I'm just thinking about how Ghost came back injured from his last mission. Nothing too serious, but injured enough that he needs his secretary to basically do everything for him.
And I'm not just talking about filling out reports or taking notes during meetings.
I'm saying, in the middle of the entire base cafeteria, she was making airplane sounds while bringing the fork to the lieutenant's mouth.
"Come on! Just eat a little more! Look, the plane brrrruuuu, it's waiting to release the cargo!"
Or how she sat on his lap to help him brush his teeth.
"Just a little more, Lieutenant! You're doing great! Look at all that foam! Say goodbye, cavities!"
Or even when he needed to go to the bathroom. Because obviously, his two immobilized arms would make a simple task difficult. But thankfully, his lovely secretary was there to help lower his pants, pull his dick out of his underwear, and aim at the toilet. Ghost needed to stop thinking about how dangerously beautiful her Hello Kitty-themed painted nails looked around his cock.
"Am I aiming right? I've never had a penis before... it's kind of cool," she said, covering her eyes with her other hand, trying to give the man a modicum of dignity.
And finally, when the doctor finally released him from the immobilization, he missed being pampered by the lovely secretary. Even more so when - mysteriously - Kyle appeared with both arms in casts, causing the secretary to pamper him.
And then, a short time later, John needed to find out how his two sergeants and his lieutenant managed to immobilize every joint in their bodies with casts.
And now the poor secretary had to take care of each and every one of them...
(pregnancy; lactation; sex; trespassing; smut in general)
So, the 141’s secretary was pregnant—and I don’t mean just in the early stages or anything like that; I mean pregnant. Heavily pregnant.
Pregnant enough that she couldn't button any of her pants anymore, forced to wear skirts and dresses instead. Pregnant enough that she hadn't been able to see her own feet for months. So pregnant that if she sat down—whether on a chair, a sofa, or even her bed—she couldn't get back up on her own.
Luckily, the boys from the 141 kept a close eye on her. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
Every time she made the slightest sound—a groan of discomfort when the baby kicked her ribs, or a sigh of relief when she finally found a comfortable position—Johnny would appear out of nowhere, wearing gloves and a surgical mask he’d swiped from the infirmary.
"Is it time, Bonnie? Is it happening now?" he’d ask, dropping to his knees, lifting her skirt, and diving right into her clothes, as if the baby were about to slide out and only he could catch it.
The upside was that Johnny would at least apologize graciously, planting a hundred kisses against the secretary's pussy.
Kyle, on the other hand, focused on making this difficult phase as pleasant as possible. He’d bought a stash of various creams, sorted by body part: one for foot massages, another for her lower back, and a third to moisturize her big, round belly—lovingly kissing every stretch mark along the way. Whenever he massaged her, the baby would react instantly, kicking at his hands and shifting around as if trying to get closer to Kyle. He always spoke in a low, calm voice, talking to her belly to ensure the baby would know his sweet voice well. And finally, he would bring out a special cream used to massage his secretary’s perineum, claiming it would aid in labor and relieve some of the aches.
He was right—it certainly helped… It helped even more when Kyle made her come with his skillful fingers.
As for Simon? He took it upon himself to get the secretary’s apartment ready. He bought baby clothes by the heap—bottles, diapers, wipes, cribs, car seats, changing tables, and mountains of toys. Every day when she got home, a mountain of new gifts would be waiting, alongside a fridge stocked with food and a closet full of jewelry and clothes he had bought her. After all, he had money to burn and loved seeing his secretary wearing the outfits he picked out.
Of course, it was a bit unnerving at first, since she had never brought either of them to her home—let alone mentioned where she lived, much less given them keys to come and go as they pleased. But then again, she figured breaking into an apartment probably wasn't that hard for men like them.
Many nights, she would wake up to Simon fucking her from behind, one hand pressed flat against her belly while the other circled her clitoris in a way that made her eyes roll back in her head. Who cared about a little invasion, when he took such good care of her?
And finally, there was John. He was the one who kept the closest watch on her. He wouldn't let her lift a finger—not even to eat.
Did she want onion-flavored chips with a chocolate coating? John was already placing them against her lips. An ice cream sandwich with chili peppers? There it was: cold, spicy, and crunchy against her lips.
But it didn't stop there. John would do anything for his secretary. Were her breasts sore? Too full, and the breast pump too far away? John’s lips were right there, sucking and drinking that wonderful milk.
Was she feeling empty? Easy—she just had to sit on Price, keeping his cock nice and warm deep inside her, banishing that hollow feeling within.
She could only be grateful that the 141 took such good care of her.
I know it's a consensus around here that Ghost flirts about as well as a brick. But what about the rest of the 141? To me, I think they all have this problem, you know, being away on missions for months and all that…
For example, Price (despite having been married before) flirts terribly. The sweet newly hired secretary knows that very well:
"So, sweetheart, do you live around here?" he asked, trying to make conversation while she organized papers on her desk. She was leaning over the desk just enough for Price to have a perfect view of her cleavage. "I bet you live in that little apartment near the bus stop." She froze. She had no memory of telling John where she lived. "With flowers on the kitchen window, right?" She straightened up, a chill running down her spine. "Lovely place, very cozy. Far too easy to break into, though. Got in in five seconds, didn't even need to look at the lock. You need to be more careful, sweetheart."
