Summary: Webb & Mac celebrate the Fourth of July with some fireworks of their own.


"Yes Mother, I'll be there." I somewhat reluctantly promise to attend her annual Fourth of July cocktail party.

It's the same intimate gathering of old friends that she hosts every Independence Day. There's the obligatory small talk, the "when will you be getting married Clayton?" comments, and the "you *must* meet my daughter So-And-So" matchmaking.

But because this yearly ritual makes Mother happy, I put on a pleasant face and attend faithfully. However, I have my own Fourth of July tradition to enact this evening before I arrive.

I park in a security-designated spot and find myself, as I do every Fourth of July, walking alone through the crowds gathered on the Capitol’s West Lawn, listening to the National Symphony Orchestra.

Befitting my life as a spy, I love observing the throngs of people crowded on the lawn sitting on blankets and lawn chairs. The families, the couples, the occasional fellow lone observer; and the National Park Police, Secret Service, AFT, and FBI plants in the audience that blend in perfectly to all but the trained eye.

Enjoying my solitude among the crowd, I walk lazily around, soaking up the atmosphere. As my eyes sweep left, forward, and across to the right, I stop dead in my tracks and jerk my head back around. There’s a form that I’d recognize anywhere walking almost parallel to me, about ten yards to my left. It’s Mac.

I match her pace for another hundred yards, trying to decipher if she’s heading back to, or away from, whom ever it is that she’s with tonight. But, there’s an aimlessness to her gait. It’s as if she’s strolling on an empty beach or a country road. She’s just as out of place here among the families, couples, and groups of friends as I am.

As the orchestra launches into an Aaron Copland medley, I change my trajectory slightly and angle my path so that we’ll intersect in about 60 seconds. Keeping one eye on where I’m stepping, I admire Mac’s shape as she continues to wind her way through the crowd.

She’s wearing a short red dress, with some kind of flowered pattern on it. I can’t quite tell how revealing the neckline is yet, but it’s tight enough for me to appreciate the fullness of her chest in profile.

Mac has an amazing body. And she has that rare combination of amazing looks and self-reliance. She’s probably been beautiful most of her life, but perhaps because of the circumstances of her childhood, she developed her own identity – and a strong one at that – early on. You have to respect a woman who can straddle both worlds that way.

As I finish that thought, Mac nearly collides into me at a 45-degree angle. I reach out and touch her arm in warning just before we would have made bodily contact.

“Careful, Mac.”

“Webb, hey. What are you doing here?” She sounds only slightly surprised to see me, but she’s smiling.

I smile back, caught up in the prettiness of her face. I usually see her under more serious circumstances, or times when I knew my presence wasn’t welcome. But this casual side to Mac brings her beauty to the surface. I stare at her a bit longer than is really appropriate, darting my eyes between her face and her cleavage, which I can now see that her dress tastefully shows off. Mac snaps me back to reality before my gaze becomes outright ogling.

“Webb? Are you okay? You’re not drunk or anything are you?”

“What? No I’m not drunk,” I wave off the question.

“Okay, okay, sorry.” She sounds insulted.

“Sorry, you just caught me off guard.”

“Are you here with your mother?” she says, softening her tone.

“No, I’m here alone. It’s something I do every year.” I’m not sure why I’m telling her this, but the way she’s smiling at me with her head tilted to one side is too appealing.

I can’t help asking the real question though, “Where’s Rabb?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m here by myself too.”

Hmmm, that’s interesting. It sounds like an honest answer, so I decide not to press her.

“Beautiful woman like you, Mac, I find that hard to believe.” I smirk at her.

“Believe it Webb. Who says a woman always has to have a date? Besides, what if I met up with someone here that I wanted to go home with?” I think she’s flirting with me, but I’m not certain. Okay, I’m pretty sure, but it might just be wishful thinking.

“Why Mac, that’s awfully liberated of you.” I counter, feeling out the situation, trying to confirm my suspicions.

“Isn’t that what this holiday is all about? Freedom and liberty?”

Now I’m positive there’s something going, our banter’s taking on a distinct sexual edge and she’s definitely enjoying it as much as I am. There’s another great thing about Mac: she can dish it out just as well as she can take it. I wonder what else of mine she can take, and what she’ll dish out in return.

I’m about to ask just how “free and liberated” she is when a shout comes from the crowd, “Hey you two, down in front!”

Mac and I glance at each other and share a smile as we duck down. I follow her as she leads us to the edge of the crowd and around the back of a row port-a-potties.

“Saved your butt again Webb,” she says lightly as she turns to face me, straightening her stance.

