Rampage Pt. 01

Location: "Defunct" Naval Air Station; Hangar "45"

The hours are lame, and the pay is terrible, but at least the benefits suck.

Mackenzie "Mac" Kruegel stared out across his personal hell: A warehouse—a converted airplane hangar—full of forgotten and worthless crap.

But it beats unemployment, he thought.

Mac moved his rolling ladder to the next stop in the warehouse.

Mac had the thankless job of identifying and categorizing every single item in the building. In a perfect world, everything would already be categorized, but this was no perfect world.

During the 1950s, hangars four and five served as storage units for random pieces of flotsam collected by flight crews, shuffled and buried in obscurity. They also wound up being receptacles for the personal effects of dead airmen who had no families. As the decades passed, more and more junk was loaded into wooden crates and stored. In 2007, a fire broken out in hangar five. Fire crews managed to salvage most of the inventory, but the structure was damaged, and so hangar four was filled beyond capacity with all the materiel from the fire-damaged facility.

And so, Monday through Friday, from 6am to 2:30pm, Mac opened crates and boxes, identified if the contents were of value to the U.S. Government, and then resecured the crates and boxes.

The Craigslist ad was so fucking convincing, he thought.

As a civilian contractor, Mac was moderately well-compensated, but bored stiff. Granted, he had come across some interesting things in his endeavors. One crate had contained thousands of old Playboy Magazines. When his boss had told him to get rid of them, he made a pretty good amount of money selling them on e-bay. Similarly, he'd made a mint on a crate filled with Silver-Age comic books. (The ones he didn't use to bolster his collection, that is.)

He pulled out his Galaxy 3 and activated the sound recorder. He didn't need to record

"Aisle seventeen, Rack twelve, Shelf Four, Position two," he said. "Class three wooden crate, approximately 84 inches by 30 inches by 36 inches."

Wooden crates had no official "class," but as a connoisseur of wooden crates, Mac had developed his own personal classification system.

Mac put on his reading glasses and pulled a can of compressed air from his leather supply belt. A quick spritz of air kicked up several decades'-worth of dust, causing Mac to quickly put on a dust mask and pulled the small crowbar from his belt.

"Crate has markings on northwest side, "X-ray Charles X-ray David Xray Henry," he said, using the Police (instead of military) Phonetic Alphabet. "Three-two John Union Lincoln seven-nine-nine.

"Opening the Crate."

Mac forced the crowbar into the seam between the lid of the crate and the base. Using a small rubber mallet, he drove the claw deeper.

As he lifted on the crowbar, he heard aged nails groan in protest, slowly lifting the lid. In less than a minute, he had the surprisingly heavy lid lifted and moved on top of the last crate he'd opened yesterday.

The box was filled with wood shavings, or "excelsior," a word whose definition Mac only knew because he'd read comics as a kid. He never understood why Stan Lee signed off with a word that meant "sawdust," but to each his own.

The crate had a smell that was a mixture of musty and musky. He used a small handbroom to sweep away some of the shavings, to reveal...

...a coffin?

"Initial discovery suggests a glossy black funeral casket inside the crate," Mac told his phone. "It has a white skull stenciled on the surface. This is intriguing."

What the fuck? A fucking coffin?

"Opening the casket," he said. "If this contains a body... in fact, I'm going to switch to video. Just in case..."

Should I notify authorities? He wondered. Nah. That'll take another five hours.

He began to pry open the crate. Based upon the "32 JUL" it was entirely likely that this crate had been sealed for more than eight decades. If it actually contained a corpse, it likely would be rotted to skeletal remains.

He held his breath as he lifted the lid, to reveal...

...a perfectly preserved semi-naked female body.

"AAAAGGGHHHH!!!"

Mac involuntarily took a step backwards, realizing at the last split second that he was on a mobile stairwell. He quickly grabbed the hand rail as his body swung wildly, nearly falling twelve feet to the concrete floor.

Regaining his composure, Mac prepared to dial 9-1-1 on his phone.

He peeked again.

That's no body, he thought. It's a wax statue or something.

The skin of the body seemed to have a waxy pallor to it. His examination of the ... sculpture ... became a sort of scientific curiosity. Whomever had created this wax statue had put a considerable effort into it.

