of the Mansion Club. Master Tyrone was no longer the Chief Master of The Society, but was still on the Inner Circle. Watching them turn slowly around with their hands held up and out from their bodies, I knew that there was something terribly important... or terribly wrong... if both Tyrone and Lacy felt they needed to drive all the way out here to see me.

I triggered a special code on my watch and said, "Occupants cleared. Maintain surveillance on car and driver." A few moments later I watched as one of my black-clad security people rolled up to the gate on a black Gator ATV. The front hood of the Gator said "Security" in large silver letters. On my phone with special filters there was also a large W emblazoned on the hood that didn't normally show. That expensive detail, known only to me and the special shop that did the detailing on the Gator, was just in case someone got past my regular security and attempted to approach the house in a fake black Gator. I know that is a really paranoid touch, but bringing a fake Gator through the woods is exactly what I would do if I wanted to infiltrate this compound.

The Gator stopped at the gate and one of my female bodyguards stepped out onto the ground. As trained, she had stopped so that she was shielded from the car itself by the massive stone wall. Then she opened a metal cover and inserted a key into an electronic lock. There are only four of those keys. Two of them are with me in the house. One is with the Captain, and one is on a special hook in the barracks. No one but me... and Boris... knows it, but lifting that key off of its hook signals me on my phone. And when the Captain's key leaves his house it also signals me. A final touch suggested by Boris is that when the metal cover is lifted that puts a different alarm on my phone. Again, that sounds like paranoid overkill, but there is no way someone can hack my front gate. Drive through it with a large truck or a tank, yes, but open it surreptitiously, no.

I used the intercom to call down to the kitchen. "Two visitors arriving. Most likely one coffee and one tea. Bring them out to the back deck please."

Martha is a great housekeeper, a marvelous cook, and a former Navy Seal. Her wounds in action forced early retirement but she keeps her skills up. And no, there are no romantic entanglements between her and me... nor between me and her companion, Dolores, who functions as my secretary. They have living quarters off the kitchen with separate entrance, security, wifi, and high-speed internet. They like to use one of the boats to go over to the old hunting cabin on the other side of the lake and go skinny-dipping... among other things.

Martha ushered Master Tyrone and Mistress Lacy out onto the deck. She gestured to the two chairs opposite me at the table and then set down two cups. "Coffee, black," she said with a smile as she set the cup in front of Master Tyrone, "and tea, lemon but no sugar," she added as she set the cup in front of Mistress Lacy.

Both said, "Thank you," and Martha returned to the kitchen area.

"I see you haven't gotten sloppy or careless in retirement," Master Tyrone said in his deep, but very crisp voice.

I pointed out at the mountains, "They haven't retired," I said firmly. Then I added flatly, "But I have." I paused for a moment before asking "So, what brings you two not yet retired people out here to see me?"

It was Lacy who answered. "Mistress Ramala has been... captured," she said with a strange look on her face.

"Captured?" I asked.

"Another one of those damned tribal conflicts," Master Tyrone said angrily, well as angrily as he ever gets. I could tell from the tension in his body and the way he clipped his words that this disturbed him greatly.

"I'm retired," I answered in what I hoped was a firm voice.

"She knew something was coming," Mistress Lacy said softly. "She, her daughters, and the daughters of several very prominent and powerful people took shelter in a cave that only Mistress Ramala knew about."

"Unfortunately," Master Tyrone continued "one of those girls was the daughter of the General who led the coup. She had a tracking beacon on her and triggered it when they started for the cave. Mistress Ramala and all sixteen of those girls are now hostages.

"I'm retired," I again said. Then I added hopefully, "I really want to keep it that way."

"Mistress Ramala specifically asked for you," Mistress Lacy said in an overly-calm voice. "She made a satellite phone call just before the General's troops arrived at the cave. Her specific words were, "I have been betrayed. Only an unarmed W can help me now."

"Don't you say it!" I said sharply to Mistress Lacy. My pointed finger was only inches from her face.

"Mistress Ramala has already said it," Master Tyrone said in a slow, measured voice. "You are her only hope."

"Shit!" I said vehemently. Then I added in a much more controlled voice, "I guess I am out of retirement."

CHAPTER TWO The Worm in the Apple

Usually an operation this complex involving both The Society and The Mansion Club and who knows how many governments can take months to set up. But this was high priority and I was actually brought into it late. Most of it was already set up before Master Tyrone and Mistress Lacy came to visit me. Of course, there was also a Plan B ready to be put in place if I refused to participate. On the surface it was a simple plan, providing of course that General Mugumba didn't kill me at first sight.

The flight over was rather calm. The Land Rover was waiting and ready at the airport and I began the long journey to the General's headquarters. There were two pre-arranged overnight stops at safe houses. It was near noon on the third day when I arrived at his compound. The General now controlled a good portion of his country. The rallying cry of his revolution had been an abandonment of western influence and a return to true African heritage and culture. That apparently didn't include western military equipment. His compound was surrounded by M1 Abrams tanks. Behind this first line of defense were at least a half-dozen MIM-104 Patriot systems in case of air attack.

I stopped at the gate and a guard walked up to the Rover. "The General is expecting me," I said calmly as I handed him my card. They had me get out of the car and after a very thorough and almost intimate pat down instructed me to walk up to the house.