“*Again* Colonel?” I raise my eyebrows and try to look condescendingly down at her. But since we’re about the same height, when I look down I get side tracked by her chest. God, she’s got beautiful breasts.

“Afghanistan. Rioting prisoners. Ring a bell?” she goes on, continuing the game.

“I think you might have your facts a bit mixed up.” I finally pull my gaze back to her face.

“Then why don’t you show me what happened?”

The high temperatures and humidity of the day have abated slightly, but the waves of heat between us are making me sweat even more than the 100-plus degree air. And it flashes through my mind that I’m really looking forward to the body-hold I’m about to get her into – mimicking the one she was trapped in at the prison camp. But before I can make my move, my cell phone rings.

“Damn,” I mumble.

“Duty calls?” Mac sounds as disappointed as I feel. She backs up a few steps and it looks like she’s about to turn and go, putting an end to what I thought was going to pan out to into a most enjoyable - and hopefully pleasurable - evening.

I look at the caller id and answer the phone, “Hello Mother.”

As I’m answering, I reach out, grab Mac’s hand, and mouth to her, “Don’t go.”

“Yes, I’ll be there soon. Don’t I always? No, I won’t be called in to work tonight.”

I glance at Mac and she’s smiling at me; probably thinking I’m some whipped mama’s-boy. Maybe I am, but that doesn’t mean our evening together has to end. I squeeze her hand and hold her gaze as I ask into the phone, “Mother, you don’t mind if I bring a guest, do you?”

One more amazing thing about Sarah MacKenzie: she’s an officer *and* a lady. She can kick Afghani ass one day and you can bring her home to meet your high-society mother the next. But with the plan I have in mind, we won’t be spending too much time with Mother or any Afghanis.

“What’s up Webb, you have a date?” Mac teases as I hang up the phone.

“I hope so,” I say as I boldly bring my lips to hers. I *really* hope I haven’t been reading this situation the wrong way.

My worries fade fast as our kiss intensifies and I feel her lips part invitingly against mine. Our tongues meet, tentatively tasting and exploring. Mac presses her chest into mine and I relish the feel of her breasts on my body. She really has the perfect female form. And I know that beneath that surface of womanly seduction is a hard-core Marine -- strong and powerful. Oh, to be on the receiving end of *that.*

The imagery combined with the warm wet way she’s kissing me, is enough to send most of my blood supply south. And just as I’m working my hands down to grab rear, the orchestra starts to play Sousa’s “Semper Fidelis.”

“’Semper Fi,’ Mac,” I breathe against her hot mouth as I massage the strong muscles at her rear, relishing the feel of her.

“’Deny Everything,’ Webb. Isn’t that the CIA’s motto?” I can feel her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Something like that,” I pant in her ear and slide my lips down to kiss and nibble on her neck. She’s salty from the hot weather and the taste of her is delicious and sexy.

‘Must go to Mother’s,’ I keep hearing my conscience repeat over and over, and it’s distracting enough to make me lose the erection I was sporting. I back off and ask Mac if she’ll do me the honor of accompanying me to Mother’s Fourth of July party.

“As long as there’s a chance we can sneak out early,” she says taking at turn at kissing my neck.

“Oh yeah,” I manage, distracted by her breath and lips on the sensitive skin at my hairline.

We half-walk, half-kiss our way to my car and as I let her in the passenger side, she runs her hands freely down my chest, past my belt and over my semi-erect cock. She lingers there and I close my eyes, leaning into her grasp as she presses into my erection and grabs at my balls.

“God, that feels good,” I say, leaning my arms against the top edge of the car.

Once we’re in the car, she resumes her erotic attack on my crotch and I have a hell of a time staying on the road. I’m trying to steer, shift, and reach for Mac all at the same time, and I’m positive I’ll be pulled over for drunk driving.

We manage to make it safely to Mother’s house, finally. And after about ten minutes of groping and kissing in the car, I break our embrace.

“Mac, if I have any hope of going in there without a tent in my pants, we need to take a little break.”

We talk quietly, heads bent together, and Mac fills me in on the progress of Bud’s recovery and how Harriet and little AJ are coping. I still can’t wait to get her alone later, but I find that it’s really pleasant sitting and talking this way with her; and the gravity of the topic puts me in much better shape to greet Mother and her guests.

I put an arm around her as we walk up the long curving driveway and she leans comfortably against me.

“You should probably try to call me Clay, since we’ll be in a social setting. And I hope you don’t mind if I introduce you as Sarah.”

Mac surprises me with her reply, “I’d like that.”

And I guess it really is more appropriate considering where our lips and hands have been; and the way I expect the evening will end.

