campusvamp
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Chapter One...
As a woman stationed at Naval Base, Diego Garcia, a small island in the Indian Ocean that over time has become an important U.S. military base, it isn't difficult finding a man when I want company. It's finding privacy that's hard. Much harder because I'm an enlisted Navy Petty Officer, 2nd Class (E-5) and the man I'm waiting for is an officer. Which is why I'm walking on the beach as far as it was possible to get from the buildings of the base.
Yea, I know I have a room in the Female BEQ (Base Enlisted Quarters). Rules for male visitors are lax and when I find an enlisted guy I wanna fuck we can go there to engage in energetic sex. But the key word is ENLISTED and there are Rules about enlisted and officers not ‘fraternizing’.
I agree with The Rule. It’s a good Rule! It keeps officers from pressuring lower-ranking females for sex. But I wasn’t being pressured into having mind-blowing sex with Brad. Since I obviously couldn’t take an officer into my BEQ, we've been meeting at night on a section of beach as isolated as possible on the small island. We needed the isolation since we were risking our careers being together.
But hell! I’m a healthy, attractive girl who likes to fuck. You know, to relieve tension and stress and stuff... Since joining the Navy, I’ve had a lot of tension and stress and stuff. But there are plenty of possible enlisted fuckbuddies I could choose from with no one raising a fuss. So, why is Brad my favorite booty call despite the risk to our careers? Three reasons:
One: My God, Brad is a six-three ebony God with muscles and stamina that doesn’t quit.
Two: My God, Brad really knows how to eat pussy.
Three: My God, Brad has a huge cock!
My way of unwinding after a mission usually begins and ends with a bottle of bourbon in one hand and a hard cock in my pussy. I bring the bourbon. Brad brings the cock. In the months I've been stationed here, Brad has become a regular booty call.
I'd only arrived back on base this morning. I'd barely stepped off the transport plane before Brad pinged my phone. We didn't talk for long. He was at his duty station, and I was surrounded by the team as we went through the minutia of returning any gear we hadn't used. We had some explanations to document about why some equipment was missing or dinged up. Brad and I had to talk in guarded phrases, but we agreed to meet tonight at our usual secluded section of the beach.
I was excited. I'd been away on an assignment for a month: all work, no sex. Going a month without sex was a record for me since the night I'd lost my virginity in high school. I dropped my gear in my room in the BEQ and started doing laundry. But in my mind, I'd kept remembering how good Brad's large cock felt inside me. Which was why I arrived on the beach early. I was already wet from anticipation as I took several sips of bourbon from the bottle in my hand. It was a cheap brand I'd bought during a layover in India. It tasted like gasoline and burned like battery acid.
The sun slipped under the horizon. Though colors were muted, the moon's reflected light was bright. My moon shadow stretched across the sand. I took another long sip of bourbon from the bottle I held. I felt the burn in my throat. I looked down the beach just to see Brad appear from behind a sand dune. Brad closed the last fifty yards at a run.
Strong arms crushed me against Brad's muscular chest as we kissed. Hands reached to grab and massage my ass cheeks. I moved my hips, rubbing my mound against his already hard cock. I enjoyed our foreplay; our kiss and the hands squeezing my ass. Brad quickly turned me, pressing my back against his chest. I laughed at Brad's eagerness. The lips and hot breath on the back of my neck, the hands fondling my breasts, the strong fingers sinking into my soft flesh. I didn't pull away, instead I relaxed against the hard body behind me to let Brad have his playtime with my body. My moans changed, became lower when a hand slipped under the material of my bikini bottoms. Fingers circled, pulling and pressing my labia over my clit.
I closed my eyes in enjoyment. Brad's hand never stopped playing between my thighs as his other hand untied the strings holding my bikini bottom together. Brad growled in my ear how much he'd missed me.
"You were gone so long I thought you'd been transferred."
"There were... Complications," I said, my breath catching as my bikini thong dropped to my ankles. "There were a lot of paperclips that needed to be counted."
Brad didn't waste more time on questions he knew I wouldn't answer. Instead, his hand pushed further between my thighs. Fingertips continued exploring, rimming and stretching my pussy before sliding inside me. A long, breathy moan was my only reaction as one, then two fingers began fucking me on the beach.
