USAN 12/20 "Fimbulwinter" (cons,super)

THE IMPERIAL CHRONICLES: THE JOURNAL OF CAPTAIN DANIEL JENNERS.

     "The Black Towers stood by the Capitols of twenty plus States
and six Canadian Provinces after the Battle for Cheyenne Mountain
[Note #1].  Legion HQ had been moved to the mountain with Robert's
permission.  The facilities there were better than anything the
Empire had time to build, yet.
     "The Minister of Science Liz Tyler, and her partner Mariko
Michaelson had some interesting technology to examine afterwards. 
The Hover Tank, the battle suits, and other items in the mountain
Mariko theorized that 'Area 51' was a myth of the Government. 
      "Instead of aliens, the base stored 'dangerous to the status
quo' inventions like the one she and Liz created.  The Emperor
refused to be budged by their urging to secure the facility ASAP.  He
would get to it when he was ready.
     "The Power Team helped Robert comb through the enemy officers
and noncoms.  The ones accused of committing atrocities against
civilians were tried by a Legion tribunal.  Those convicted were
subject to swift and harsh punishments.  The remaining soldiers
received a briefing on the new laws.  Those who still wanted to
serve, were allowed to join the Legion.  Everyone else was allowed to
return home.
     "One group they didn't catch up with was Sgt. Donovan's Rat
Platoon.  True to form, that disreputable group had deserted the
sinking ship of Stark's ambitions when the Legion moved in.  The Dark
man promised Councilman King that the Rats would be apprehended and
tried as soon as they were located.
     "As a reward for the valuable intelligence I had given the
Empire, I had been given a field commission in the Legion to the rank
of Lieutenant.  They told me that I earned that commission all over
again with heroic actions during the Battle.  When Mr. Black told me
that he was promoting me to Captain, I was surprised.  'You know I'm
gay, don't you sir?'
     "He blinked in surprise.  'No, I didn't,' he said.  'But why
the hell should it matter, anyway?'  I told him that it usually did.
He just shook his head and said, 'Well, it doesn't in my Army'
     "Before I could catch myseslf, I found myself asking, 'I
suppose you're hopelessly straight, sir.'  I couldn't believe I had
actually said that.
     "He only smiled at me.  'Sorry, Jenners,  But I am *extremely*
straight.'
     "I breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away.  You couldn't
win them all.  I was just glad he didn't get angry about it."

     By the end of October, the Empire's growth caused the center of
distribution to move away from the Palace.  Because armed raiders
were still a concern in the fledgling Empire, Robert only gave
supplies to the most strongly built and defended of the outlaying
storage depots.  He called these depots 'Keeps', and their managers
'Lords' as a joke at first, but the names stuck.  The Lords
arrogantly ranked each other with the ancient titles.  Their 'fealty'
to Robert, though, was nonexistent.
     The Lords had small armies of personnel, and drivers who made
shipping runs for them.  But just as in pre-Imperial times, there
were drivers who preferred to be independent.  Even those drivers
with their own rigs couldn't get work in the new system.
     Each Lord controlled the shipments from their depot, assigning
their own men only to the runs they decided needed to be made.  To
keep their investments in equipment and drivers safe, they stuck
solely to the 'civilized' regions under Legion patrol.  For critical
needs, Legion transport troops made the trips.  For missions less
important, Robert offered premiums for shipments to hard-pressed
areas needing help.  He hired independent drivers to make these runs,
but when they couldn't get refueled at the Keeps, the mercy missions
stalled.
     A little bit of power went a long way, it seemed.  Robert
needed to check the Lords 'authority', soon.  If the commerce system
wasn't made self regulating, he'd remain burdened with it.  He had
too much on his mind to want to be bothered by petty problems like
this forever.  Robert realized that his first solution, once again,
was more harmful than anything else.  The Keeps had been such a first
solution, and now they were causing even more trouble than they were
worth.  He and his Council came up with a plan in keeping with his
long term goals.  A plan which was soon put into place . . . 

     The last of the battered freelance truckers to show up pulled
into the landscaped circle in front of the Dark Palace.  It didn't
look like many independents were willing to take Robert up on his
offer.  It seemed like too good a deal to be true.  He offered them
professional protections, but there were only a few willing to hear
him out.
