Fanfic:Bigger Piece of The Pie - Uncensored
Title: Bigger Piece of the Pie
Straight fic, one shot
Pairing: Alice Murray/Dalton
Warning: Explicit Sexual Content, NC-17
Summary: Who was really pulling the strings at SSC?
A spacious office, lean on furniture and decoration, heavy on technology. A slick desk covered in monitors, streaming video news in four languages on some of them, a sat-link to Rios and Salem’s radios currently muted on another. Alice Murray sat in her office chair, plush and warm. She stretched the length of her arms, slim yet firm, above her head. A thin tank, tight against her lively chest, silhouetted her shape. She was top heavy with a small round ass, just like she liked it. She had trained enough to keep it that way.
Her skin slightly tanned, yet smooth and unblemished, the tattoos crisscrossing her neck and shoulders tight lines and a sharp black. Hair expertly cut, pixie punk, yet professional. Glossy with just the right amount of bounce. Thanks to good genes, a very expensive physical trainer, dietitian and stylist, she had the looks to sweet talk warlords and dictators, politicians and delegates.
And it didn’t cost a penny out of her pocket.
Alice had just gotten off the radio with Rios and Salem, stationed in Russia and freezing their little mercenaries off. Poor babies. Years working together and they never made a real pass at her. Rios, a lovesick fool for a civvie he couldn’t ever commit to and marry; Salem, the ever faithful hound dog who lost more money trying to get bar sluts to his place than if he simply paid a hooker. She always wondered if they kept each other warm on cold nights on the field, though neither has any real initiative to get things going.
They had been assigned a mission, disguised as a rescue one, but actually an assassination of a local mob boss with more ambition than is safe in the ex-soviet nation. The pair was good at those, killing the guy in charge as collateral damage, a nice little bonus. Pocket change really. They complemented each other, Rios was good, but honorable, which is a one way ticket to a dead end position. Salem had flexible morals and was decent enough in battle, but he needed guidance and would crack on a solo mission. They strung each other along, balanced out enough to get the dirty work done and not question it. A true army of two, gullible and oblivious, helpful drones with colorful masks and shiny guns.
And cheap. So cheap and naive, she almost felt sorry for them as they risked sound mind and body for less than 2% of the cut. Combined. If they ever found out about how much Clyde made in a day… ha! That crazy bastard might love his job, but he’s no sucker and thinks ahead, really far ahead. She couldn’t help the glossy smirk at how trusting they are, even with basic business sense. When SSC was established, it could only provide basic gear and weapons. Any contractor that wanted better weaponry had to chip in from his own fee; had to pay to slay. Now a multimillion dollar business, SSC could easily afford such business expenses as effective sniper rifles and heavy guns, and as of this moment wrote it off on its taxes. Stuck in their old ways, they still paid underground weapons dealers for overpriced rocket launchers and last year’s tech.
No, this company didn’t grow big thanks only to military contracts and sound investments. It came from squeezing its tin soldiers; the commission grew and their fees did too, of course. Simple mathematics, one went up exponentionally, the other geometrically. As long as the hired muscle didn’t see how big the pie was getting, they’d never question the size of their own slices.
Yet, here in HQ, the nerve center, Ops, the place the boys called home and she called her throne; where all the deals flowed, the intel gathered and she dispersed her coordinates, vehicular support and spy satellite data; right here she had a bird’s eye view of everything. Every dirty deal, every secret bank account, every embezzlement and bribe. Stockwell was a fool for not compartmentalizing when he had the chance, trying to save a measly salary but making her work triple. The secretary, the bookkeeper and the mission coordinator; every role providing all the right clues to lead her straight to the keys of the castle.
She didn’t act on her own. Every plan needs a partner, someone to deflect attention away from her if things get a little too hot, to take control of business so she could remain in the shadows. A lovely puppet master unbothered by frivolous meetings and bureaucracy as she weaved her strings along. And he was on his way up now, her senior in age, yet junior in the double-edge world of PMCs. She’s played him for years, fostering his ego, assuring him of his indelible right to lead. That once he’s in control of SSC, he can redeem himself for his men, give them their rightful due, especially those two. The pair that followed him from the rangers, his most loyal and dear soldiers and the most exploited contractors in the firm. They didn’t even get hazardous pay.