Pleasure forced almost everything from my mind. But I kept just enough sanity to remember we were on the beach with water lapping at our toes. We were in plain view of anyone who might be watching. It was dark now, but we were still too exposed in the moonlight. I put my hand on Brad's wrist and pushed his fingers from between my thighs. I scooped up my thong before the tide took it away. Brad followed as I ran to where I'd spread a blanket between low dunes.
Swim trunks were tossed aside as I dropped to my knees.
I've had a lot of practice since my first tentative blowjob in my boyfriend's car; I consider my oral skills as above average. Drool dripped unnoticed from my lips onto my tits as I stroked and sucked Brad's long, thick cock. Soon Brad's hands gripped my head. He held me still as his hips began to move. In seconds, me giving him a blowjob transformed into me being mouthfucked. But I hadn't spent the last month thinking about cock and cum in my mouth.
I dropped backwards onto my back. Brad dropped to his knees between my legs. Hands grasped my knees and pushed my legs open wider. I reached between us to grasp the hard cock that was touching my thigh. Guiding the shaft, I rubbed the tip of Brad’s cock over my clit a few times before sliding it down my slit and... I moaned as the tip slipped just inside my pussy, then cried out softly as Brad pushed and I felt the delicious feeling of being penetrated.
The sex that followed ran the spectrum from slow and sensual to hard, fast and rough. Soft moans and sighs changed to loud cries and shrieks. But I wasn't thinking about the sounds we were making, just the powerful, pounding strokes between my thighs. I came moments before Brad. My orgasm only intensified as I heard him moan and felt his cock pulse as he filled me with cum.
Brad moved to sit beside me to smoke a cigarette. I remained lying on my back. I purred while stretching out muscles on the blanket like a satisfied cat. But I was filled with a different kind of cream.
We passed the bottle between us before wading out into the light surf to wash away sweat and cum. I wouldn't have said no to more sex, but Brad's division was short staffed. He was on a schedule of eight on-eight off until a new body arrived to replace the man on emergency leave.
Brad left first. I remained with my bottle and a satisfied feeling between my thighs before I put on my bikini and terrycloth beach robe. Shaking the blanket as free of sand as I could, I folded it and picked up the almost empty bottle. Beach patrols will turn a blind eye and deaf ears to couples having sex in the dunes but leaving garbage behind was a big no-no!
I guess I should have felt guilty for fucking a married man. But I wasn't. Brad and I felt affection for each other but neither of us fucked because of any romantic attachment. We were convenient friends-with-benefits. We both got what we wanted without any real attachments.
No, what I felt as I walked away sipping the last of the bourbon wasn't passion but satisfaction from both the sex and that we'd successfully skirted our way around the regulations prohibiting officers and enlisted from fucking again. The gentle sea breeze had dried me by the time I stumbled into the female BEQ. The bourbon bottle was empty now and I felt very relaxed as I tripped over nothing. I gave the carpet a death stare for making me almost prostrate myself over the duty desk. My ‘stress and tension and stuff’ had magically disappeared.
An E-3 -probably just arrived today and already stuck with shitty night duty- watched me with disapproving eyes. I waved at her and dropped the empty bourbon bottle into the metal trash can beside the desk. She winced at the loud CLANG that echoed down the hallway. I mumbled an apology and staggered down the hallway to my room.
Most BEQ rooms are double occupancy and everyone shared one communal head. I had a single room with a private head. These rooms were reserved for E-7s and above. I was an E-5 and had one. I was resented by the other ladies for my 'preferential treatment'.
Another reason for resentment on the ladies' part was because I seemed to do nothing. Though I was assigned to the Logistics Office, I pulled no duty on the island that anyone could identify. It irked people’s strict, regulation bound minds when they couldn't figure out why the fuck I was even on the island.
It certainly bent Chief Stanford’s nose out of position. She ruled the male and female BEQs like her personal fiefdoms and resented that I was assigned to a room that she didn’t think I was entitled to. It really bent her nose out of shape when, after she'd tried to find out why I was entitled, a Commander with SEAL insignia on his BDUs had 'politely' suggested she stop asking questions. So, I slept late, pulled no duty that anyone could point to, disappeared at odd times and engaged in loud and enthusiastic sex in my room.
She made me pay for my 'wanton behavior' (Her words, not mine.) during her weekly room inspections though. My bed was never made up properly: the corners never 'military enough'. My carpet was never clean enough. I'd have to clean everything again. Several times I'd been right on the edge of telling her that loud and enthusiastic sex would improve her mood, but I kept silent. Pissing off a Chief Petty Officer is never a good move if you want a quiet existence in the Navy.