     I don't have much to work with, Robert thought, but I'll make
do.  Getting their attention, he addressed the drivers, and began his
pitch.  "Gentlemen," he said, "and lady," nodding to the sole female
present, "thanks for coming.  I need the Empire self-sufficient,
without having to constantly support it.  For that to happen, I need
regular shipping.  The Lords don't like their men driving the less
patrolled roads, nor the risks of creating new routes.  Therefore,
I'm looking for freelancers who are willing to take those risks."
     "What kind of risks?" said the youngest driver.  "We put our
balls to the wall for some crumbs, just to have their pet drivers
steal our routes?  Screw that!"
     "Shut up, kid," said a grizzled old driver.  "I'm here because
we can't compete with them, and we've tried.  With their newer rigs,
the free fueling and the road service, they just kill us on the
roads.  Heck, I hauled my own gasoline to hear this."
     "All that stops now," Robert said.  "Collectively, you are
stronger than you are separately.  If you join forces, I can apply
pressure on your behalf.  I'm not suggesting a Union, but something
more like a Knightly Order, responsible only to me.  They will
respect that Order, or I will tear down their walls and use local
governments to administer the depots, instead.  So tell me, what do
you need to get started?"
     "Weapons," the last arrival said.  He was a tall young man in a
denim jacket, "And armored rigs."  There was a grim expression in his
hazel eyes.  "My name's Gary Miller.  My dad died in the Collapse
Riots just before the end.  I watched on the news as he made a run of
Red Cross supplies into Atlanta.  He wouldn't leave the cab, but the
mob broke in to get the trailer keys."  His voice choked with
emotion.  "Those supplies were going to be given to them anyway. 
They didn't have to kill him."
     The other truckers looked at him, with sympathy.  "You Harry's
kid?" said the woman.  "Yeah, you got his red hair.  He was a good
driver, and a great guy."
     "Yeah," Gary answered, "that he was.  Sir, it was a new truck,
and when it was stripped, they burned it.  All I got from my dad was
this old rig, and I can't afford to lose it.  So I want protection. 
There are still plenty of guys on the road willing to kill us to get
our loads."
     Robert distantly recalled watching the riots on TV while he was
still a child.  It seemed like ages past to him, but for the rest of
the world it was only months ago.  "I understand your position, Mr.
Miller, and I already had that in mind.  Your rigs will be armed and
upgraded.  You'll have new trailers if you need them, new engines,
and access to some really cool technology.  Sound good so far?"
     "Sounds great," the woman said.  "But how 'bout snowplows?"
     "A what?" Robert said.  "And I didn't catch your name..?"
     "'Candy' Kane is what they call me, sugar," she said.  "The
last few years the snows have been very heavy.  The lesser roads
aren't being plowed, so if you want us to get around on 'em, we'll
have to carry plows with us."
     "Good thinking, Candy," Robert said.  "I'm sure we can manage
it.  Those who sign on now will get the whole package.  You don't
have to join, but I can't think of any downside to the deal.  My
technicians will show you what we have to offer over here..."

     Nearly a week later, Gary Miller, duly elected Captain of The
Knights of the Open Road Society, grumbled to himself as he pulled
out from the Palace.  He'd sure as hell hadn't thought they'd stick
him with being in charge, but they had.
     Maybe there were some good sides to it though, because his new
rig was really sweet.  They'd rebuilt the truck from wheels to roof. 
For an engine he had a cold fusion plant, and some sort of black
boxes bolted on the frame to lighten the truck's mass by over half. 
The body and wheels were made of advanced materials that wouldn't
rust or wear.  He especially liked the new cab, which had all the
amenities of a small mobile home.
     Personally, Gary doubted the big 'cowcatcher' on the front
grill would be very useful plowing snow, but offensively it had some
promise.  The whole rig was both bullet and flame proof, and there
were searchlights that could be aimed in all directions.  The auto-
guns could be manually or computer controlled via a sophisticated
video surveillance system.  It felt like he was driving a tank with
cargo space.
     As soon as the work was finished, he'd taken on a high risk
assignment to a tiny town in the high Rockies.  Legion Scouts had
spotted survivors, and they needed help.  The main load was emergency
supplies for the townsfolk, but he had a small cargo of other goodies
of his own that he carried separately for bartering.  Being able to
blow past Keep fueling stations was a pleasure he relished at the
start of the run.
     Despite his misgivings, the plow came in handy after he skirted
North of Denver, and headed higher into the mountains.  He'd thought
the term 'survivors' in the briefing had been exaggerated, but he
found he was wrong.  Between the Collapse, the harsh winter, and
raiders, he found entire towns that were devoid of signs of life.