Richard Dalton was a hard man, clever and a good judge of character. In men, mostly. She made herself up to be smart, competent, yet trusting. He had a soft spot for that. Camaraderie in the battlefield and off it. The main reason she befriended his pet rangers and gave them special attention on missions. His face has been thinned out by harsh weather, too many deserts and icy winds. Balding and wrinkled, his ambition was what made him passably attractive. And she needed all the stimulation she could get to for his little visit.
The man could function in regular society. Ignore rude kids, drive at designated speed limits, order out and have conversations. He wasn’t so ensnared by the military that he needed structure and protocol to run his life. Nonetheless, he couldn’t maintain a relationship, whether friend or lover, with anyone that would be considered a soft target. If someone couldn’t run a 5K or neutralize an attacker, then they were beneath his notice. She had had basic training, yet requested his help for a little one-on-one sparring to beef up her skills. The right slip of her clothes, the grazing of her skin on his, face flushed in orgasmic reminiscence, enough cues to get him hot and bothered enough to pull the first move. Make him think it was all his idea and initiative.
As he entered the room he spoke of his week, some dignitaries and colonels. More networking and power plays, Stockwell being shoved out of the loop as Dalton became the face of SSC. He undressed as he spoke, neatly. A practiced routine, familiar enough to be dull. She listened absently, her mind glancing at the screens. She had about half-an-hour before Rios and Salem would reach their checkpoint and require her assistance. As she organized her intel for them, she felt calloused hands slip beneath her tank, experienced hands playing with her nipples, which quickly turned into hard little pebbles. She felt it odd that it aroused him to have her ignore him for work; that what he said had no correlation with what he did as he droned on about which countries are planning some civil unrest to pad their military pockets and his palms flattened her breasts against her chest. Multi-tasking and efficiency; there’s weirder fetishes. Just something more to deal with as she calculated her steps towards getting the biggest piece of the pie for herself.
She opened a link to Rios and Salem, gave an update about a small blizzard headed their way. Good for cover, bad for their health. Try to stay warm and alert; targets are used to that weather. Alice always spoke in sisterly concern and mockery, concise in a good way. Dalton hands had snaked down her tank, unbuckling her jeans while stretching out her top, a small price to pay to have the man wrapped around her finger. She relayed updated coordinates to the team on the field as she lifted her hips to let him slide the jeans down. Once off, she remained seated and scrolled through satellite images detailing a chopper on the compound’s roof; she relayed that new intel and suggested to take it out first if they couldn’t complete their mission objective stealthily.
Dalton had removed his arms from her tank, now loose with her bra ajar, a single tit poking through. He kneeled on the floor at her side and turned her revolving office chair his way as her torso twisted to keep an eye on the screen. He had given up trying to talk, didn’t want the chatter to reach the pair’s ears and in any case, his mouth was going to be occupied in a matter of seconds. He slipped his hands under her ass and leaned her towards the edge, his tongue eagerly waiting to slide between her velvety folds. Unless oral sex is considered foreplay, there’s none going on for the remainder of his visit.
He started at her clit, already swelling, a small head blossoming amongst her trim bush. He worried it with his teeth, his tongue digging into her wet heat to lap upwards and stimulate the underside of it. His hands knead and massaged her small ass, spreading them apart. An adventurous finger skimmed her cunt to get itself wet and then nudged itself into her crack searching for the tight unfucked asshole to settle into. Through all this Alice controlled her breathing and listened to Salem disclose their progress, joking about getting a nice warm mission in deep Africa. She promised to file any mission from there under ‘Elliot called dibs’ even though the computer folder’s getting pretty full.
The hungry lips mauled her, teeth pinching her folds and pulling them towards the verge of pain, yet stopping just at the cusp of intense pleasure. Dalton’s face was livid, his breathing ragged, inhaling more of her heady scent than air. One of his hands came to the forefront, the three fingers pushing at her moist entrance, long and coarse. He fingered her roughly, hooked inside and spreading wider. Her own breathing deepened as a slick sheen of sweat covered her face and chest, spreading down her taut belly and trickling on her back. The old man was doing well today.
