His barked command startles me. “Private Whitehead!”

I stand to attention, saluting. “Major, Sir.”

“At ease.”

Relaxing my shoulders, I drop my hands behind my back. Puff my chest. Wait. The army regulation tan tee is tight against my pecs, heart thudding behind it.

“Follow me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The major walks like time is his enemy. I keep pace, one step back as we exit the quarters and stride up the wide path alongside the manicured lawn to the red brick building opposite. He holds the door and I step in, the air cooler than the late spring sun, then follow him down the corridor to his office at the far end.

It’s not as tidy as I expect. Papers and files, some open, lie strewn on his desk. Box files are stacked in front of the bookcase, their contents spewing. Post-its and pinned string mark areas of the map on the far wall. The room gives an air that he's not quite in control. Like he’s always in the middle of something.

Major Cox sits and indicates the seat opposite his desk. Functional rather than comfortable, I take it with trepidation. A recurring joke on base is that it's just for show, as nobody has ever been asked to sit in it. That worries me.

He rearranges a few dossiers, selects one and slides it towards himself, unwinding the treasury tag that secures its contents. Opens it. Leafs through a few pages. I catch sight of my file photo paperclipped to the first one.

“You're an impressive young man, Private Whitehead.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I've been reviewing candidates for a special mission. Asking around too. Your name came up a few times.”

“Mission, Sir?”

Setting the file aside, he leans back and steeples his fingers, rocking a few degrees side to side in his chair. “It's off-base. Minimum six weeks. That a problem?”

“No, Sir.”

“Any tac experience?”

“Only training. Not in combat. Last time I wore tactical gear was probably when I gave my cat some medicine, Sir.”

Cox smiles. “That's misuse of army equipment, Private.”

“It's a joke, Sir.”

“I know.” He pauses to think. “Not a problem. It may not come to that, and if it does, you can stay back a way.”

“What is the mission, Sir?”

He breathes out like he’s weighing up how much to reveal. “Clandestine. High profile targets. Recon and information gathering, primarily. You'll probably need to…” he glances out the small, barred window and I follow his gaze, “persuade a few people.”

I snap my full attention back to the room when he does. Clear my throat. “This official?”

He forms a straight line with his lips. “Who are you again?”

“Understood.”

“That a problem?”

I swallow. “No, Sir.”

“Good. You'll need a physical first. Purely a formality, I'm sure, but the unique characteristics of the mission require some specific tests and training. Check in with the nurse and meet us back here at twenty-one hundred for a briefing.”

I stand. Salute. Turn and leave, stomach churning. Major Cox is not the kind of guy you say no to. He has this presence. Besides, he's good to the guys who help him out. Privileges and stuff. It's an honour to be chosen for… whatever this mission is. But I can't help the apprehension nibbling away as I return to the outer door and stride into the sunshine.

I skirt the lawn, head past K Block and turn the corner towards the low slung, red brick rectangle that houses the base medical facility. The main entrance faces the mess hall. I press the access plate, the door swings open and I step inside, wrinkling my nose at the faint hint of antiseptic.

The sterile atmosphere strengthens the further I venture, peeping into each of the examination areas off the main corridor, boots squeaking on the linoleum. There's no sign of Gem, our head nurse. The boys informally call her Cupcake owing to her buxom figure and motherly physique, even though she's barely into her thirties. Nor can I spot Raj, our physio, usually found dishing out his brand of self-deprecating dry humour as he massages tired muscles after a day of training.

In the fifth bay along, I pick up scuffling movement. Someone rummaging in a drawer. I start to peel back the curtain. “Hey, Cupcake, the major says I’m to repor…”

It's not Gem.

Not even close.

Bent over, facing away from me, I have an eyeful of heeled, bare legs leading up to a short, white skirt, before she stands and turns at my intrusion. I try to stop my jaw from dropping. Fail to stop my cock stirring.

She’s late twenties, maybe. Chestnut hair pinned up to prevent it falling around what's squeezed into a crisp white tunic, a green cross on the breast pocket. A white beret bearing the same emblem is perched on her head. The whole outfit looks like it came from a fancy dress shop in a packet labelled Naughty Nurse.

Unlike Gem, she's not had her lips enhanced, and they curl into a natural half smile. Like she's used to the reaction, and comfortable with it. “Private Whitehead, I presume?”