I took advantage of my ability to sleep late. I woke up very relaxed and only a little hungover. Nothing that Aspirin and food wouldn't cure. I'd let my physical training lapse during the month I'd been away. I pushed through my reluctance and put on my athletic gear. I went running on the beach and made it to the chow hall just in time before the lunch line closed. I felt so much better after sweating out the last of the alcohol and filling the void with food. As I jogged back to the BEQ, I decided to swim laps in the pool for more PT. A long bake in the sun afterwards was just what I deserved.
Which I was doing when a shadow blocked the sun. I opened my eyes and saw a pair of highly polished shoes. Shading my eyes, I found a newly minted Ensign standing over me trying hard not to admire my tits.
“Sir,” I asked.
“Are you Petty Officer Ellis? Senior Chief Morrison said I could find you here.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m Petty Officer Ellis,” I answered getting to my feet and wrapping a towel around me to ease the Ensign's obvious discomfort.
“I need to see your ID, Petty Officer and why is your phone off.”
Fuck! Duty calls!
“Sir, my phone is on, but it and my ID is in the locker room,” I replied. I continued in a light tone. “A bikini doesn’t have pockets.”
“Umm, yes... I could see that,” Ensign Marshall said uncomfortably. He really looked uncomfortable when he realized that even barefoot, I was three inches taller than him. I retrieved my ID and after studying it, the Ensign informed me that I was on orders and needed to report to the current CO of the SF detachment.
I wondered what was up as I returned to the BEQ to shower off suntan lotion and change into my BDUs. When I reported, Commander McCain handed me a sheaf of papers. When I read the pages in my hand, I wondered if the orders had been sent to the wrong Petty Officer Ellis.
I mean... WTF? With access to Southeast Asia, the Middle East and Eastern Africa, Diego Garcia was home to a regular contingent of SF personnel. My duty tour on Diego Garcia was slated to last a year. I'd been here only eight months and now I was being ordered to make my way ASAP to... Fort Hood? Texas? What the fucking fuck was at Fort Hood? Commander McCain only shrugged when I asked that out loud.
"Damned if I know," he answered. "All I know is that I'm to make certain your ass is on the next MAC (Military Airlift Command) flight out. That's at 1700 hours. You need to inform me if for any reason you cannot follow the orders.”
“No, Sir. There’s no reason but, what the hell, Sir? Fort Hood? That’s an Army base, isn’t it? You really don't have any clue why I’m being shipped to Texas? Did I piss someone off? I thought I was getting along well with the team.”
“Not a clue, Barbie. Thomas is waiting at your cage. Anything you want to keep but can’t carry, he’ll pack up and send it to your parent’s address,” McCain said as he extended his hand for me to shake.
“And no, you didn't piss off anyone. We don’t have time for formalities but I’m giving straight 4.0s on your evals. I gotta admit I had doubts when you were assigned to us as support but you performed outstandingly as Overwatch.”
“Thank you for the 4.0s, Sir. Those never hurt when I’m up for promotion.”
“You earned them. Well, you better hustle to make your flight.”
All I needed from my cage were my pistols and my rifle. Thomas promised to send everything I left behind in the cage and my BEQ room to my parent's home address. Weighed down with what I could carry, I made it just in time to be rushed into the cavernous hold of a C-17A.
**********
Because there are many high-ranking officers regularly needing transportation between Hawaii and San Diego, someone had thoughtfully added a pallet with two rows of seats attached which could have replaced any seat in the Business Section of a Boeing 777. They looked very small and out of place in the forward section of the cavernous cargo hold of the C-17A. My head was pounding from travel fatigue as I dragged my weary ass up the ramp to board.
I thought I was in Heaven as I sat in the first comfortable seat since leaving Diego Garcia. Garcia to Singapore to Manila to Guam to Hawaii had consisted of hours that could only be described as torture. I felt like I was suffering the worst hangover of my life as I collapsed into my seat. My trip so far consisted of sitting on hard plastic seats while waiting to board the next MAC flight where I sat for more hours on equally uncomfortable webbed seats.
Sheer will power had gotten me to Hawaii without just walking off the plane in Guam to find the nearest BEQ to sleep for a day. My ass had fallen asleep somewhere between the Philippines and Guam and still hadn't woken up. My numb ass was the only part of me that wasn't hurting.
