"Gangland Vigilante"

[TiredFingers]

"Gangland Vigilante"

(Closed to CarnivalBarker)​

"Ricky!"

Richard Rogers turned to the voice calling from the nearby parking lot just in time to see her pressing the shutter release on her camera. He laughed. "Don't you have enough of those?"

"Of what?" the pretty redhead asked, knowing full well what Rick meant. "I could never have enough pictures of you without your clothes on."

He looked down at and gestured to his camouflage trousers and corrected, "I have clothes on."

The woman set her camera aside and began toward him, slowly shedding her own clothes: sweat shirt, shorts, tee shirt, bra, and panties created a Hansel and Gretel trail back to the car, leaving her naked except for her deck shoes by the time she reached him and began working at his buttons as she kissed his lips, saying, "I can fix that."

It was early April, cold and windy, but they made love their on the grass of the otherwise abandoned State Park as easily and eagerly as if they were under layers of warm bedding back in the motel room. After they'd cum, though, they didn't dawdle. They gathered their clothes, dressed, and headed for the nearest café for a pie and hot cocoa.

"Why do you have to go back there?" she asked as they finished. The delightful tone she'd had all day up to that point was now replaced with a combination of fear and resentment. "Why do you have to leave me?"

"I'm not leaving you, Carlie," he countered quickly. "I invited you to come--"

She laughed loudly. "Come with you...? To that hell hole?"

"It's my home."

"It was your home," she conflicted, waving impatiently at the waitress for the check. She glared at Rick. "Fifteen years ago it was your home. Now, it's a crime ridden, druggie hell hole. Why would you go back to that place? There's nothing there for you."

"My sister's there," Rick told her, looking at the check and -- handing the waitress a twenty -- told her to keep the change. The teen beamed at the massive tip, ogled the impressive man, and walked away with a bit more swing in her hips than that with which she'd arrived. Rick laughed before looking back to the redhead to see no humor in her face at all. "My sister's there ... someplace. And my father--"

"Who you haven't talked to since you went into the Navy," she reminded him.

Rick diverted his gaze to the ocean, visible in the distance beyond the cafe's west facing windows. She was right, of course. Greenville was a hell hole. The town of 50,000 had its nice neighborhoods, just like any city did. But of its six distinct neighborhoods, four -- including Rick's own neighborhood of West Lawn -- were dominated by brutal, violent street gangs fueled by drug sales, prostitution, extortion, and burglary.

"I have to try to get them out of there, Carlie," Rick told her. "That's why I got out."

By got out, Rick meant out of the Navy, not out of the neighborhood. After hearing that his mother had been killed in a drive by shooting, he'd submitted his resignation from the SEALs to go home and help his estranged family. The reunion hadn't gone well: his father hadn't shown up at the funeral at all; his sister had but she'd been strung out on heroine and left with a pair of doper scum after the two of them had begun fighting; and the few family friends who had come had been split pretty evenly between telling Rick to save himself by going back to the Navy and telling Rick that this would never have happened if he hadn't fled to the service on his 18th birthday a decade and a half earlier.

They sat there in silence for a long moment. Carlie finally stood, walked to Rick's side of the table, leaned in, and gave him an soft but erotic kiss. When she pulled back, she whispered, "I'll miss you."

"I won't be gone long, Carlie," he promised.

"Yes you will," she corrected. "You think you're going there to get your father ... your sister ... to get them out and come back here ... to me. But ... you're not. That's not who you are, Ricky. You'll get there ... see the problems ... and you'll find a need to fix what you can ... to make it the way it was when you were there last. But ... you can't. You can't ... and you know you can't ... but ... you're not the type to quit."

She leaned in to kiss him softly one more time, caressed his cheek, stood tall, and said with finality, "I'll always love you."

She turned, leaving Rick to watch her depart alone. They had the room for another two nights, but Rick knew that this was their last moment together. He'd known since telling her about West Lawn's problems and his decision to go back there that Carlie couldn't live with the thought. She'd stuck with him through six missions, two of which had seen him shot and a third ending with him almost bleeding out after a IED explosion.

But this was unlike any mission he'd been on before. Rick's missions had been very dangerous, of course, but he'd never lived in a war zone day after day for months on end like so many unsung heroes of the US Armed Forces fighting in Afghanistan or Iraq or now in Syria. Rick's SEAL unit had typically been inserted into a war zone for a day or two, maybe a week, to perform a specific mission before getting the hell out. They did the top secret missions that the public often never heard of or -- if they did -- didn't hear about until months later.

West Lawn would be like that first action: day after day of danger, highlighted by the very frequent firing of weapons, often of the automatic nature. The three gangs fighting over control of West Lawn had no qualms about killing each of the other gang's members; and if civilians died as collateral damage, well ... sorry. Their only concern was gaining full control of the district, and to achieve that goal, all methods were on the table.

 

[TiredFingers]

He'd been born Terrence Jefferson, but for most of his life people had called him other things. In primary school, the teachers called him Terry, a name he'd always hated because it sounded so white. In junior high, the guys in the locker room called him Big Jeff because of the monster cock already dangling in his groin. In high school, the girls he began satisfying at a much too young age called him Big Bang. There had been other nicknames, too, but the name that he thought of personally was the one his beloved and now deceased grandmother had used, Tye.

But it was Big Bang that would stick in the long run. He'd been kicked out of the Marines after just two years of service, accused and charged yet not convicted of a triple homicide in Syria. He returned to West Lawn and joined his younger brothers as members of the Faithful, a violent street gang that had for the past half dozen years been slowly pushing their competition out of West Lawn.

This time around, though, Big Bang was no longer spoken in tribute to the size of his manhood or his ability to use it to the joy of his lovers. No, the nickname had stuck after he'd walked into a rival gang's drug house alone, shot down six members, then set a fire that caused the volatile chemicals to blow the house literally to smithereens. When the overworked and understaffed fire department arrived a full ten minutes later, all that remained of the drug house was a partial frame teetering over a cracked, concrete foundation and some scattered burning debris.

Tye was a good fit for the Faithful: he was smart, confident, fearless, ingenious, and -- when necessary -- ruthless. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty when the need arose, yet his time as a Grunt had taught him some restraint when it came to the Innocent, so he'd garnered a reputation amongst the locals faithful to the Faithful when the gang's actions caused them harm or fear.

He had risen quickly to become the #3 man in the gang and was now in charge of one of their most profitable businesses, prostitution. Tye was no longer out on the streets every day, banging heads with the competition, which meant less chance of being gunned down during a drive by or in as a result of a drug or gun sale gone wrong. And he was getting all the pussy a man could ever want.