All I can do is nod. 

Her gaze sweeps my full length and rests on my straining crotch outlined in the khakis. She bites her lip. “At ease, privates.”

My cheeks colour. “I…” Nothing seems adequate, so I stop.

Her appraisal continues. Stomach. Pecs. Eyes. “I'm Veronica. Roni if you prefer, but I'm sure you'll all come up with your own playful nickname. That's how it works, right?” The golden brown flecks in her eyes glint with mischief in the diffuse strip lighting. “Let's take a look at you.”

She begins pacing. Circling, heels clicking and dulled by the curtain behind me. Her stare is like some laser, heating whatever part of me it lands on. She takes her time behind me and I presume she's checking out the muscles in my ass packed into the regulation trousers. I find my voice. “Where's Gem?”

“Her and Raj have a few days off while I conduct these physicals. The Major called me in for my expertise at preparing you for this mission.”

“What type of expertise?”

She ignores the question. Continues circling like I'm some sort of prey. Stops in front of me. “I love a guy who fills his combats.”

It's unnerving. “Is this…? This for real?”

She flicks me a grin. “Absolutely.”

“Oh. The Major mentioned tac gear and I took ‘persuade’ to mean the meet my friend Mr Uzi variety.”

She appraises me once more. Another long sweep from head to foot and up again. “There are tactical elements and you will engage enemies like that. But you may need to improvise. Try a more… delicate form of persuasion.”

“Delicate,” I repeat.

Veronica slides hands up her curves, over the swell of her perfectly round tits filling the uniform, and pauses at the second button of her tunic. Undoes it.

“Delicate.”

I bugeye at her cleavage, a second before she swings her elbow up under my jaw. Instinct kicks in and I dodge the blow but my momentum turns me side-on and she follows up by pouncing on my back, powerful thighs wrapping my waist, arm snaking around my throat in a choke hold.

“Tha’s not delicka’,” I manage to squawk as she tightens her grip. Her chest mashes into the back of my skull. Under normal circumstances the cushion would be welcome but not when I'm fighting for breath.

She leans down to my ear and growls, “Want me to let go? Persuade me.”

My mind races. I can't speak to reason with her so I do the only thing available to me. I spin and crash sidelong into a filing cabinet and her grip falters enough for me to grab her arm and release the choke hold, gasping. She doesn't give up easily, thighs still gripping my waist, and we thrash left and right, spinning, limbs flailing, knocking into medical equipment, the bed, a trolley.

Lumbering backwards across the corridor, I slam us against the opposite wall, knocking the wind out of her. She releases my hips enough for me to spin and pin her to the plasterboard. We stare at one another from a few inches apart, breathing heavily, and she huffs, “Don't let your guard down for a second. This is the kind of opposition you’ll face.”

She brings her knee up between my legs. Not hard, but enough to demonstrate I had left myself open. Her expression hardens. “It’s not like any other mission. You’re trained to protect your head. But this time… this time you also need to think with your little head.” She traces a fingertip over my swelling length. “Which isn't so little, it seems.”

Her breath plays across my lips and she flicks her eyes up to meet mine. “Tell me, soldier boy. Does this type of combat turn you on? Hmm? A strong woman holding everything that makes you macho in her palm? Rubbing it like this. Making it all hard and needy for me.”

I say nothing. Don't need to. She knows the effect it's having.

“And what about the outfit? Does that work for you? Wouldn't you like to unpin this little hat? Let my hair cascade over my tits in this tight clothing? Bunch my locks in your fist and whip my head up? Crush your lips to mine?”

I drift my mouth towards her ear. “This is an unorthodox physical. Are you sure you're qualified?”

Trailing her hand from my member up to my chest, her palm massaging one pec through the thin material, she turns her head a fraction. Brushes her ear against my lips. “More than qualified.” Her knee creeps higher, connecting more firmly with my hard crotch, and she grinds it. An involuntary breath escapes me.

“Veronica…”

“Yes, Private?”

I don't speak. Just breathe as she eases her face alongside mine. “Want to know something else?” Her breath shifts, playing across my ear lobe, voice hushed. “I've got no panties on under this little dress.”