"Y-Yes, sir," she replied, frightened. He had broken into her apartment? Why was he smiling while saying that!? Was it a threat? "I-I'll… I'll go check if the printer still has ink."
"Be careful going home today. There are a lot of dangers in this world."
The janitor found her crying in the supply closet, talking to her mother on the phone shortly after.
And Kyle? He seems cool, but...
"Sergeant Gaz?" her voice sounded behind him in the large hallway. His heavy boots stopped on the floor before he even processed her words. "The Captain asked that you turn in your reports from the last mission by three, instead of five. Is that okay?" Kyle said nothing.
His mouth went dry, his eyes opened wider than necessary, and his posture went rigid as stone. He looked like a statue staring at her.
Correction, a terrifying statue staring at her.
"Sergeant Gaz, are you feeling alright?" she asked, taking a micro-step back. He took a step forward. "You… You're angry about the Captain's request? Do you need more time? I can ask the Captain!" she took three more steps back, Kyle followed her. Still not speaking. Still not blinking. Still tense as a rock.
"Sergeant Gaz!" a voice from the other end of the hallway called out, and she used that as her cue to run as fast as she could.
Again, the janitor found her in the supply closet, not crying, but curled up and rocking like a frightened child.
Soap? With that restless mouth of his, surely he wouldn't have any problems with flirting, right? WRONG!
They were in the cafeteria, eating that gray sludge of a protein, carb, and fiber mix they served there, when she walked past their table. Not fast enough to seem like she was running away from them (and she was), but not slow enough to seem like she was eavesdropping.
"Bonnie! Finally you show up!" he said, standing up and blocking her path. "You know, you never told me if you liked the gift I left in your office." The "gift" was a stick of dynamite.
"The bomb?" she asked with a trembling voice.
"It wasn't a bomb! It's part of a bomb! A bomb is a casing containing explosive material and a detonation mechanism, I only gave you the explosive material!" he said with such naturalness that it made her shake. "Next time I can leave it in your apartment, what do you think, bonnie? Wouldn't it look lovely in your living room? We could even try to disarm it together!" He wanted to send a bomb to her house? He had to be insane! She looked at the rest of the table, hoping that maybe one of the other three lived in the same reality as her and realized this was madness. "What do you say? The two of us together disarming a bomb and BOOM!" he shouted, making her jump back. "What do you say?"
"I'll… I'll… I NEED to finish some things in the office," she said, trying not to sound terrified. She managed to get past them and again, the janitor had to kick her out of the supply closet.
This time, she was deciding whether or not to call the police.
And finally, Ghost.
It was late at night, she was working overtime in the office (not out of fear of finding a bomb at her front door), she thought she was alone until…
"Do you like horror movies?" she screamed, falling off her chair and seeing that behind her stood him. His skull mask illuminated by her desk lamp, the rest of his clothes black and blending perfectly with the night shadows.
"What?!" she trembled, crawling away from him.
"I know a place where sound doesn't escape. The soundproofing is excellent, made for… Interrogations." The last word came out more drawn out, almost a growl. "But it works for other things too. Screaming, for example." She was paralyzed. She was certain this was where she would die. Or in that interrogation room.
"I… I need to go to the bathroom!" she managed to say, her voice coming out thin as a thread.
Ghost took a step back, but didn't take his eyes off her.
"Don't take too long. Or I'll have to come looking for you."
She ran. She ran like the devil was after her, because he probably was. And when the janitor opened the supply closet door for the fourth time that week, he found her curled up in the corner, phone in hand, already decided to call the police.
"Miss, for God's sake," he sighed, sitting on the floor next to her. "What did they do this time?"
"I think they want to kill me," she sobbed. "Or worse."
The janitor scratched his head, tired.
"They really are terrible at this."
"At this? At what?" she asked, still with her phone in hand.
"At being normal," the janitor replied, grabbing some rolls of toilet paper. He handed one to her, to wipe away her panic tears. "I think it's the military training or… Or too much time on missions… I don't know, but they don't know how to be normal anymore."
"You don't understand! They're threatening me! When Laswell said it would be a tough job, I thought she meant bureaucracy, or too many hours! Not being threatened! Soap sent a bomb to my house! Ghost wanted to drag me to an interrogation room that, according to him, was impossible for anyone to hear me scream! Kyle looks like a robot! Doesn't speak, doesn't blink, just stares at me like he's trying to kill me with his mind! And I'm pretty sure Price broke into my house yesterday and made me tea!" The janitor laughed.
"They really are horrible at this, aren't they?" he pulled out some cleaning products. "If you want my advice, just say you're not interested. They're crazy, but they respect other people's decisions."
"What?" The janitor smiled, heading back out and putting the products on his cleaning cart.
"They're flirting with you. If you don't want it to continue, just say you're not interested." The janitor rolled his cart down the hallway, leaving the secretary in the small supply closet, processing the information.