The woman was in her mid-twenties and had large, firm breasts. The flesh of the woman was milky white. Her face was adorned with colorful eye makeup and deep, ruby-red lips. Her face was beautiful, but oddly contorted in something that looked like a cross between pleasure and agony. Her eyes were wide open, showing a color between hazel and brown... almost a hazy crimson in color. She had dark brown hair.

The most disturbing part of the scene was her chest. Between her beautiful breasts, halfway, directly between two beautiful, thick nipples, there was a wooden stake driven into the flesh of her breastbone.

Goddamned vandals! Mac thought, imagining that this wax statue had been part of an artful display at some erotic wax museum in the 1930s, until some well-meaning-but-misguided religious nut decided to destroy this work of art.

Maybe... or maybe this statue was supposed to be a...

He looked inside her mouth... she had pronounced incisors.

He laughed at the surprise. This was a wax statue of a vampiress.

He ran a finger over her lips, gently touching the fangs. But holy cow, they felt real. He traced a line down her chin, sliding gently down her neck, past an ornate medallion necklace that was draped over her cleavage. Her chest was covered in painted blood.

His fingers slowed down in their journey over her chest, gently caressing her large nipples. He traced further, gently feathering the bottom of the large right breast before traveling down her taut belly.

He imagined she was a real woman... a real vampiress. His fingers traveled toward her close-cropped pubic hair, gently rubbing her pussy lips before moving down her legs.

Somebody put a shit-ton of work into this, he thought. Shame to see it rotting in a crate.

He wondered if he could include this statue into his rather elaborate collection of fantasy and science fiction memorabilia.

I don't have to log everything, do I? He wondered. His fingers began to probe the soft folds of the statue's vagina.

Suddenly he felt disturbingly nasty.

He looked back to the statue's surprisingly expressive crimson-hued eyes.

In an instant, he made a decision. He was going to keep this statue, come hell or high water. His eyes fell to the wooden stake.

That had to go. It defiled an otherwise perfectly beautiful sculpture.

With considerable effort, he dislodged the stake from the breastbone of the statue and set it on the shelf. Slowly, he began massaging the gaping hole that had been left by the stake, gently molding the waxy substance back together, trying to seal the opening. He was most of the way done when the phone rang at his desk.

Mac sighed and climbed down the metallic mobile stairwell.

He got to the phone on the ninth ring. He was slightly winded having jogged part of the way, realizing his slightly overweight frame wasn't what it used to be.

"Hangar 45," he puffed. "Mac speaking."

"Hey baby," purred the voice on the other end.

It was Chandra, his on-again, off-again girlfriend of almost two years. Chandra was a stripper by trade, half of a fetish team that would do a nightly hardcore sex romp, each using an ice-dildo on each other. Some nights her pussy would still be ice-cold, which was incredibly intense.

"Hi, hon," he said.

"We're doing two shows tonight at Glamor Puss," Chandra said. "I get to be the vampire in the first one, and the victim in the second."

Just the mention of the word vampire got Mac instantly aroused. The thought of his perky girlfriend with an ice dildo merged with the busty statue he had just uncrated. His head began to spin.

"If you're too tired to see me, I'll understand," he said.

"Nonsense," Chandra pouted. "I've always got time... and room... for you."

"I'll try to stop by tonight," he said.

"OK," Chandra said. "Luvs ya."

She made a kissing sound. He mimicked it.

He hung up the phone, trying to get his slowly thickening erection to subside.

Suddenly his vision was blocked by two cool hands.

"Guess who, lover," a husky voice whispered in his ear.

"Baby, how'd you get..."

"Hush... guess who lover," the female voice purred.

"Chandra, I..."

"No, lover, not Chandra," the voice cooed. "Call me Alana."

Mac felt dizzy. That musky smell from the crate was filling the room. He felt his cock getting thicker and harder.

Was this a put-on?

Did Chandra put somebody up to this? He tried to remember what Chandra's fetish-partner sounded like. Was this Jeannine?

"You want me to call you Alana," he said. "Is that a... stage n-name?"

He felt dizzier.

The hands remained clamped over his eyes.

"I don't want you to call me Alana," she cooed. "You will call me Alana."

He felt his cockiness start to wane.

I will call you Alana.

"Alana, how may I be of assistance?"

Mac felt cool lips brush across his.

"You may service me," the voice whispered. He couldn't quite place the voice. Not Chandra's... the slightest accent... so strange, but so familiar. "You will satisfy me in all ways... and then... only then can you be satisfied."

