I competed in Competitive Erotic Fan Fiction at Sketchfest Saturday night. It was a fun show - thanks to Bryan Cook for inviting me on the show, Ian Karmel for his enthralling and horrifying take on “Space Jam,” and Caitlin Gill for her 15-minute sensual retelling of “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. My topic? “Zero Dark Thirty.”
Much like “Riding Miss Daisy”, I think you should read this, but I also apologize profusely for writing it. NSFW and NSF-Anywhere.
Maya steadied herself against the cell door, long legs quivering and palms sweating. She knew the importance of enhanced interrogation techniques on intelligence gathering, and she’d long ago made peace with her conscience on the matter. No, it wasn’t guilt that had made her so unsteady. It was just that, ever since she’d seen the Pakistani detainee’s strong, defiant face on the grainy closed-circuit television, she’d been so horny she could barely stand. But she had to get the information by any means necessary. They had to find out what hole Osama bin Laden was hiding in.
Omar heard the cell door slam open. This was it, what his training had prepared him for. He prepared himself to resist, to denounce the American scum, but the stirrings of rebellion were accompanied by a stirring in his scrotum when he saw his interrogator’s face. She slammed the door and grabbed a towel, and he could have sworn she was avoiding his gaze.
“I’m supposed to be waterboarding him,” Maya tried to tell herself, cheeks flush with excitement. “Then why am I the one who’s getting soaking wet?”
She tried to go through interrogation procedures in her mind, but all she could think of was the feel of his lush, wiry beard rubbing against the inside of her thighs as his tongue ululated against her compartment of homeland security, the motion as exuberant and resonant as a sunset call to prayer. She didn’t know how to pray, didn’t know which direction Mecca was, she just knew she wanted to be on her knees.
“What are you doing?” Omar cried, arms and legs strapped down to the interrogation table, as Maya unbuttoned her shirt. He’d prepared himself for the waterboarding, but he hadn’t prepared himself for this American woman, the swell of her breasts as her uniform opened, the wet lips of capitalism, blowjobs, and liberated female sexuality. He hated New York City, but he loved Sex In The City. His nasal passages had been nearly destroyed by tear gas in the raid that captured him, but he could still smell her musk as she bent down and unfastened his belt.
His Iraq-hard cock leapt to attention with an Arab spring. She knelt and wordlessly took him into her mouth, like the media accepting stories of Saddam’s weapons of mass destruction. He felt destructive, and more massive by the second. How could this be happening? He was such a Miranda! Instantly, he tried to think of the cause, And his wife! She was nothing compared to this woman, the infidel driving him to infidelity.
She paused momentarily, letting his Scud missile slide out of her mouth, one hand gripping his balls like an oil dictator trying to keep his power in the face of popular revolution. She unzipped her pants and shoved her camouflage thong down, revealing a smooth glistening vulva, not even a Gaza Strip left. She saw Omar’s eyes widen, and she smiled. “Well I know how much you Taliban guys hate Bush.”
Maya climbed astride the table. She was so wet he slid inside with almost no resistance, like the Patriot Act going through Congress. She grabbed a fistful of beard and rode him like a camel, no, a magic carpet, no, a proud virile man. He was fucking the racist stereotypes out of her!
“Don’t come yet,” she whispered, and Omar tried to hold back. This was TORTURE! He wanted to worship her pussy, write poems of devotion to her pussy, firebomb newspapers that published cartoons of her pussy.
Omar just hoped she wouldn’t guess his secret - that he always screamed out important secrets when he climaxed.
He felt her pussy tighten around him with the force and inescapability of economic sanctions and he desperately tried to hold back. And then he felt her hand snaking around below his buttocks.
“I don’t know if this violates the Geneva Convention,” she whispered, “But this is something that I learned at a convention in Geneva.” She slid one thumb inside his warm rectum, like al Abu Gharib jailed posing for photos, and screamed as the orgasm shook her body. Though Omar knew it was suicide, he exploded inside her.
“Oh God, Osama bin Laden is…”
“RIGHT HERE!” cried an imposing voice. Osama bin Laden had burst into the room. Next to him stood a fully-nude Saddam Hussein!
Maya’s eyes - and thighs - widened. “But you’re dead! And… you’re enormous!”
“I faked my own death. I knew the people of Iraq could never support our love,” Saddam explained, as Osama delivered a hard slap to Hussein’s ass.
Osama laughed. “You’ve been looking in the wrong place all along,” he said. “I’ve been here the whole time, hatching my plan to destroy America. No, not another bombing or a gas attack. Something far more diabolical.”
