LIBIDINAL PURSUIT: THE OVERTLY ARDENT AIR TRAFFIC OF SARAH HUNTER AND HER COMMANDER
By Quillon42
(NB: I know Kiev is in Ukraine and not Russia; just using license and such).
Tensions altogether rose in the overly motorized metropolis these days as of late. Despite the enforcement against all the villains in vehicles by the powerful passel of police fucks known as the Pursuit Force, it seemed as if a few gangs always readily congregated in the space where a couple had previously been derailed.
Yet persistently did they always pursue, this cadre of cops in carriages ever so tricked out by incomprehensible technology. Indeed, it appeared that the core dynamic of the Commander's leaping from car to truck to bus to boat to plane to effing space station demanded a suspension of belief stronger than the suspension of springs and shock absorbers underlying the conveyances that endured such abuse. As it turned out in this Geico-frightening municipality permeated with juiced-up jalopies, though, there were many who could hop to the occasion of hitching rides on the supersonic fly.
Now these constables of chase had just taken down those most inbred of Raiders yet again, and the Ace in charge had just scaled the rather imposing aircraft that had taken off in the midst of the misty freeway. Said pursuing peace officer took out Travis Striker in the seconds that raced past, then noted, alongside his pilot compatriot and bride-to-be Sarah Hunter in the helicopter nearby, that a most sinister Soviet was readying his sniper rifle.
"Love is sacrifice, no, comrade?" mused the Moscow mofo as he aimed at the love of the law- enforcement-leaper's life. But then
[BRRRAAAAAAPPPPPP]
a bursting blast of livid lead from the Commander's Enforcer sidearm eradicated the Russian's face, forcing him to fumble back into his airborne crate so Communist.
Satisfied, the flatfoot of flight then looked to his lover, and was shocked to see her emerge from the chopper wearing not her already-cleavagey Pursuit Jumpsuit, but rather merely her bridal veil with the accompanying pumps and thigh garter. Sarah bore nothing else upon her back in terms of clothing or chute otherwise.
Tumbling onto the airplane wing alongside her Man and Commander, she fixed steely blue eyes upon him, she whipping out the Nail Launcher gifted to the pair in their wedding registry.
"I'll take 'em all out; you take it all off."
Ace found himself headily aroused by his militant mistress as she pumped her hardware into so many resisting babushkas trying to take the wing. All the cuties of Kiev could not keep her from completing her terrible task, the sisters of Siberia all stuck to the steel slats and ailerons, courtesy of a surgical level of precision by way of the lady's nail gun.
Sarah then tossed the weapon onto the Commander's clothing and cupped the considerable turbines of her buffest bust. "Now we have an audience…which makes me all the more raring to go."
Over the squawks of their superbly intrusive superior now did Sarah and her Hotshot hit it off most heatedly. It was his turn to do in the next wave of nyetsayers with his Defender handgun, he shooting away effortlessly and flawlessly at his foes all while his face was buried in the bombastic bole-nippled binary bastions of his babe.
Next an instant following was the grinding of his gearshift between the giant golden generators upon his girlfriend's chest, the latter grabbing at the former's lever with impassioned hands, she looking to service her master's segment with parted lips…
[WHOOOOOSSSSSHHHHH]
when of a sudden an unprecedented sound issued from the two's ten o'clock.
"You thought you could strike down Sudeko of the Killer 66…
"…
"…Uhhhhh…"
Fortunately for these fornicators of the Force, the bastard in his mini-blimp was distracted by their dirty and deviant deed upon the plane. Miss Hunter, however, would not hesitate.
"You better hurry up and hara-kiri, before I reach you!"
There was no possibility even for all of his samurai schooling for Sudeko to evade the stripped tsunami that was Sarah Hunter. With a husky grunt the vengeful vagabond of a blonde vaulted into the blimp basket, then gripped the shoulders of the assassin.
"Enola Gay's got absolutely naught on my nude ass."
Screams all the way down to the dirt of the city limits confirmed the chick's conquering of the dishonorably-southward Sudeko. Sniffing nonchalantly, Sarah simply looked to the wing of the adjacent airplane where her guy gawked across, he all in the altogether as well.