A call chimed in, Rios wanting an update on the storm. She informed that it’s following the same heading, same speed, and no significant change. Better to enter radio silence, only to be broken for critical intel. Wouldn’t want to give their position away. Dalton straightened up, his erection prominent and slick with precum; the fact that he had been jerking off more than evident. The moment she silenced her radio, he turned her over, resting her body on the chair; the only furniture around not housing computer components. He entered her swiftly, only a momentary hesitation as he lined his cock to her cunt. He fucked her rough, long strokes that pulled out slow and slammed in hard, their skin slapping more frequently as he increased his pace. His hands, a bruising pincer at her hips.
Alice bit back a moan, her breathing growing irregular as waves of pleasure clashed against each other, not longer matching his thrusts. Dalton hated screamers, talkers and loud groaners. A waste of time, an annoyance. She was pretty sure he wanted to fuck her as she transmitted to contractors around the world; doing business, handling missions. She was good, but not that good. She could only be as efficient as humanly possible.
She felt the cool splash of spit at her ass, a lone finger spreading it along her crack, into her tight rosebud. She didn’t worry about being sodomized in such a beastly manner yet. Dalton was saving it for when he become CEO of SSC. A self-imposed goal and reward that she had no say in. Just like barebacking; his desire, his impositions. Petty things to control, though. A well made sacrifice for his access codes and influence, for his unwitting obedience to her machinations.
From hips to tits, he squeezed harshly, her skin well-adapted enough to avoid long term bruising. As he neared orgasm he straightened her body up and placed said hand on her throat. Not menacingly. She wouldn’t have targeted him if she thought he’d truly harm her. Just tight enough to feel her racing pulse and jagged breath. The other trailed down to her cunt and stroked her clit, a quick rubbing motion that burned her up. Her knees unlocked, the only things keeping her up now were his hands at her throat and cunt and his throbbing dick. Her hips started to hitch against his, her arms and legs tensing up as her torso shuddered. Her cunt climaxed, releasing a warm juice that coated her inner legs as his cock slammed harder, yet sporadically. Dalton wasn’t the type of man to go off like a rocket, at least not anymore. He came in stages, each slowing down as he dug his cock deep, splattering her insides and smearing her now sore opening.
As he released her, Alice slumped forward and glanced at the weather relay and saw that the blizzard was going to be stronger than expected. She readjusted her headset and right-clicked Rios’ channel. “Guess what, boys? Storm’s a biggie. Abort the mission and head for cover. Do you copy?” She settled her head in her arms, unwilling to sit in her favorite chair so as to not stain it.
The radio crackled, white noise overpowering the man’s voice. “Too la…Storm’s here… close…over…is target’s bas…”
She checked their GPS location and saw that that was relatively true. The storm wasn’t there yet, but its high winds were creeping in already. “Understood. Infiltrate base and lay low. Carry out the mission if possible, if not, there’ll be support there after the storm. Clyde’s availab…”
Salem’s radio screeched in her ear, cutting her off. “Screw tha… Come on, brah. We can d… don’t need that crazy motherfu…”
She rubbed her temple and spoke up, sternly. “Doesn’t matter, get to the base. If you complete the mission before the storm passes and let me know, you two get the full fee. If I have to send Clyde in, that’s money out of your pockets. Understood?” A quick ‘gotcha’ buzzed through, the static getting worse. “Now get out of the storm.”
A sudden slap at her ass jolted her. “Good girl.” Dalton looked pleased and proud. He was already dressed, face composed. “Keep up the good work.” She watched him leave, a more lively step that would last a couple of days till he wanted to fuck again. Till then, he wouldn’t look too closely at what she did, so she could work on her other projects in peace. Every single one, just another step to get her share of the capitalist dream.
A/N:
Only straight pornfic I’ve ever written and probably ever will. But this plot kept nagging me. I know that Alice Murray is fucking Rios and Salem over. She made not one, but two smirks of doom in the game. At moments that heightened the feeling of bitch-ain’t-playing-by-the-rules.