Once we lifted off from Hawaii and leveled out of our climb, the background noise inside the cavernous hold of the C-17 became a constant and lulling drone. The noise of the engines and the gentle vibrations of the plane, all of these rocked me to sleep in my first comfortable chair in over 36 hours.
It was the bump and screech of wheels meeting the tarmac and the change in the whine of the engines which woke me up. To my chagrin I woke to find myself slumped against the passenger beside me, my head resting on his shoulder. A fellow traveler in BDUs which sported the collar insignias of a Navy Captain. I straightened up quickly and blushed at seeing the wet spot on his BDUs where I'd drooled.
"Captain, I so sorry! I..."
"Relax, Petty Officer..." He laughed and leaned forwards to read the name plate on my Dress Blues. "...Ellis. Being a pillow for you is the most productive service I've provided to the Navy in months. You looked exhausted when you boarded. Traveled a long way?"
"Yes, Sir. Diego Garcia. Someone apparently wants me in Texas ASAP."
The C-17A came to a stop and after the loadmaster gave us permission to leave our seats, I tried to arrange my Dress Blues to make me look more presentable, but it was a losing battle after hours of flying military cargo planes. Though the wool never showed wrinkles as much as my Dress Whites, I knew the iconic Dress Blue 'Crackerjacks' were showing all the miles I'd put on them. I settled my duffle bag on my back and was lifting two backpacks to put one on each shoulder when the captain reached over to take one of them. His eyes widened in surprise at the weight.
"Why do I believe there's more than clothing in here, Petty Officer Ellis?"
"Because you're very perceptive, Captain. Let's just say that what's in the pack is one of the reasons I can't fly commercial," I answered with a smile as I lifted a long-ish metal case that was heavier than the bookbag.
"And that," he asked, looking at the case in my hand.
"This would make TSA shoot me on sight, Sir," I laughed and answered in a light tone.
"Not normal luggage for someone in Logistics," the captain said, looking at the crossed keys on my shoulder patch.
"I'm not your normal Logistics person, Sir."
"No. You certainly are not," the captain replied with friendly admiring eyes.
In the MAC office I was praying to Neptune, the Roman God of the Sea, that there wouldn't be a flight to Texas until the next day; preferably not for two or three days. I really needed a shower and a long night in a soft bunk. Captain Hayes and I continued to exchange small talk as we made arrangements for the next legs of our respective journeys.
"We're not in the same command, Petty Officer Ellis," the Captain said. "Would I be out of line in asking you to have dinner with an old codger like me if we both have layovers here? My treat. No expectations other than the pleasure of not eating alone while having polite conversation."
My appetite had finally returned while I was asleep and I was in need of food.
"Not out of line at all, Sir. As long as we're in civilian clothes and I don't have to say 'Sir' all night," I said, then changed my voice to a softer tone and slower cadence. "I've always depended upon the kindness of strangers."
"You know your movies," he chuckled.
"In my opinion I don't think the actress got the Southern accent quite right and for some reason most people wrongfully attribute the quote to Mae West. This wasn't hers but she had so many other memorable ones."
"Oh? And do you have a favorite?"
I slouched against the office counter, put my hand on my hip and looked the captain up-and-down with frank and appraising eyes before trying to answer in the cadence and accent of Mae West's nasal, Brooklyn voice.
"Well, when I'm caught between two evils... I generally like to take the one I've never tried."
That caused everyone who caught my performance to laugh. Unfortunately, Air Force Sergeant Peters was still grinning when he handed me a boarding pass for a twin-engine plane due to leave in an hour.
"Sorry, Captain," I said, straightening up and returning to military decorum. "Looks like we're just two ships passing in the night."
"It was a pleasure, Petty Officer Ellis," he replied, extending his hand for me to shake. "Look me up if you ever need another shoulder as a pillow."
"Fair winds, Sir."
"And following seas, Petty Officer Ellis."
**********
The pilot said I was lucky to have made the flight.
"You might have had to wait another day or two for another plane going to Fort Hood, Ellis," the pilot shouted over his shoulder. "We're headed for the Gulf Coast to be used for search and rescue. We were going to have a layover at Camp Hood anyway."
Luck? 'Yea, bad luck!', I thought as we took off. For most of the trip the DHC-6 Twin Otter twisted, rolled and performed like a rollercoaster in the air currents of the unstable weather front we were flying through. Up-and-down, back-and-forth... I made the crew laugh when the pilot looked over his shoulder, shouting to ask how I was doing.