I expected the General to be dressed in a standard uniform with a huge hat and an impressive array of medals and sashes across his chest. He was not. To my surprise, when he came out to meet me, he was bare-chested with a yellow cloth sash across his front that had the emblem of his country embroidered on it. He was wearing very baggy shorts and black sneakers with low socks barely visible on his ankles. The two men and two women walking with him were dressed in loose-fitting, but otherwise standard army uniforms.

"Come in. Come in," he said in very cordial English. "Let us eat before we talk."

I smiled and agreed, but inwardly I was very tense. Was this a trap? Or perhaps a test of some sort? Would I even get to talk about the ransom for the hostages?

We sat on cushions along a low table. Several bare-breasted female servants in wraparound loin cloths brought out a meal of roasted meat of some sort. They set two identical plates in the center of the table.

"Pick out which plate you would like," he said, pointing at the food. "I will eat the other one." "Or," he continued, "if you don't trust me, we can switch plates half-way through the meal."

"I do not trust you, General," I said flatly, "but if you wanted me dead, I would be dead already." I reached out and took one of the plates. The General took the other. The way he looked at me bothered me. It wasn't the look of a narcissist playing with you, it was more a look of concern... and hope.

One of the servers brought out a long loaf of bread, broke it in half and placed half on each of two plates. This one was totally naked. I at first thought she might be a slave, but the way she moved and the way she smiled at me didn't seem like the actions of a slave. Then I noticed that she was not totally naked. There was a red, intricately-woven cloth rope tied around her waist.

Once she had placed the bread on the table, I nodded toward the General and said, "The choice is yours."

He laughed slightly and picked up one of the plates. A soft feminine voice above and slightly behind me asked, "What would you like to drink, Mister W? We have lager, dark ale, fruit juice, and of course, purified water."

I asked for water and when the General looked at me oddly I said, "I don't drink on duty or I would have accepted your offer of dark ale."

We then ate in silence. When both of us were finished eating, the General clapped his hands and said loudly, "Now for a little entertainment."

A naked young woman was pushed out into the area on the right side of the table. Six rather strong-looking young men-- also naked-- surrounded her. A large timer was set on the table between me and the General. He made a great show of setting it to five minutes. Then he said, "Begin... Now!"

At the command to begin, the young woman dropped to her knees and began sucking on the cock of one of the young men. She seemed to be working frantically, but the man was just staring off into space. Then, after what seemed like a very long time, she pulled her head off of his cock and let him spurt onto her breasts. His cum looked very white against her almost totally black skin.

She moved to the next man in the circle and repeated her frenzied cock-sucking. Soon she had another load of white cum on her black skin. She tried very hard, but when the timer began ringing there were only five puddles of cum on her breasts.

She was crying softly, "No. No. No. Not again," as the men pushed her onto her hands and knees, scooped the cum off of her tits and began smearing it between her ass cheeks. The sixth man, who had not yet spurted, began forcing his massive prick into her ass. He moved very slowly because she was not prepared, but after a few moments he slid into her almost dry ass.

I glanced over at the General. He was watching me intently, and his eyes seemed to spend a lot of time looking at my crotch.

A second man in the circle stood in front of the naked woman and held his stiff prick up against her lips. Finally, she opened her mouth and allowed the prick to enter. The two of them spit-fucked her almost violently until they both spurted. They both stood breathing heavily for a few moments and then simultaneously pulled out of her.

Two more men took their places. The young woman groaned, but complied as they too spit-fucked her. This time they were in her cunt and her mouth. When they were finished, the final two of the six took their turn. When they were done and had pulled out of the woman, two rather burly guards came and picked up the woman and walked her out of the room. Her feet were barely touching the ground, but it made no difference, she was barely conscious and barely able to walk.

"What do you think of the entertainment so far?" the General asked with a very false smile. He was watching me intently, almost staring as he waited for me to answer.

"It is your house," I answered flatly. I tried to not show my inner anger. It isn't wise to anger a narcissistic despot.

He answered with what was obviously an artificial laugh and said, "Time for dessert," and clapped his hands loudly. A bevy of servants rushed in with dishes of fruit. "You must try my apples," the General said with a smile. "My father planted those trees when I was a small boy. Somehow they have survived the many conflicts which have torn our country apart."

I hesitated and he quickly took two apples from the bowl. He also grabbed two mangos.

"You pick one and I will eat the other," he said gesturing toward the fruit. "There are also two knives and two plates for the mangoes. What you do not choose, I will use."

I chuckled slightly, took one of the apples, set one mango on a plate and then selected a knife.

"You find this amusing?" he asked, looking somewhat hurt or perturbed.

"I'm only thinking about the fact that your attempts to make me feel safe with the food are so unnecessary," I replied. "If you wanted to poison me you could do it in so many different ways, including using a poison for which you have already taken the antidote."

"I may have underestimated you," the General said flatly. Then he brightened and said, "Let us have more entertainment as we eat."

Three platforms were pushed out into the center of the room. On each platform was a T-shaped post and on each post a white man was bound with his hands in restraints that were attached to the ends to the T. Their legs were spread wide and secured at almost the same width as their hands. Their pasty skin looked extremely white in this context.

"What do you think?" the General asked as he munched on an apple. "Tawse, wood, or leather?"

"It is the General's choice," I answered flatly.

"Then one of each," he said with a smile and clapped his hands loudly. He said something in a language I did not understand and three very large, very black men in wraparound loin cloths walked in. One was carrying a long, thin piece of leather that was split in two at the ends almost like a snake's tongue. The second was carrying a thin wooden paddle about two inches wide. The third was carrying a shiny, black leather paddle about three inches wide and perhaps a foot long.