Another half-exhalation betrays me. “You're the sort of woman my mother warned me about.”

Her smile is detectable beneath her words. “Your mother doesn't know the half of it.”

I dare to drift my palm to her bare thigh where the dress has ridden. Creep it up, creasing the shiny fabric. She strokes over my pec and continues down to meet my hand. Stops my advance. “You want what's underneath?” Her tongue flashes against my ear. “Persuade me.”

Neither of us move. My heart thumps alongside hers. “This part of the training?”

Her knee grinds harder against my straining cock and balls. “You bet. You manage to persuade me and I'll show you nothing is private about me, Private.”

I ease my head away from hers. Enough that we can comfortably make eye contact, and I go to move my hand. She captures my wrist. Holds me, grip firm. Sends me a warning with her knee, sharply enough that I wince.

Whatever I do needs to be fast or she’ll be able to cause me real pain. Using her grip as leverage, I push out of harm’s way and as she unbalances, I twist free and snake my hand to her throat. Her head bangs against the plaster and her eyes widen, lips forming a dirty grin.

My other hand takes her hip. Possessive. Crawls lower over the fabric to brush bare skin. Glides inward. Upward, bunching the material and I cup her pussy.

She's slick, little thatch tickling my palm, and I rest two fingers along her cleft. My voice is a low growl. “How's this for persuasion?”

I curl my fingertips and slot them between her wet folds. Ease inside and she gasps around my chokehold. Nods. “Very… persuasive.”

Spurred on, I tighten my grip around her throat and slip deeper into her snatch, crooking my fingers from the inside to press her clit captive against my palm. Her mouth drops open. “Ohhh.”

My lips find hers, cutting off the drawn-out vowel, tongue invading. She responds and I rock inside her pussy, bumping nerve endings she obviously likes. Her hips roll against my palm, and I finger her. Hard. 

When our lips part, she takes advantage of my momentary lapse in concentration, and twists away.

My fingers slip free with an obscene squelch but she only gets as far as a quarter turn before I recover and shove her face first against the wall, my forearm on her neck. “Nice try.”

Hiking the dress roughly up, her bare bottom slips into view. Such a beautiful peach. I issue a sharp slap and firm in my combats as it echoes down the corridor with her groan. “Ohh, yehhh.”

I follow it up with another, kick her legs apart and re-burrow two fingers into her dripping snatch. With my mouth near her ear, I take the opportunity to urge her on. “You like the rough stuff, do you, sugar?”

She nods as best she can.

“Is this persuasive enough for you?”

“Very.”

“Because, y’know, I can be,” I dig deeper, pull out, lick my fingers right by her ear, spank her and return my digits to her sopping box, “more persuasive if you'd like?”

She groans again, presumably as the heat of the handprint on her butt dissipates.

“No. It's good. You're persuasive enough.”

“Good.” I lick her ear. “What do you want, Veronica?” I pick up speed, sawing my fingers in and out of her slit in sync with her gasps.

“To… to cum.”

“Is that right? And what makes you think you deserve it after your little stunt earlier?”

She wiggles her hips to try and encourage me, but each time, I pull back a little to tease only her entrance.

“I deserve it. I can… be good.”

“Talk is cheap. You'll need to demonstrate it.”

“God. Keep that up and I w—” She gasps. “Won't be able to talk.”

I pull back. Ease my fingers forward over her wet mound and capture her clit, circling it at her obvious delight. My lips dust her ear. “So tell me. Who am I going to face on this mission? Major didn't give me much intel.”

Veronica steels. Breathes deep. “I can't… can't tell you that yet.”

“That's a shame.” I pull out and she hisses for me to return my fingers. Instead, I spank her exposed cheeks, alternating until they both glow. Then shove my fingers back inside her and punctuate each thrust with a word. “What. Is. The. Mission?”

She stays quiet, besides the laboured breathing that indicates her looming climax, so I wet my thumb in her juices and slip it up between her rosy cheeks. Push inside and growl, “Mmm, your tight ass is gonna look so good with my cock in it.”

“Oh ffuuuck.” A flash of fear registers. “Okay okay. It's Jared Peterson.”

I pause. “The Jared Peterson? The media tycoon?”

“Mmhmm. He beefed up his security detail.”

“And?” I rock my fingers and thumb and Veronica gasps.