     His GPS readings told him he'd reached Eagle, Colorado, when he
pulled up to a ramshackle barricade blocking the road into town.  He
turned on his floodlights in the hazy dusk, and caught sight of men
with weapons ducking down behind the flimsy protection of the wall. 
Lifting his mike, he turned on the loudspeaker, "Hey, on the walls,"
he said, "I need to talk to somebody in charge in there.  My name's
Gary Miller, and I have a load of relief supplies for you, paid for
by the Government."
     One of the huddled shapes on the wall brought up what looked
like a cheerleader's megaphone, "What government?" the man shouted. 
"And how do we know you don't carry raiders in there?"
     "The Empire, is what," Gary said.  "And mister, if you want to
check my load, you can come down here and do it."
     A few minutes later the man slipped through a small gap in the
wall that Gary hadn't noticed before, and gestured for the trucker to
leave his cab with an ugly looking pistol.  Gary made sure his helmet
and kevlar duster were on firmly, before he slipped to the ground.
     "Look dude," he said, just now noticing the man had a sheriff's
badge on his tattered parka.  "Did you see that trucker who was
killed in the Atlanta riots?"  The guy nodded as he looked over the
trucker with a practiced eye, and then patted him down.  "That was my
dad, so I'm probably just as scared of you, as you are of me."
     "I doubt that," the man said.  "Let's see in the back."
     Gary shrugged and walked to the back, followed by the jittery
townsman.  He unlocked the doors and pushed them open.  A soft curse
behind him made him turn around.  The shocked young sheriff had
dropped his gun in the snow.  He was staring hungrily at the crates
of foodstuffs, clothing, and medical supplies stacked high in the
back.
     The Sheriff gave the trucker a sudden, gruff hug, then ran
around the truck to yell at them to open up the wall, quickly.  Gary
smiled, and picked up the man's service pistol.  Brushing off the
snow, he laid the empty gun in the back, then dogged the doors shut.
     He climbed back into his cab, and as soon as the way was clear,
the Sheriff climbed up on his running board and guided him to Town
Hall.  As each crate was unloaded, Gary checked it off his list, and
had the Sheriff verify each one.  When it was all off the truck, both
he and the officer signed his papers, stating that everything
required had been delivered.
     Part of Gary's job was to explain the advanced new equipment,
and help pick a suitable spot for the cold fusion generator.  The
Town Hall's basement proved adequate for that, and before long men
were stringing cables to nearby houses, giving them electrical power
for the first time in months.  The Communication unit went to the
Sheriff's Office.  It accessed the new satellite system, restoring
radio, and some phone, and video service to the town.  The Sheriff's
Office also served as the armory for the Army surplus weapons and
ammunition that were part of the load.
     While this being done, the entire community gathered.  A
spontaneous celebration of thanksgiving was breaking out, and tables
were laden with both long hoarded preserves and newly arrived
supplies.  "You must join us tonight," Sheriff Keith Thomas said,
raising a glass to him.  "Because of you, the citizens of Eagle will
survive."
     "I was just doing my job, Keith," Gary protested, "you know
that.  I hate it when people make a fuss over me.  These are your
supplies, and I've got plenty for myself in the truck."
     Thomas shrugged with a smile.  "They'll lynch me if I let you
leave here before they've had the chance to thank you."
     "Oh, hell," Gary said.  "At least let me give you something for
it.  I brought some extra trading goods of mine so I could barter
with you folks.  I'm already going to be paid well for this run, and
you folks need this stuff more than I do..."
     "Nonsense!" the Sheriff interrupted.  "Emergency aid is one
thing, but this is your property.  We can't take it as charity. 
Gary, and with no entertainment around here, we've been keeping
ourselves busy just to keep from getting bored.  Emma, you have any
of those nice sweaters you've been knitting?  Tony, where are those
wooden animals you've been carving?  Let's give the man fair value!"
     Doug McCoy, Eagle's Mayor was a retired advertising guru, and
on his advice, the townsfolk had branded everything with an Eagle
somewhere on it, to show where it was made.  The handmade items would
sell like crazy in the cities that were getting by on basic Imperial
supplies.  He briskly traded his boxes of goodies, including recent
reading material, toys, and luxuries, for the goods the town's people
had made.  He also agreed to take their long delayed mail to Denver.
     By the time they finished trading, dinner was ready.  After
they sat down, the Mayor led them in a heartfelt prayer.  While they
ate Gary told them about what the country had been going through.  He
explained the rise of the Empire and about Robert Black.  The Battle
of Cheyenne had been practically in their backyard, but they had
heard nothing about it.  When he finished, dinner was nearly over,
and conversations broke out as the townsfolk discussed his news. 