And yet, Tye wasn't content with his life. Two decades earlier, a defrocked priest -- who came to be known as Father Jake or just The Father -- had organized the Faithful not as a violent street gang but as a neighborhood club to keep the local boys out of gangs. Tye had never known the peaceful version of the Faithful, of course: by the time he'd come to know of them, The Fatherhad been shot down in the street and the Faithful had begun striking out at those who had killed their mentor; and within just a handful of years, the Faithful itself had become one of the premier gangs in West Lawn.

But Tye's uncle had been one of those earliest members, and he'd left the Faithful rather than -- as he had put it before he, too, was shot down in the street -- become scum. Tye's uncle had told him of The Father's dream for the community, and though Tye had had the same dream at times through his life, he'd come to understand that changing the situation in West Lawn was little more than a fantasy.

After all, it would take a lot more than dreaming. It would take someone -- many someones -- who cared enough to put his life on the line against impossible odds. And Tye doubted that there was anyone like that anywhere in the world, let alone in West Lawn.

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Deleted - Partner Quit Thread For Some Reason.

 

[TiredFingers]

Midnight:

Emanuel Lopez was sitting in the shadows of his little home's porch when the SUV cruised up slowly to the curb and stopped. Manny, as his Faithful underlings called him, gripped the 9mm sitting in his lap, caressing his thumb upon the safety to ensure that the gun was ready to fire. There were a dozen other men close by, as was typical: four in the house, four on the front porch making themselves visible to anyone watching -- a deterrent, if you will -- and four more sitting in pairs in cars up and down the street a block in each direction.

The men who soon unloaded from the darkened window vehicle were Manny's own, though. That didn't keep him from feeling edgy about the late night guests though. Tonight's activities were the kind of thing that got a gang leader killed ... by his own men.

But the reassuring head nod from Big Bang Jefferson -- just before the #3 told the others to go inside and begin mellowing out with their chosen drink or drug -- told Manny that all had gone okay and that he was going to live to lead for at least another day.

"No problems," he asked Tye softly. He meant no problems with his men, not with those of the competition with whom Tye had just met.

"No," Tye responded simply, reaching up under his hoody to pull out a piece of clothing bundled around an unseen object. He unrolled what turned out to be a bloody hoody with a severed set of Family Jewels inside it. He saw Manny grimace, then heard the man curse. He just shrugged as he explained, "The Kings wanted to show their appreciation for you offering to make this right. I told them it wasn't necessary, but ... you know how they are about their women ... and their blades."

The Kings had been the first street gang to make a serious play for control over North Heights almost three decades earlier, moving down into West Lawn a few years later. Their rise had been the direct cause of Father Jake creating the Faithful, not as a street gang but as a peaceful boy's club to prevent the neighborhood teens from joining gangs. They'd also been the direct cause for the Faithful becoming violent, after they'd gunned Father Jake down in the streets for no real reason at all.

It had been the Kings' drug house that Tye had attacked and blown up a few years ago, making his name inside the Faithful. Of course, the Kings didn't know that. To this day, they thought the explosion had been an accident. Manny had met secretly with the Gang Task Force's Deputy Commander and asked him not to reveal that the bodies inside the house had been shot before they'd been blown up and burned.

"What good comes from the Kings learning this wasn't an accident?" Manny had argued. He'd explained that one of his men -- Tye, though he hadn't named him -- had been seeking revenge for an earlier killing, which was true; and he promised that the revenge ended there, so long as the Kings continued to think the explosion had been an accident. So, that was how it went down.

This latest incident was, again, an act of retribution, though entirely unrelated to the drug house explosion. A member of the Faithful had attacked and raped the girlfriend of a Kings Lieutenant. Afterward, he'd used the end of a knife to cut the Faithful's symbol -- a combination of the upper case letter "F" and a Christian cross -- into the girl's belly, just above her shaved pussy, so that after that, any time the King Lieutenant fucked his girl, he'd see that a Faithful had been there, too.

Manny had thought the attack brutal, but he hadn't planned on doing anything about it. Other worse things had occurred over the years. But Tye convinced his leader that the assault had been too brutal to go unanswered by the Kings. There would be payback. People would die. The problem was that the Faithful who had raped the girl was a bit too important to give up.

"What do we do about it?" Manny had asked.

"We give them someone else," Tye had answered without hesitation.

Manny had been surprised at his #3's ease of turning over a party innocent of the crime, asking, "Who?"

"I've got the perfect man for the job," Tye had said. Word had gotten back to him that one of the Faithful members working drug distribution over on 12th street had recently hit on Tye's sister. The Faithful knew better than to do that, not just when it concerned Casey but when it concerned the female members of any Faithful member. "I'll tell him I need a second man for a drug drop ... then..."

Manny hadn't needed any more details. And the job went just as planned. Tye and the man emerged from their vehicle at the given location, and the latter was taken by the Kings to be beaten for more than two hours, during which he repeated declared his innocence of any such rape. When he finally passed out, the Kings cut his privates off to let him bleed out, then offered the severed appendage to Manny via Tye.

And with that, the incident was closed. And war was avoided.

For now.

Tye rerolled the cockhand in the hoody and told Manny, "I have to go pick up my sister."

"It's after midnight," Manny pointed out. When Tye explained that Casey was working the late shift at the restaurant, Manny once again said, "Fuck, man, she doesn't need to do that."

"I know."

"We can find her something to--"

"No!" Tye said quickly, and when he realized how harsh that sounded, coming from the #3 to the #1, he clarified, "No, Manny ... she won't take help from the Faithful. Any help. It's all blood money in her eyes, I think. They discussed legal options for Casey to make a lot more money that she was at the restaurant, but Tye shot them all down, saying, "Thank you, Manny, but ... no ... she has to do this on her own."

"Fine, so be it," Manny said. They chatted a bit more, then Tye jumped back in the SUV and drove across West Lawn to the hotel restaurant's entrance to pick up his little sister.

++++++++++++​

I'm falling asleep and can't get to the other two women yet.

 

[TiredFingers]

A couple of hours ago:

The short term visitor was unlike most of the Faithful gang bangers who spend time -- short as it was -- in the County lock up. The Cops, Deputies, Troopers, and Agents -- city, county, state, and federal in that order -- who spent their days trying to bring down the West Lawn gang often referred to it as The Brown Menace ... and yes, they did say it with obvious racist intent.

It wasn't that those Law Enforcement officials were racist. Oh, some were, but most weren't. The phrase had actually been coined a decade early by a very racist, very wealthy, very well connected local politician who saw the traditionally white, middle to upper middle income neighborhoods of West Lawn giving way to increasing more brown and black inhabitation; and he'd blamed the increase in crime on those new, less white residents.

