The Finisher Series: Ecclesiastes

By Bert Marshall

My name is Barnabas Lucas Stivers and folks call me Luke. This is my story.

Enter 9-11 one week after graduation from A&M and I was off to Officer’s Boot camp in the United States Army. I was 22 years old and thought I was a player both on and off the field. I look at the Air Force calendar on the wall at the Michael E. Debakey VA Medical Center in Houston, Texas and realize many years have passed since that day she gave me the clap. I did not learn her name or ever see her again, but that started a fire that still burns very strong today.

I like women and I like to fight. I like to fight so much, the US Army let me fight a lot and evidently now, my Army shrink thinks they over did it. I have had increasingly violent nightmares over the last year to the point I sought out help. I figured they would write a prescription, but Noooo, they decided I was crazy.

“You are not crazy Sir, you are fatigued. I’m writing you a couple of prescriptions and I want to see you again in a month.” My personal VA doctor is a woman of about 50 who is as tall as I am and looks like a Farmer’s wife with wide hips and nice full bosoms and I ask her what my chances are of re-enlisting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bert Marshall
• Release date: Jun 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463210185

Bert Marshall

Bert Marshall lives in Baytown, Texas and is a Baytown Sun Columnist, Blogger, martial artist, geocacher, PC repair specialist, Jeeper, hiker, indoor cycling instructor, past Texas State Emergency Care Attendant, Hunter education instructor, and a USAF Vietnam Veteran with two tours (651 days in-country).

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The Finisher Series – Ecclesiastes

By Bert Marshall

Published by Bert Marshall at Smashwords

Copyright 2020 Bert Marshall

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Barnabas Lucas Stivers arrived nine months to the day after his mom was repeatedly raped by eleven men behind a rundown ARCO gas station in Channelview, Texas. Shelly Anne Stivers’ 1979 Toyota Tercel’s gas gauge was faulty and her car died as she pulled in beside the filthy gas pumps. Shelly Anne was celebrating yet another gymnastics trophy and was on her way home. She was sure her daddy had filled her gas tank, but now the undependable sedan has died on the way to Baytown and her parent’s home of forty-one years.

At nineteen, Shelly Anne is a small woman with a twelve year history of gymnastics and cheerleading and with a scholarship to Rice University, she has Olympic dreams. Her sculpted body draws the attention of Hector Rivera and his younger brother Jorge and seeing the sun has set and the busy traffic on I-10 is so loud, they see the cute girl as nothing more than sweet meat and a quick way to make some denaro.

"May I help you little gatitta? Hector says as he and his brother walk up to her dead car, which is about twenty feet short of the pumps. Shelly Anne was out of the car and her body, wrapped in leopard spandex screams at both boys in an almost tangible way and the virgin girl instantly realizes she is compromised. My daddy will be here in a moment..." is all she can say when suddenly Jorge is behind her and pulls a plastic bag over her head.

Shelly is far stronger than they suspected and she violently struggles to free herself when Hector simply punches her in the side of her pretty head.

Somewhere around 3am Shelly sits up in a pool of semen and urine inside the open bay of the darkened filthy gas station and slowly gets to her feet. She is numb and can’t think straight. During the long last four hours – no, six hours, she was raped repeatedly by many men multiple times. She is a virgin no more. Her short blond hair reeks of human excrement and her breasts have bite marks around her sensitive bloody red nipples.

In horror, she looks at herself. She is naked and filthy and has been violated! Oh my God! Her face is swollen from the many times she was struck in the head. She suddenly stops moving around, as she finds her clothes and begins dressing. The traffic on I-10 is sporadic and no cars have driven by the open bay of the garage. Looking around she realizes the place is abandoned!

There! Her phone! Fumbling in the dark, she dials her father, Daddy! I’ve been raped! she sobs.

This is why my DNA verified Viking mother, God rest her soul, had a baby born out of wedlock that was half Swedish and half Denver Harbor, Hispanic. The confusion is exacerbated by my decidedly European moniker of Barnabas Lucas Stivers as I grew to the man I am today. I learned at a young age to simply go by the name, Luke. This seemed to satisfy both Latino’s and Anglo’s, as whites think I’m a beaner and Hispanics think I’m Italian or something. In other words, neither group accepts me as their own. I’m tall I guess, stopping at six feet. My weight since the eleventh grade hovers around one seventy-five and physically, I am abnormally strong and fast considering I have very noticeable muscle development normally sported by body-builders. I am not so inclined. Whoever that guy was that raped my mom twenty years ago is the person I owe my genetics too, because no one on my Mom’s side of the family is muscular. They are tall and lean, like I am, but without the musculature.

Mom raised me along with Grams and Gramps and they never understood what exactly happened the night I was conceived, but Mom’s health never recovered and eight months after I entered life, Mom departed. As an adult I learned she had cancer that was undetected. I don’t remember her. My grandparents were both educated people with careers and raised me by proxy mixed with lots of love... at least initially.