"I'm not getting airsick yet, Sir, but the only time I enjoy getting bounced around like this is during great sex." I shouted back, holding onto my seat as the plane dropped out from under me for several gut clenching seconds before beginning to climb upwards again.
"You're alright, Ellis! I like a sense of humor," he shouted back as everyone laughed.
Hours later I was back on stable ground, trudging a crooked course under the weight of my gear through rain and around puddles. My rain gear was- of course! -packed at the bottom of my duffle bag. I was looking forward to checking into a hotel and reporting tomorrow but...
“Petty Officer Ellis,” a sergeant with Ranger insignia asked uncertainly as I stepped into the MAC office.
“That’s me. Guess the uniform makes it hard to blend in on an Army base.”
“Just a little, but I was expecting a man. You are definitely not what I was expecting,” Sergeant Richter observed as his eyes traveled over my slender body. Then he paused, really looking at my travel worn uniform and tired, sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m really sorry, Ellis. You look beat but Colonel Brigham sent me to bring you to him ASAP.”
"Not your fault a colonel has his panties twisted in a knot, Richter," I sighed in resignation as he helped me carry the heavy backpacks to the Humvee parked outside.
"Pistols," he asked, sniffing the fragrance of gun oil and doing easy arm curls with the heavy bags. I nodded and he looked at the case I was carefully strapping across the backseat where it shouldn't bounce too much. "And a long rifle? There are no female SEALS and you're not Marine Recon... So, what are you, Ellis?"
"I'm in Logistics," I replied, pointing to the crossed keys on my arm patch. "I count paperclips."
"Riiiiigggghhht...” Samuels said, drawing out the word with heavy irony. “I bet you've been sent to some interesting places to count those paperclips.”
"A few. Wherever you need paperclips counted, you'll find me."
Samuels dropped the questions he knew I wouldn't answer. When I got out a short time later in front of a building, he objected when I began unstrapping the case from the backseat.
"You can leave everything, Ellis. I'm to drive you to the female BEQ when your meeting with Colonel Brigham is over."
"I don't like to leave this out of my sight unless it's locked in a secure place."
Minutes later I was leaning the case against the wall of Colonel Brigham's office. Marching to exactly two paces of his desk, I came to attention.
"Petty Officer Ellis reporting as ordered, Sir!"
If the colonel was surprised I was a woman, he hid it well. After having me stand at attention while he noted my disreputable uniform and tired appearance, I was told to stand at ease. I assumed a more relaxed Parade Rest.
"Long trip?"
"If by long you mean from the middle of the Indian Ocean to your office on connecting MAC flights in just over two days? Then, yes Sir, it's been a long trip."
"I'd say sorry, but I'd be lying. A naval officer I have a lot of respect for told me that you are the one, the only one, who can help my Rangers on their next deployment," the colonel said as he rose and picked up a laminated map from the credenza behind his desk. He laid it across his desk. "Let's see if he's correct. Can you tell me what this is?"
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘It appears to be a map, Sir.’, but Brigham didn’t strike me as a man who appreciated flippancy. Stepping closer to the desk I examined the map and...
"It's a satellite photo of a walled compound and the terrain surrounding it, Sir."
"Yes. Yes," Colonel Brigham said impatiently. "Anyone can tell me that, but can you tell me where this compound is?"
I hesitated...
"Petty Officer Ellis, if I ask you a question you can be assured that I'm cleared to hear your answer."
"Yes, Sir," I replied. I took a breath and began pointing out features.
"This is an old site, Sir. There used to be a small lake here on this side of the wall and this ridge. Back in the time of Marco Polo it was a stopover on the Silk Road. The lake is long gone now. There's still a trickle of water from a pipe hammered into the side of this ridge. So instead of a small lake there's a small pool of water now. Still, it's the only source of water for miles around.
"This compound is in northern Afghanistan and right about here," I traced a line with my finger a few miles north of the compound. "Right about here, is the border between Afghanistan and Tajikistan."
"And you know this how, Petty Officer Ellis?"
"Because I do my research and because I was there a few months ago, Colonel."