Thus, the Brown Menace.

Ironically, race had little to do with the downfall of West Lawn. In fact, the still very white neighborhood of Charles Creek -- on the far side of the city -- was just as crime plagued as was West Lawn and two of the City's other districts. West Lawn's fall hadn't been about race: it had been about the economy, or more specifically about its collapse. And anyone who knew anything about economics knew that when good jobs and the money that came with them went away, the jobs of selling dope, pushing hookers, robbing houses, and hurting people were always quick to move it.

So, what did all of this have to do with Daneille Cabrera? She was the type of girl who a decade earlier would have lived in a nice house in West Lawn, likely with both parents still married, as she went to the now-shuttered local community college or the university across town as she prepared for a life in ... well, in just about anything other than running drugs. And the closest she would have ever gotten to a street gang like the Faithful was sitting in her bedroom with her laptop across her folded legs as she watched a documentary on how bad things were in other neighborhoods.

"Whadda mean she's got a license for it?" the investigating officer asked as he looked at the 9mm sitting on his desk in a heavy duty Ziplock back marked Evidence. "How the fuck does a gang banger ... or even a snatch hanging out with one of them get a Firearm Carry Permit?"

The patrol officer who'd brought in Danielle and Reggie Dufresne just shrugged.

The IO looked at the gun and the baggie with its bright red lettering. The weapon wasn't actually evidence, as Danielle hadn't been charged with any crime yet. But she was about to be. The officer pulled a sheet from his desk that read Form 99 across the top. It wasn't an official City Police form, as it had been forbidden by a recent law suit about police overreach. The officer went down a list of 115 potential gang related crimes and check marked almost two dozen of them before handing the list to the patrol man.

"Process her for these," he ordered. "That'll keep her locked up long enough for us to find out how the fuck Goldilocks is packing while riding around with known gang bangers."

But the booking wasn't to be. Word of Danielle's arrest had been immediately passed upstairs to the Gang Enforcement Task Force, and before the arresting patrol man had even left the IO's office, a Detective from Sergeant Weeks's office stepped up, saying, "I've got a better idea, guys."



A couple of hours later:

"Next time, fuckers," Danielle said as she signed for her things.

"Shut the hell up," the CO snapped back. He watched the blonde head down the hall and around the corner, then turned and spoke to the Detective standing just out of view. "I don't get it."

"What don't you get?" the Task Force detective asked, lifting before him the Ziplock bag that now contained a bullet that the CSI folks downstairs had fired into the bullet test tank and then retrieved for him. "We now have a round shot from her gun."

"And...?" the CO asked, oblivious.

"And when the gun gets used..." the detective responded, leaving the rest to the CO's presumed ability of understanding.

"And what if it doesn't get used?"

"It will," the detective said confidently. "Take this up to Week's office in Gangs. Give it to the new girl."

He had about as much faith in the future of Jamie Reed as an undercover as did Weeks. It wasn't really that he had a problem with female cops or, more specifically, undercover female cops. It was more that the Faithful had been very good of late at sniffing out Authorities ... and putting bullets through them. The department has lost 6 officers and detectives this year alone, and it was only April! Jamie would be found out, taken, raped, beaten, killed, and dumped off on the curb outside the police station within 24 hours.

"Oh, and give her this, too," the Detective said, handing the man a flash drive. "Tell her it's a GBT."

"A what?" the CO asked, not getting his answer as the Detective headed out to finally bring an end to what had supposed to be a 10 hour day shift yet had turned into a 16 hour double.

The department had recently begun using new tracking equipment to keep tabs on known criminals, including many of the Faithful's top leaders or more relevant street thugs. They'd given the little radio frequency devices a nickname: Gang Banger Trackers, or GBT. Right now, they had more than 200 of them attached to cars or hidden inside jackets or jean cuffs or belts or knife handles or any other item that belonged to a gang banger in which the device just twice the size of a Tic Tac could fit.

Most of the RFDs had been put in place with legal warrants. Others ... well, not so much so. The ones they'd put in Danielle's leather jacket and inside a tiny air gap space inside the handle of her semi-automatic were of the latter kind. They were only detectable from about 250 yards, so it wasn't like the trackee's location was always known. But, in the situation of a chase or a buy, they sometimes came in very handy.

The CO caught Jamie just as she was about to leave the building, handing her the flash drive and telling her that he had been told to tell her to load it to her laptop, then share it to her phone. He gave the new undercover a generous once over ogle, contemplated asking her out, then thought better of it and returned to Booking, knowing that tonight he'd be in bed fantasizing about having the Detective handcuffed naked to the lock up's bars as he fucked her ass, making her scream in a combo of joy and pain.



Shortly after 1am:

Casey looked surprised to exit the side door of the steak restaurant and find her brother, Tye sitting atop the engine compartment of his Escalade, smiling to her.

"Thought you could use a ride, Sis," he said as he dropped to the ground and began curling around to the side door.

He wasn't going to give her a choice, so there was really no reason for her to argue, but he knew there was always the possibility she would. He would respond as he always did: It's dangerous being out here this late. And if she made any sort of comment pointing out that it was guys like him and the Faithful that made it dangerous out here this late, he would again respond as he always did: I didn't start the conflict, but I am trying to end it.

Tye had spent many hours over the years talking to his little sister about the fantasy he still shared with the long deceased Father Jake of a peaceful West Lawn free of gang activity. How many times had they laid back upon the hood and windshield and looked down upon the City from Hill Park, wondering about the possibilities of an end to all this madness. But, such a Utopia hadn't happened yet. And it probably wouldn't happen for a while, if ever. And until that day, Tye was going to give his little sister a ride home any chance he got.

"You would attract less trouble if you wouldn't dress like that, you know," he said as he loaded her up into the SUV.

She wasn't the most curvy of women, more short and petite like their Mexican-immigrant mother had been. But Casey's current wardrobe -- which had been meant to increase her tips by hardening the cocks of the horny male restaurant customers -- showed off the curves she did have with great results. Tye ignored his sister's response to his brotherly advice and instead -- as he started the Cadillac SUV down the road -- he moved to a different topic.

"I found you a job, one that won't have you out here so late working for minimum wage and tips," he began. He hadn't expected to get farther than that in his offering ... and he was right.



At Manny's house:

Tye had only left ten minutes earlier when a second Escalade pulled up to the curb before the Faithful leader's home. One of Manny's Lieutenants hopped out of the front passenger side door and opened the door behind him, helping out Danielle. It wasn't an act of chivalry, though, for he kept hold of the Faithful operative's elbow as he led her through the gate, up the steps, into the house, and down the hall toward a back bedroom. And all along the way, any one of a dozen gang bangers watched her with knowing expressions, already having heard of her evening's fuck up.

