Northern France – November 12th, 1918

Captain Eric Wade descends from the skies, the cool autumn air rushing past as a patch of open field guides him home.

Evening falls over the countryside, far away from the front lines sitting silent now that the armistice is signed.

Eric’s engine rumbles, the signature sound of a solo biplane returning with little to celebrate but the feeling of touching down. Leather gloves give it some throttle, the wooden body shaking upon landing before stopping short of an empty hangar.

From the corner of his eye, he notices a mechanic, surprised to find anyone lingering around this time of day.  Eric hops out, his leather boots hitting the ground. With gloves in hand, he gives them a twist, his face sporting a curious grin.

Mya rounds the propeller, more concerned with the smell of burning oil than anything. Suspenders hug her shoulders and chest, waist and hip, brown pants outlining her impossibly containable hips. Wavy hair is tied back in a floppy hat, blue eyes guiding her thoughts.

The propeller is fine. There aren’t any leaks. The headers need some love, though so does Mya after six long months in the field.

Back in Massachusetts, she would help her father in his motor repair shop. It came naturally for Mya to work on the airframe assembly lines when the war broke out. After tiring of the routine, Mya answered the call for a shortage of mechanics repairing tired engines in the field, keeping their boys in the air. She was good at building engines. She’s better at fixing them. She could use a little fine-tuning herself.

Mya abruptly finds Eric’s eyes, her brow rising at the sight of him before resuming. “Captain.” Her voice is formal and light, a soothing sound compared to the grumble of pistons at seven thousand feet.

Eric removes his cap, offering a nod. “Ma’am.”

Mya arranges her tools. “I’m not an officer, Captain. You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Normally, she would carry on with her business, hoping the pilot would bugger off. It’s his accent that catches her. The good Captain isn’t European.

“No formalities,” Eric admits. He watches, his eyes following her every move, spying on the curves of her chest. The coverall material is sturdy, but by the way it shakes with every step, he can tell that what lies beneath is soft.

Mya places tools on the wing. When she notices the smirk on his face, she has the sudden urge to slap it off, yet kiss him all same time.

He’s handsome. Cocky, but handsome. The boots make him slightly taller than Mya, but it’s his relaxed demeanor, the curved shoulders leading to a narrow waist that provides a map for her imagination.

“If you’re not Miss Ma’am, then what’s your name?”

“Mya.” Simple as that.

“Mya, Ms. Mechanic” Eric jests, offering a helping hand as she hops onto a wing, watching the quick shake of a cloth bra underneath that barely holds her sturdy.

Mya retains his hand, a look at his stupid, handsome face. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Eric.”

“Captain Eric.”

Mya squats on the wing to keep from bumping the one above, eventually sitting, Eric continuing to claim her hand.

He rubs his fingers over Mya’s, watching her face, prepared for retribution. He wants to ask the question: ‘Should I leave?’ or ‘Do the other pilots give you this much trouble?’ but he fears the answer. For now, let him capture Ms. Mya Mechanic.

“I have work to do, Captain Eric.” Mya allows him to thumb her knuckles, adjusting her hips as a light tingle races from her fingertips to her chest, her nipples becoming stubbornly stiff.

“You can’t do it with me?”

Mya huffs a chuckle, looking away, her fingers responding to Eric’s touch. She looks directly at him, eyes leering. “No. You can’t do it with me.”

“Can I watch?”

Mya laughs, contained with a free hand. She attempts to escape Eric’s touch, but he keeps her close. She laces her fingers with his, feeling him inch forward, his eyes tracing her round, pretty face. “No Pilots and No Voyeurs. Can’t you read the signs?”

This is a terrible idea. Let go of the Captain. Send him on his way. Eric has to be the thousandth pilot she’s seen. None of them, though, no matter what they’ve said when calling after her, have captured her like Eric does with her hand right now.

‘Ugh. Fuck it.’

Mya sits on the wing, sliding to him, her legs dangling. Eric commands beautiful, brown eyes. His hands are surprisingly soft. The cool, autumn night seems absent as Mya warms from chest to thigh, her toes tingling though it’s not from the cold. Mya removes her hat to reveal brunette hair that, six months ago, sat as a cute bob beside her cheeks.

Eric turns Mya’s hand over, tracing his fingertips on welcoming, soft skin. He smirks at his own desperate attempt to keep Mya. “No. I can’t read.”

An irritated groan escapes Mya, snatching her hand from his teasing touch. “Can you at least take a hint?”

Eric isn’t dissuaded, stealing her other hand, satisfying his desire to touch Mya. He feels her slide to him. “Can you?” He holds Mya’s open palm to his lips, slow kisses against her fingers, hand, and wrist.

Mya’s hips adjust when Eric pulls her against him, the right words to make him leave forming in her mind, but the wrong thoughts dominate. She reaches out, sliding her fingers along Eric’s scarf.

Eric savors Mya’s fingers through his hair, into his jacket, gripping the muscles she senses beneath.

There isn’t any way around it. There aren’t any words or fight left in them. Although both wished for more ceremony on such an historic evening, Eric and Mya’s patience wanes.

Mya’s mouth is hot, the pent-up burning within her released in excited breaths. She allows Eric the liberty to cup her breasts, touch her face, and lick her neck. She feels stranded, out on a wing, a quick and slender hand gripping Eric’s belt.