As a woman stationed at Naval Base, Diego Garcia, a small island in the Indian Ocean that over time has become an important U.S. military base, it isn't difficult finding a man when I want company. It's finding privacy that's hard. Much harder because I'm an enlisted Navy Petty Officer, 2nd Class (E-5) and the man I'm waiting for is an officer. Which is why I'm walking on the beach as far as it was possible to get from the buildings of the base.
Yea, I know I have a room in the Female BEQ (Base Enlisted Quarters). Rules for male visitors are lax and when I find an enlisted guy I wanna fuck we can go there to engage in energetic sex. But the key word is ENLISTED and there are Rules about enlisted and officers not ‘fraternizing’.
I agree with The Rule. It’s a good Rule! It keeps officers from pressuring lower-ranking females for sex. But I wasn’t being pressured into having mind-blowing sex with Brad. Since I obviously couldn’t take an officer into my BEQ, we've been meeting at night on a section of beach as isolated as possible on the small island. We needed the isolation since we were risking our careers being together.
But hell! I’m a healthy, attractive girl who likes to fuck. You know, to relieve tension and stress and stuff... Since joining the Navy, I’ve had a lot of tension and stress and stuff. But there are plenty of possible enlisted fuckbuddies I could choose from with no one raising a fuss. So, why is Brad my favorite booty call despite the risk to our careers? Three reasons:
One: My God, Brad is a six-three ebony God with muscles and stamina that doesn’t quit.
Two: My God, Brad really knows how to eat pussy.
Three: My God, Brad has a huge cock!
My way of unwinding after a mission usually begins and ends with a bottle of bourbon in one hand and a hard cock in my pussy. I bring the bourbon. Brad brings the cock. In the months I've been stationed here, Brad has become a regular booty call.
I'd only arrived back on base this morning. I'd barely stepped off the transport plane before Brad pinged my phone. We didn't talk for long. He was at his duty station, and I was surrounded by the team as we went through the minutia of returning any gear we hadn't used. We had some explanations to document about why some equipment was missing or dinged up. Brad and I had to talk in guarded phrases, but we agreed to meet tonight at our usual secluded section of the beach.
I was excited. I'd been away on an assignment for a month: all work, no sex. Going a month without sex was a record for me since the night I'd lost my virginity in high school. I dropped my gear in my room in the BEQ and started doing laundry. But in my mind, I'd kept remembering how good Brad's large cock felt inside me. Which was why I arrived on the beach early. I was already wet from anticipation as I took several sips of bourbon from the bottle in my hand. It was a cheap brand I'd bought during a layover in India. It tasted like gasoline and burned like battery acid.
The sun slipped under the horizon. Though colors were muted, the moon's reflected light was bright. My moon shadow stretched across the sand. I took another long sip of bourbon from the bottle I held. I felt the burn in my throat. I looked down the beach just to see Brad appear from behind a sand dune. Brad closed the last fifty yards at a run.
Strong arms crushed me against Brad's muscular chest as we kissed. Hands reached to grab and massage my ass cheeks. I moved my hips, rubbing my mound against his already hard cock. I enjoyed our foreplay; our kiss and the hands squeezing my ass. Brad quickly turned me, pressing my back against his chest. I laughed at Brad's eagerness. The lips and hot breath on the back of my neck, the hands fondling my breasts, the strong fingers sinking into my soft flesh. I didn't pull away, instead I relaxed against the hard body behind me to let Brad have his playtime with my body. My moans changed, became lower when a hand slipped under the material of my bikini bottoms. Fingers circled, pulling and pressing my labia over my clit.
I closed my eyes in enjoyment. Brad's hand never stopped playing between my thighs as his other hand untied the strings holding my bikini bottom together. Brad growled in my ear how much he'd missed me.
"You were gone so long I thought you'd been transferred."
"There were... Complications," I said, my breath catching as my bikini thong dropped to my ankles. "There were a lot of paperclips that needed to be counted."
Brad didn't waste more time on questions he knew I wouldn't answer. Instead, his hand pushed further between my thighs. Fingertips continued exploring, rimming and stretching my pussy before sliding inside me. A long, breathy moan was my only reaction as one, then two fingers began fucking me on the beach.
Pleasure forced almost everything from my mind. But I kept just enough sanity to remember we were on the beach with water lapping at our toes. We were in plain view of anyone who might be watching. It was dark now, but we were still too exposed in the moonlight. I put my hand on Brad's wrist and pushed his fingers from between my thighs. I scooped up my thong before the tide took it away. Brad followed as I ran to where I'd spread a blanket between low dunes.
