P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!

P.S. I am so fearful of rejection here that I have denied anonymous votes. Sorry.

Penny, May I Rescue you from Hell?

(Part one) Pennies from Hell

I gave my taxi driver an extra twenty bucks to drive me to the street he called “Hooker Hell”. According to this capable-looking man, if the pimps didn’t have guns, then they at least had switchblade knives and they weren’t the least bit hesitant to cut off dicks and balls. “Furthermore,” he had added. “There won’t be a cop in sight when you need one!”

This taxi guy wasn’t the first to tell me that ‘a nice young fella like you has no business there’. I was told, ‘why not get you a piece of pussy closer to home?’ Well hell, I could have told everyone concerned that I wasn’t after a whole pie nor one single piece of pussy! At least, not today.

I guess I’m just one of those guys with a ‘babyface’ look. But heck, I reckon that even at 5feet 9inches tall and a compact 160 pounds, I’m a man full grown. Okay, so what if I’m just a college freshman at an institution of higher learning ninety miles up the Hudson River from New York City. Just because I’m Kentucky born doesn’t mean I’m a dumb-hick hillbilly! Sheeeit, they don’t admit just anybody into the United States Military Academy at West Point!

My taxi stopped and I was told to, ‘get out quick’, which is what I did. The checkered vehicle that was my ride sped away. Here I was left alone on the mean streets of NYC in the spring of 1971. The weather was a bit nippy so I was thankful for the lined tweed jacket I was wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The buddy I had come to see lived on the 5th floor of a five-story Brownstone walkup. Looking up, I could guess that this grand old house had seen much, much better days than the rundown tenement house it was now. And, judging by the looks of the three young ‘ladies’ sprawled out on the front steps, I’d say the former occupants of times long past were of a more refined class.

Now, I hate to be judgmental, but if those girls are not ‘females for hire’ then I’ve got shit for brains! The one on the right was blonde and wore a hiked up skirt. This one had a look about her that reminded me of a cousin back home; except that my cousin wasn’t a whore. Oh shit, there I go being judgmental again! The female in the middle was a brunette wearing pants, yet she had quite a lot of midriff showing. This gal’s cleavage nearly revealed her busty bosom. The third woman of the trio also had brunette hair but hers was cut shorter perhaps to mimic the pair of shorts she wore.

“Hey boy, you lost?” the blonde questioned. “Or are you just looking for a good time!”

I made a slight smile, yet I basically ignored the question. I reckon two-bit whores are the same all around the world; and I was just the fella to know. There wasn’t much room to pass these ladies on the steps, but I stepped forward to make the attempt.

“How about a ‘free’ blowjob for starters?” the middle brunette asked. Before I could offer my objections or any excuse as to why I’d turn down a free BJ, this hard-looking trio of pros had my pants halfway to my knees. Hands had exposed my cock right there on the steps for any passerby’s to see.

“Mmm, that’s a nice, big boy you have!” the shorts-wearing hooker said. “Girls, I’m gonna eat him first!”

Well hell, if getting a blowjob was the price of admission to this building, then I guess I could pay it! Before another thought could enter my mind, a greedy mouth closed over my meaty erection. This female sucked my cock with a well-practiced expertise. My male juices responded with glee. Suddenly, this suckling lady began biting my cockflesh, she viciously squeezed my balls, and she sadistically pulled on my pubic hairs.

Why this woman was being so brutal, I could only guess. Hell, I wasn’t going to stand for it, no I wasn’t! Quick as a rattlesnake’s strike, I slapped this female’s face with such venomous force her head jerked away from my cock. Damnit, I’m not a sadist, but my slap triggered a reaction I had not expected! Hanging out there pointing at a threesome of wicked ladies, my horny-hard cock exploded and sent out pressurized streams of cum. Oh glory, it was feeling so orgasmically good!

In a blur of movement, the two other girls began catching my cummy cream in their hands. They smeared the milky-white fluids on their faces then came back for more. Just when I thought I could have no more orgasms, one of the gals wrapped her hand around my penile pole and began pumping out every drop of cum she could get.