"You just gonna go and sky-stalk me all day or you gonna get your aerial ass over here?!"
For certain the Commander did not need another person in his sprintingly-gyrating circles barking at him this way. He had enough of that honestly from the Chief, who monitored his every move each mission, and eventually even beyond the job (but into his standard-issue A/V earpiece as always):
"No, deeper thrusts, I said!
"Grab her ass!
"Play with her hair now!"
Then at last, after the Ace and his silky squeeze arrived at the destination of their desire…
"I've seen worse."
Mere memories of this galvanized the jumpy gentleman into frenzied action once more. Getting the required running start, the Commander cantered to the edge of the imposing aircraft wing, and then
[BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM]
vaulted therefrom just as said vehicle convulsed, then exploded entirely into so much dastardly debris. Thusly did the Warlords' primary airspace deployment meet its phenomenally-fubared destruction, since it could not come close to withstanding the concussive force of the Pursuit officer's repetitive, brash burglaries into the alleyway between his fiancee's sumptuous if sallow roundhouses.
Careening now onto the basketway of the mini-blimp, the Commander grappled hungrily at the comely cheek of Miss Hunter's unclothed underside, he catching his intended target just as she made to bound from the bloated balloon back to her original ride. She turned abruptly and then
[SLLLLLAPPPPPP]
"I'll haul you in for harassment, Mister Fucker Hunter!"
But the taciturn tactician was already upon his bride before she could cutely snark any further, he executing a takedown similar to that which happened when he caught a criminal and brought tons of cuffs from out his waywardly-warfaring wazoo and strapped them onto so many enemies. Only this time the execution maneuver involved his kissing at his mistress's smooth, bare blanched stomach, he confining the perpetrator of his palpitating tongue into the pleasurable prison of her exquisite umbilicus, all while she put herself into a position similar to his own now, the two engaging in a mutually-mouthy exercise that ended up adding, as it would be expressed in Japanese, the number San to the 66 figure emblazoned upon every Killer in that nationality's gang around Capital City.
Once Sarah and her canny Commander had simultaneously consumed enough of one another's intimates for a seventy-course buffet of bawdiness, the lady leapt to her feet once again in the basket, she winking suggestively at her pouncing paramour, she flouncing her exposed ashen ass cheeks at him, he hauling himself up in turn quickly enough to tackle her such that both he and the brassy blonde were propelled from the blimp in a passionate, yet not plummeting, pairing.
No, in fact, Miss Hunter and her Hotshot were floating seemingly in slo-mo through the air, as the Commander was wont to do when locking on to certain uncouth offenders while sailing above their heads going almost a hundred on the highway. Sarah twisted in his embrace as he took her,
[BANG…BANG…BANG…BANG…BANG…BANG…]
the commander releasing not ammunition into his inamorata but rather potent pearls of passion, continually through the clouds from his trusty Chainpistol into her boff-thirsting bullet trap.
Without even aiming for it, too, the two tumbled into the cabin of the Force rescue chopper from whence Sarah started her sky-soaring escapade. They somersaulted in tandem to the frontal control panel, the Commander continuing to take his sleekest significant other most cantankerously, and perhaps appropriately enough to boot, in the cockpit. Each smothered the mouth of the other with a slavering tongue as the paratrooping decathlete of a detective missionaried the maiden now against the seats, now against so many buttons and levers, now against the pilot's windshield so hard that the glass buckled and cracked in several places.
As it would turn out, Sarah's helicopter would mayday into the coastal waters after all, despite the Commander's interventions. Thankfully in this rendition, though, both of the adrenalin-laced ardent lovers would scamper from the falling craft before it broke the border from the great blue windy expanse to an equally enormous and watery one.
And then the Commander would hold his huffing Huntress hard in his arms, in that ocean…
…though upon catching sight of MI5's Lucy in her sportster on the parkway nearby, as well as the unignorable Ashley cooped up in a speedboat down a canal…the man mulled over some side missions in addition to his main marital campaign now.