“You mean…?” Maya asked, unwilling to vocalize her horrific suspicions.
“I am the executive producer of ‘Toddlers & Tiaras.”
Outside the building, six Navy SEALs rushed in, wearing nothing but submachine guns dangled around their wet, muscled shoulders and bouncing just above their fully-shaved also-bouncing cocks and balls. Justin had been in the sauna when he heard the report of screaming from the interrogation room. He pulled his brethren away from their Greco-Roman wrestling practice and they rushed to the door.
Maya stared wide-eyed, unable to comprehend the magnitude of what she’d heard. she was facing two of America’s three biggest enemies, besides high-fructose corn syrup, and even less able to comprehend how profoundly turned on she was. Omar was slumped on the table, spent, but Maya’s yearning need had not been filled. She’d heard people say that Saddam was hung, but he thought they meant his execution, not the thick cock that twitched before her now, as wide as the Tigris and as powerful as the Euphrates. Her own fertile crescent grew warm at the very thought. Above the mighty schlong Saddam had styled his pubic hair so he and his cock had the same mustache.
Bin Laden gazed at Maya’s sweaty, nubile body, and opened his tunic, revealing a member even larger than Saddam’s. “Young lady, want to try to take down the Twin Towers?”
Maya dropped to her knees and began to fellate Saddam, as bin Laden knelt behind and entered her. She’d had a threesome once with her roommate and her boyfriend at Quantico, after a wild night of target practice and swabbing each other’s genitals for DNA, but this was her first Tali-bang.
When SEALs burst in, Maya was sitting on Saddam’s face, as Osama jerked off wildly in front of her. “Where I’m from, we believe a woman’s face should be covered - in cum!” he shouted.
“Freeze!” yelled Jeremy. He was a big handsome man, looked like Andy from Parks & Rec if he’d gotten into really good shape.
“Well well well, if it isn’t the Navy SEALs,” chuckled bin Laden. He walked towards the SEALs, cock swinging wildly like American public support for overseas military engagements. “If this is the end, I may not be getting 72 virgins, but at least I’ll have 69, virgins.”
The team leader, Saber, pointed his rifle at bin Laden’s junk. “Listen, we are Seal Team 69.”
Jeremy chimed in, “And we are definitely not virgins.”
Saber’s hand froze on trigger of his rifle as Osama’s weathered hand grabbed at his suddenly tumescent member. Sure, he’d always gotten erections during these night raids, sometimes he’d even climax. Thank god we normally have camouflage pants, he thought to himself. Dried ejaculate just looks like part of the jungle. But this was different!
The SEALs had wanted to kill bin Laden, but now, a more primal need overtook them all.
“You don’t think Navy SEALs can get freaky?” yelled Justin. “The star of the movie Navy SEALs was CHARLIE SHEEN.”
“But…aren’t we supposed to assassinate him?” asked Jared, the new guy, who was harder than anyone, and unconsciously tweaking his nipple with one hand.
Saber said, “Son, you can’t spell ‘assassination mission’ without ass. And also ASS.”
“And emissions!” yelled Jeremy. The SEALs started jerking off wildly.
Saber grabbed bin Laden’s arm, and slammed him face down on the floor. He grabbed Osama’s bony hips and thrust into his warm, yielding asshole. The young lieutenant started slowly, but then quickened noticeably. “We call this the surge,” he said. He plowed into bin Laden harder with each thrust, pounding him with the force of NATO bombs exploding in the middle of a civilian wedding. Lost were thoughts of the mission. All he wanted to do was bust inside of Osama’s bunker.
Maya was jerking off the prone bin Laden, with one hand while getting double-penetrated by two SEALs. On the table, Omar had started masturbating and filming the action with equal fervor. Saddam was licking Jared’s ass. “I lived in a dirty hole for months,” he said. “I love this shit.” Sweat mixed with come mixed with saliva mixed with whatever was coming out of Saddam’s ass. The interrogation room floor was more of a quagmire than a land war in the Middle East. As Saber climaxed, he screamed “HOO RAH!” and the SEALs responded, as everyone orgasmed at once.
“Mission accomplished,” Maya muttered, her raging sexual fire finally quenched, like the oil fields of Kuwait, eight months after Desert Storm.
“What do we do now?” asked Jeremy?
“Boys, you ever partied in Pakistan?” asked bin Laden. “I’ve been an Abbotabad bad boy. And SEAL Team Sixty-Nine is just who I need to punish me.”
Jeremy knew what he meant at once. “Right, we’re the stern drill sergeants, and he’s the disobedient private.”
Saber looked at his team. “Boys…let’s role play!”