Quaranteam: Thunder Below Ch. 03

This is an authorized, official spinoff of CorruptingPower's Quaranteam universe. All concepts, characters and ideas are used with permission from the creator.

All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

My sincere thanks to corruptingpower, breakthebar, otterlymindblowing, agathon, and the rest of the writers room for their invaluable help with this work.

Chapter 3

June 25th, 2020

Norfolk Virginia

The open mic crackled and popped, the background noise in Control causing a constant hum of sailors at their posts. The Officer of the Deck, in command for this watch, spoke his orders in a loud, clear voice. "Radio, Conn, log off all circuits."

I grabbed the 27MC, the special internal comms circuit between Radio, which is the colloquial name for the communications room, SONAR, and Control. "Log off all circuits, Conn, Radio aye." Letting the mic swing back into place, I turned back to my console.

My fingers flew over the keyboard as I ordered the computer to begin the satellite log off sequence. Switching screens, I began deactivating the various circuits that were active. Receiving the notification that log off was complete, I grabbed the 27MC again and reached behind me for the antenna control switch. I keyed up the mic at the same time as I flipped the switch to 'lower'. "Conn, Radio, logged off all circuits, lowering the antenna from Radio."

"Very well. All stations, Conn, proceeding deep." This was the order to multiple stations to prepare for depth. We had been at periscope depth for... seems like forever. I'd lost track. We were communicating and ventilating, bringing fresh air onto the boat. But now that was complete, we needed to go deeper again. We were on mission.

"Conn, SONAR, aye."

"Conn, Radio, aye."

"Conn, ESM, aye."

The three main stations acknowledged the order, and I could hear the Dive order the Helmsman and the Planesman to full dive both control surfaces, to dive the ship at a five degree down angle.

As I turned to my console to begin reviewing the incoming message traffic, I could hear Martinez begin hacking and coughing. Loud, wet, wheezing, as if his lungs were about to fly out of his mouth. "You're a coward, Hart." His voice sounded like an eight-pack-a-day smoker's, and I turned to him in shock and anger.

"I'm not a coward!" I gasped as I finally took in his face. He was pale, unnaturally so, his normally swarthy Latin complexion almost paler than mine. Yellow eyes flashed beneath heavy brows, with patches of eyebrow hair falling into the rivulets of blood streaming from his eyes. Blood was everywhere, streaming from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth in thick sheets.

He grabbed me by the poopy suit collar, fingernails popping off like pogs as he pulled me into his face. "Coward! Craven! Couldn't even bury me?! You shot me out of a torpedo tube like garbage!" His hands shook, like a man with ague, as I reeled backwards. The stench of death wafted off Martinez like a miasma. I fell back onto the bench lockers, flailing to get away.

"Yes! Shot us out like garbage, then RAN AWAY to bury your dick in some sluts! ABANDONED YOUR BROTHERS! Abandoned your ship! Abandoned your crew! COWARD!"

I curled into a ball, my hands over my head. I heard a low, soul rending moan of fear and pain. I was shocked to realize it was coming from me. "Nooooooooooo! No, I, I tried! I did!"

The 1MC, general announcing circuit for the captain to address the crew, crackled to life. "Petty Officer Hart, report to the Captain's Stateroom."

I scrambled out of radio, dripping sweat, only to recoil in horror. The entire watch section lined the passageways, like sentries on the way to the gallows. Fifty men, some no older than boys, pointing bloody fingers and chanting, chanting. "Part of the ship, part of the crew. Coward. Craven. One crew, one screw. Coward."

I strode forth, flinching, and before I knew it I was standing in front of The Skipper. He was wearing a long black judge's robe, a curly white wig perched on his head. A long scythe was gripped in his left hand. "Petty Officer Hart, you are accused of violating UCMJ Article 87, Missing Ship's Movement. Specification: when USS Boise was ordered to assume Eternal Patrol, the accused RAN AWAY. How do you plead?"

The crew filed in behind me, wheezing and shaking, lifting accusatory fingers in damnation. "Guilty! Guilty! That sonovabitch is guilty!"

I spun around, from face to face, seeing disdain and accusation in pair after pair of yellow eyes. "I tried! I'm sorry! I'm not guilty, I swear! No! Nooooooooo!"