Straight fic, one shot
Pairing: Alice Murray/Dalton
Warning: Explicit Sexual Content, NC-17
Summary: Who was really pulling the strings at SSC?
A spacious office, lean on furniture and decoration, heavy on technology. A slick desk covered in monitors, streaming video news in four languages on some of them, a sat-link to Rios and Salem’s radios currently muted on another. Alice Murray sat in her office chair, plush and warm. She stretched the length of her arms, slim yet firm, above her head. A thin tank, tight against her lively chest, silhouetted her shape. She was top heavy with a small round ass, just like she liked it. She had trained enough to keep it that way.
Her skin slightly tanned, yet smooth and unblemished, the tattoos crisscrossing her neck and shoulders tight lines and a sharp black. Hair expertly cut, pixie punk, yet professional. Glossy with just the right amount of bounce. Thanks to good genes, a very expensive physical trainer, dietitian and stylist, she had the looks to sweet talk warlords and dictators, politicians and delegates.
And it didn’t cost a penny out of her pocket.
Alice had just gotten off the radio with Rios and Salem, stationed in Russia and freezing their little mercenaries off. Poor babies. Years working together and they never made a real pass at her. Rios, a lovesick fool for a civvie he couldn’t ever commit to and marry; Salem, the ever faithful hound dog who lost more money trying to get bar sluts to his place than if he simply paid a hooker. She always wondered if they kept each other warm on cold nights on the field, though neither has any real initiative to get things going.
They had been assigned a mission, disguised as a rescue one, but actually an assassination of a local mob boss with more ambition than is safe in the ex-soviet nation. The pair was good at those, killing the guy in charge as collateral damage, a nice little bonus. Pocket change really. They complemented each other, Rios was good, but honorable, which is a one way ticket to a dead end position. Salem had flexible morals and was decent enough in battle, but he needed guidance and would crack on a solo mission. They strung each other along, balanced out enough to get the dirty work done and not question it. A true army of two, gullible and oblivious, helpful drones with colorful masks and shiny guns.
And cheap. So cheap and naive, she almost felt sorry for them as they risked sound mind and body for less than 2% of the cut. Combined. If they ever found out about how much Clyde made in a day… ha! That crazy bastard might love his job, but he’s no sucker and thinks ahead, really far ahead. She couldn’t help the glossy smirk at how trusting they are, even with basic business sense. When SSC was established, it could only provide basic gear and weapons. Any contractor that wanted better weaponry had to chip in from his own fee; had to pay to slay. Now a multimillion dollar business, SSC could easily afford such business expenses as effective sniper rifles and heavy guns, and as of this moment wrote it off on its taxes. Stuck in their old ways, they still paid underground weapons dealers for overpriced rocket launchers and last year’s tech.
No, this company didn’t grow big thanks only to military contracts and sound investments. It came from squeezing its tin soldiers; the commission grew and their fees did too, of course. Simple mathematics, one went up exponentionally, the other geometrically. As long as the hired muscle didn’t see how big the pie was getting, they’d never question the size of their own slices.
Yet, here in HQ, the nerve center, Ops, the place the boys called home and she called her throne; where all the deals flowed, the intel gathered and she dispersed her coordinates, vehicular support and spy satellite data; right here she had a bird’s eye view of everything. Every dirty deal, every secret bank account, every embezzlement and bribe. Stockwell was a fool for not compartmentalizing when he had the chance, trying to save a measly salary but making her work triple. The secretary, the bookkeeper and the mission coordinator; every role providing all the right clues to lead her straight to the keys of the castle.
She didn’t act on her own. Every plan needs a partner, someone to deflect attention away from her if things get a little too hot, to take control of business so she could remain in the shadows. A lovely puppet master unbothered by frivolous meetings and bureaucracy as she weaved her strings along. And he was on his way up now, her senior in age, yet junior in the double-edge world of PMCs. She’s played him for years, fostering his ego, assuring him of his indelible right to lead. That once he’s in control of SSC, he can redeem himself for his men, give them their rightful due, especially those two. The pair that followed him from the rangers, his most loyal and dear soldiers and the most exploited contractors in the firm. They didn’t even get hazardous pay.