Gary found himself in a conversation with the Sheriff.  "Aren't you
sort of young to be the top cop around here?" Gary asked.
     "I'm 28," Thomas said.  "But, yeah, I was just the Deputy until
a month ago.  The old Sheriff was killed in a firefight with bandits
while we were building the wall.  I was elected to take his place,
and I take that real seriously."
     "I can see that," Gary said with a laugh.  "You sure looked 
serious to me outside the wall.  I would have never guessed you
didn't have any bullets."
     "Sorry about that," Thomas said.  "You can never be too
careful.  For example, we couldn't afford to waste the few bullets we
had left, so the gun was just a bluff in case you weren't what you
claimed to be."
     Later that night, in his cab, Gary kept warm with the help of a
pretty and willing girl from town.  He was a little afraid that in
the morning her relatives would be upset, but there seemed to be no
sign of it as he prepared to head back down the mountain.
     The last sight he saw of the town in his rear cameras was the
Imperial flag being raised on the flagpole that formed part of the
barricade [Note #2].  Philosophers had already tried to create
metaphors for the Empire based on Robert's flag.  It reminded Gary of
Rorschach tests.  What you saw said more about you, than about
anything in the image.
     He tried a different route through one of the ghost towns he'd
driven through before.  It was very late that night when he had to
slow to a stop.  There was a naked, frozen body of a woman sprawled
in the thick snow.  She lay in the street's only clear lane between
the abandoned cars.  If he drove through, he'd be forced to run over
her.  When he considered getting out to move her, his neck hairs
prickled.
     His spotlight showed fresh footprints that proved the scene was
staged for his benefit.  He was already in the trap, he realized, as
he tried to back up.  The road was ice-coated, and there wasn't
enough room to maneuver out of it.  He ducked into the back of the
cab and put on his protective clothes, then studied the situation in
detail.  He could only see one way out that he was willing to take.
     Gary targeted the car that choked off the traffic lane with his
heaviest weapons.  When the two mortars and a rocket had blown it up,
he engaged the short-term vertical lift and flew over the burning
wreckage with minimal damage.
     The men lying in wait for him opened fire on his rig as he
landed.  He could hear the pings of the ricochets off the sides, and
winced as a bullet bounced off his windshield without leaving a mark. 
Gary floored it once past the body, and barreled through the rest of
the obstacles on the street.  He turned down several side roads,
using the GPS unit and his road tracker to keep him headed out of
town.
     At the edge of town, his movement sensors showed him that
targets were approaching from behind.  He wasn't too concerned,
because he would soon leave them far behind.  As he turned onto the
highway, he saw a yellow glow moving through the roadside trees ahead
of him.  Magnifying the image, he saw an unarmed woman in light
clothing waving at him from the tree line.  Switching off his
monitor, he could still see her shine as she struggled through the
drifts.  She looked afraid to leave the cover of the woods.
     Gary turned on the machine guns, and set them to rake the road
behind him.  Hoping that would keep the raiders at a distance for a
while, he slid to the right side of the cab.  He opened the passenger
side door and shouted at the woman to come on and get in.  She
started to fight her way to the truck, but fell just as semiautomatic
gun fire walked over the snowy shoulder of the road.  A fine spray of
red across the white snow made him curse.
     The trucker grabbed his own guns, special high caliber weapons,
with recoil suppression and extra-large clips.  He kicked the door
all the way open, and rolled out with them, firing steadily to cover
his way to the woman.  She was still glowing, making a hell of a
target in the dark.
     He got between the bandits and the woman.  After holstering one
gun, Gary pulled her urgently back to the rig.  He felt bullets slam
him hard in the back of his armored duster, but he grimly kept going. 
He got to the cab, and hefted the woman in.  The gunfire increased in
a last effort to stop them.
     Angrily, he turned and faced the shooters squarely and cut
loose until his clips emptied.  As he stepped up to the running board
to climb inside, he felt like someone stabbed him in the thigh.  His
raised leg wouldn't hold his weight, much less lift him into the cab,
so quickly he changed legs, and with the woman's help, he dragged
himself in.
     He panted as he crawled over her to the driver's side, telling
her to close the door as soon as he was clear.  He felt the door jar
his boots as he got them in, and he cursed again.  Righting himself,
he shut off the auto-guns, let off the brake and mashed the gas,
yelping in pain.  His right leg was bleeding heavily, and he couldn't
really use it to get them out of here.