"Thanks," Manny told the Lieutenant as he urged Danielle through the bedroom door. He told them man before sending him away, "Get something from the kitchen. I'm sure our friend here could use something to eat."

It all seemed pretty calm and forgiving, until -- as he slowly turned back to Danielle -- Manny reared back his hand and slapped it across Danielle's face so hard that she toppled back upon his bed. As he watched and listened to her reaction, Manny began unbuttoning his shirt, knowing that undoing and shedding his trousers would come next.

"Take your clothes off ... and assume the position," he said calmly, as if asking her to had him a TV remote or get him a beer from a nearby cooler. He ogled her delicious body, telling her, "It's time you began compensating me for the loss I suffered tonight."

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Deleted - Partner Quit Thread For Some Reason.

 

[TiredFingers]

"We don't have to do this," Danielle told him. "I....I can pay you back ... Please ... This wasn't my fault."

Manny dropped his shirt to the end of the bed and began working at his belt and pants. When the Lieutenant was gone and they were alone again, Manny asked softly, "And who's fault was it...? Reggie's...? He wasn't behind the wheel."

"Please.....please?" Danielle begged.

"Take your clothes off," he repeated again, his tone very soft and calm considering the evidence on one side of her now reddening face.

"I will.....I'll blow you ... I will. And I'll pay you back soon."

"You will," he agreed, using his toes to push his shoes off his feet one after the other, then pushing his pants off his hips. He wore tight, white jockeys, and despite not being the most endowed of men, his erection was obvious behind the thin fabric. "You'll pay me back soon ... and you'll pay me back now."

"Please don't make me do this ... I'll be good. This won't happen again."

"Danny, you're a good soldier," Manny said, moving up close to the blonde beauty. He reached out to caress her cheek, adding, "and I respect that."

Manny's tone almost seemed as though he'd changed his mind about punishing Danielle. But he suddenly gripped a handful of Danielle's hair and forced her to her feet, pressing their bodies together through his fierce force. With his face close to her own -- she actually stood taller than the now barefoot man -- Manny told her in his still calm yet menacing tone, "Please, Danny .... don't fight me. I don't want to do this ... but ... I have to."

He spun her around, still holding a handful of hair as his other hand groped over one of her generous breasts, then moved lower to jerk her belt loose. "If I don't, I'll lose the respect of my men."

He jerked at her pants, but he knew he couldn't get them off her with just one hand. He urged her back onto the bed, demanding, "Take your clothes off, Danny. Don't make me hurt you."

What he actually meant was Don't make me hurt you more than I have to, but he didn't say so. He'd hurt her the first time he'd fuck her in the ass, as he planned on doing now. It hadn't been intentional; it hadn't been punishment. He simply hadn't been careful enough with her. Of course, he was rarely careful with any of his lovers, so there really hadn't been anything different with Danielle that day.

Manny still remembered every moment of his first time -- and sadly only time -- with Danny. He'd been the third man to offer her protection within the Faithful. Unlike the first who had done so out of lust for the young thing and the second who had done so out of loving concern, Manny had done so because he knew that the young, courageous, bold blond would one day present the gang with capabilities none of the male members or female affiliates could.

Danielle was far more than a woman seeking the protection of men, though. She was just as much a soldier as some of those men. She may have fucked up tonight, but she'd performed well on previous jobs. And Manny had big plans for the affiliate that would make her even more valuable to him that some of those men, things only a cute while blonde chick could pull off.

But just as with any female benefiting from the club's protection without the direct protection of a male member, Danielle had had to pay her dues to the Faithful's leader, which Manny had only recently become. He'd enjoyed that night very much, emotionally and physically. He'd sprayed a pearl necklace all about Danielle's neck after she'd sucked him to climax; then fucked her pussy and ass to additional orgasms. He thought she'd cum, too; she said she had. He hadn't know for certain, and to be honest, he hadn't cared. It hadn't been about Danielle's pleasure. hell, it hadn't even been about Manny's. It had been about establishing control. And he had.



(OOC: I'm going to write one of the character interactions and post it so that you can be writing a response to it while I am writing the next one.)

 

[TiredFingers]

"I HAVE a job," Casey told her brother. "I'm an adult, Tye. And with tips, I make more than you."

Tye laughed, sharp and short, quickly wishing he hadn't. He knew how his sister felt about his work, so he'd always tried to shield her from as much of it as he could. That included not flaunting how much money he netted from his activities with the Faithful by wearing flashy watches or driving fast sports cars. And while he could have easily paid her rent and utilities, filled her cupboards with groceries, and got her the full cable package with all the channels and unlimited wifi, Tye had decided to leave Casey to fend for herself, even if that meant having a few red letter late notices show up in the mail occasionally.

"At least I report that I do."

He laughed again, this time not caring because this time it was less about what he did for a living and more about his cheating the government of taxes, which was an American activity even more popular that paying them.

"Stop treating me like a little girl ... That's not what I am anymore."

Tye was about to respond You may not be a little girl but you're still my little sister, but he hesitated. Even that sometimes caused Casey to chastise him for the way he treated her. It was his responsibility to take care of her, even if she didn't want him to do so. Gang banger or not, Tye was still Casey's big brother. That would never change.

They turned the last corner before they reached her place, a sharp right curve above which was a bright street lamp. The illumination cut through her window just perfectly to draw Tye's gaze to her long legs. Sister or not, Tye had had fantasies about finding his joy between those legs on far more than one occasion, dating clear back to the first time he'd seen the blossoming beauty in a skimpy bikini. Oh sure, such thoughts were so wrong. But c'mon, brothers had fantasized about their sisters for years, generations, centuries. A blood relation couldn't stop such yearnings.

He pulled the car up to the curb, finally speaking after several blocks of silence. "I just want you to have everything you want in life, Case'. I know you want to dance. And I know you want to go to Los Angeles. I can help make that happen ... either by helping you with a job that pays real money, or by just giving you money."

They chatted -- and argued, too -- about money, his money, and its source; and when they were finally done and Casey had stepped out of the car, he was no closer to helping her financially than when he'd decided to come pick her up again.

"Hey, that guy who was bothering you," he said just before she closed the door and ended their time together. Casey's reaction told Tye that she hadn't realized he knew anything about the Faithful member hitting on her, the man that he and Manny had sacrificed to The Kings tonight. "You don't have to worry about him anymore. He got fingered for a drug buy earlier in the week. The cops came looking for him tonight, so ... we got him out of town. You'll never see him again. Just ... thought you should know."