Richard Dalton was a hard man, clever and a good judge of character. In men, mostly. She made herself up to be smart, competent, yet trusting. He had a soft spot for that. Camaraderie in the battlefield and off it. The main reason she befriended his pet rangers and gave them special attention on missions. His face has been thinned out by harsh weather, too many deserts and icy winds. Balding and wrinkled, his ambition was what made him passably attractive. And she needed all the stimulation she could get to for his little visit.
The man could function in regular society. Ignore rude kids, drive at designated speed limits, order out and have conversations. He wasn’t so ensnared by the military that he needed structure and protocol to run his life. Nonetheless, he couldn’t maintain a relationship, whether friend or lover, with anyone that would be considered a soft target. If someone couldn’t run a 5K or neutralize an attacker, then they were beneath his notice. She had had basic training, yet requested his help for a little one-on-one sparring to beef up her skills. The right slip of her clothes, the grazing of her skin on his, face flushed in orgasmic reminiscence, enough cues to get him hot and bothered enough to pull the first move. Make him think it was all his idea and initiative.
As he entered the room he spoke of his week, some dignitaries and colonels. More networking and power plays, Stockwell being shoved out of the loop as Dalton became the face of SSC. He undressed as he spoke, neatly. A practiced routine, familiar enough to be dull. She listened absently, her mind glancing at the screens. She had about half-an-hour before Rios and Salem would reach their checkpoint and require her assistance. As she organized her intel for them, she felt calloused hands slip beneath her tank, experienced hands playing with her nipples, which quickly turned into hard little pebbles. She felt it odd that it aroused him to have her ignore him for work; that what he said had no correlation with what he did as he droned on about which countries are planning some civil unrest to pad their military pockets and his palms flattened her breasts against her chest. Multi-tasking and efficiency; there’s weirder fetishes. Just something more to deal with as she calculated her steps towards getting the biggest piece of the pie for herself.
She opened a link to Rios and Salem, gave an update about a small blizzard headed their way. Good for cover, bad for their health. Try to stay warm and alert; targets are used to that weather. Alice always spoke in sisterly concern and mockery, concise in a good way. Dalton hands had snaked down her tank, unbuckling her jeans while stretching out her top, a small price to pay to have the man wrapped around her finger. She relayed updated coordinates to the team on the field as she lifted her hips to let him slide the jeans down. Once off, she remained seated and scrolled through satellite images detailing a chopper on the compound’s roof; she relayed that new intel and suggested to take it out first if they couldn’t complete their mission objective stealthily.
Dalton had removed his arms from her tank, now loose with her bra ajar, a single tit poking through. He kneeled on the floor at her side and turned her revolving office chair his way as her torso twisted to keep an eye on the screen. He had given up trying to talk, didn’t want the chatter to reach the pair’s ears and in any case, his mouth was going to be occupied in a matter of seconds. He slipped his hands under her ass and leaned her towards the edge, his tongue eagerly waiting to slide between her velvety folds. Unless oral sex is considered foreplay, there’s none going on for the remainder of his visit.
He started at her clit, already swelling, a small head blossoming amongst her trim bush. He worried it with his teeth, his tongue digging into her wet heat to lap upwards and stimulate the underside of it. His hands knead and massaged her small ass, spreading them apart. An adventurous finger skimmed her cunt to get itself wet and then nudged itself into her crack searching for the tight unfucked asshole to settle into. Through all this Alice controlled her breathing and listened to Salem disclose their progress, joking about getting a nice warm mission in deep Africa. She promised to file any mission from there under ‘Elliot called dibs’ even though the computer folder’s getting pretty full.
The hungry lips mauled her, teeth pinching her folds and pulling them towards the verge of pain, yet stopping just at the cusp of intense pleasure. Dalton’s face was livid, his breathing ragged, inhaling more of her heady scent than air. One of his hands came to the forefront, the three fingers pushing at her moist entrance, long and coarse. He fingered her roughly, hooked inside and spreading wider. Her own breathing deepened as a slick sheen of sweat covered her face and chest, spreading down her taut belly and trickling on her back. The old man was doing well today.