I shot upright in bed, covered in sweat, shaking like a leaf, my hands covering my face as I sobbed. A thin pair of arms wrapped around me from off to my side, pulling me in. My face pressed against a small, soft, naked breast as one hand started stroking through my hair. "Shhhh. It's ok. Another nightmare?"

Not trusting my voice, I simply nodded against Hoshi's chest. I clung to her like a drowning man to a lifeline, as she gently rocked back and forth.

This was not the first time I had been wrenched from sleep by horrific visions. It had become evident, even to me, that I had been ignoring the emotional trauma I had been placed under. Unfortunately, with the lockdown following my bout with Duo, I wouldn't be able to seek counseling quite yet.

In a surprising turn of events, Hoshi had turned downright aggressive on me when I hinted that I could 'just deal with it' on my own. Watching the normally submissive, ultra-tiny little woman become a raging dragon would have been arousing under other circumstances. As it was, she had coerced an agreement from me to start looking for a therapist once lockdown ended.

And to be fair, I had enough problems that I probably really needed one. The nightmares were one thing, the sheer aggression I had been exhibiting was another. I had read over the pamphlets the girls had all been given, mind whirling with side effects. Not a single one had mentioned anything like I had been experiencing.

Which brings me to the other two inhabitants of the house. Bernie and Claudette Beauchamps. And the animalistic way I had treated two guests in my home. I can still remember that conversation.

**************

June 19th, 2020

I sat on the couch, bouncing one leg with sheer nerves, holding my face in my hands. Bernie and Claudette sat on the love seat opposite me, holding hands and sharing uneasy glances, while Hoshi stood off to the side, watching on in exasperation.

Finally, I took a deep breath, cleared my throat, then met gazes with the committed couple. "So, about last night."

Bernie spoke up, interrupting my apology before I could even get it started. "Look. We were briefed on this, just like everybody else." She shared a glance with Claudette.

The curly-haired brunette straightened in her seat. "So, you've read the pamphlets, yes?" I nodded my assent before she continued. "So, part of last night might actually be on us. We were injected, yes, like everyone else was. But then we were held a few days. The navy was looking for volunteers for submarine duty, so when Bernie and I said we'd do it, they had to run our oracle results against the six surviving submariners that were left. We eventually picked you."

I took a breath and held it for a moment. "Wait, six? I thought there were twelve? No, wait, so, so, you two were already stewing in hormones by the time you got here?" The two nodded.

"Also," Bernie began, "we, that is, Claudette and I, well..." Claudette squeezed her wife's hand, offering her support. Bernie smiled before turning to me with renewed confidence. "We have often... entertained the idea of... spicing up our sex life. To be frank, we eventually want to be mothers, and artificial insemination has always seemed too cold, clinical. Had the quarantine not been imposed, we'd have probably started man-hunting already."

Claudette blushed prettily, licking her lips. "Plus, we both really enjoyed it. So rough! So primal! It felt like we were just so beautiful that you couldn't help yourself." I rubbed the back of my head, trying and failing to hold in a blush. "We want more."

***********

June 25th, 2020

And more is exactly what they got. Always as a pair, at least once a day the two lovers would approach me for a liaison. Far from the frenzied uber-fucking of their first night, Bernie and Claudette seemed to enjoy the slow, passionate stuff. And even though I knew as a fact that all three of my partners were on birth control, the number one thing that ended up whispered in my ears the most, by all three of them no less, was a desire to be bred.

Now, I've already stated that breeding sex was a particular kink of mine, but I'd never actually indulged it before. Always in the past, I had only ever used condoms. I'd never had a girlfriend serious enough to consider having children with, and I could never trust anyone to go in unprotected.

The vaccine had thrown all of that out of the window. Given that it was specifically my sperm that would 're-up' the girls' protection, barrier-based contraceptives were not going to be a feasible thing for the near future. It was almost inevitable that at some point, someone would get pregnant. Especially given the apparent permanence of the pairing process. It was concerning, but one of many things rattling around in the back of my mind for now.

The place of prominence in my concerns had been taken up by Project Deep Depth. Hoshi and I had been emailed the first tentative crew roster for our training platform. One hundred and twenty-five women, paired to twenty-five men, for a full crew complement of one hundred and fifty. Just enough to crew one submarine out of dozens.

Out of twenty-five of the men, only six, including myself, had any experience whatsoever in submarines. Of those six, I was the only one who had his fish, his Submarine Warfare pin. The other five, a Nuclear Electrician third class, a Torpedoman seaman, a Submarine Sonar Technician Seaman, a Fire Control Technician Seaman, and a Nuclear Machinist Mate third class, had all qualified Basic Submarines, but were in various stages of completion for their warfare pins.

This was somewhat of a relief, it meant that the other five surviving bubbleheads weren't completely useless, but it did mean that a lot of the responsibility would fall on me for training and building the crew back up to a mission-ready status. Basic Submarines Qualification essentially meant that these five were able to combat casualties on board the boat, things like fire, flooding, hydraulic ruptures, toxic gas, and nuclear power plant casualties. Unfortunately, things like rigging the ship for dive, hanging maintenance danger or caution tags, corrective maintenance, and underway operations all require the full qualification. Which, for now, meant only me.

Still, I had gotten very lucky. My engineering department, the Reactor Operators, Nuclear Electricians, Nuclear Machinist Mates, and Reactor Laboratory Technicians, were all ready and able to take up in-port reactor operations. Apparently, we still had the vast majority of our aircraft carrier engineering personnel, and they were more than happy to cross-deck over to submarines. Aircraft carriers, like submarines, were unique in the Navy for running on nuclear power.

The practical upshot of this was that these sailors had a far shorter period of training to get through before they could be submariners. Sure, there would be a short familiarization period for them all to adjust to the differences in reactor plant types, but in all other respects, they could keep the reactors safe. In seventy years of Navy nuclear reactor power, the United States Navy had never had a reactor plant incident, and I planned to keep it that way.

Hoshi had thus far deferred to my experience in this, but I had also been explaining the differences in surface and submarine propulsion the entire way. She was able to put the captain's blue ink on every order I drafted. So far, the plan was fairly simple. Teams of nukes would have only nukes on them, that way, when one Team got fully qualified, I could have them permanently transfer to become the crew of another boat. Once they got there, they could stand watch over the reactors until we were able to fill out the tactical half of the crews. Once the nuke Teams were in place, we could continue sending new sailors directly from Navy Nuclear Power Training Command to the boats, to be trained by the senior submariners, as had been the paradigm for the history of the force.

The tactical half of the crew, colloquially called 'coners', would be a far bigger headache. Put simply, the tactics of submarines and the tactics of surface ships are worlds apart. For one thing, stealth really isn't a thing for a surface ship. Wherever they go, they can be clearly seen. A submarine's stock in trade is undetectability. The ability to get in, get out, and no one being the wiser for it.

What that boiled down to was, I would have to train the coners from scratch. But that would come later. First things first, I needed my sailors to be able to fight casualties.

I pushed myself back from my computer, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. A pair of dainty hands started rubbing my shoulders, finding the knots and obliterating them with gentle but firm circles. I groaned in both pain and pleasure, leaning in to my commanding officer. "Hoshi darlin', I'll give you fifty dollars in an hour to quit that."

She giggled, and I could feel the smile creep across my face at the musical sound. "What do you mean? Don't you like my massage? I am putting you to work after all, it's the least I can do."

I groaned again as she found a particularly sore knot. "Just something my grandpappy used to say. It means keep going, and I'll be grateful." I rolled my neck, almost boneless at my darling partner's deft touch.

"Cmon big boy, Bernie made her famous creole jambalaya. We can finish work on this later, we've got a while after all."

My mouth watered. Bernie, bless her, had proven to be an outstanding cook. The past week had been filled with crawdad boil, gumbo, shrimp, and jambalaya, and it had been fantastic every single time. And boy, did Bernie enjoy feeding people. She always smiled the brightest when someone was eating food she had made.

I stood in the kitchen doorway for a bit, just watching her work over the simmering cauldron of Cajun cuisine. She was humming some song or other, swaying her generous hips back and forth as she stirred the big pot with a wooden spoon. I smirked to myself as I started creeping closer, silently easing myself over to her. I reared back a flattened hand, then caught Claudette out of the corner of my eye.

She had her arms crossed, smiling bemusedly at me. As we caught each other's gaze, she rolled her eyes and shook her head at me, silently giggling. I wiggled my eyebrows at her and she blushed prettily before leaning against the door frame.

I turned my attention back to my target, drawing the swing back. Then I let fly, spreading my fingers for maximum sound, minimum impact.

CRACK

Bernie squeaked, moaning throatily as she turned to me, smiling saucily. "Mmmm, that smells amazing, cherie." She arched her ass into my hand, laughing as she spooned up a bite.

"Tell me how it tastes, white boy. Let's see how much spice you can take, eh?" She brought the spoon to my mouth, and I opened wide, letting her essentially pour the zesty sauces past my lips. Hearty, flavorful, and yes, a bit spicy. It was delicious.

I sidled up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, pressing my face into the crook of her neck. She pressed her ass into my crotch, and I groaned in pleasure, both from the stimulation of her plush cheeks, and the absolute delight that was her jambalaya. "Tastes delicious, babe."

She ground her ass into me, hard, as she sighed in my ear. "Me, or the food, lover?" I slowly drug my hands up her thighs, over her hips, across her belly, and up, up, up, just barely grazing the ample mountains of her marvelous mammaries.

"Both? Either? I always love the taste of whatever you have for me." She slapped my hands away half-heartedly, giggling as she started breathing heavily.

"Promises, promises, lover. Mmmmm. I may hold you to that, I've got something hot and ready for you later." I growled into her neck, and she turned in my arms, gasping deeply, her skin hot against mine. I cradled her face in my hands, moving in for a kiss, when there was a knock at the door.

We both groaned in frustration. "Later then, white boy. I'm gonna put good things in you tonight at supper. Afterwards, I expect to be filled with something warm and yummy too." She said as she tugged at my earlobe. With her teeth.

"Hot little minx." I said as she giggled, turning back to the simmering pot, giving her ass a little jiggle as she smirked at me over her shoulder.

I limped over to the door, my cock hardened down the left leg of my shorts. I opened the door only to be met with two familiar faces.

"Well, if it ain't my two favorite hillbillies." And indeed, petty officers Hatfield and McCoy stood at the doorway, their hips cocked and their eyebrows raised. "And what brings you two fine fillies here this sunny afternoon?"

"We got a delivery for you. How some backwoods hick like you keeps getting paired with supermodels, I'll never know." McCoy rolled her eyes as she handed me the clipboard. I scanned the paperwork, skimming over the usual until I found what I was looking for.

"HM1 Pamela Isley?! No way that's your name."

"Iverley actually." I looked up to an absolutely stunning redhead. Her voice had that long, sweet Georgia drawl to it, and it was husky and low. A voice that oozed sex appeal and seduction. Her skin was milk pale, and covered with freckles from her hairline down to the neckline of her shirt. Immediately, I was dying to know just how far down those freckles went.

She was about 5'6, lithe, yet lush. To put it frankly, she was built for sex. A pair of jeans that looked painted on hugged her wide hips, caressed her slender legs, and a pair of heeled ankle boots emphasized the lush curves of a truly generous ass. A thin waist led up to a flat belly, and slight shoulders. But my attention was immediately affixed onto her chest. Her breasts were high, firm, round and massive, denting out the front of her tight top like twin whales surfacing from the ocean for a breath of air. I could feel the air being driven from my lungs at the mere sight of her.

"Your mouth's hangin' open, sugar. My, my, you do know how to make a gal feel appreciated." She laughed. And it was easily one of the top four most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard. She signed her block on the form, the clipboard still in my hand, and her perfume filled my nostrils. Lilac and orchids. Shakily, I signed my own block, handing the clipboard back to the waiting MA's.

"Well, have fun, Chet. Lucky bastard." Hatfield gave me a half assed salute, turned, and walked away.

"Yeah, yeah. Y'all have a good one." Shaking myself out of it, I led Pamela over to the couch, and she gracefully lowered herself onto it like a queen.

"So. Looks like I'll be working for you, handsome."

"I'm guessing you're the ship's Independent Duty Corpsman?" I asked. Not a hard guess to make. A submarine had exactly one medical department personnel on the crew, a hospital corpsman who was qualified to perform surgery without a doctorate.

"Yes, I surely am." Submarine corpsmen were tough as nails. In order to be posted on board a submarine, a corpsman had to be qualified Fleet Marine Forces, which meant that this gorgeous creature had deployed into the sandbox with a Marine Corps unit. She may look like sex on two legs, but that immediately told me that she had greater depths.

"So Marines, huh? How many crayons did you end up pulling out of noses?"

She laughed again. "Noses? Eh, not so much. Had to pump a few stomachs, though. The poor boys just can't stop eating them." She fidgeted in her seat a bit, which started me wondering again.

"If you don't mind me asking, when were you dosed? My second and third partners got here a few days after they got their shots. Let's just say that things... got heated pretty quickly." I hesitated, trying to find a way to put things delicately. "If it hasn't been too long, Bernie has supper cooking."

She smiled at me, the curve of her lips promising wonderful and terrible things. "This morning. We can eat first. Besides, I think you'll need your strength, big boy."

"Oh, yeah?" I leered at her, promising my own not inconsiderable efforts.

"Oh my yes. Robert Heinlein once said that humans may be evolved from apes, but redheads are evolved from cats." And indeed, she gave me a cat's smile. "Have you ever seen cats mate?"

I swallowed the giant lump in my throat, and my cock throbbed. "No, I can't say that I have. Though I think I get what you're saying. Heinlein is one of my favorite authors."

"Mine too."

"Which was your favorite novel?" I asked. It wasn't often I met someone who had even heard of Heinlein, and I was excited to explore that together.

"Podkayne of Mars. Definitely." She smiled. "One of his few female main characters. Plus she's so spunky!"

"I read somewhere that all of his female characters are based on his wife, Virginia. Always thought that was a little romantic. And yeah, poddy has always been one of my favorites." Her green eyes lit up as she leaned in.

"What was your favorite?"

I thought for a minute, there were so many. "I guess Stranger in a Strange Land. It's such an interesting perspective into what makes people tick. Plus, I think Heinlein put a lot of himself into it. It's the most pure, un-diluteded version of his beliefs and views."

We talked for several long minutes, and I could feel myself opening up to the gorgeous redhead. We shared our other favorite authors, and while she wasn't as much of a Blake Conrad fan as I was, she had read most of his books.

She did say that "The Trouble with Werebears" was not his best work. I'll be honest, I never saw what people didn't like about it. I realized that, like every other woman on the team, not only was she heartbreakingly, or 'Hart-breakingly', gorgeous, she was also approachable. Genuine. Someone I could get lost in conversation with for hours.

It was then that our rather intense literary discussion was broken by four of my favorite words. "Come and get it! Supper's ready!"

"Well, c'mon and join us Pam. Bernie made jambalaya." I offered my hand and she took it, standing.

"Sounds delicious!"

********

We sat around the table, the food eaten, our bellies full. "So I guess introductions are in order. Pam, this is my first partner, Lieutenant Hoshi Sato. She's going to be our commanding officer."

Pam waved happily. "Pleasure to meet ya, Hoshi. I get the feeling it's gonna be a pleasure to serve under you."

Hoshi blushed, cutting me a glance. "Oh I like this one, Chet. She's hot and funny."

"Ahem. Moving along, my lead a-ganger, Berniece Beauchamps."

Bernie nodded. "Welcome aboard, doc."

"And finally," I gestured to my brunette beauty. "Claudette Beauchamps, Bernie's lovely wife and my lead torpedoman."

"Welcome to Team Hart, Pammie. I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

Pam smiled, sunnily. "I'm really looking forward to getting to know everyone." She squirmed in her seat, letting out a low grunt. "Speaking of getting to know everyone, Chet, you and I have something to take care of."

"Oh? Oh! Yes, I suppose we do." Needing no further permission, she grabbed my hand, all but yanking me out of the chair. I turned to Hoshi, and she just waved me off, laughing.

"Go on, go on. Go take care of business. Me and the girls will clean up from supper. See you tomorrow, Pam!"

Well, that took care of that. I followed after Pam, all but running through the house. I was transfixed by the play of her gorgeous bubble butt flexing as she hustled along. In a whirl, we finally found ourselves in the master bedroom, where she all but threw me into the bed.

"Chet, I'm gonna be real honest with you. I haven't had a man in a long time. Too long. Hold on to something handsome. You're in for a ride." She started running her hands up her thighs, turning to show me her ass, crammed into her jeans so tightly that I could hear her zipper crying.

As I hurriedly shucked off my shirt and shorts, peeled off my socks, and shimmied out of my boxers, she was slowly raising the hem of her shirt. As the shirt came up, she revealed more and more of the creamy skin above her waistband, her slender back covered in freckles. I groaned low in my throat. "They do go all the way down. My god."

She giggled, throwing her shirt over my face. I wiped it off, tossing it to the side as she started swaying her ass side to side. I watched in rapt fascination as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband, unsnapping the button and sliding the zipper down before slowly, oh so slowly peeling the fabric down off of her globes.

I gripped the sheets hard, restraining myself the best I could as she revealed a green lace thong, emerald like her eyes, then stepped out of her boots and pants. She turned to face me, sliding the straps of her bra down her shoulders, reaching behind her to unhook the catch. She caught the cups in her hands, teasing me with glimpses of her dark red nipples, standing tall from acres of creamy, freckle-speckled flesh.

Finally, she let the offending garment fall to the floor, holding her arms out to the sides, showing herself off. My breath caught in my chest. My cock stood ram-rod straight, a pillar jutting from between my thighs, throbbing with my heartbeat.

She planted her hands on the mattress, prowling towards the head of the bed like a jungle cat. She licked her lips as she swayed her hips back and forth, slinking up my body like sin made manifest. She mounted me, settling my rigid length between the cheeks of her ass as she crushed her tits to my chest. I clasped my hands to her hips as she leaned in to bite my lower lip, before I claimed hers in a soul-searing kiss that curled her toes.

She moaned into my mouth as her tongue slithered past my teeth, wrestling with mine for dominance. She ground her sodden core against me, and I reached up to peel her underwear off of her breeding hips, throwing the soaked lace to the side. She continued to ride her groove along my rod, spreading her copious natural lube along the entire length.

Her breath hitched as my head brushed her sensitive joy button, and her vibrant green eyes, cat's eyes, flashed in pure lust. My head swam, her scent filling the room as I felt the soft, downy fuzz between her legs rub against my lower belly. She slid back, notching my crown against her Heaven's gate, and she sat up in my lap, poised at the very threshold.

She slammed her hips down, taking me to the root before she screamed her orgasm to the heavens like a scalded cat. She fell forward, catching herself on my chest with her hands, and I growled as she sank her nails in, desperately trying to hold on through her priming climax. I held her there for an eternity while she allowed herself to calm down.

Her hips micro-thrusted the entire time, and I growled, gripping her hips as we began to move together in earnest. Slow and steady, in and out, her slick velvet strangling my cock as I throbbed and pulsed deep within her. She dropped hard, and I felt the tip bang against the back of her pussy as I moved my grip up to her tiny waist. She lay flat against me, biting the hollow of my neck as I began to roughly move her gulping pussy up and down my length, faster, harder, rougher.

I palmed her ass cheeks in my hands, using them as handles to lift and drop her onto me, again and again and again. My right middle finger inched closer to her anus, and she moaned in my ear. "Naughty boy! I love it! Stick your finger in, baby, stick it in! Stick it. Stick it. Stick it! OH FUCK!"

I slid the tip in, and she clenched down on me, her hips going bonkers. My balls boiled over, and I dug my heels into the mattress as I drove my hips up, spearing her deep as my back arched off the bed.

I gritted my teeth, caught on the precipice for an interminable eternity, unable to let go, aching to finish. She clamped down on me, and I erupted, spewing my soul into her warm and waiting depths. As my seed splashed her insides, she convulsed around me, screaming her pleasure to the universe. Her orgasm extending my own, drawing out every last ounce of sperm from my balls to be consumed by her greedy pussy.

We collapsed together, and she started mumbling as she lay atop me. "Imprinting... imprinting... imprinting..."

Exhausted, I rolled her onto her side, spooning into her from behind as I slipped off myself.

End chapter 3