Swim trunks were tossed aside as I dropped to my knees.
I've had a lot of practice since my first tentative blowjob in my boyfriend's car; I consider my oral skills as above average. Drool dripped unnoticed from my lips onto my tits as I stroked and sucked Brad's long, thick cock. Soon Brad's hands gripped my head. He held me still as his hips began to move. In seconds, me giving him a blowjob transformed into me being mouthfucked. But I hadn't spent the last month thinking about cock and cum in my mouth.
I dropped backwards onto my back. Brad dropped to his knees between my legs. Hands grasped my knees and pushed my legs open wider. I reached between us to grasp the hard cock that was touching my thigh. Guiding the shaft, I rubbed the tip of Brad’s cock over my clit a few times before sliding it down my slit and... I moaned as the tip slipped just inside my pussy, then cried out softly as Brad pushed and I felt the delicious feeling of being penetrated.
The sex that followed ran the spectrum from slow and sensual to hard, fast and rough. Soft moans and sighs changed to loud cries and shrieks. But I wasn't thinking about the sounds we were making, just the powerful, pounding strokes between my thighs. I came moments before Brad. My orgasm only intensified as I heard him moan and felt his cock pulse as he filled me with cum.
Brad moved to sit beside me to smoke a cigarette. I remained lying on my back. I purred while stretching out muscles on the blanket like a satisfied cat. But I was filled with a different kind of cream.
We passed the bottle between us before wading out into the light surf to wash away sweat and cum. I wouldn't have said no to more sex, but Brad's division was short staffed. He was on a schedule of eight on-eight off until a new body arrived to replace the man on emergency leave.
Brad left first. I remained with my bottle and a satisfied feeling between my thighs before I put on my bikini and terrycloth beach robe. Shaking the blanket as free of sand as I could, I folded it and picked up the almost empty bottle. Beach patrols will turn a blind eye and deaf ears to couples having sex in the dunes but leaving garbage behind was a big no-no!
I guess I should have felt guilty for fucking a married man. But I wasn't. Brad and I felt affection for each other but neither of us fucked because of any romantic attachment. We were convenient friends-with-benefits. We both got what we wanted without any real attachments.
No, what I felt as I walked away sipping the last of the bourbon wasn't passion but satisfaction from both the sex and that we'd successfully skirted our way around the regulations prohibiting officers and enlisted from fucking again. The gentle sea breeze had dried me by the time I stumbled into the female BEQ. The bourbon bottle was empty now and I felt very relaxed as I tripped over nothing. I gave the carpet a death stare for making me almost prostrate myself over the duty desk. My ‘stress and tension and stuff’ had magically disappeared.
An E-3 -probably just arrived today and already stuck with shitty night duty- watched me with disapproving eyes. I waved at her and dropped the empty bourbon bottle into the metal trash can beside the desk. She winced at the loud CLANG that echoed down the hallway. I mumbled an apology and staggered down the hallway to my room.
Most BEQ rooms are double occupancy and everyone shared one communal head. I had a single room with a private head. These rooms were reserved for E-7s and above. I was an E-5 and had one. I was resented by the other ladies for my 'preferential treatment'.
Another reason for resentment on the ladies' part was because I seemed to do nothing. Though I was assigned to the Logistics Office, I pulled no duty on the island that anyone could identify. It irked people’s strict, regulation bound minds when they couldn't figure out why the fuck I was even on the island.
It certainly bent Chief Stanford’s nose out of position. She ruled the male and female BEQs like her personal fiefdoms and resented that I was assigned to a room that she didn’t think I was entitled to. It really bent her nose out of shape when, after she'd tried to find out why I was entitled, a Commander with SEAL insignia on his BDUs had 'politely' suggested she stop asking questions. So, I slept late, pulled no duty that anyone could point to, disappeared at odd times and engaged in loud and enthusiastic sex in my room.
She made me pay for my 'wanton behavior' (Her words, not mine.) during her weekly room inspections though. My bed was never made up properly: the corners never 'military enough'. My carpet was never clean enough. I'd have to clean everything again. Several times I'd been right on the edge of telling her that loud and enthusiastic sex would improve her mood, but I kept silent. Pissing off a Chief Petty Officer is never a good move if you want a quiet existence in the Navy.