“And he's bought the services of the White Foxes.”

“Never heard of them.”

Her panting increases, hips rocking against my dual invasion. She emits a breathy moan. “Don't stop. Please.”

I stop. She whimpers. Huffs. “Okay, fine. They're an elite all-female assassin troupe. Deadly.”

“Ahh, hence the specialist training.”

She nods. Shuts her eyes and rolls her hips. “Please, Private.”

“What?”

Her teeth catch her lower lip. “Let me cum. I'll make it worth your while.”

I ease my thumb clear and she sighs. “No, uhh… leave it in there.”

My stubble brushes her cheek, breath in her ear. “Filthy minx.”

Re-wetting my thumb in her leaking pussy juices, I worm it back into her tight behind and rock my hand to work both holes. Her moans intensify, teeth gritting. “Yeah. Like that. Ffuuuck.”

I bite her ear. “You filthy little cunt. You gonna cum for me?”

She nods and I increase the pressure of my arm against her neck. Pick up speed inside her until her gasps peak and she shakes against the wall, eyes drifting shut as she rides out the orgasm that winks around my buried digits.

I relax my grip and she breathes hard, letting the moment unwind before fluttering her lids open. I expect the first post-orgasmic act to be some form of thanks or at least acknowledgement, but instead, like some medical-clad sensei, she flicks her heel up between my legs and taps my bollocks. “Protect the jewels at all costs.”

Letting her go, I step away before she can cause any actual damage. She turns and wiggles her hips, tugging the uniform back into some form of decency. Her hat is a little wonky and telltale juices still glisten on her thighs. She flashes a knowing smirk. “Never get so swept up in events that you lose sight of the enemy.”

“Noted.” I lift my fingers to my nose and make sure she watches as I inhale deeply. Her eyes widen, taking me in. All of me. Top to bottom. Then middle where the bulge strains my combats. She traces her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. 

“What are you packing under there, soldier?”

Her heel clicks as she takes a step forward. I playfully take a corresponding step back. “I thought as a medical professional you might know the answer to that.”

Another heel click. Another step back, my arm brushing the curtain that surrounds the closest bed. She smiles. “You mean the process of sensory stimulation that relaxes the muscles of your corpora cavernosa, allowing the spongey mass to fill with blood, trapped by the system of valves, thus causing an,” she raises her hand in front of her and lifts her index finger clear of the others, “erection.”

I nod. She steps forward, I retreat, maintaining the distance, and she eyes me. “Or are you more interested in the process of arousal? The neural pathways that ignite the RAS, the amygdala, the hypothalamus, and release a potent cocktail of hormones in response to,” she unbuttons the third fastener of her tunic, cleavage appearing to swell, “external stimulus?”

My mouth dries and I swallow. “You know your stuff.”

I take half a pace back and nudge the bed when her heels click once more, her eyes boring into mine. “Not just a pretty face.”

Her tits are incredible. Full and trying to burst from her uniform. “I can see that.”

She's in my space, nowhere left to go, and traces a fingertip over my T-shirt, emphasising the chiselled curve of my pecs. Walks fingertips over the nipples. A pinch. A rub.

“I think it's time I gave you a proper inspection, don't you? To do my job thoroughly.”

She trails two fingers down my sternum. Catches the hem between thumb and forefinger. Lifts a fraction. Lets go. Flicks her chin up. “Very thoroughly.”

I reach down, grab the base of the garment and peel it up over my head. She lets out a low moan and her fingertips walk my chest. My six pack. She holds out her other hand and I dump my scrunched-up top in it for her to lift and nuzzle. It's such an arousing sight. I've had girlfriends—one night stands and slightly longer term—but none have shown much appreciation for scent.

As she breathes in, Veronica's expression changes. Like her insides have melted and her body's struggling to retain its structure around it. Her fingers tighten, nails digging into my abdomen and she rakes them down, pausing at my waistband.

She tugs the belt strap. The pin frees, the buckle swinging either side of my hips as she hands me back the top and scrabbles to undo the button and zipper. I'm desperate to have her but she rakes her nails over my bulge, then rubs up and down, massaging the growing hardness beneath.