 

[TiredFingers]

"Wait here," Dubs whispered to Jamie when he caught sight of the first Faithful lookout standing beneath a street lamp. The boy looked to be somewhere between 10 and 13 years old, typical for indoctrination into the Faithful's drug distribution business. "Let me make some introductions."

He went to the lookout first, spoke for a moment, gestured Jamie to wait, then crossed the street to the deep shadows where Jawbone was sitting on the stoop of an abandoned building. As Dubbs neared, a second Faithful soldier stepped slowly out of the shadows, making sure that the approaching addict saw the suppressor-equipped Mac-10 he held ready in his hands.

After a short chat and a gesture across the road to the woman standing in plain view under another street lamp, Jawbone and Dubbs stepped out of the shadows and the latter waved Jamie over. As soon as the undercover detective arrived, Jawbone said to Dubbs with a harsh tone, "Get the fuck out of here, addict."

Dubbs gave Jamie a weak smile, turned, and disappeared into the night. He already had his money, so ... he had no reason to stick around. Jamie was far more capable of caring for himself than the addict was anyway, so ... no reason to stick around.

"Whatcha looking for, pretty lady?" Jawbone asked, ogling the beauty with a gold capped front tooth gleaming under the harsh illumination of the street lamp. He knew better than to outright offer drugs. Letting her ask meant that he could cry entrapment if he was arrested. He let Jamie speak her piece, then ignored the drug topic and said, "Addict tells me you're buying for your old man. What, the chicken shit has to send his woman ... 'fraid of the dark ... scared the boogeyman gonna get'im?"

Again, Jawbone let Jamie speak her piece, then -- ogling her up and down again -- offered, "Y'know ... I could give you what you want ... and you could walk away with your money still in your pocket. Buy ya some pretty panties ... maybe one of them push up bra's ... you know ... if you was willing to pay by other means."

Jawbone listened to her response, eyeballing her again.

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Deleted - Partner Quit Thread For Some Reasondeleted - Partner Quit Thread For Some Reason.

 

[TiredFingers]

"My old man ain't been worth shit tho," the buyer said, adding, "and I can't say that maybe another time."

Jawbone smiled at Jamie. He actually believed he had a chance of one day soon having her on her knees, paying him for her evening's fare. He hadn't actually expected a blow job tonight, of course: she was a first time customer, and until she'd come to depend upon Jawbone as her new supplier and then -- as many did -- come up short of money, she wouldn't be wrapping her lips around his cock.

"Who's I pay fo' this here shit?" she asked, her street speak reassuring the dealer that she was little more than just another low life from the streets of West Lawn.

Jawbone eyed Jamie for another moment, imagining her on her knees just inside the abandoned building's entrance. After he gave the man with the Mac-10 a knowing glance, the armed thug descended the steps to grasp Jamie by the elbow and lead her away a few steps to the corner.

"Take a walk," Mac said.

His tone sounded exactly as if he was simply telling her to get lost. But then he looked down the block to where another shadowy figure was standing atop a skate board, attempting to perform and perfect a basic mounting trick.



Across the street in the second floor of yet another abandoned building, Rick was following the activity of the drug sale through the military grade, 9 power, night vision scope mounted atop a Remington Model 700 .30-06. It wasn't even close to the most powerful sniping system he'd used over the years, but it was far more than he needed to take out any or all of the half dozen gang bangers up and down the street.

But, he wasn't killing anyone tonight. After Carlie had walked out on him six weeks ago -- justifiably, Rick had to admit -- he had driven north to West Lawn in an attempt to locate his father and sister. But after six days of not finding them or even someone who knew where either of them might be, he gave up and moved onto his next task: bringing an end to the gang scourge that had led to the destruction of his family and had for years been destroying all of Center City.

One of Rick's classified SEAL missions in Syria had resulted in the recovery of almost 2 million US dollars, cash that had been slated for redevelopment in Iraq but had instead ended up in the hands of ISIS. The team members hadn't even hesitated to keep the cash. After all, it had already been improperly handled twice, so ... what was one more, right?

He now used some of his cut to rent three different apartments: one in Center City's Downtown District, another to the west in the appropriately named West Lawn, and a third to the north in the equally appropriately named North Heights. Against orders, Rick had kept three of the passports he'd been given for his infiltration operations, and he used them not only to get the apartments under different names but to also do the same to buy a beat up but still well running 4x4 pickup, an older black sedan, and a 900cc Yamaha motorcycle.

As he was tonight, Rick had spent the past ten nights researching one of the local gangs, an outfit called the Faithful. He'd heard of them before leaving for the Navy, of course, but back then they'd been new on the scene. (It had come as a surprise to him to learn that the boys club had become one of the most violent and powerful street gangs in Center City, and now Rick was actually beginning to think that he'd made a mistake coming home with the belief that he could make a difference.)

He panned his view through the scope, following the woman. She followed a similar pattern: negotiate with the head man, get her marching orders from a second, pay a third, get her dope from a fourth, and split. Rick had been watching this particular crew for three nights, hoping that eventually their supplier would show up to replenish their stock. But so far, nothing. Either the guy Rick had learned was named Jawbone was getting his supplies another way or he'd been fully stocked upon Rick's arrival on the scene.

He lifted his face from the scope for a moment to look up and down the block, then sighted on the woman again as she wandered off. There was something about her that was very different than the many other customers he'd seen. She didn't just get her baggie and head off: she seemed to survey her surroundings closely, maybe even study the gang bangers more than he would have expected. For a moment, he even considered the thought that she might be a cop. Or maybe from a rival gang. Maybe she was casing them, planning on robbing them of their stash and cash? Whatever it was, there was more to her than just buying a baggie. Rick would keep an eye out for her in the nights to come, presuming he stayed her much longer.

(OOC: Moving onto the other girls in separate posts.)

 

[TiredFingers]

Manny stood over Danielle with an ominous, domineering presence. He knew people feared him, particular the female affiliates. And for good reason, too. Manny wasn't above beating or raping one of them if they did wrong or didn't do as he asked. His first time with Danielle had been rough. Really rough.

But, it had had to be: he'd needed to make a statement. He had. And it had worked: since that night, the two of them had worked very well together, and without the need to punish her ass as he was about to now.

He watched with great interest and a slight smirk as she unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, pushing them down to reveal a cute little pair of panties with ... yellow stars upon them.

"How sweet," he murmured, backing away a bit and stepping closer to a lamp table without ever removing his gaze from her. He nodded to her black sports bra, saying, "Take it off. I wanna see those beautiful tits again."