     "Aw, God dammit!" Gary muttered.  He snatched a quick look at
the girl.  She was a blonde.  Well, no one was perfect.  He hoped he
wasn't going to need to brake, as he shifted his position to use his
left leg on the gas pedal.  That made him feel a bit 'off' but it
didn't hurt as much.  "We gotta get some distance between us and
them," he snarled.  "After that, we can both get patched up.  Serves
me right for playing fuckin' Rambo."
     "I thought you were heroic," the woman said in a soft, soothing
voice beside him.
     "Name's Gary Miller," he said, wiping cold sweat from his eyes. 
"It was just something I had to do."  He pointed as his K.O.R.S.
license swinging from the review mirror.  A dirt stained, but
delicate hand reached out to steady the card as his passenger
examined it.
     "'Knights of the Open Road Society,'" she said with a smile he
heard in her voice.  "I see.  My name is Sondra Eriks."
     "You hurt bad?" he asked as he checked the GPS.  They were
still too close to stop, and his vision was starting to swim.
     "I was just grazed," she said, "and it's closed already.  I
think your bullet is still in you."  With his peripheral vision, he
could see a faint yellow light flicker beside him, and he heard her
sigh in concern.
     "Don't have time to stop yet," he said, fighting the urge to
look where the light came from.  "That town is still too close for
comfort."
     "They kept me captive for weeks," she said.  "They don't have
any way of getting through heavy snow like this truck can.  That's
why they wanted to capture it."
     "When I get back to Denver the Legion will hear about that
place," Gary growled, "and they'll get what's coming to them."  As
snow started to fall from the black skies, he pointed to the back,
and told her where the first aid kit was.  She gave him some aspirin,
and pressed a bandage to his wound to staunch the bleeding.  He drove
at full speed for another hour, until they were on the east side of
the mountain pass.  Gary tried to ignore the wet smell  of blood that
lingered in the cab.
     Finally, he pulled over by a copse of trees.  The snow was
falling heavily enough that he would need to use his instruments to
continue.  He was sure that it would to cover their tracks from any
followers.  "We're stopping here," he said.  "Can you do anything
about that bullet?"
     "Yes," Sondra said, "I'm a Healer.  You need to lie down, and
you have what I need in your kit."  With her help he got back and
laid down on his bed, moaning because of his bruised back. 
Carefully, she used scissors to cut off his jeans rather than disturb
his wound any more than necessary.  She cleaned her hands and
instruments, and got ready to work on him.
     "Hang on," she said, and then quickly pulled off the remaining
patch of denim from his wound.  He cursed as she used water, then
antiseptics to clean the wound.  "This is going to feel strange," she
said, "but it works."  She put her bare hands on either side of the
wound.  They started to glow with a soft golden light, and the glow
soon covered her whole body.  The pain eased suddenly, like he'd been
given a painkiller.  The glow tingled in his bones as she closed her
eyes, and pressed down on his leg.
     She was right.  Something felt very strange.  Gary felt his leg
muscles crawling as if by their own will.  She picked up a pair of
tweezers and reached into the hole with it.  She twisted it in, and
he felt a painless jolt.  He watched as she pulled the bullet out,
then went in again to pull out threads from his jeans.
     "That's it," she said.  "The bullet didn't fragment, and it
missed any major veins and arteries.  Now I can heal you."  She laid
her hands on him again.  The glow became more intense, and he could
see the swelling reduce, the angry red color fade, and the bullet
hole seal shut.
     She cleaned his leg again, and taped on a pad of gauze
bandages.  "The skin is still thin," she said. "The bandage is a
precaution, if you don't push yourself, it should stay sealed."  She
rubbed her eyes, and fought a yawn.  "I'm too tired to continue now,
but I will finish the healing when I've rested."  Picking up Gary's
blanket, she covered him and stroked his temple.  "You need your
sleep, too," she said, her glow betraying her purpose.  He tried to
resist her power, but couldn't.  He quickly fell asleep.
     Sometime later, he awoke.  It was quiet in the cab.  Gary
fumbled on his reading light, and saw Sondra asleep on the floor,
using some of his extra bedding.  As he sat up, he groaned from the
pain of his leg.  Her green eyes opened instantly at the sound and
met his.
     "Take it easy, Gary," she said, as she came and sat beside him. 
She threw his blanket back and quickly stripped off the bandage. 
