Helen - The Happy Tree

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A short story with a secondary character from my upcoming novel, Red Tigress, positioned front and centre as she gets up to shenanigans in a 22nd-century war-blasted hellscape. Have at it, you horny lot.

Scouting missions on the Adrar Line were always a bore, but this was by far the worst.

Sergeant Helen White's scope scanned the maze of trenches dug into the dust three hundred and two metres ahead of her for the third time. At first sight, it was as though the enemy was doing well to keep their heads down. All for good reason: she'd pre-sighted the first trenchline long ago and already claimed eleven notches on her barrel over the past couple of days. Now that Eurasian troops had advanced and claimed that line, she was now onto the second, this one.

Yet the trenches were empty. Completely so, in fact. Not a single enemy soldier could be seen. The machine gun nests were abandoned, as were the sentry posts. While the possibility wasn't exactly zero, Helen highly doubted that the entire American battalion she was facing down possessed optical camouflage.

Aside from the apparent absence of enemy combat personnel, the most notable part of the entire spectacle was a huge, desiccated-looking baobab tree, with the trenches adjacent to it. The trunk must have been about three metres thick, with the bark stripped slightly by wind erosion.

There was, of course, only one problem: baobabs didn't grow in this part of the Sahara desert.

Helen couldn't help but smirk. A camouflage tree? Really? She searched the tree from afar, looking for a viewport to shoot through -- a free kill was a free kill, after all, and at this point she was starting to get desperate. The bloodlust was starting to itch her mind. Again. Yet the absence of a viewport continued to deny her her wants.

Suddenly Helen's smirk warped into fright. If it doesn't have a visual port, it's probably got IR snoopers. Fuck. Her ghillie camouflaged her well enough against the sandy outcrop to hide her from all but the most inquisitive onlookers, but a high-power camera was an entirely different affair. Knowing the Yanks, if the trench was empty before she got here, she was likely in artillery range.

She switched her cyberoptics to look for radio waves and electrical charge. No waves could be seen emanating from the tree, or going toward it. A thin wire was visible from the tree though, trailing back to the trench. Okay. So it's obviously some sort of watch post. Nobody seems to be inside it though. Hm... Worth an investigation?

It took another hour for Helen to belly-crawl to the trench, by which time the midday sun hung overhead like a spotlight. The temperature readout on her HUD declared a balmy 71 degrees C -- just above average for the mid-22nd century West African midsummer.

Helen was just about relieved to be out of the sunlight as she crept into the trench like a cat, landing into a crouch, handgun at the ready. Her audial sensors were cranked up to max; she hadn't heard or seen anyone else in the time taken to get here. But next to the tree there was a dugout leading underneath the trenchline. And she heard voices. American ones. So there ARE people here. Better make this quick, then scarper.

A small hatch door led into the tree from the underside, with Helen carefully opening it to ensure it didn't creak and alert the guards. When she looked inside though, she tilted her head with surprise.

The tree was empty.

Peering in revealed that initial assessment to not be entirely accurate. There was a flickable switch, much like a domestic lightswitch. That must be for whatever that wire leads to. There was a mirror built into the ceiling, prompting a raised eyebrow from the ever-curious Helen. Four circular holes had been drilled into the sides, each one just big enough for her to fit her hand through, apparently leading to different, similarly-sized chambers inside the tree. As she closed the hatch door behind her and clambered up, she realised that three of the holes reached up to her head. The fourth one behind her was lower, reaching to her lower waist.

Then she saw the crudely-written sign on the top of the hatch beneath her.

HAPPY TREE

FLICK SWITCH TO START PARTY

That was when it dawned on her. Wait a second, she pondered. Is this a ... glory hole?

Helen wasn't sure whether to be annoyed at how it hadn't occurred to her sooner, or that a really stupid notion was now taking root in her head. I mean ... it HAS been a while since...

This was an astonishingly bad idea. If the Americans didn't shoot her upon realising a Eurasian sniper was occupying this thing, then Elena would probably kill her for endangering herself ... not to mention compromising a reconnaissance operation when she found out.

Then she pondered. You mean ... IF she finds out.

Helen took this moment to shrug off her ghillie, letting it pile onto the floor and revealing her slender frame, shrouded as it was in a skintight jumpsuit. She took the opportunity to check herself out in the mirror, brushing her fingers through her short, shock-white hair. Satisfied, she let out a heavy sigh and flicked the switch.

Nothing happened. At least, not to begin with. The last thing she heard with her enhanced audials was what might have been a cheer of joy. After that, there was only the distant wind. Another thirty seconds passed as anticipation began to build in Helen's mind, driving her to sway slightly on the spot as she waited. Hey, I know it's been a while, but eyes on the prize, Helen...

Four clanks caught her attention, each from the four chambers surrounding the core of the Happy Tree; opening hatch doors. Even with her cybernetic eyesight, Helen couldn't see who had entered. A thought did occur to her: if none of the newcomers had realised that she was a Eurasian infiltrator, she could kill all four of them right now and there wasn't a thing any of them could do to stop her. Trench would be cleared. Allies could advance. And then we...