A call chimed in, Rios wanting an update on the storm. She informed that it’s following the same heading, same speed, and no significant change. Better to enter radio silence, only to be broken for critical intel. Wouldn’t want to give their position away. Dalton straightened up, his erection prominent and slick with precum; the fact that he had been jerking off more than evident. The moment she silenced her radio, he turned her over, resting her body on the chair; the only furniture around not housing computer components. He entered her swiftly, only a momentary hesitation as he lined his cock to her cunt. He fucked her rough, long strokes that pulled out slow and slammed in hard, their skin slapping more frequently as he increased his pace. His hands, a bruising pincer at her hips.
Alice bit back a moan, her breathing growing irregular as waves of pleasure clashed against each other, not longer matching his thrusts. Dalton hated screamers, talkers and loud groaners. A waste of time, an annoyance. She was pretty sure he wanted to fuck her as she transmitted to contractors around the world; doing business, handling missions. She was good, but not that good. She could only be as efficient as humanly possible.
She felt the cool splash of spit at her ass, a lone finger spreading it along her crack, into her tight rosebud. She didn’t worry about being sodomized in such a beastly manner yet. Dalton was saving it for when he become CEO of SSC. A self-imposed goal and reward that she had no say in. Just like barebacking; his desire, his impositions. Petty things to control, though. A well made sacrifice for his access codes and influence, for his unwitting obedience to her machinations.
From hips to tits, he squeezed harshly, her skin well-adapted enough to avoid long term bruising. As he neared orgasm he straightened her body up and placed said hand on her throat. Not menacingly. She wouldn’t have targeted him if she thought he’d truly harm her. Just tight enough to feel her racing pulse and jagged breath. The other trailed down to her cunt and stroked her clit, a quick rubbing motion that burned her up. Her knees unlocked, the only things keeping her up now were his hands at her throat and cunt and his throbbing dick. Her hips started to hitch against his, her arms and legs tensing up as her torso shuddered. Her cunt climaxed, releasing a warm juice that coated her inner legs as his cock slammed harder, yet sporadically. Dalton wasn’t the type of man to go off like a rocket, at least not anymore. He came in stages, each slowing down as he dug his cock deep, splattering her insides and smearing her now sore opening.
As he released her, Alice slumped forward and glanced at the weather relay and saw that the blizzard was going to be stronger than expected. She readjusted her headset and right-clicked Rios’ channel. “Guess what, boys? Storm’s a biggie. Abort the mission and head for cover. Do you copy?” She settled her head in her arms, unwilling to sit in her favorite chair so as to not stain it.
The radio crackled, white noise overpowering the man’s voice. “Too la…Storm’s here… close…over…is target’s bas…”
She checked their GPS location and saw that that was relatively true. The storm wasn’t there yet, but its high winds were creeping in already. “Understood. Infiltrate base and lay low. Carry out the mission if possible, if not, there’ll be support there after the storm. Clyde’s availab…”
Salem’s radio screeched in her ear, cutting her off. “Screw tha… Come on, brah. We can d… don’t need that crazy motherfu…”
She rubbed her temple and spoke up, sternly. “Doesn’t matter, get to the base. If you complete the mission before the storm passes and let me know, you two get the full fee. If I have to send Clyde in, that’s money out of your pockets. Understood?” A quick ‘gotcha’ buzzed through, the static getting worse. “Now get out of the storm.”
A sudden slap at her ass jolted her. “Good girl.” Dalton looked pleased and proud. He was already dressed, face composed. “Keep up the good work.” She watched him leave, a more lively step that would last a couple of days till he wanted to fuck again. Till then, he wouldn’t look too closely at what she did, so she could work on her other projects in peace. Every single one, just another step to get her share of the capitalist dream.
A/N:
Only straight pornfic I’ve ever written and probably ever will. But this plot kept nagging me. I know that Alice Murray is fucking Rios and Salem over. She made not one, but two smirks of doom in the game. At moments that heightened the feeling of bitch-ain’t-playing-by-the-rules.