By the time I entered junior high, it was apparent that I was abnormally gifted in athletics, so much so that I was singled out by anyone who wasn’t. The majority of the kids I attended school with were happy to let me take the lead while others resented it and by the seventh grade, I was already an accomplished scrapper. The problem wasn’t so much how well I performed in sports, as much as the girls I attracted. This ultimately resulted in fisticuffs and I always won... until I got the starch knocked out of me in grand fashion.

His name was Tiko Rivera and he had been taking boxing lessons since he was eight. He beat the shit out of me... literally and it was witnessed by everyone. It took him one second to get past my feeble defenses and within fifteen terrible seconds, I was laid out on the floor in my gym shorts and there on the wooden floor was a brown turd. I guess the other kids thought it was funny, but when Tiko pulled out his impressive manhood and pissed on me is when everyone quickly left.

I was twelve years old and bigger than almost everyone my age and Tiko horse-whipped me in front of everyone. My Gramp’s took one look at me and the next thing I know, every evening after school and Saturday’s also, I was studying karate. Gramp’s was one of those old school teachers who when setting me on a course, he damned well expected results. He was a plug and play kind of guy and other than weekly progress reports from my instructor, he buried himself in his own business. Case solved!" is the way he put it when nineteen months later, I am awarded my first degree black belt in Chayon-Ryu in Houston, Texas. It is a hybrid mix of styles taught by Kim Soo, a Korean.

At fourteen years of age, I was five-ten and weighed a solid one hundred and forty-five pounds. I played safety for my high school all four years and broke the school record for interceptions six times and ended up with a scholarship to Texas A&M to play football! Along the way, I met Susan Carlyle and we went steady through high school. She was a Baptist preacher’s daughter and virginal when we first started dating and remained that way through graduation and don’t say I didn’t try to get in her shorts, because I did. She just wanted to save herself for the man she will marry and I obviously wasn’t it. She had hopes for a doctor or lawyer I later learned and I was just breezing through college playing football.

I soon learned that if my girlfriend wouldn’t do it, other girl’s would. The problem I had is I really liked her. Heckfire, I thought I loved her, so I did not take advantage of what the other girl’s offered and graduated at eighteen, a virgin. I had no idea that my virtuous girlfriend would become anything but virtuous.

I lost my virginity after our first college game to a girl visiting her cousin and it was sloppy and awkward and she was so drunk, she threw-up while I was losing my virginity using her hips as handles. Here I was, eighteen years old, getting my first leg and the girl is holding on the bottom of the bleachers as I pound her from behind and then she just throws up.

I walked away tucking my junk in my football pants feeling as good about getting some as I should and three days later I was dripping.

----

The four years went by in a world wind of drinking, partying, screwing, football, and karate. No particular event stands out in memory other than that girl under the bleachers. Enter 9-11 one week after graduation from A&M and I was off to officer’s boot camp in the United States Army. I was twenty-two years old and thought I was a player both on and off the field.

I look at the air force calendar on the wall at the Michael E. Debakey VA Medical Center in Houston, Texas and realize many years have passed since that day she gave me the clap. I did not learn her name or ever see her again, but that started a fire that still burns very strong today. I like women and I like to fight. I like to fight so much, the US Army let me fight a lot and evidently now, my army shrink thinks they and me over did it. I have had increasingly violent nightmares over the last year to the point I sought out help. I figured they would write a prescription, but noooo, they decided I was crazy. The dangerous kind of crazy evidentally.

You are not crazy sir, you are fatigued. I’m writing you a couple of prescriptions and I want to see you again in a month. My personal VA doctor is a woman of about fifty who is as tall as I am and looks like a farmer’s wife with wide hips and nice full bosoms and I ask her what my chances are of staying active.

I’m sorry, Luke, but I cannot recommend you continue. I like this woman a lot. This is our fourth time to meet and she is real. Her sex appeal is because she is real, not because I would seek her out for sex. My reaction is so real and so candid, I simply begin to cry.

Lt. Colonel Marilyn Masters is a forty-eight year old army soldier with twenty-four years active duty. She divorced her asshole husband of fifteen years after she caught him masturbating to gay black porn online. It was the final nail in the coffin they called marriage. She had winked and ignored his deviant behavior for too long. Never mind that he had an eight inch dick that always delivered the goods. This strong younger soldier in front of her is the most man she has had in her office and he exudes masculinity, so in response to his tears, she stands and walking up to him, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his head to her chest.

I remember this moment like it was five minutes ago. Hearing what I knew was coming, I did not expect to break-down in front of this good woman, but when she pushed her 38-DD’s into my face and I caught a faint hint of hormones mixed with flowers, I knew her body was calling. Now Dr. Marilyn Masters is well known for a number of reasons. One, she is an amazing physician who is regularly sought out for opinion.