The presentation of a cock through the hole in front of her flushed that thought straight from Helen's mind. Even when flaccid, it measured at least eight centimetres and was as thick as a bottleneck. Bloody hell, he must be huge. He was cleanly-shaven too, and even smelled nice, entirely defeating her expectations of unwashed soldiers having mouldered in the trenches for weeks on end. He's got to be an officer -- no other explanation.

Helen's heart raced as she gently lifted up her first partner's manhood, taking in the spectacle and feeling its weight in her hand. She felt it start to pulse as the breath from her open mouth washed over it. Oh, no you don't, big boy. Not just yet.

She began to trail her tongue along the underside, starting from the base of the shaft all the way up to the bulbous pink tip. Doughboys always come circumcised... Her lips then brushed the end, opening to engulf the head as she began to descend the shaft again, tongue-tip flickering softly against the slit before circling the head.

Helen's eyes widened as she felt a hand reach through the hole to her right, caressing her cheek softly before reaching down to her breast. A soft moan escaped when a finger brushed over her hardening nipple, still locked within her jumpsuit. Helen reached around to the zipper just below her neck and undid the jumpsuit, freeing her lithe, athletic frame from the garment.

In the meantime, the cock in Helen's mouth was rumbling to life. She'd been focusing on massaging the sensitive underside of his glans before he'd reached half-mast. By the time he did, she simply allowed him to glide over her tongue, her head slowly bobbing along the length. He hardened fully inside her throat, forcing her to gag a little as she began to withdraw.

Helen had briefly lost herself in sensation, revelling in the hand groping her newly-exposed breasts. A second hand was caressing her inner thigh, prompting her to spread her legs a little. Whoever was behind her beyond that hole wasted no time in attending to her moistening womanhood, his finger snaking between her labia before massaging the clitoral hood.

It was the third hand, reaching in from the left side, that caught Helen's attention more than any other. Just as she was about to take the front guy out of her mouth, the hand grabbed the back of her head and pushed. Her eyes split wide when his cock was suddenly forced into her throat, her tight oesophagus objecting to being stretched wide by forcing her to gag. Her throat bulged as her lips kissed the base of the shaft, causing her to splutter as she was held there for five seconds.

When she was finally released, Helen pulled herself from his cock with a mighty gasp, spluttering as she panted for breath, thick trails of saliva still clinging onto the shaft from her tongue.

"Fuck!" she cursed aloud. Her eyes widened further when she saw what exactly she'd been sucking on. Fully erect, this guy must have been well over 20 centimetres in length and just under an inch thick, with bulging veins along the length. He twitched in front of her eyes, reminding Helen of the warm, salty taste of his pre-cum on her tongue.

Butterflies were swirling in Helen's stomach as she beheld two more cocks, each as big and swollen to prominence as the first, emerging from the holes to her sides. The finger teasing her clit had pulled back too, leaving her pussy dripping with nectar. She gently pressed her backside to the hole behind her, praying that the occupant would take the hint, and wrapped her fingers around the new cocks.

All in all, Helen managed to summarise her current feelings with a smirk. I need all of you in me. Let me have your warm spunk.

She took her first occupant back into her mouth, finding her throat much more welcoming after the first breach, jerking the other two in the meantime. After a good ten seconds, she withdrew again and turned her attention to the left cock, swapping her hand and mouth. This one tasted a little like strawberries as his pre oozed onto her tongue.

She was about to give the rightmost manhood some oral attention when something thick and bulbous pressing against her pussy-lips sent a spike of pleasure rippling up her spine. Then she felt him slip inside her with a pop.

"Haaah!" A lewd grunt jumped out of her mouth as a fourth cock thrust into her womanhood, reaching up to the rim of her cervix as he probed deep inside, letting her get used to him. Then he started to pull out before quickly ramming it in again. And again. Yes! Fuck me hard, doughboy!

Helen's senses were afire as she allowed the raw hunger of lust to take over. She couldn't stop savouring each cock reaching into her throat, rubbing the spit-slickened meat across her flushed cheeks in between devouring another, fiercely manualising the other two. The fourth one pounding into her from behind cast bolts up her spine each time the swollen veins brushed past her G-spot and the head budged against her cervix.

It wasn't long before she could feel her nethers start to boil with pleasure. Her heart thundered in her chest as her climax approached; the faintly audible sounds of male grunts and a quickening of their pace all but denoted that her partners were similarly nearing breaking point. Then the front cock slowed down and began to throb.

Helen drove her lips to the base, greedily devouring the entire length as he blew his load straight into her belly. Her eyes crossed as she arrived at the same time, her ecstatic scream muffled by her full throat. She felt her spasming inner walls clamp down on the meat rod buried into her, sucking him deeper with each buck of her hips against the wall, until she felt his spunk pumping into her. Releasing her first lover from her oral grip, she squeezed her grip around the other, trembling two as they burst, spraying cum over her face and into her waiting mouth.

When our lads take this trench, I'm asking Elena if we can keep this, Helen thought to herself, thirstily licking the spunk off her face and swallowing it with a gulp. Then, a moment of clarity. Ah, right. The mission.

An hour later, General Elena Trotskaya watched Helen return to friendly lines from her command bunker, with four American PoWs. The quartet of Yanks seemed unusually upbeat given their present situation, and her command squad's markswoman seemed even more cheerful than usual. Elena smirked and gave and a nod. Little did Helen know, her CO could see in the ultraviolet spectrum.

~