As we enter the front door I can hear chatting, clinking glasses, and silverware on small appetizer plates. I guide Mac – Sarah, I mentally correct myself – through the foyer and around to the living room.

“Mother, you remember Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie?”

“Why yes. Happy Independence Day, Sarah. Clayton didn’t tell me it was you he was bringing this evening.” Mid-sentence, Mother shoots me a look of surprise -- and approval, I think.

“Clayton, be a dear and introduce Sarah around to everyone. Maybe Mrs. Tillinghouse will stop pestering me about fixing you up with her daughter,” she says to me with a wink before briskly walking away.

I do my duty and introduce Sarah to the guests and we make small talk about the weather and the usual national holiday niceties.

While I’m telling the Moffetts about the new set of show-jumping obstacles Mother had installed recently at the stables, I feel Sarah’s hand on my rear. Our backs are to the fireplace, so I’m pretty sure no one can see how she’s touching me, but I stumble over a few words before making a recovery.

Mrs. Moffett squints at me, “Are you all right Clay? Do you need some water?”

“I’m very well, just a frog in my throat.” I end with a cough for emphasis.

‘And I’ll be even better as soon as we can get out of here so I can feel up my date,’ I mentally amend.

“I’ll find some water for you Clay,” Sarah says as she heads off towards the kitchen.

Thank God, she’s way ahead of me.

“I’d better be sure she doesn’t get lost.” I excuse myself and chase after her.

“Kitchen’s this way,” I say catching up.

“Oh good, you got the hint. If I had to hear one more ‘it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,’ ‘don’t get your heart broken, Clay travels *so much* for his job,’ or ‘did you know that Clayton was an Olympian?’ I was going to scream,” she imitates with a high-pitched voice as she rolls her eyes and smiles at me.

“Welcome to my world,” I say dryly, leading her through the kitchen, through the back foyer and into the extensive grounds of the property. I take her hand and we walk around the garden to the pool house where I catch her in my arms as we lean against the side of the small building.

“Now, where were we?” I say pressing my body against hers, trapping her against the wall.

“Right here,” she says predictably before reaching out to pull me in for a kiss.

She immediately opens her mouth, and the feel of her tongue brushing past my lips sends a shiver through me. I can’t suppress a small moan as I thrust my tongue out to meet hers and we stand that way for some time, kissing a bit sloppy, and almost desperately.

BOOM! The fireworks start in the distance. I’m thankful that anyone who might have thought to come looking for us will now be distracted by the spectacle, at least for a while.

BOOM! BOOM!

I press my hardness into her and she tilts her hips, exerting a delicious pleasure of her own. We’re breathing heavily and I’m looking forward to finally feeling the fullness of her breasts without having to divide my concentration between touching her and staying on the road. I run my hands up her sides and make full contact with her breasts, “Oh, Clay,” she says into my ear.

She’s not wearing a bra, and I circle my palms over her already erect nipples. I shift against her and look down to her chest as I tease my fingers over the edge of the top of her dress.

BOOM! POP!

Testing the material, I notice how stretchy it is. With a smirk, I stretch the fabric down and over her breasts, exposing them completely. I run my fingers lightly over her nipples, feeling the taught skin. And as I lightly pinch the stiff peaks, I kiss my way down from her neck to replace my fingers with my mouth.

As I lick teasingly around her nipple, Sarah slips her hands into my hair, clenching and un-clenching her fists reflexively. Strengthening her grip, she roughly guides my mouth directly onto the nipple and pulls me even closer.

BANG! CRACK! BOOM!

I repeat the pattern with her other breast and finally coming up for air, we stare at each other breathing hard, trying to catch our breath.

“I want you,” I state simply.

In answer, she reaches between us and strokes my erection through my pants. Eyelids half closed at the sensation, I kiss her roughly and reach down for the hem of her dress. Her skin is surprisingly cool, considering the heat between us and the fire in my groin.

I slide my hand around the back of her leg and feel the smooth skin pass under my fingers as I work my way towards her ass.

“Oh my God, you *are* a liberated woman.” I say, pulling back in reaction to the fact that she’s not wearing any underwear.

BOOM! WOOSH! BOOM!

“I told you this holiday was about freedom. I took them off in the bathroom earlier. I hope your mother doesn’t go through the trash and find them,” she smiles wickedly at me.

For some reason, the image of Mother pulling Sarah’s panties out of the trash -- with a very puzzled look on her face -- strikes me as impossibly silly and I start to giggle. Sarah snorts, trying to suppress a laugh. And I chuckle harder at her un-ladylike display.

But it occurs to me that there’s not much that’s lady-like about what we’re doing or what I want to be doing to her very soon. And that thought brings me back to the task at hand.