‘Insult him. Do something to make him remember you.’ These thoughts are silenced when she feels Eric climbing onto the wing after her, the biplane tilting from his added weight. Mya loses the suspenders, tosses her shirt, and lays on the wing as her eyes never leave Eric’s.

He’s chasing her, no doubt, his shirt absent, a firm and muscular body sliding over her.

Mya arches her back, Eric’s greedy hands sliding under the cloth bra, his mouth tracing from belly to breast, nipple to neck.

Eric does a horrible job attempting to be rid of her bra, causing Mya to laugh from the rush of it all. Her continued breathing tells Eric that he’s doing it right, though, especially how he tugs her pants and panties down with a single, firm pull. Eric climbs between her legs, Mya’s poor thighs unable to spread further than the crumpled clothes around her ankles will allow.

Mya hauls Eric down to her, their mouths locked. The sound of Eric freeing his pent-up cock causes her blue eyes to close, her wet pussy aching for his touch, any touch, a smile forming when he playfully rubs himself against her.

Eric takes Mya, right there on the wing, the sensation more intense than being chased at five hundred feet.

They should both say something intelligent or sweet, witty or funny, but they just hold on.

Mya grips the craft, Eric holding onto her round hips as they desperately take what they need.

Eric’s cock is solid, the pace of their sex increasing as Mya’s wet pussy encourages him, the sounds of her passion echoing.

Mya’s watches him, her teeth pressed together. “Don’t stop! Right there!” she gets out. Her enthusiasm pushes Eric. “Harder!”

“Who’s there!?” someone shouts, Mya and Eric abruptly freeze like adolescents caught stealing.

Mya looks back, Eric silently holding Mya. They’re a terrible sight, these two, Eric’s throbbing cock trapped in Mya, her heart pounding beneath silent breath.

Footsteps scoff the dirt for a moment or two, eventually fading.

Mya looks to Eric, her desire for him unending. “We should get out of here.” Her fingertips and soft eyes trail Eric’s abs. “Let’s go.”

***

What they are about to do in Mya’s apartment isn’t any secret. She and Eric hardly spoke while walking in the night, their thoughts the same.

Entering, Mya wastes no time. Any shy reservations she should have about bringing a strange man home are crushed by her careless burn for him.

Eric removes his uniform top, tossing it aside as Mya kicks her pants down, sliding onto her bed wearing only a thin bra. He can’t help noticing, but four scarves hang, one atop the other, on Mya’s vanity. Blue and red, yellow and black, they dangle past her makeup and perfume. One French and another Italian. A Russian followed by a Brit. 

Eric thinks, laying his white, American scarf on the cushioned stool.

The sight of Mya kneeling on the bed, watching him, is a direct way of her asking Eric to return. ‘Come to me, baby,’ it says.

Eric mounts the bed, standing tall, gripping his throbbing cock as he slides it into Mya’s warm mouth.

Mya eagerly sucks, stroking Eric, bobbing her head at the sound of Eric’s satisfaction. Sucking cock is Mya’s guilty pleasure, even more so when she gets her mouth fucked like Eric is doing now. His hands are in her hair, his cock rhythmically sliding on her tongue. It’s fantastic. Mya reaches between her legs, rubbing her clit, spreading her lips at the thought of Eric deep inside of her. Her passion burns too bright. This isn’t enough.

Mya pops Eric’s cock out of her mouth, turning around to spread her legs, holding onto the bedframe. The feeling of Eric’s strong hands gripping her ass causes her head to roll.

Eric positions himself between her legs, massaging every inch of Mya’s ass. “I want to take my time with you.”

Mya’s reply is instant, her breath nearly absent. “Please don’t.”

Eric doesn’t need to be told twice, he obeys orders. He gently works his way into Mya, an indistinguishable word escaping when he takes her, feeling plush cheeks work side to side, forward and back until Eric’s hips touch hers.

“Come on, baby,” she says with clenched teeth. Mya grips the metal frame, her hips rotating. “Fuck me!”

Eric sets his frustrations free, gripping Mya’s ass as he focuses on the ripple it makes with every slap of his thrust. His cock tightens, his body tense as he fucks away, giving Mya what she wants, taking what he needs. Eric keeps up a great rhythm, pushing Mya to the edge.

Mya’s eyes close tight, her mouth open for something more eloquent than what she screams: “I’m cumming! Oh, fuck, I’m cumming!”

Eric feels her twitch in his hands, Mya’s body shaking as he remains firmly pressed inside of her.

“There she is,” Eric says after in a deep breath, feeling her shake. “Cum. There’s my good girl.”

***

Mya sits alone, legs hanging off the back of a truck in the early dawn, eyes flicking to Eric’s silent plane which now has a cracked wing strut. She drinks warm coffee in silence, Eric’s white scarf around her neck.

Mya can still hear his words. “We can leave,” he said, a simple declaration. Mya looks over as though he’s sitting next to her, feeling his mind on the idle biplane. “Today. Right now. They’ll scuttle her anyways, Mya. The war’s over, so there’s nothing left for me here.”

Mya looks to the plane, Captain Eric Wade having shipped for America as ordered. She mouths her thought in a whisper. “I can leave.”