Unknown - Gwen gets beaten

It was just a fucking fluke. That's all. I had everything set up perfectly I was careful, never got greedy and kept my mouth shut. It was pure luck the Marines ever found out.

See, I don't know if you're aware of it, but the Marines, the Navy, the Army and the Air Force, have got warehouses all over the world, massive, enormous warehouses with ten of billions of dollars worth of every thing under the sun in them.

The Armed Forces themselves don't know what's in a lot of those warehouses. Hell, sometimes they lose track of the warehouses! They've got enough boots to last forty years, for example, enough ladders to supply all four branches until the second coming.

I had carefully maneuvered myself into supply, learning how the paperwork rivers ran, figuring out what flags would raise concern, draw attention, which items sat for years unnoticed, where things could be… shifted… without anyone missing them.

That was the key, you see. Stealing was fine, as long as the investigation didn't focus on you, but if you could arrange things so nobody knew they were missing… ah, now that was the perfect crime.

The easiest to do this was to add a few items to an order… only on paper, of course. Then you lifted the items. The warehouse would then ship the correct number to whomever ordered them.

At the other end the panty receiving them might or might not notice they had less items than their bill of lading. If they did they'd send a form 249-F. Once you sent an acknowledgement of the 249-F, well, as far as they were concerned the problem was over. And if you made sure that 249-F disappeared then the warehouse didn't notice anything either.

Another favorite was to place an order for something without my boss finding out. Then when it arrived I'd divert it, and the paperwork, and presto, nobody realized anything was missing.

I had been careful, slow and careful, working my way up from pocketing a few scopes and binoculars, to whole pallets, then to entire truck-loads… once I had a few reliable partners.

But a fluke hit. One day my shit-head lieutenant showed up on a Sunday because he'd had a fight with his wife. He discovered a shipment of mine just being loaded, and followed up on it.

For a while there it looked like I'd wind up in the stockade for ten or twenty years. Me and my partners had shifted a few million bucks worth of stuff by then, though, and the Marines were more concerned with avoiding bad publicity.

They cut me a deal, a DD (dishonorable discharge) in exchange for my giving them back what money I had, and keeping my mouth shut. I think their real problem was they didn't want everyone to find out how easy it was to cop their stuff.

Anyway, I gave them the money in my bank accounts… but kept back a couple hundred grand I'd squirreled away under an assumed name. This was money I'd made from a scheme I hadn't let my partners in on, so the Marines, and the Navy, knew nothing about it.

If they did I think it might have been the straw that broke the fuckin' camel's ass, you know? So I knew I had to be careful. I was a twenty-five year old ex-Marine with a DD and no particular career prospects.

And as long as I wasn't sure the fuckin' Marines weren't watching me I couldn't touch my stash either. So I went home, and wasn't that a fuckin' pill.

My old man was a lawyer, and a fuckin' thief, no matter what he pretended. The house was real nice, no mansion, but six bedrooms a big, private back yard, in ground swimming pool, satellite dish… you get the picture.

I wanted a place like it. I sure wasn't gonna spend half my life in law school, then sucking up to assholes like my old man did, and working twelve hours a day to get it, though.

So anyway, I arrived home one late June day, the proverbial returned to the nest. It wasn't any surprise to my parents, of course, since we'd talked on the phone about my little… problem… since my arrest. My mom actually believed me when I said it was all a mistake. My dad, well…

As I walked up the walk I couldn't help thinking how little the place had changed in the three years since I'd seen it. Yeah, three years. Me and my family never were all that fuckin' close.

Anyway, I'd been in Japan for two of those years, then in Washington for the third.

So anyway, there I was out of the fuckin' brig for the first time in six month, thinking of where I could go to get my fuckin' ashes hauled, and I use my old key to let myself in.

It was the middle of the afternoon. The old man was working, of course. The asshole never got home much before eight or nine. The old lady was out somewhere, shopping maybe. I dumped my stuff, got a drink from the bar, and wandered through the house.

I went through the sunroom, the air frigid because the old lady always kept the air-conditioner up too high, and saw the sliding glass doors leading out to the back yard. And there out there on a chaise lounge, was a Suzie.

Suzie was marine slang for Suzie rotten-crotch. It's what we called whores. Basically anything with the right looks was a Suzie – unless there was someone around who'd get pissed about it.

I slid the door open and took a deep breath of the hot, moist air rolling in, then stepped out with my glass. The girl was laying with her head towards me, on her back, so didn't see me.

I wasn't sure who it was, at first hard to see faces upside down, and anyway. I was looking at her cleavage, which was real nice, believe me – real nice. This slut had some nice cones.

I walked up and she suddenly sat up with a start, turning to face me. Fuck, was that a surprise.

It was my little sister Gwen. I was shocked. I mean, the last time I saw her she was a fuckin' kid, and now… fuck.

She let out a squeal and jumped up, rushing to me. She almost jumped into my arms, then hesitated, because she was covered in suntan oil.

Man, what a fuckin' body she had! She was wearing this little string top that barely held two really nice sized jugs in place, thirty-eights was my guess, and she had this tiny little bottom that bared gorgeous thighs and round hips.

Her skin glistened from the oil, and reminded me of a couple of oil wrestlers I'd seen in Tokyo. I was grinning at her, kind of happy to see her, you know, and at the same time this thought ran through my head about what a hot little piece of ass she'd become, and how I'd love to ram my cock up her hole.

"Mike! You're home!" she cried.

"That's me, baby," I grinned, putting my arms around her and yanking her in tight.

"I'm all covered in oil!" she gasped.

"Who gives a shit? I'm happy to see you," I said, feeling those, firm round teenage milk bags mashing up against my chest.

"It's been so long since I've seen you," she sighed, hugging me tightly.

"Yeah. Too long," I said, sliding a hand through her thick brown hair.

God, she was a looker too. Nice, beautiful face, even with oil on it, big brown eyes, full, sensuous lips, great teeth. Man, she had it all.

I drew back a little, holding hen at arm's length. "Man! Look at you," I grinned, looking her up and down obviously.

She blushed and tried to pull away, grinning bashfully.

"You're a real hot little item now, ain't you, honey?"

"Oh, stop it," she protested, obviously pleased as well as embarrassed.

"Gimmie a break. You're a fox," I said with a leer that only pretended to be false.

I extended my index finger and poked it into the center of her right breast.

"These real?" I asked with a grin.

"Michael!" she gasped in amused outrage.