Mac felt more and more aroused. His cock was stiffening further and further. He longed to feel the soft, cool lips on his again. He could sense a slight spicy, slightly herbal quality to it. He licked his lips.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes... yes I do," Mac replied.

Still in the dark, he became incredibly aware of his other senses. Her voice was intoxicating... her scent was intoxicating... the feel of her cool skin on his was intoxicating...

He felt her other hand snake down his body, sliding down his chest toward his belt.

Oh God... I'm wearing a Batman belt buckle... this is going to end faster than it started, he dreaded the thought.

Her hand stopped. He felt it grasp around the belt buckle.

"This symbol... the symbol of the bat," she started, purring into his ear. "Do you... like bats?"

He wanted to say it was a gift... that he had to wear it.

"Yes," he murmured. "I like bats."

"Tell me..." she breathed into his ear. "... do you like vampires?"

This was awkward... he'd always fantasized about being seduced by a vampire. Nobody knew about the vampire thing.

"Tell me about your vampire fantasies, lover," the husky voice purred. "Tell me about being seduced by a vampire... what does your vampire lover look like?"

The musky, cinnamon scent was overwhelming now. This lady's really into perfumes.

"Th-the-...there's a crate... it's in the hangar..." he stammered, wondering why the hell he was telling someone about this? "Inside it... there's a wax statue... she's... perf... perfect."

He heard a noise... something moist getting manipulated. The gentlest of swishing and squising.

Two cool fingers entered his mouth, and suddenly his tongue exploded with lustful desire. The same musky-cinnamon scent was on his tongue... he licked it, sucked it...

"Ooooo... you want more of that," the voice cooed. It wasn't a question.

More swishing... more flavor a moment later.

So help me... if Chandra is here... she's going to kill me... He thought. Who am I to resist a professional fetish performer?

The fingers extracted from his mouth. He felt soft cool flesh against his lips again... another kiss?

Within seconds he realized he had a nipple in his mouth. Not pierced, so not Chandra's. Maybe Jeannine is unpierced?

"Suck my breast..." she purred. "Suck my nectar..."

He took a massive nipple into his mouth and suckled harder and harder. The nipple grew in size.

Then he nearly choked as a sweet viscous fluid gushed into his throat. He was repulsed by it, but he couldn't stop. He sucked harder and harder, drinking in the gooey tit-juice.

Finally, the cool hand lifted from his eyes. He blinked in pain as he suddenly took in light for the first time in a few minutes.

The first thing his vision focused on was a diamond-shaped scar at the center of his partner's chest.

Oh My God!!!

He broke the suction. This was insane! This was nuts!

Oh my God! Oh my God! OHMYGOD!

She stood before him with a wicked grin on her face. Her long brown hair flowed down over her beautiful body. Her enormous tits were right at eye-level to him.

"Hello, lover," she murmured. "Now it's time for you to eat my ...my love... to lick up my juices."

Why is she speaking so awkwardly? He wondered. Oh my god! She's ordering me to eat her pussy.

She started to turn around, flashing her beautiful ass at him. Suddenly he was overcome with the urge to lick her beautiful quim.

I'm gonna stand up and stick my cock into that beautiful pussy, he thought. I'll eat her another time. This time I'm...

He tried to stand up...

...but immediately fell to his knees, burying his tongue deep into her swollen musky twat. Grabbing her hips violently, he pulled her against his face as hard as he could. Her pussy smelled musky, but it tasted sweet... almost like cinnamon-infused honey.

He began to lap her juices greedily. Within a few seconds, they met, rhythm-for-rhythm. He bit her pussy lips and gouged her snatch with his thirsty tongue.

As she started to grind her juicy labia into his face, low, guttural grunts began to slip from her mouth. This aroused him even more. He plunged his tongue deeper into her cavern with each new thrust. His mouth started getting sore, but he couldn't stop himself. He lived to please his new lover.

"Mmmmmm.... Yes. Yes, yes yes," she cooed, pulling his face away from her fount. "Now let me taste your pre-cum."

He sat back on the floor and tried to focus on her. His head lolled to the side. He found it surprisingly difficult to focus.

Just need to rest for a second... just need to lay my head down.

His head landed gently on the polished concrete hangar floor.