At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll say; two-bit whores are the same all over the world. Those whores in Saigon used cum in the same way these were using it. I have no idea if it’s dermatologically proven or not, but they say that cum is the greatest facial cream a woman can get to improve her complexion.

It’s a dumbass notion, if you asked me! Well, dumbass or not, these girls drained me dry. Their tongues licked my cummy pole so clean I had no need to wash it before I pulled my pants back up. Once I was dressed, I bypassed the trio of females for hire and headed on up the steps. I kinda chuckled and thought to myself; if truth be told, that was a very good ‘free’ blowjob!

I didn’t knock; I just opened the door and entered. A tall, skinny, menacing-looking black man met me. Oh hell, I guess the devil expects his due! I suppose there are consequences for every deed you do. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I guess pimps, like whores, are about the same whether it is NYC or the backstreet whorehouse hellholes of Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.

Again, I paid no attention at a time when I should have. “Hey honkey, that will cost you fifty bucks!” the black fella emphatically said stepping into my path. “You used all three of our best women!”

I sort of grinned, although not really. “Oh, I was told it was free,” I said kinda showing my ignorance.

“You shit-for-brains cracker, there ain’t nothing ‘free’ in the flesh-peddling business!” I was told. “Pay up whitey or you, me, and Mr. Smith & Wesson .38 are gonna have us a hell of a loud conversation!”

As he spoke, that skinny black fella pulled up his shirt revealing a gleaming revolver. Well hell, I didn’t serve three tours as an MP in ’Nam for nothing! My body was well-tuned, hard as a rock, and strong as a bull. I placed one of my hands against that fella’s chest and shoved with the force uncoiling spring-steel. At the same time, my other hand lifted the revolver from his exposed waistband.

In almost slow-motion fashion, I watched as the tall pimp’s back crashed into the dingy wall. When he went down, his ass hit the floor with a thud. “Would you be talking about this here Mr. Smith & Wesson?” I inquired while holding the weapon in my hand.

The skinny pimp gazed at me with a puzzled frown on his face. He wasn’t hurt, oh he wasn’t hurt at all; well, I guess maybe his pride was wounded. Injured pride often leads to serious lapses in judgment. This pimp made one of those judgmental mistakes right now; he sprang to his knees, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a stiletto-edged switchblade knife.

“Oh shit nigger, don’t tell me you are so ignorant you would bring a knife to a gunfight!” I said in a frank, no nonsense way. I placed the business end of the S&W .38 against the man’s forehead. “Go ahead and ram that pig-sticker in me, but I promise you I’ll spill your inbred brains all over creation!”

This asshole fleshmonger dropped his knife, yet there was no mistaking the ominous menace in his eyes. He was making plans to take my life, I’m sure. “Hey there, Asswipe,” I added. “If you’re planning on giving me more interference with my business here, then I’m gonna look up your mama, your wife, your daughters, and your sisters, and then I’m gonna take that pig-sticker of yours and cut ’em from their assholes, to their cunts, to their bellybuttons! That’ll be one bunch of nigger gals which won’t be breeding anymore ignoramuses like you!”

I snatched up the pimp’s switchblade and dropped it along with the pistol into my jacket pockets. Only then did I proceed up the steps. As my foot hit the very top step to the first floor landing, I heard an unmistakable sound. Once you have heard the racking of a shell into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun, you never forget it. In my duties as an MP cop in a war-torn city, I had heard that deadly sound much too often!

My body turned towards the sound instinctively. My left hand grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled it. The right edge of my coat was pulled back far enough to reveal the leather holster at my side. Well-honed practice caused my hand to robotically react. I pulled the Browning HP model of 1935 from its sheath, aimed, and automatically fired. The semi-automatic pistol spit out two slugs.

At a time like this a warrior’s mind sees more than it should. The street door opened and the skirt-wearing blonde whore came in. It should not be possible, but my eye saw my 9mm hollow-point bullets enter the pimp’s right and left eye. The speeding projectiles mushroomed inside the asshole’s brain splattering his blood, skull, and brainmatter all over the blonde. My skinny adversary and his shotgun fell to the floor.