When she does roll the waistband down and frees me, she lets out a little squeak of pleasure, like a hamster given food. My cock, veined and ready, dangles at breath level. She's clearly ravenous but leaves me hanging like an unopened DM. Lets nothing but her ragged exhalations play over the surface, making it twitch before leaning in and taking the head between her lips.

My moan begins in my throat and I harden further as she slides more into her mouth. The vibrations of her satisfied hum stimulates the edges and I grow, swelling against her tongue.

She pops free, and gazes up at me as she grips the base, angles me back at her mouth and takes half my length without a pause. Takes another inch and reverses.

Dumping my T-shirt on the bed, I reach down and undo the remaining buttons to her tunic, yanking it open and freeing her bountiful tits from the cream bra. As she re-engulfs my now rigid cock, hands then fists bunching my combats, I lewdly squeeze her chest and pinch both nipples. She groans around my girth, then tears free.

“Fuck, your cock is delicious.” She wanks the shaft, wetness clicking in the bay. Looks up at me. “Pinch harder.”

I grin. Her eyes roll back as I increase the pressure and she groans, the tail end muffled when her mouth descends around me.

Releasing her tits, I drift fingertips up to her cheeks, puffing at the exertion of trying to cram as much of my cock in her mouth as possible. She pulls away, saliva looping between us, and takes a few gasping breaths as I trace up her skull and unpin the hat.

She shakes her hair free, I grab a fistful, and tug her head back to make eye contact. “Physical going well so far?” Glassy eyed, she nods. “You probably need to be sure, though. I mean, you wouldn't want to pass me if you’d, say, missed an inch that turned out to be important.”

Veronica wipes her mouth. “I need to be thorough.”

“You do.”

The breath leaves her body fast as I yank her mouth to swallow me. The fat head bumps her throat and she gags, body convulsing once before I haul her free.

Another growl rises from my throat, cock surging with blood. “Again.” 

I pull her hair and warmth envelopes my shaft, fully to the base as she retches, a filthy hot gurp filling the bay before I retreat halfway and slam into her throat again. The rhythm is rough, sometimes shallow allowing thick loops of saliva to sway between our clothing, other times deep, making her splutter and spray spit around my root.

At a brief respite from the throat fucking, I wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Touch yourself.”

Her hand immediately skitters beneath the bunched hem of her uniform and she gasps as the slick channel accepts her digits. I resume stabbing my rigid pole between her lips, sometimes taking her air, sometimes letting her gasp in oxygen.

Grasping her skull, I pull her fully off me and tilt her bleary-eyed face to meet my gaze. “Smear yourself on me.”

Her hand, coated in juices, reaches for my girth and she wanks my froth-laden cock, glistening in the strip lights. “Yeah, Roni. That's perfect.” She tightens her grip so my dick has to fight its way through the confines of her fist, and I groan at the rhythmic clicks. “Ohh fuck, you're good.”

“Mmm, I take my job very seriously.”

My fingers tighten around her head and I jerk her towards me, splitting her lips to meet the ring formed by her wrapped fist. “Taste yourself.”

She releases me, returns her fingers to her pussy, and I thrust to the hilt. Her moans vibrate my entire shaft each time I fill her eager mouth. I grit my teeth. “Such a good girl. I'm close.” Two more savage thrusts. “Wanna swallow my cum?”

Wrestling free of my invasion, she shakes her head. Catches her breath. “No. My cunt.”

I'm unable to stop the dirty grin spreading. “You filthy slut.”

Grabbing a fistful of hair, I yank her up and manoeuvre her round to face the bed. Shove her forward over it. I peel the tight tunic up over her bum and admire the tightness of her peach. Then unleash a volley of spanks. She moans, sustained and long, blush rising to the surface.

I dig my hand between her thighs. “God, you're soaked.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Her breath comes in short snorts as I roughly finger her, lewd squelches filling the space between us. My fingers gravitate to her clit and I circle it, her hips rolling in sync. “Ohhh, put that big dick in me, soldier boy.”

I pull away. Slap her butt. “Patience.”

Her squeal becomes a deep sigh when I resume fingering her drenched slit and scissor her needy jewel at its apex. She rocks her hips, moaning. “Come on.”

Slipping free, I grab the base of my dick and align it with her puffy lips. Swipe it up and down a few times, juicing the bulb. “You want this big dick, huh?”

