Doomsday Warrior 19 - America’s Final Defense

Doomsday Warrior 19 - America’s Final Defense by Ryder Stacy

Book: Doomsday Warrior 19 - America’s Final Defense by Ryder Stacy Read Free Book Online
Authors: Ryder Stacy
you not see our sad state? We girls are bereft of offspring. We are unhappy, lost, because we bear no children. The last man to pass here was many, many years ago. And the bastard was sterile. He had to be destroyed. You men are not sterile, are you?” She glared at Rockson.
    “No. Definitely not,” Rock insisted. “I like the deal. Unchain us and—”
    She pressed the apple to his lips, and Rock bit in and swallowed.
    “The deal is sealed,” Millie the Fourth said. “Release their hands and feet. Lead them all to the bridal suites—all except this one.”
    The women warriors unchained the others and, giggling now, kissed the other men and fed them fruit, while they led them away, unprotesting.
    “Rock—is this safe?” Chen shouted over his shoulder as he left.
    Rock shouted back, “Enjoy it. And remember, you’re doing it for your country, and for all mankind.”
    Rockson was unchained and went off with only the Queen Millie. She wanted him all to herself. Fine with him. Better than a spear in the gut.
    The green-head was hellfire in bed, Rock soon found out. She had orgasms one after another, each time making a sound like a locomotive crashing. He was never so exhausted than when she finally fell asleep. His back was raked into red lines by her sharp nails. She only catnapped, and shook his shoulder: “That was wonderful,” she said, rubbing ointment on his nail scratches. “Sorry, I get carried away! We Millies have a gene mutation. One of our ancestor’s genes was fused with a part of a cat’s genetic makeup. We are mutants as a result of the war—the nuke war. I cannot help but scratch a man when I get excited.”
    “Easy with that ointment,” he said, ignoring her excuses. She kissed his neck as she rubbed him. He heard a low purr issuing from her green-lipsticked lips.

    After the hours of lovemaking during which they’d hopefully impregnated all the Millies, the team was reunited. Rockson didn’t have to ask whether or not his men had fully served their country. They all wore candy-eating grins. The other women fairly hung to their ankles and arms, caressing them, and running their hands over their hard-muscled bodies, which were now covered with ointment. The men, like Rockson, were all naked except for the Millie-provided green loincloths.
    “Well, we all look like a fit and happy bunch of savages,” Rock commented. Then he turned to Millie the Fourth and asked, “Now will you let us go to the rocket—I mean, to the Goddess Millie?”
    “Yes, of course! I know I will bear the greatest child. Of course, it will be female. Our children, due to the gene-altering radiation our foreparents endured, are always girls. Mine will be called—say, what shall I call her?”
    Rock thought a moment and said, “Call her Ronakimcharity the Fifth.”
    “Yes. That sounds very noble—and long,” said Millie the Fourth. “Proper for a queen!”
    The Freefighters were led down a long, torchlit corridor into the heart of the rectangular concrete building. The Millie Queen explained further about the prophecy as they walked in the semi-darkness: “It has been written that one day our great metal Goddess Millie shall be visited by men of iron, men who will renew our lifestream with their virility. These virile ones—you men—will enter the Goddess, and she will rise up into the heavens where she belongs. There she will, legend says, have her powers restored. The Goddess will save us all. Now it comes to pass, as the great Millie the First has written!”
    A door opened. Lights flashed on—long fluorescent lamps set high above. “Behold the Goddess Millie,” the queen said, bowing. With final kisses and breast squeezes, Rockson and his men walked on toward the huge rocket. “Bless you. Bless the progenitors,” the Millie tribeswomen chanted over and over as they withdrew from the Goddesses’ presence.
    The rocketship loomed before them.
    “What do you think, Scheransky? How does that baby look to

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