She smiled, leaning down to kiss him. She kissed him passionately, her tongue aggressively penetrating his lips, probing his mouth. She straddled his torso and kept aggressively kissing and licking him. She moaned and began moving her body rhythmically while she continued to kiss him, biting his lower lip, licking his chin, his face, his neck. She nibbled at his ear lobes. He felt himself losing control.

She dismounted his body and unzipped his pants to reveal what looked like the penis of some gigantic porn star.

It was huge, thick and almost purple in color.

"OOooooohhh..." she cooed. "It's sooo big!"

"Yeh, baby," he slurred.

He just about came as she slid her tight, cool twat over his engorged cock. Every nerve ending in his body was firing off in ecstasy. He felt as if his entire body was experiencing an intense electrical overload... but not painfully.

Both she and he gasped simultaneously.

Her tight cunt slid down is enormous rod. When she reached bottom, she cooed softly and then started to lift herself up again. When she reached the top, she gasped slightly and then slowly rode down, once again, cooing at the bottom.

This continued, although each thrust was slightly faster... eventually she was churning her pussy juices with his enormous member, generating warmth where there was coolness, gasping and cooing until the sounds merged into a single guttural raspy breathing.

Mac could barely keep up, with her, grunting and gasping. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Too damned young for a heart attack... I hope, he thought. God... this is insane. She's so fucking hot... why me?

As their conjoined foray of orgasmic exploration continued unabated, Mac felt himself getting dizzier and dizzier. The musky-cinnamon smell was overwhelmingly erotic, flowing over him until all he knew was the sensations of her body grinding against his impossibly rock-hard fuck-tool.

He was mesmerized by her bouncing tits, and the ornate medallion around her neck. She kept a constant rhythm now. He could feel a massive orgasm welling up within him. This was going to be one for the ages.

He knew he was losing all sense of self. She absorbed every bit of his being into her body and soul. He stared into her deep red eyes, seeing passion and lust. Soon, all he could see was her eyes. The rest of the world had faded into a gentle mixture of crimson and grey haze.

They were both panting now, each breath synchronized, each beat of their hearts as one.

Her eyes... Her eyes...

"Oh! Oh my!" She howled. "You're... you're making me... oh my!"

His cock was throbbing. His head was swimming. His lover was shrieking, bucking wildly on his painfully large cock.

All he could see was her eyes, her necklace and her tits... The diamond-shaped scar was repeatedly revealed and concealed by her milky-white breasts.

Her body slowed, as did his senses... He was getting sleepier, but increasingly aroused.

She kissed him hard on the lips, aggressively biting him, sucking on his face, biting him on the cheek, the neck.

It didn't hurt... it felt good.

He looked up and saw her beautiful tits bouncing. Some sort of slick, milky substance was trickling from her enormous nipples. He strained trying to get his mouth on the beautiful nectar. He couldn't quite reach...

His tongue flicked out, gently lapping at her alluring nipple. It was so sweet... so sticky... so fucking sexy...

Then her pussy started pounding his cock again, grinding his shaft with her tight labia. Her twat squeezed his rod, pulsing with each thrust.

He lost control, closing his eyes... he felt the orgasm start within him, working it way down to his balls, turning into an explosion of pain and ecstasy.

His cock pulsed, launching gouts of his hot, sticky semen into her tight box. He felt his cum gushing out of her over-stuffed cunt, washing back down on his legs.

He grunted. She gasped.

He felt her kiss his neck again... he felt her kissing him aggressively, sucking on his sweaty neck...

The last thing he thought was...

How am I going to explain this hickey to Chandra?

His eyes opened to tiny slits, letting in the tiniest bits of light.

The last thing Mac Kruegel saw was the mouth of his lover... her perfectly shaped lips, her ruby red lipstick... his blood dripping down her chin...

His eyes fluttered shut.

His lover—Alana was her name—kissed him on the neck again...

Two hours later, Kruegel's phone rang repeatedly. Nobody was there to answer it.

Checkpoint analysis revealed that Kruegel's Prius left property at 13:47, approximately 45 minutes earlier than his usual departure time.

Mac's boss, Lieutenant Commander Mason, discovered blood smears on the floor near Kruegel's desk, but there was no sign of Kruegel or any of his belongings. Mason contacted the base hospital and the local public hospital to see if a "MacKenzie Kruegel" had checked in with a work injury. Neither hospital had been visited by Kruegel.