She nods. “Fill me.”

Nestling myself at her entrance, I pause. Reach forward, smearing juices on her face and hook two fingers of each hand into her cheeks. Pull backwards and impale her, breath bursting past my fingertips. “Huck yeah.”

Within seconds we‘ve set up a furious pace. The bed squeaks as I plunge, wheels twisting to and fro with the force of each thrust. Her rhythmic moans match, and I drop my gaze to where we're joined. A dark semi-circle of her juices stain the combats beneath my sawing cock.

I slow, slip my fingers free of her mouth and grip her bottom, spreading the cheeks peppered with handprints, and spit on her exposed asshole. Massaging my thumb over the dark knot, I punctuate each in-stroke of my hardness with a deeper jerk of my hips.

“You've ruined my fatigues, you dirty slut.”

Worming my thumb into her tightest hole, the clap of our hips is joined by her deep groan. “There are spares.”

“Good.” I work my thumb into the first knuckle. Spit again. “You got a spare nurse uniform too? Gonna ruin this one.”

She doesn't answer. Can't through the gasps as I worm to the second knuckle, feeling my cock rippling along the thin membrane between her holes. 

“You're a fucking animal, Roni. You want me to fuck your tight little ass, doncha?”

Her groan speaks for her. I spit again, rock my thumb out to coat it, then shove it in all the way, to the guttural growl of her satisfaction. It undoes me. I wasn't lying when I said I was close, and let out a strangled breath. “Fuck. Gonna cum.”

Our rhythm derails, my cock swells inside her and I bury deep, groaning as spunk pulses into her drenched cunt.

Withdrawing, I slap my meat against her bare ass and a couple of spurts stripe the back of her tunic, the rest drizzling between her cheeks to pool around my embedded thumb.

Her body tenses, breaths ceasing, hand cupping her pussy for several long seconds before she exhales. Her ring winks around my thumb. “Ohh, ohhh, fffu… ohhh.”

I let her ride the climax out, my flagging cock smearing the splattered cum across her skin. The pulsing around my digit eventually slows to a stop and I ease it free, her soft moans restarting in its wake.

We don't move. Just bask until she wiggles her hips and stands. I step away. Wipe my cock with my palm and rub it over her bare bottom before tucking myself away and zipping up.

She wriggles the outfit down over the mess, turns and buttons up, unhurried, eyeing my chest. Her hair’s fucked and there's no way on earth anyone wouldn't guess what we'd been up to, even if the heady scent of sex wasn't fighting the sterile air. More evidence of our act trickles down her inner thigh and she pauses her buttoning to reach down and scoop it onto a fingertip that she licks clean.

When her tits are firmly encased in the slightly rumpled uniform, she picks up my tan tee. Brings it to her face again and breathes in. Long and deep. Holds it out for me to turn the right way out, stretch and pass it over my head, slip my arms through the holes and slither it home over my torso. The material hugs my muscles and her eyes widen.

“I think you've passed the physical, Private.” She finger combs the hair by her cheek.

Running my hand through my hair, I offer a smile. “That's a relief. I’d hate to go through that again.”

We eye one another from a foot or so apart. No words. Just the tangle of attraction and euphoria of release binding the air between us. I break the silence.

“Are you sure I'm fit?”

Her eyes rake my top. My combats. Swing up to meet mine. “Well, I suppose there's no harm in being certain.”

“Mmm. Due diligence pays off.”

“Precisely.” She wanders her gaze again. Chews her lip. “I might have an… opening in the morning.”

“What sort of opening?”

She smooths her tunic. “One to prove you can handle yourself if you get into a really—” she takes a shaky breath, “tight spot.”

I nod. “That might be prudent. You need to be sure, after all.”

“Very.” She reaches out. Draws a line down my sternum. Across. Scratches my nipple through the fabric with a lacquered fingernail. “Ten a.m. sharp.”

I stand to attention. Salute. Turn and pace through the curtain, down the corridor. She calls out to grab another pair of combats on the way past the cupboard, which I do, using them to partially cover the stain on the ones I'm wearing.

Nudging the access plate with my elbow, the door swings open and I step out into the sunshine, pacing back to my quarters to reflect on what I'd let myself in for. The second part of my physical might be even more demanding than the first.