Two, she sticks to army and VA policy. Three, she always wears a skirt and has really big tits.

Marilyn’s eyes suddenly widen when she feels his strong hands on her hips. Maybe he is just leaning into me for support," she muses, enjoying the comfort she is giving him. She suddenly sucks in her breath inflating her two main assets and the buttons pop open one by one as her patient slowly runs his hands up under her dress. With a flick of his wrists she feels her panties slide down both legs to her high heels and Marilyn simply steps out of them. She’s old school and seeing no man has seen her naked since before she divorced her husband, she is untrimmed and the opposite of shaven. Her second impulse is to step away and immediately stop this.

I lift the woman up onto my erect cock and slowly parting her folds with my fingers, I enter her holiest of holies as our eyes meet. Marilyn is a woman in every way and taking my face in her hands, she slides her soft wet tongue into my mouth as she gasps. Her open legs with my hands wrapped tight across both ass cheeks give me all the leverage I need and backing her up to the oversized stuffed examining table, I begin an assault on that mound that made Hamburger Hill look like a downhill stroll.

Marilyn’s hormonal odor simply drives me on like a bull tending a hotwife and she is steadily grunting in both partial pain and wonderful pleasure. Whenever I can make a woman make these sounds, I know I am pushing into untried waters for them. Marilyn’s queer husband had equipment this long, just not this thick and she’s wrapping her hips around him like she is shrink-wrapping him… and it happens.

Marilyn became sexually active at seventeen on prom night and none of her seven previous partners made her cum vaginally until now and she can’t stop bucking. I see it for what it is; something major and I spew eleven long pulsing milky ropes of man juice into her deepest secret place. If Marilyn could get pregnant, this would have done it many times over. Like most men, when I am cumming, I am still as a board, but I like to talk to them as I cum and I whisper how beautiful she is and how much I enjoy her body and Marilyn decides right then that this was simply our destiny.

----

King Charles Watson is thirty-five years old; a retired US Army colonel who was assigned by the CIA as a consultant to the VA and he’s missing his legs just above both knees. He’s strong as a mule, loves prime woman flesh, and is the controller of a clandestine program named the Finisher Project. It is his only function once a candidate has accepted the position and right now he is staring into the eyes of a killer in waiting. He knows the type because as a SF soldier, he is the exact type. He is also one of the best controllers the program has had and this is especially true considering his relationship with the last Finisher. All I know is I like him immediately.

If I agree, is there remuneration for this dirty set of deeds and how do I protect myself? King had just explained how criminals operating under impunity from prosecution, continue to exploit and seeing there is so much money involved in their illegal trade, they simply pay off lawyers, judges, and cops – lots of cops and continue on. Houston is a human trafficking Mecca and then there are the many gangs, including MS-13, Crips, and Tango Blast, better known as Houstones. Their trademark is the Houston Astros logo and I see it all the time on low-riders and other vehicles.

We have a state of the art bunker system we recently renovated that has served the last 15 or so Finishers. The original abode wasn’t here and had none of the amenities of this place. We drive way out to an industrial area on the south side of the Houston Ship Channel and pass through two gates and at each one I am scanned and recorded and the third one is a much heavier reinforced gate. It’s high tech stuff. I’ve been all over the compounds in the Middle East and this is the same stuff only modernized There is a retinal scanner that can reach out and the data from the first gate is sent to the third and as it opens, I drive my Silverado in behind him. The compound is a four bay garage with heavy steel doors. King earlier explained that a few years ago it took a couple RPG rounds and they haven’t repainted or did repair due to no evidence of destruction.

Jacinto Port is a half mile from I-10, but about a mile of road to get there. The bunker is buried under twenty feet of reinforced cement and dirt and has twenty cameras and ten thirty-two inch Samsung screens. It has five bedrooms and carpeted floors and looks nothing like the usual military Spartan offering. In one of the bedrooms are five large safes. King programs me to the mechanisms and we open all five.

Safe one and two house maybe two hundred mainly military grade firearms of a variety of makes and models and he explains each weapon was confiscated from one of the cartel’s extensive arsenal. Safe three is ammo and lots of it including large-capacity magazines. Safe four is Semtex-10, the kind the Czech’s made famous and detonators, cell phones, etc. Safe five houses a lone cardboard box of money he explains is a road stake for me. I can leave right now and take the money if I choose.

Are you shitting me, Colonel? Twenty large just left behind? How much money does this job pay anyway?

More than you can spend or believe my warrior brother. Look at this. He hands me a packet and inside is my new identity and What in the hell? I did not believe these actually existed! I say staring at the MasterCard Black Card.

"There is supposedly a five hundred dollar fee every year to carry