Before he could complain, she touched his leg and eased the stinging. 
The skin covering the injury was smooth and pink, but as she erupted
in golden light, the deep muscle ache faded.  When she lifted her
hands again, only the color of the new skin showed he had even been
shot at all.
     "There," she said, "I've finished the job.  Why don't you
freshen up, and I'll fix us something to eat."  He nodded.
     He used the facilities and showered as she started breakfast. 
When he was done, he gave up the shower to her, while he took over
the cooking.  She cleaned up fast he noticed, as she came out
toweling her hair and wearing one of his tee shirts.  It clung tight
to her curves, and hung down to her upper thighs.  "Nice," he said,
looking at her chest.  "You look better in that than I do."
     "Thanks," she said.  "Is breakfast ready?"
     After they ate, she asked when they would be moving out.  "When
it stops snowing, probably," he said.  He climbed up front and used
the communications gear to get a weather report and forecast.  "Looks
like the storm's clearing up tomorrow, so we'll just stay put until
then."
     "What are we going to do in the meantime?" she said, with a coy
smile.
     "I'm sure we can think of something," he said, going back to
his bunk, and reaching for her to join him.  She accepted his
invitation, and sat besides him, pulling his head down for a deep
kiss.  There was just a hint of her glow to her mouth that gave her
lips an exotic taste.
     Desire swept through him, and he eagerly reached for the hem of
her tee shirt.  Sliding it up, the first thing he noticed was that
she wasn't wearing any panties.  He already knew she wasn't wearing a
bra.  Her skin was silky and warm, and everywhere he touched it,
tingles flowed from her to him.  Finding that she was a natural
blonde wasn't surprising at all; being golden was just part of what
she was.
     He couldn't wait anymore.  He stripped himself nude while she
smiled at him, the shirt still bunched above her hips.  He kneeled at
her feet and began to kiss her wherever she was bare.  Her thighs and
belly felt his lips and tongue.  When he began to push the shirt
higher, his mouth passionately followed.
     His kisses traveled to the undersides of her rounded breasts,
and in between, then on to suckle on her pale nipples.  She pulled
off the shirt, tossing her hair back, and he stared at her perfection
with awe.  Rigid with need, he started to push her backwards, but she
shook her head.
     "Don't worry, lover," she said.  "We have plenty of time.  I'll
make sure that it lasts long enough to satisfy both of us."  She
reached for his erection.  In her hand, it softened a little, as she
eased the fierce pressure while causing mini-orgasm-like pulses in
it.  The feelings were incredible, and he knew that he'd willingly
let her do that to him forever.
     They laid down side by side and explored each other, with their
hands and their mouths.  He still felt his desire, but she helped him
control it as their bodies entwined, until she urged him to enter
her.  His cock felt harder than he could ever remember as he pushed
into her wetness.  He was afraid he would cum too soon, but her power
surrounded him like a benediction.  She kept him from overloading
into the gulf of orgasm until she was ready for him.  Her glow kept
him at the peak or near to it, for what felt like hours.
     Her gift must have been the reason he didn't strain his back or
legs, as he endlessly moved with her.  He didn't have to ask if she
had cum, and he quickly lost count of her orgasms.  If she weren't
giving him pleasure far greater than anything he'd ever felt or
imagined in his life, he might almost have resented her use of his
flesh...  Almost.
     He gasped as he felt the first hints that she was letting him
reach completion.  Renewed, he pounded even harder, encouraged by her
screams that he hurry.  Somewhere in the savage thrusts, he started
to cum.  He kept up the pace as he surged more than he'd ever before. 
Panting, he withdrew and collapsed beside her.  He pulled her against
his shoulder as she finished shuddering.
     Tired from their pleasures, they dozed together for a while. 
It wasn't long before reality intruded on them.  Trips to the
bathroom and something to snack on took momentary precedence.  It
wasn't even lunch yet before her sly smile and trailing finger down
his side let him know that she definitely wasn't done for the day. 
He didn't know whether to cheer or groan.
     Gary once read a graphic novel with Healers in it.  The main
character confided in his blood brother what it was like to be with
the dark-skinned healer when she used her powers to 'enhance' her
paramour's performance.  Shocked, his friend asked if she did THAT
every time.  He laughed and said no, because if she did he'd be
unable to walk, let alone be good for anything else [Note #3].  The
trucker now had a good idea of what 'that' was.
     He hoped it would be a very long trip back to Iowa, but even
more fervently, he hoped that Sondra wouldn't do THAT every time.