Why she did it was a mystery to me, but the blood-splattered blonde stepped forward and picked up the cocked and loaded shotgun. Would she ‘dare’ aim it at me? Goddamn, she couldn’t be THAT stupid! But yes, she was! If I chose to shoot her, she wouldn’t be the first female murderer whose life I had taken. Shit, this was as much a war as that Godforsaken, lost-cause conflict I’d left behind in ’Nam!

The shotgun’s barrel raised and aimed in another slow-motion slideshow. Before it could bellow its thunderous roar, I fired my pistol. If I so chose, I could wear a uniform decorated with many ribbons and medals. Ironically, my first award was for marksmanship with a pistol. At this time, I did not intentionally aim at the gaping hole where the blonde’s shotgun would discharge its load. But, that’s where my bullet hit. Unfortunately for the whore, all of the shotgun shells in her gun’s under-barrel magazine erupted in a mutual explosion.

Bloody holes appeared on the woman’s blouse. Buckshot ripped ragged holes in titties, belly, and neck. The shotgun again fell to the floor, but the wounded whore remained standing. She began screaming; she was screaming bloody murder! Her fellow females for hire entered the front door. They soon assessed the situation, and then decided not to pursue vengeance; at least not while a pistol was aimed at them.

What was that the cab driver said? When trouble comes there won’t be a cop in sight! In a way, that was fine with me. In another way, the statement wasn’t true. I was a cop! I was a freshman student at West Point, but I was also a three-tour veteran of war, a twenty-two year old Military Police Captain, and a college instructor teaching urban warfare. The mean streets of NYC had nothing over those of Saigon!

(Part two) If I had a Penny

With no more apparent resistance, I headed on up to see my friend. On the way up, I reloaded my pistol. The 1935 Browning HP was the first military pistol to have a high capacity, staggered column magazine for 13 rounds plus one loaded in the chamber. This was never the adopted handgun for the United States Army, but it was my preference for handguns. I liked this particular weapon so much I was armed with two in holsters strapped to my belt. I suppose I was armed and loaded for bear, but if pimps and whores were to be my enemy then I would defend myself.

The remainder of my five story assent was made without incident. I found Room 501 easily, but it was kinda hard to read the brass nameplate on the door in the dimly lit hallway. As my eyes became adjusted to the dimness, I read;

Empress Suite
Best Cunt in House
Bring Money

Voices sounded inside. I recognized one voice as that belonging to the friend I had come to see. Just then, an ear-piercing scream resounded from inside Room 501. Goddamnit, that was Penny May screaming! I knew how to burst through a whorehouse door to arrest AWOL soldiers or to kill enemy combatants, so I burst through this door immediately. The sight I saw made my blood boil. A heavyset woman was administering a hypodermic needle into the vein of a beautiful blonde woman kneeling on a narrow bed. A fat, balding white man was ramming his cock into the young, nude woman’s cunt while a burly black man was thrusting his enormous cock into her asshole.

*** For the next few milliseconds, memory took me back to my first sighting of 1st Lieutenant Penelope Maytower. I had awakened from an operation resulting from a gunshot wound to my leg. I saw the angelic vision of the most beautiful woman on earth! I knew it was earth because my leg hurt like hell, yet this female’s beauty made me question my sanity and wish I was in heaven where she lived.

Okay, so she was just an Army nurse, but this only enhanced her enticing allure. Over the next few days, I heard soldiers from beds near mine say things like: “Penny, may I have a glass of water?”; “Penny, may I have a magazine?”; “Penny, may I have a candy bar?” Lieutenant Penelope Maytower’s name, rank, and serial number was affectionately reduced to ‘Penny May’.

Through my MP contacts, I discovered that Penny May often used marijuana to help dull the aches of seeing young men suffering and dying. It couldn’t be proven, but it was rumored that she also occasionally snorted coke. “Damnit, Penny,” I asked one night. “Why don’t you leave that hard stuff alone? Go home if you can’t take this war!”

At that moment, Penny happened to have her hand under my sheet. She was jacking me off. Whether or not she jerked off other cocks in the ward, I didn’t know. I only knew for sure that she either sucked or jacked off mine just about every night! “Damnit yourself, Jason Johnson,” Penny May replied. “Why don’t ‘you’ go home? This is your 3rd Purple Heart wound. You have two Bronze Stars, three Silver Stars, a Medal of Honor, and a battlefield promotion to make you an Officer and a Gentleman. Why are you staying here and what do you have to prove?”