“Why don’t I do a little liberating of my own?” I say as I remove her hand from my crotch, unbuckle my belt, and undo my pants. In reaction she moves my hands out of the way and finishes the job, freeing my cock from my boxers as she pushes them, and my pants, down to my knees.

BOOM! BOOM!

Even the hot July air feels cool to my cock, which was about burning up in my pants. Sarah swiftly kneels down in front of me, takes *all* of me into her mouth and releases me just as fast. I’m startled, but quickly appreciate the gesture as she blows on my now wet erection; the sensation of hot and cool is surprisingly arousing.

She holds my cock in one hand and with the other she’s brushing her fingers around my balls. All the while, she’s licking around and around my shaft, working her way to the sensitive tip. Mirroring her earlier actions, I run my hands through her hair and clench my fists in an erotic fervor.

After God knows how many minutes, she finally stands and we crash back against the wall of the pool house, kissing with renewed speed.

BOOM! WHISTLE! CRACK!

I pull her dress up again and run my hands around the front to meet her damp curls. I easily slip a finger into her wet center and she moans against my mouth. Working my fingers into and over her slick folds, I alternate between plunging my fingers deeply into her hot core and flicking them over her clit.

She’s shaking and breathing hard, and I change my manipulations of her sex, keeping two fingers inside her while massaging her clit with my thumb, and I concentrate on the sounds she’s making in time to my movements. I think she’s getting close, because she stops kissing me and rests her lips, open mouthed, on my neck.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

“Uuuh, Clay…yes,” she cries out and her legs nearly buckle as I feel her inner muscles contracting rhythmically around my fingers. I would swear on a stack of bibles that there’s no greater turn-on than to hear a woman say your name at the height of her climax.

I hold her up against the wall for a few moments as she recovers. Soon, she’s slowly running her hands over me and moving her body in waves against mine. She finds my mouth with hers and kisses me slowly and erotically.

I moan into her kiss and she reaches between us to find my cock. I’m immediately rock hard and want her more than ever.

BANG! WHISTLE! BOOM!

Without words we mutually pick up the pace of our kisses and caresses. I hike her dress all the way up and lift one of her legs high up around my waist. “Thank God you’re tall. I’ve always thought that was one of your sexier qualities.”

Our groins meet at just the right angle and I rub the tip of my cock -- then the full length of my erection -- against her clit before plunging up and all the way inside her. Feeling myself tightly surrounded by her hot wet walls makes me impatient; and while I’m not exactly being rough, I’m afraid there is a slight harsh urgency to my thrusts. But from the way she keeps saying, “Oh yeah” on the harder strokes, I give myself over to the pure physical pleasure of the moment.

BOOM! Thrust. BOOM! Thrust.

BOOM! THRUST! BOOM! THRUST!

I can feel the heat and energy building between us and we’re not really kissing anymore; our open mouths are just barely clinging together as we concentrate on where our bodies are joined elsewhere.

We continue to move faster and harder and I feel her shuddering in a second climax. Three more thrusts in time to the finale of the fireworks and I’m there too, pushing impossibly further into her, reveling in the waves of pleasure and release.

BOOM! BOOM! BANG! WHIRR! BOOM! CRACK! BANG! BOOM!

We practically fall to the ground beneath us as we disengage ourselves from each other.

“Wow Clay. I can honestly say that no man’s ever made me see fireworks before.” Mac smiles as she casually stretches her dress back over her breasts, and smoothes out the rest of the wrinkled fabric.

“And that was *some* set of fireworks,” I say appreciatively assessing the mess that we’ve made of my pants.

“What would the ‘Founding Fathers’ say?”

“As a man, I can *assure* you -- they would heartily approve.”

I lead us into the pool house where there’s a small sink and clean towels. We take turns at the faucet, cleaning ourselves up with damp towels.

As I’m tucking myself back in place and zipping my pants I catch her watching me. Assessing me. I guess this is when reality comes back into play. And since this wasn’t exactly a college spring break fuck, I guess we’ll have to talk about what’s happened between us.

“’Deny Everything.’ Isn’t that the CIA’s motto?” Mac repeats her line from earlier in the evening.

“Will you be denying that this happened?” I query.

“Why, will there be torture involved to get the information out of me if I do?” she raises her eyebrows, immediately alleviating the awkwardness between us.

With a hint of force, I quickly step forward, grab her left wrist, twist it up and behind her back, and spin her body around to press it against the wall with the weight of my body. I put my lips to her ear and say smugly, “I think that can be arranged.”

“Hmmm, what are you doing on Labor Day?”

END