She was hesitant, which didn't surprise Manny. He looked down to the lamp table, opening the drawer and removing an object. With a click, a six inch blade flipped out from within the switchblade's handle. He said with a polite tone, "Take it off ... or I'll cut it off."

As she followed his instructions, Manny turned the knife over and jammed the point into the lamp table's wood surface. He reached into the drawer again, removing a string of condoms and a tube of lube. He grimaced at the near empty state of it. He waggled the tube at her before tossing it away, bragging, "Been a busy week, I guess. Guess you'll have to supply some natural lube."

He moved back to the bed to stand over her again, eying those beautiful, young, firm breasts around whose nipples he'd left teeth marks their first time together. He leaned over her, caressing his hands over her over her skin: up her legs, over the triangle of thin fabric still hiding her crotch, up her belly to grope one tit, then the other.

"You have such a beautiful front side, Danny," Manny said. He then grasped one of her knees so tightly that she grimaced and squealed as she had before. He forced her over to her belly, immediately beginning to caress and grope her ass, her back, and then between her thighs. He tossed the condom strip onto the bed, grabbed her hips and lifted her to her knees. He jerked her little girl panties down to mid-thigh to reveal her two holes, caressing her ass as he murmured, "And such a beautiful back side, too."

"Please no," Danielle begged.

Manny ignored her as he shoved a couple of fingers deep into her pussy without any care for how unprepared she might be for the intrusion. He probed about inside her with the fingers of one hand as -- with the other hand and his teeth as well -- he ripped down his own underwear, opened a condom, and began slipping it over his shaft.

 

[TiredFingers]

"God-DAMN it, Tye...! Are you serious right now?! You thought I should KNOW this shit?!"

Tye honestly thought his sister would believe his story about the Faithful shipping the gang banger out for his own protection. But, she hadn't bought it for a moment. Tye was proud of his sister's intelligence, common sense, and intuition; but sometimes he honestly wished she was dumb as a post. It would make his dealing with her so much easier.

She slammed the car door. "Fuck you!"

He sat there watching her disappear up the walk and into her place. He contemplated going after her, thought of trying to convince her that she'd misunderstood, that the man was gone in the way Tye had explained and not gone in the way she rightfully thought. But, Tye had never been a very good liar, particularly when trying to do so to his little sister. She knew him too well.

He sat there in front of her house for several minutes, trying to convince himself that it was in Casey's best interest to give in to his desires and come under the umbrella of the Faithful. It wasn't like he wanted her to become an Affiliate. Fuck no! But, he sometimes he thought she would actually be safer if she was closer to the gun toting, drug selling, enemy killing thugs. It was a horrifically ironic fact that the girls living under the protection of a gang banger often fared better than girls with no affiliation.

He finally mumbled Fuck it under his breath, fired up the Escalade, and headed away. He was nearly to his little house when the cell phone sitting in the console lit up with an incoming text. He snatched the device, pressed an icon, and read the text that popped up. Instantly, his heart leaped with concern, and he spun the SUV around in the middle of the boulevard to head for one of their drug distribution spots ... down near the railroad tracks.



Five minutes later, one of Jawbone's men slipped into the passenger side of the parked Cadillac. He splayed his thumb, fore finger and middle finger wide and pressed it to his chest. It was meant to represent three points of the Christian cross, a gang flash the Faithful used to memorial their defrocked priest-founder.

"What's happening, Stick?" Tye asked the gang banger as he looked out the windshield toward the street, poorly lit by only the three street lamps the members of the drug crew were either under or near. "You said 9-1-1."

"Someone's here," the gang banger said. He leaned to give himself a better view of the abandoned building across from Jawbone, clarifying, "Second floor, middle window. We spotted him 'bout an hour ago."

"And you're just now calling me?" Tye asked annoyed. He added as an after thought, "And wby are you calling me in the first place. Manny runs the dope, I run the girls. Where's he?"

"Entertaining the Angel," answered Stick, who'd gotten his nickname from his fondness for beating people with a bat.

"What the fuck's that mean?" Tye asked, believing that Emanuel should have been done pu ishing Danielle by now and returned to more important issues. He turned bis attention back to tbe issue at hand and asked, "So, who's this guy.

Stick shrugged, saying, "We thought it was a squatter."

"And now?"

"He's packing long," Stick responded, meaning the stranger had a rifle of some sort. Stick offered Tye the binoculars he'd been using to study the man across the way, adding, "Got a scope. Sniper probably."

"Not really banger style," Tye said as he lifted the field glasses. He saw no sign of the man. (He couldn't have realized that Rick thought his position had been compromised and had then left for the night.) "SWAT maybe?"

"Saw no one else," Stick responded. "Got my guys looking, but there's no sign of cops."

Tye considered his options for a bit. They could rush the building and find out who this guy was. Or he could shut things down for the night and give the cops nothing to see, let alone bust them over. He went with the last, not wanting a confrontation tonight.

"Leave everyone in place," he ordered, handing back the binoculars, "but ... no sales. Tell the junkies if anymore come by that we're shut down for the night but that if any of them are hurting tomorrow, we'll be here ... and half price."

Stick laughed, but then realized that the Faithful's #3 was being serious. He hopped out to go talk to Jawbone, and a moment later he saw Tye drive off into the dark.

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Deleted - Partner Quit Thread For Some Reason.

 

[TiredFingers]

"Please," Danny begged, "Not in the face."

"Of course not, baby," Manny told the frightened woman. "I wouldn't mess up that face."

Of course, he'd slapped her so hard moments earlier that she'd be bruised for maybe as much as a week. But, since she was a soldier and not a whore for the Faithful, a little black and blue on one side wasn't going to cost Manny any money.

"Please don't hurt me," she pleaded, continuing to make her promises of making things up to Manny.

"No, Danny, I'd never give you up for something like that," he assured her when she offered to do time for another gang banger if Manny needed it. "You're too valuable to me."

He'd been seriously probing Danielle's pussy with two fingers as he pulled her back toward him. She was on her knees so close to the edge of the bed that the only thing really keeping her from falling off and down hard to her belly was Manny's groin and thighs pressed against her, keeping her in place.

"It won't hurt..." he told her, as he pulled his fingers out, literally scooping as much of her natural lubricant as he could. He coated his already wrapped shaft, finishing, "...if you don't fight me."

Manny grasped both of Danielle's hips in his powerful hands, pressed the head of his dick at her anus, gave her a moment to prepare, then pushed his pussy-juice coated cock forward, opening the hole that was never meant to be penetrated in this manner...

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Deleted - Partner Quit Thread For Some Reason.

 

[TiredFingers]

Danielle's powerful ass muscled clamped down on Manny's cock as it penetrated her, slowing his intrusion for a moment. He urged her, "Relax, baby ... let me in."

She did, for a moment, and the gang banger pressed forward again, only to again have her tighten down upon his shaft. He tried to push forward despite the resistance, but Danielle only cried out again in pain.

"I said ... relax!" Manny demanded, right before he pulled a hand back, then let it fall down on the meeting of her ass and hip with such ferocity that she screamed out in pain. He gave her a long moment to get past the additional punishment and open her anus to him. Manny pushed forward, moaning with delight at the wonderfully tight fit of the affiliate. Slowly, he delved deeper until finally the rim of the condom was at her anus and he purred, "Niiiice..."

He gave Danielle a moment to get used to his being there, then Manny pulled his cock back an inch or so, pushed to the hilt again, pulled back a bit farther, repeated ... and soon, again gripping her hips tightly in his hands, Manny was fucking the young woman's ass hard, fast, and deep.

But ... it wasn't for long. His rapid grunts of exertion soon gave way to one long grunt of satisfaction as his cock began leaping within the condom, filling it with his warm, thick seed. He rammed deep inside her as he enjoyed the euphoria flooding through his body. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ... he thought as the joyous feelings flooded through him.

He loved tight pussy, but seeing how there just wasn't much of it around sometimes, Manny had come to love fucking a woman's other down yonder hole. He'd wanted to fuck either of Danielle's three holes for so long, but ... her value as a willing soldier -- rather than just a play thing that might run some dope or fence some stolen goods -- made her too valuable to offend with repeated session of non-consensual sex. Truth be told, he'd been tickled to learn that Danielle had gotten busted tonight. It had given Manny the excuse he needed to invade her ass in this way.

After the last of his ejaculation had come and gone, Manny knew Danielle was probably hoping that this was all over, that the punishment was complete. It wasn't. He pulled his cock out of her -- to fast, apparently, by her reaction -- then pushed her up into the bed farther.

"On your back," he commanded.

He stripped the dirty condom off and tossed it toward the garbage can, missing and causing the rubber to drop to the carpet where it would eventually leak a bit of its contents. He crawled up onto the bed, pushing his way in between Danielle's legs. He donned another condom as he looked down at her, then quickly dropped down against her groin and entered her not-yet-ready pussy. He took even less care entering her second lower hole, ramming her hard and deep a couple of dozen times before again giving out that recognizable groan of satisfaction.

Finally tapped out, Manny rolled over to his back, his chest rising and falling in the aftermath of the ecstasy caused by the young woman. Again, Danielle might have thought the punishment was done, but ... oh no...!

"Suck ... my cock," he murmured between deep breaths. He looked to Danielle, then grasped a handful of hair to lift and turn her head so he was looking into her face. "Suck me ... and ... when I cum ... you can ... leave ... and we'll forget ... I'll forget ... you screwed up ... tonight."

 

[TiredFingers]

Rick had known the instant his location was compromised. At one point during the night, he thought he'd seen movement in one of the higher windows above Jawbone, one in which he hadn't seen any activity on his previous nights watched the drug crew. Shortly after the odd-acting woman departed, Rick saw movement in the dark of the window again and shifted the view from his scope there. And sure enough, there was someone in the window with a pair of binoculars watching him.

"Fuck," he murmured, disappointed in himself, pulling back from the window.

Rick had underestimated the gang bangers' level of caution and allowed himself to be spotted. His surveillance here was at an end: knowing that someone was watching them, they would close up shop on the assumption that he was a cop or DEA; or send people to deal with him -- presumably killing him -- if they thought he was a rival gang banger or part of a simple plot to rob them of their drugs and cash.

He gathered and stored his gear and made his way quickly for the entrance on the building's opposite side, using a route that was as secure as could be hoped. And, as he had the last two nights, he escaped into the darkness without detection.



Twenty minutes later, he was pulling into the dark alley that led up to the back of his West Lawn residence. It was an impressive, 1950s era 6 bedroom house in which two second floor bedrooms and the adjacent bathroom had been renovated into a caretaker's apartment. Rick got a good deal on the place, with a weekly payment of $125 and 10 hours of yard work and other maintenance. The half blind, half deaf octogenarian had a weakness for handsome soldier types, and she'd practically handed Rick the keys to the place at the same time that they were making introductions.

His landlady, Olivia, and/or her home had been robbed six times in the past decade. So one of Rick's first caretaker tasks had been to improve the security of the place. He'd put in motion detector lights and security cameras, as well as upgrade the fence and gate around the back yard, which included his parking space and private entrance. An alarm system alerted his phone if anyone came onto the property or tried to open the rear gate, which he had put on a remote controlled opener to allow him to get beyond the fence without getting out of his vehicle.

Liv was a financially conservative woman so she'd been a bit hesitant about the security Rick had suggested. Well, actually, she'd been very hesitant. He'd told her, "Since it'll protect me, too ... I'll do all the work myself and do my normal 10 hours of maintenance. And ... I know a guy in the security business who can get me a good price."

"How good?" she'd asked.

"Maybe $3,000."

Liv had grimaced, more out of her habit of dickering than of really having a problem with the suggested price.

"But ... he's a friend," Rick had continued, "so maybe I can get him down to $2000."

Again, hesitation. Rick had smiled, knowing she was working him. "And ... since it's protecting me ... I'll pay half ... if you give me a year lease. I'd hate to do all this work only to get booted out because you meet another hunky Sailor or Jarhead."

The actual cost to Rick had been closer to $12,000, but Liv had agreed and Rick had gotten the work done in under a week. The home was almost as secure as Rick's last safe house in Syria. It could still use a sniper's nest, some mortars, and remote control Claymores. But Rick thought that might be a little overkill. Plus, of course, Liv would be hesitant about the cost. He could just imagine her asking, "Can't we make some of that from the junk in the garage?"



Rick slept in 'til almost noon, as he typically did. Liv thought he worked an early graveyard shift as a security guard, so she respected his odd sleeping hours. He got up to start his day, which included reviewing a couple of dozen web sites that dealt directly or indirectly with Center City's increasing gang crime problem.

There had been three more killings last night that were certainly the work of one gang or another, including the discovery of a badly beaten body that was missing both hands. (Rick couldn't know that one had been delivered by a banger named Big Bang to his boss Manny; or that the other had been saved by the gang boss who personally cut them off, to be shown to his future business associates as a reminder of what could happen to them if they betrayed him.)

He found Liv on the back deck -- with its new stain, chaise lounges, and pots of climbing vines -- and had a late lunch with her before he made his way out into the town to continue his investigation. He had recently found a little greasy spoon that sat opposite a park that the Faithful controlled. With a restriction traffic flow and few entrance points, it was one of the only places in town where Faithful families spent time out in the open. Rick had sat here often, watching mothers and fathers play with their children on the lawn and playground, while also in view were a minimum of a dozen armed gang bangers standing lookout. Rick was actually quite impressed, reminded of the Green Zones he'd seen in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria.

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Deleted - Partner Quit Thread For Some Reason.

 

[TiredFingers]

(OOC: This post moves us ahead to Sunday. I hope that's okay. We can't have excitement for everyone every day of the week, can we? )

Chris Telow handed the menus back to the waiter and looked across the table to the beauty thing sitting opposite him, now dressed in a gown that hinted at the young, firm tits hidden behind the frilly cloth. He wasn't afraid to let his gaze fall conspicuously to her chest before looking back up into Cassie's eyes and saying with a suggestive tone, "My god girl ... you really know how to turn a guy's head don't you?"

They chatted and flirted and did both again off and on between eating the very expensive meal and drinking the even more expensive wine Chris had ensured would be on hand by calling ahead. He wanted this evening to be particularly special for the girl, because tonight after they'd exited Davidson's, Chris hoped Cassie would wave off the Uber he'd sent her and go home in his Jaguar instead.

The waiter came by one last time, and after Chris asked that the incredible but only partially eaten dessert be package to go for my special friend here, he handed the man one of his many black cards and looked back to Cassie. He said in that still suggestive tone, "So ... I recently picked up some art work ... a Mexican painter. Actually, an Indigenous Native from Southern Mexico. Incredible clay work." He tilted his head a bit, playfully, let his gaze fall again to her body for just an instant, then asked, "Would you like to come home with me ... see it. You'd be the first person to do so." And as if to reassure her that in the females coming to my home category, Cassie would be the first in at least a while, he added, "First woman, I mean."

He wanted Cassie to feel as though she wasn't just another pair of thighs to be parted and set aside. She would be ... and, at the same time, wouldn't be. Chris's bed saw more action that most men's did, but ... he wasn't the type to fuck and run or -- since it was his home -- fuck and toss out. If a woman impressed him between the sheets, he was always eager to have her there once again. And he wanted to see how this beautiful creature performed.

And, of course, there was her connection to the Faithful to consider. Chris had wronged the Faithful recently, and while they hadn't come after his crew yet, he knew that eventually they would. It would be nice to have someone in the Faithful's camp that he could trust to pass him some information from time to time. And, if that informant just happened to have a warm, wet, tight pussy that would provide for him occasionally, too ... well, win-win.

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Deleted - Partner Quit Thread For Some Reason.

 

[CarnivalBarker]

SORRY READERS!!!!


WHILE I ENJOYED THIS STORY VERY MUCH AND WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO ITS DEVELOPMENT, MY CO-AUTHOR HAS INFORMED ME THAT HE IS SIMPLY QUITTING IT BECAUSE I COULD NOT POST EACH AND EVERY DAY. FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO KNOW AND FOLLOW ME, YOU KNOW THAT I ENJOY WRITING, BUT ALSO MAKE ACCOMMODATIONS FOR REAL LIFE, SINCE IT INTERFERES SOMETIMES. I'M SUPER DISAPPOINTED WHEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPENS, AND FEEL I SHOULD APOLOGIZE FOR MY INTRANSIGENCE. I WILL MAKE BETTER CHOICES IN PARTNER SELECTION IN THE FUTURE.

 

[TiredFingers]

I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, CB, but really:

Size 7, Red, and Bold.

I told you when we started what my expectations were, and you said you were perfectly fine with them. They are the same expectations I ask of all my writing partners: replies posted most days of the week (short, medium, or long), preferably more than 1 post a day, for a minimum of 15 posts a week. You posted 7 times in 15 days.

Also, if you recall, I told you that I was perfectly amenable to short and medium length replies, particularly since we were writing multiple characters. I would have been fine with 1 short reply for 1 or more of your characters each day, but you insisted that we post for all of our characters in one big post. That wasn't my call: that was yours.

You can't say you weren't informed about my expectations. I did nothing wrong, I wasn't rude, I didn't ask for more than that to which you committed before we started, and I won't apologize to you.

You didn't have to throw a public hissy fit, but I'm glad you did.

Normally, I would send this response to you in a private message, but seeing how you want to create a public spectacle, I'm willing to play along.

Besides, it will serve as a warning to others -- who mistakenly think that writing with you will be enjoyable -- what happens when you don't get your way and don't wish to fulfill the commitments that you made.

You know, this is the internet, and you have anonymity. That makes you feel as though you can just say what ever you want to say and no one can do anything about it. And, when it comes to me, you're right: there's nothing I can -- or even would -- do about you pitching your fit (except for posting this response, anyway).

But most people, save for the Trolls, still expect some level of polite behavior, particularly from those with whom they are going to interact long term. How do you think others are going to see you when they read your post above? You haven't hurt my chances of having a good time here: you've only hurt your own chances.

I am more than willing to let this die here and now. In fact, if you delete your comment above, I will delete mine here. (Of course, I'll save it just in case you change your mind; just in case I need to repost it.)

Or, if you want to continue to fight here in public, I'm sure it will be great for your reputation and future writing opportunities here on Literotica. Oh, and just to ensure that the Moderators understand who and what I am, I am not a troll and I am not a vengeful asshole. I am responding to an attack. I am defending myself. I am more than willing to prevent a war before it begins.

Your call, CB.

(P.S.: If you do delete your post above, don't forget to send me a PM letting me know that I need to delete mine. Otherwise, because it's an edit, not a posting, I won't get a notification and I won't know you did it. See: this is me being nice and helpful. That's who I am.)

 

[CarnivalBarker]

I give zero fucks if you delete anything, and there was nothing impolite in explaining why my thread abruptly stopped (that reason being your quitting), and the reason you gave for quitting (that being that I could not post daily, as if you get to command what I, or anyone else, does). Your "expectations" are cunty, and your execution in quitting the thread was weak. You will not find any writer here that, over time, will not miss days or weeks of writing due to the interference of real life....I encourage you to live there a bit. Your writing was mediocre at best, and I assure you I don't need you to have fun here or anywhere else. You want to lecture me on posts? Try 5500 > 86. Typically I would PM to tell you to fuck off, but since you say you're happy with such salutations here, then so be it.

 

[CarnivalBarker]

And BTW, here is your actual, very own quote about your posting habits:

"About my role playing habits:
I write short, medium, and long posts as is called for by the situation.

I post morning, noon, and night: my posting frequency depends more on my partner's posting frequency than my own personal availability."

Yeah, well, that's clearly a big, fat lie....