After my release from the Army hospital, Penny May and I spent two glorious weeks of R&R in Hawaii kissing, fondling, and fucking while hardly ever leaving our bed. This young woman was certainly hot-to-trot with me and I must have deposited gallons of semen and sperm into her slippery pussy. I knew my bedmate was not on the pill, yet she never asked me to wear a condom. Oh well, people do crazy things during wartime.

Oddly, I didn’t see Penny May after those two weeks. She resigned her commission and went home to Virginia. I went back to my unit, served out my third tour, and then got the full-ride offer to West Point. Rumors came to me that my former nurse and lover had reverted to drugs and that she had resorted to prostitution to finance her habits. Finally, I couldn’t stand to think of the emotionally scared young woman being used like that. I went looking for her. ***

And now, I had found her in a whorehouse with needles and cocks stuck into her beautiful body! In three years of war, I had never committed an act of intentional brutality. I had killed. Oh, I had killed many! But, I knew I could always contain my rage at injustice. I now knew I was being caught up in the uncontrollable madness of temporary insanity.

Without thinking, I withdrew my two pistols from their holsters. I fired each. No, I did not kill those men, shit, that would have been too sane! My marksmanship was proven when my bullets struck the two cocks rammed into my friend. Guttural, animalistic screams filled the Empress Suite. Blood spurted in pressurized streams as the two men grabbed their wounded privates and squirmed on the floor.

The heavyset woman had refilled her hypodermic syringe and she was now aiming its needle at Penny May’s neck. “Drop the guns, asshole, or I’ll give this girl an injection which will fry her brains!”

I had seen men with drug-fried brains and I knew it was not a pretty sight. In the midst of my insanity, I did what I had to do. I fired my guns again. I think I considered the placement of one of my 9mm rounds to be one my best shots ever. The bullet shattered the hypodermic vial containing a lethal dose of drugs. My other projectile had entered the heavyset woman’s temple and exited through the other side.

Before I hurriedly dressed Penny May, I had to pull a couple of inches of the black man’s cock out of her asshole. Sheeeit, the swollen penile piece was still hard and was dripping cum! I shoved the cummy, bleeding piece into the nigger boy’s mouth. I’m not normally a racist, but my insanity seemed to be bringing out the worst in me. My Southern upbringing was reminding me of the lynching of black fellas who dared touch a white girl with sexual intent!

I threw a half-dressed, half-conscious Penny May over my shoulder and started down the five flights of stairs. God have mercy on the life of any pimp or whore who tried to prevent my departure from this hellish place because I knew I would have no mercy at all! Death had visited this house too often this day, yet he could certainly visit again.

(Part three) Pennies from Heaven

Although it was technically against the rules, I moved myself and Penny May into married officers housing at West Point. Drug withdrawal is a bitch which can test the metal of the most determined foe. Well Bitch, meet your match! By the time the spring semester was over, Penny May and I had beaten the drug-bitch into the ground. Oh, we both knew she might raise her head at some time in the future, but together we could combat her.

I stayed on at West Point that summer to teach a hands-on course of urban warfare in a full-sized, simulated cityscape. If any of my students became complacent, I quickly awakened them with live-fire gunshots fired at close range.

Surprisingly, Penny May was allowed to reenlist and serve as a stateside Army nurse once more. I knew she was happy now because she hummed or sang all the time. This woman’s days of being a female for hire were over for good. She was now a wife and a hopeful mother. In an effort to get herself impregnated, she fucked me like the devil every chance she could get. Of course now our sex play, our fondling, our kissing, and our continuous screwing might have something to do with the fact that we were two wounded souls who had found rescue, recovery, and salvation by falling madly in love!

I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I often did just because I wanted to: “Penny, may I kiss your precious lips?”; “Penny, may I play with your tantalizing tits?”; “Penny, may I slip my horny, hard cock into your sweet, wet pussy?”

As my lover, my wife, and the love of my live, Penny May never said no!