Hope and love grows in a place that lacks both – 02

Hope and love grows in a place that lacks both – part 2 continues..

“Oh yes, I’ve been active, as you say, for a long while. One hundred and seventy souls bloody these hands,” she said, holding out her delicate hands and staring at them as if Macbeth’s wife.

“Does it bother you?”

“Sometimes, I don’t see the point. So much death, destruction and pain, but what has it accomplished? We still live behind walls and barbed wire, girls no older than I still face the prospect of starvation. Many will choose the only way out. Our children grow up surrounded by violence and hate; they become young men who don’t even know that another way of thinking exists.

My best men listen to the recruiters from Hamas and Islamic Jihad and cease to fight, preferring to die as martyrs. But who stays to mourn them? Had I been born a man, I would surely be dead by now; I only survive because I have to work through intermediaries. I’m a rarity among rarities, an old freedom-fighter.”

Despite her wish to hate this woman, Emilia felt her heart go out to her. She groped for words, but came up with only the tritest of banalities.

“You’re not that old.”

“I’m thirty-two, going on one thousand,” she said quietly. “I have seen things no woman should see, experienced things no one should have to go through, and I have hated, with the blinding passion that leaves you feeling dead inside when it finally burns out and drowns in the futility of it all. I’ve turned my back on God and the world at large, living in the twilight, no longer seeing the sun. The souls of those I have destroyed cross my own with bloody footprints each night. I have drunk the bitter cup of revenge to its very dregs, and found it does nothing to slack my thirst. Old? The very pyramids seem young to me.”

The woman hung her head, but when she lifted it again, Emilia saw the hot tears running down her cheeks. Emilia longed to hold her, to comfort her. Their differences seemed small now, and she knew the agony of self-recrimination that came with taking a life. She had felt it on more occasions than she cared to count.

“I’m tired of being hunted… What is your name?”

“Emilia. Emilia Joseph.”

“That’s a lovely name. I long now for peace. I wish to heal, rather than destroy. I’m tired, beyond words to describe, but you can’t stop once you start down the road I have chosen. Death is at the end of that road, either from one of you or from one of my own. Death would be preferable now, to this living-death, but you can’t go back, you can’t undo the choices you have made.”

“Give yourself up. If you stop this madness now, I’m sure the authorities will show mercy. Don’t stay here until death finds you!”

She looked at Emilia, her expression angry, but then it softened, and she smiled ruefully.

“I think you honestly believe that. I was like you, once, an idealist, sure of myself and of my course. Now I am sure only that death will come. It shall find me, and I shall know peace, even if it is only the peace of the grave. Ali has finally convinced my idiotic brother-in-law to carry out a ‘real’ attack. They plan to bomb a major target in Tel Aviv. I don’t know where. He has finally thrown off my feminine influence. They go now to steal money from an American bank,” she added with a sardonic smile. Her soft hand traced lightly down Emilia’s tummy, stopping just short of her soft, dark pubes.

“A bank?” Emilia gasped.

“Yes. It costs money to be a terrorist, as you would say. He is doubly stupid, as I have more than he could possibly imagine at my disposal, if he had only been less prideful and asked,” she replied as her fingers traced back up Emilia’s tummy.

“Stop that, please,” Emilia managed.

“No, I don’t think I will. You have a lovely body, and it seems to be responding, despite your protests. I think I shall see if these hands can bring pleasure rather than death.”

Emilia started to speak, but her mouth clamped shut to stifle a moan as the small woman’s hands seized her breasts and squeezed.

“You can’t do this,” the faux-blonde groaned.

“Would you expect any less from an animal?” The woman said, as she began to roll Emilia’s nipples between her fingers. Again, Emilia was struck mute by the juxtaposition, such soft loving hands and such vicious, biting sarcasm.

Emilia closed her eyes, and tried to shut out the sensations and think. This woman was a complete enigma to her, and it was a riddle she had better solve quickly, if she wished to live. But what to do? Her classes in psychology didn’t even offer a clue on where to begin untangling the webs, paradoxes and contradictions of the Jackal.

A further complication was her attraction to the woman. Two years of globetrotting to check out each and every rumor had left her with precious little time for a social life. Emilia hadn’t had sex in months. Being gay wasn’t the problem; it was finding the time and energy to go looking for a bedmate that enforced celibacy. Some agents didn’t let being on assignment stop them, for some it was even part of the assignment, but she did and now her body was responding to this woman’s touch as if they were long separated lovers reuniting.

Tendrils of warmth spread from her breasts, through her chest and downward. Ripples of pleasure pushed deep thoughts from her mind and spiked as her nipples hardened and her aureoles puckered. The slight woman was taking her time, gently breaking down Emilia’s already spotty defenses. Realizing that resisting would be in vain, Emilia relaxed and gave in to the sensations and the moment.

“Won’t you free my hands?”

“No. I long to, but if you decided to try and escape, I couldn’t stop you.”

“At least tell me your name?” Emilia pleaded.

“Zoey,” she whispered, leaning down to press her lips gently to Emilia’s.

She parted her lips, accepting Zoey’s warm tongue into her mouth. Their tongues touched, then pressed against one another, and soon a battle raged in her mouth. Emilia eventually gave up, allowing the dark-eyed woman to leisurely explore her mouth, only occasionally caressing the invading tongue with her own.

Those soft hands continued to knead her breasts, gently squeezing or running the palms over her now stiff nipples. Zoey smelled faintly of roses, and her mouth tasted sweeter than any candy. Emilia found herself trying to move her arms, but all thoughts of escape were gone, she wanted only to touch her lover back. Zoey broke the kiss, stood and quickly striped, revealing a body that was every bit as stunning as her face.

Emilia’s first impression proved to be right. She had a very slight frame, perhaps not even as tall as a girl of thirteen or fourteen. She was thin as well, so thin her ribs were easily discerned, even from a distance. Despite this, her hips were wide and her ass firm and full. Pendulous breasts, looking far too large for her thin shoulders, sagged under their own weight, but still seemed firm. Between her long legs, she had a heavily furred pussy, but the berry colored lips peeked out from the dark curls. Her skin was a dusky color, one that resembled tea with just a touch of milk, and showed no blemish. Until she turned around.

Her back was crisscrossed with multiple scars. Emilia gasped.

Zoey looked over her shoulder at the bound woman and shrugged.

“I spent some time as the ‘guest’ of a wealthy Jordanian merchant. He was a cruel man, but it beat the streets,” she explained.

Emilia felt anger kindled in her breast. Anyone who would intentionally mar such beauty deserved to be consigned to the lowest part of hell.

Zoey returned to the bed and kissed Emilia again. This time there was no hesitation and a quick surrender. Emilia was in no mood to fight, even the tender battle of tongues. Zoey’s small hands returned to her breasts, but they concentrated more on her nipples, teasing the taunt buds until Emilia felt she was going mad. Her back arched, and still she felt as if Zoey’s hands were connected to strings that ran through her nipples and out her back. Every moment they seemed to be pulling harder at those strings, building an unendurable pressure that left her breathless.

Hope and love grows in a place that lacks both – 02 will continue in the next page.

Series Navigation<< Hope and love grows in a place that lacks both – 01Hope and love grows in a place that lacks both – 03 >>

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *