I don’t just want to suck his cock, I need
to suck his cock. We haven’t seen each other in two months. The last time we were together, we had just forty-eight hours, and only fucked. This time, I’m flying out to see him. The only thing I can think of is getting his long, hard cock in my mouth—sucking, licking, and swallowing him until he cums.
I need to see the look in his eyes, feel the way his hands grip my hair, run my fingers along his thighs, as he thrusts into me with rough, tense, greedy need.
Unfortunately, I have to wait hours. Long, stressful, horny hours before I can do what I want.
The music filling the car as I drive to the airport doesn’t help. Trent Reznor screaming about fucking me like an animal has created a delicious soup of kinky thoughts in my head. I tap my fingers on the wheel nervously. Even songs that aren’t sexual take on a sexual vibe when I’m listening in this state.
I’m sure, in some way, driving while under the influence of raging hormones is illegal. It certainly has me pressing my foot to the pedal much more firmly than usual, my car obeys without complaint. Twice, I slow down when I realize just how fast I’m going. It seems the only thing keeping the road free of officers is the fact that it’s too damned early in the morning for them to be out this way. All the faux-fun is in the city, twenty miles south.
After what feels like an eternity, I arrive at the airport. The nearest I can park to the terminal is in the long-term lot on the other side of the parking garage. It’s cold outside, the temperature gauge on my dashboard reads five-degrees below freezing, but I really don’t care. When I hop out, I don’t even feel it though I’m wearing a black silk top, a thin, wispy skirt, and strappy heels. I only feel the raging heat powering through my veins.
My unchecked libido has me on the edge of anger. I fling the trunk open, yank out my luggage, and slam it shut. I grab my long, burgundy coat off the passenger seat, and cram it into my bag. It takes me fifteen minutes to hike to the airport doors, the only thing keeping me from soaking my clothes with sweat is the frigid air around me.
My mind is too aware, too clear, and too tense for me to relax as I make my way through check-in and the long security line. As is the usual ritual while in public, men stare, and I smile in return. There must be something about being painfully turned on that gets people’s attention. I wonder if the male body or mind can sense it. Perhaps hormones are nature’s calling card, and even though I don’t mean to, I’m sending out all sorts of lustful signals.
The only thing I’m sensing is my painful need for one man, whose not with me. I’m not sensing any sexual pull to anyone else. Only 600 more miles to go.
Before I board, I send one last text message to ensure he’s in an equally unfair, aroused state. ‘Getting on the plane. Layover is short so I won’t be able to call. I can’t wait to have your cock in my mouth, I can taste your cum already.’ I can’t help but grin with my wicked thoughts as I type it out.
After I send the text, I glance up, only to see an elderly gentlemen staring at me with a smile on his lips. Somehow, the old guy knows. For a fun thrill, I wink at him, and send him a sweet smile.
Being military and first class means I board first, which is pointless. I have the same amount of time before takeoff to broil under my own heat whether I spend my time in a seat on or off the plane.
Throughout flight I'm impatient and tense, it’s more time for me to sit, wait, and think. Think about all the ways I can take his cock. I can kneel, and look up at his dark, brooding eyes, as his cock slides into my throat. Or I can lay on the bed, my personal favorite, and let him work himself into my throat, as he gropes my tits and watches me finger fuck myself. We could 69 together, me on top, my legs spread over him, as he finger fucks me, and sucks my pussy lips, while I frantically work his cock in my hands.
Of all the many ways we can manage it, what I want most of all is to lay on my back and let him work himself into my mouth. Quick, loud, tense, and frantic mouth fucking.
Layover is blessedly short, just enough time to use the bathroom and speed walk to the next gate. The plane is pint-sized, seating less than fifty, there is no first class, only front row seats of equal size. The last flight is a short hop north, not even thirty minutes. By the time he leaves his small room—which he affectionately refers to as his ‘cube of hell’—that he’s been living in on Base, and makes his way to the miniscule airport, I would have arrived.
When we land on the small regional airport runway, right outside the terminal door, I turn my phone on. He sent me a video. I mute my phone, and watch with wide-eyed fascination as his hand shuttles over his cock and he jacks off for me to see. That only makes my craving for him become stronger. I know, though, that his small orgasm didn’t put a dent in his want, because my small orgasm before I left the house didn’t do a damned thing for me, either.
I look out the window and hope to catch a glimpse of him through the tinted terminal glass, but I see nothing. I know he’s there, possibly able to see me. A minute later, I’m hurrying down the steps and making my way across the blacktop. I step inside the terminal gate and smile as I see him. My heart races and I step underneath the security-ribbon to hug him. He’s wearing a thick, warm, coat, and I slink my hands inside.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he says as he leans down to kiss me.
“I’ve missed you, too.” I laugh.
It’s cruel, this part of the trip; waiting at baggage claim where dozens of people stand nearby. For a small airport, with pond hopper flights, it’s surprisingly populated. The military factor keeps the people coming and going. Everyone, except for the baggage handlers.
Leaning against a bricked support pillar, we’re both bristling with irritation. It seems that I’m not the only one who channels unsatisfied sexual energy into anger. He’s more livid than I am.
“Where the fuck are they?” he hisses. “For a goddamn, small ass airport, they sure know how to take their precious, fucking
I laugh, I know why he’s so edgy. It’s painful to stand and wait for something as menial as luggage when all you want to do is the person you’re standing with.
Loud enough for a soldier in uniform next to us to hear, he spits out another insulting line about the inabilities of a small airport. He's a stereotypical, rage bitten soldier, and he's mine. I snuggle into his arms and rake my fingers over his hard cock to give him something else to think about. His hips jolt against my side and my pussy aches from the contact.
His hand tightens around me and he leans down to groan in my ear. “You’re making it worse.”
I smile at him, smug. “I know.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. A moment later, he shifts against the pillar. He leans down a little, spreads his legs, and pulls me in between them, my back against his stomach. He cuddles up to me, opening his coat, and wrapping me in it when he folds his arms across my front.
“Your freezing in that sleeveless top. I told you, it’s a lot colder here,” he scolds loudly.
I laugh quietly and then gasp as I feel his hand drifting inside of his jacket to the waistline of my skirt.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, feeling a bit panicked.
“Whatever I want,” he says in return, a bit of humor in his words.
Nervous, I look around, and see that no one is looking at us. For the first time since I left the driveway, no one is looking at me. It’s because of him. When he’s with me, people can’t look for fear that the tall, thick, burly man with tattoos and scars is going to rip their heads off. I giggle. He wouldn’t harm anyone just for looking, but his appearance certainly puts them on edge, and their eyes stay turned away. With his hand in inside my panties, it gives me a false sense of privacy. I relax against him.
“That’s right, we’re invisible,” he assures me.
Slowly, he slides his hand down through the narrow line of curled hair. Teasing me, he skims his fingers over my aching clit. I’m so wet, his fingers slip easily. He rests his chin on the top of my head and slowly eases his fingers further down, between the swollen folds of my pussy. His effort is so slow, I feel like I’m being scorched with need; it’s like an acid eating through my skin.
I bite my lip and look down at the squares of tile at my feet. I try to act casual, but it’s impossible to do that when his fingers work inside of me and his palm grazes my clit. When my body jolts, his hold on me is so firm, I can’t move.
Worried that someone’s watching, I look around again, but everyone is standing, submerged in their own little worlds of books, cellphones, and casual chatter. They couldn’t see anything even if they were looking, his thick coat hides any movement he makes. We look like two, tired, weary travelers, standing as we wait for the baggage gate to rise.
With my hands wrapped around the fabric of his thick sleeves, I press my cheek to his upper arm, and give in to the sensation of his rough, thick fingers against my smooth flesh. He maintains a slow, steady pulse as he thrusts his fingers in and out, his palm pressing firmly to my clit with a heavy pressure.
Quietly, he says, “You feel so fucking good, inside and out.”
His voice is soft and sexy, his breath warm over my ear. I feel his cock jump against my back, the heat of him soaks through the thick fabric of his jeans. I keep my hands against his arms, fighting the urge to reach behind me, free his cock, and stroke him. It’s difficult to restrain myself, I have to constantly think of that fact that people are around us.
I tighten the walls of my cunt around his fingers with a rhythm. His body quakes with silent laughter that makes me smile. I bite my lip, and struggle to stay quiet as he increases the pressure on my clit. Now that a smile has broken on my lips, I can’t recollect my straight face. I bury my face into one sleeved arm as he curls his fingers and strokes inside with short, steady thrusts.
My smile fades when he shifts his hand and presses the pad of his thumb against my clit, stroking up and down. I’m pushed into an orgasm with the sensation and I tense my muscles to keep it from being quite so strong. My hips buck without permission and I shift my feet to conceal the movement as one of casual discomfort. One of the few times in my life I don’t want an orgasm to be intense, loud, and blinding.
He laughs audible as he slips his hand from my skirt and discretely readjusts my clothes. “See, whatever I want,” he whispers before saying, “Warmer now?” loud enough for the soldier next to us to hear.
“Yes, I am warm, nice and toasty. Thanks babe.” I chuckle as I turn and pop up on my toes to kiss him.
Minutes later, the luggage gate rises. We watch as a lone man in a uniform and gloves drops each piece through the opening and onto a slanted counter. In such a small airport, nothing is automated. When my suitcase is finally hoisted into place, I step toward it.
He grips my arm and narrows his eyes at me when I turn to him. “What are you doing?” he asks, he’s mildly irritated.
Laughing, I step aside and let him grab it. I forgot how domineering he can be.
Just before we step out the door, he stops walking, slips off his coat, and drapes it over my shoulders. “I told you to wear a coat,” he scolds.
I grin. “I wasn’t cold.”
He rolls his eyes at me, not at all interested in my flimsy excuse. “Didn’t you at least bring a coat?”
I nod, laughing. There’s something about the gruff nature of his care and concern that always makes me want to push his buttons all the time, just to see his reactions. I wrap my hands around his arm as we step outside, it is frigid. My skirt flutters in the wind like a flag. Now that the heat of my need has dimmed a small bit, I feel the cold. The wind whips through my hair, sending my long strands high into the air. I don’t know how he can do it with his high-and-tight military haircut.
The drive back to his room is long, and as we wait at a second stop light he raps his knuckles on the steering wheel impatiently. I smile as I watch him, the sharp jut of his jaw, the light stubble on his chin and cheeks. He didn’t shave, just for me. My quiet staring makes him uncomfortable, I know it does, but I can’t help it.
He glances at me. “What?”
I twist in my seat and slide my hand under his coat, find the top of his jeans, and undo the snap. He says nothing as he shifts his hips so I can draw down the zipper and loosen his jeans enough to pull his cock free.
He hardens under my touch as I wrap my fingers around him and stroke him. I trail my fingers over the tip each time I bring my hands to the top. It’s not enough friction and heat to get him off, but I can tell by the way he grips the drive shaft of his car that he appreciates the attention I’m giving him. He scowls at the road as he struggles to focus on his driving while I work him.
The car comes to a stop at another light. “Card.”
“What?” I slow my stroke.
He gives me an exasperated roll of his eyes. “The gate. Your card.”
Regretfully, I stop stroking his cock and let go. He leans back in his seat and tucks himself away, sort of, it’s a bit difficult to manage with how hard he is. I’ll pay for the hand-tease later, and the idea thrills me.
Sighing, I reach for my purse, pull out my wallet, and hand him my identification card. Minutes later, we pull to gate, and the guard takes a moment to scan our cards before permitting us on Base.
As soon as we’re clear of the main road, he revs his engine and accelerates.
“Don’t speed,” I chide him in the tone he always cautions me with.
He says nothing, his face is tense as he heads straight for the barracks. He can’t wait, but he has to. We both have to. Once there, he’s quick to park, and he skips his usual routine of backing into the space. He steps out, slams his door, speed walks around the front of the car, and opens my door for me. He takes my hand in his with a firm hold, and looks around the lot as we head to the back entrance of the building.
I laugh at his prickling tension. I know exactly what he doesn’t want: people. He doesn’t want someone to see us, say hi, and make small talk while we’re on the way up to his room.
We forgo the elevator and take the stairs. All the while, he has a death grip on my hand as if I’m going to dig a hole and hide if he lets go. Either that, or he’s holding my hand so I can’t misbehave and try to take him in the stair well like I did once before at a doctor’s office.
When he peeks around the door into the long hall where his room is, and sees no one, he breathes a sigh of relief. We make our way down the long hall, tiptoeing. His hands shake as he pulls out the keycard for his room and he has to swipe it twice before the light turns green.
Before the door closes behind us, his hands grip the hem of my top. I lift my arms in the air and he pulls it up and off of me, tossing it to the floor. A moment later, my bra joins my shirt, and he tries to push me onto the bed. I brace my legs against the edge of the bedframe, keeping myself upright with my fingers inside the waistband of his jeans.
“No. Me first,” I tell him as I work to undo his zipper.
He tries to push my hands away. “I need to fuck you.”
He’s underestimating how much I want his cock in my mouth. “You can, after I taste you.” I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to make this into a real fight.
Smiling, he relents and lifts his hands in the air like a criminal caught in the act.
I pull down his zipper and slide his jeans down. The moment his cock is free, I bend over and wrap my lips around it, gripping his thigh with one hand and working his shaft with the other as I suck and swallow greedily.
“Shit,” he hisses, his hands work through my hair and he thrusts his hips.
I feel elated. Relaxing my throat, I loosen my tongue, and take him all the way in. I let go of his shaft and only work him only with my mouth. Soon, he takes over, thrusting his hips to drive himself into me long and deep.
At this moment, if he cums, I’ll be perfectly content. We can fuck, make love, and have sex later. Right now, though, it’s him against a window with his cock in my mouth, and me feeling like I’ve won a prize.
His hands grip my shoulders and he forcefully pushes me away. My mouth makes a popping sound as the head of his cock breaks free from my wet lips. He grabs my bicep, pulls me up, and spins me around. In two steps, I’m against his dresser, and my skirt and is shoved down to the floor. The clothes that are piled on top are shoved off onto the floor with one sweep of his arm.
Then, he stops. My heart thuds in my chest and I’m breathless, suddenly nervous to find what’s stopped him.
“Did you wear those?” he asks, his voice is lost.
“Did you wear those?”
“Your panties. I can see through them. Did you wear those on the plane?”
I don’t know whether wearing my new lacey pair of white panties thrills him, or disturbs him, but I wriggle my butt a little in the air regardless. “I did.”
He spanks my ass hard enough to make my whole body jiggle. The sensation ripples through me, turns me on more. I rest my cheek on the dresser top and reach behind me, slipping my fingers in the elastic of my panties, and wriggle them off my hips. When my ass is bare, he smacks it again.
Then, he drives his fingers inside my pussy, deep and frantic. I’m unbelievably wet, his entire hand is soaked with my juice by the time he drives his cock inside me with a single, deep, hard thrust.
His hands grip my hips as he thrusts inside me. The dresser jolts and slams into the wall again and again. With his hands still on my hips, he leans forward, pressing my bared tits onto the hard surface beneath me. I arch my back, lifting my ass a little in the air, grinding back against him. My panties dig into my ankles as the fabric is stretched tight and my heel slip on the smooth floor below.
The elastic digging into my skin, the edge of the dresser cutting into the bones of my hips; I don’t care about any of it. It’s been too long since I’ve had him inside me, and it’s heavenly.
My legs begin to ache, I feel like I’m going to buckle underneath him. It’s a good thing the dresser is there, I wouldn’t be able to hold myself up.
Griping my wrists with his hands, he leans back, pulling my arms tight. I try to look behind me, to see him, but my hair covers my eyes. Annoyed, I flip it out of the way, desperate, now, to look in his eyes. He’s close to cumming, I don’t want to miss the blissful look in his eyes as his jaw tightens and his teeth clench together.
Over the curve of my shoulder, I can see the veins in his neck bulge. His skin is flushed with heat, his eyes are tight, and his mouth is open slightly. He looks enraptured as he watches his cock work in and out of my pussy.
He wraps one hand around both of my wrists, the other slides across my back to grip the dip of my waist as he quickens his pace. His thumb works into the sensitive pressure point of my lower back, sending a shocking, sour tang through my muscles. I groan from the electric sensation.
“Fuuuck,” I whimper.
With a smirk, he swats my backside again, and then drives himself into me with fierce determination. “You like that?”
I gasp while closing my eyes, taking in the sensation of his cock, so solid, driving into me, hitting a sweet spot deep inside. “Fuck yes,” I manage to say, my voice heavy with a sexual grit.
He swats my ass. “I’ve missed this.” He tightens his grip on my wrists. “You under my hands, the way your pussy feels around my cock. Tight, wet and fucking amazing.” He lets out harsh, abandoned groan. “It’s like silk.”
His voice, bold and lustful, and his erotic words, melt me. I force myself to look at him when my body slips into another orgasm. The piercing, intense look in his eyes makes everything blur as he cums deep inside me. I can see him fight the urge to roll his eyes back and fade away with the sensation, but he keeps them open, and on me; it makes me smile. Through the jolts of his orgasm, he gives a pleasured smirk in return.
Breathless, sweating, and legs shaking, we make our way to his bed. It’s small, a twin, and there’s just enough room for us to lay together on top of the covers. With my head in the crook of his arm, my back pressed to his stomach, and one of his legs slipped between mine, we drift off to sleep.
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