I took advantage of my ability to sleep late. I woke up very relaxed and only a little hungover. Nothing that Aspirin and food wouldn't cure. I'd let my physical training lapse during the month I'd been away. I pushed through my reluctance and put on my athletic gear. I went running on the beach and made it to the chow hall just in time before the lunch line closed. I felt so much better after sweating out the last of the alcohol and filling the void with food. As I jogged back to the BEQ, I decided to swim laps in the pool for more PT. A long bake in the sun afterwards was just what I deserved.
Which I was doing when a shadow blocked the sun. I opened my eyes and saw a pair of highly polished shoes. Shading my eyes, I found a newly minted Ensign standing over me trying hard not to admire my tits.
“Sir,” I asked.
“Are you Petty Officer Ellis? Senior Chief Morrison said I could find you here.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m Petty Officer Ellis,” I answered getting to my feet and wrapping a towel around me to ease the Ensign's obvious discomfort.
“I need to see your ID, Petty Officer and why is your phone off.”
Fuck! Duty calls!
“Sir, my phone is on, but it and my ID is in the locker room,” I replied. I continued in a light tone. “A bikini doesn’t have pockets.”
“Umm, yes... I could see that,” Ensign Marshall said uncomfortably. He really looked uncomfortable when he realized that even barefoot, I was three inches taller than him. I retrieved my ID and after studying it, the Ensign informed me that I was on orders and needed to report to the current CO of the SF detachment.
I wondered what was up as I returned to the BEQ to shower off suntan lotion and change into my BDUs. When I reported, Commander McCain handed me a sheaf of papers. When I read the pages in my hand, I wondered if the orders had been sent to the wrong Petty Officer Ellis.
I mean... WTF? With access to Southeast Asia, the Middle East and Eastern Africa, Diego Garcia was home to a regular contingent of SF personnel. My duty tour on Diego Garcia was slated to last a year. I'd been here only eight months and now I was being ordered to make my way ASAP to... Fort Hood? Texas? What the fucking fuck was at Fort Hood? Commander McCain only shrugged when I asked that out loud.
"Damned if I know," he answered. "All I know is that I'm to make certain your ass is on the next MAC (Military Airlift Command) flight out. That's at 1700 hours. You need to inform me if for any reason you cannot follow the orders.”
“No, Sir. There’s no reason but, what the hell, Sir? Fort Hood? That’s an Army base, isn’t it? You really don't have any clue why I’m being shipped to Texas? Did I piss someone off? I thought I was getting along well with the team.”
“Not a clue, Barbie. Thomas is waiting at your cage. Anything you want to keep but can’t carry, he’ll pack up and send it to your parent’s address,” McCain said as he extended his hand for me to shake.
“And no, you didn't piss off anyone. We don’t have time for formalities but I’m giving straight 4.0s on your evals. I gotta admit I had doubts when you were assigned to us as support but you performed outstandingly as Overwatch.”
“Thank you for the 4.0s, Sir. Those never hurt when I’m up for promotion.”
“You earned them. Well, you better hustle to make your flight.”
All I needed from my cage were my pistols and my rifle. Thomas promised to send everything I left behind in the cage and my BEQ room to my parent's home address. Weighed down with what I could carry, I made it just in time to be rushed into the cavernous hold of a C-17A.
**********
Because there are many high-ranking officers regularly needing transportation between Hawaii and San Diego, someone had thoughtfully added a pallet with two rows of seats attached which could have replaced any seat in the Business Section of a Boeing 777. They looked very small and out of place in the forward section of the cavernous cargo hold of the C-17A. My head was pounding from travel fatigue as I dragged my weary ass up the ramp to board.
I thought I was in Heaven as I sat in the first comfortable seat since leaving Diego Garcia. Garcia to Singapore to Manila to Guam to Hawaii had consisted of hours that could only be described as torture. I felt like I was suffering the worst hangover of my life as I collapsed into my seat. My trip so far consisted of sitting on hard plastic seats while waiting to board the next MAC flight where I sat for more hours on equally uncomfortable webbed seats.
Sheer will power had gotten me to Hawaii without just walking off the plane in Guam to find the nearest BEQ to sleep for a day. My ass had fallen asleep somewhere between the Philippines and Guam and still hadn't woken up. My numb ass was the only part of me that wasn't hurting.
Once we lifted off from Hawaii and leveled out of our climb, the background noise inside the cavernous hold of the C-17 became a constant and lulling drone. The noise of the engines and the gentle vibrations of the plane, all of these rocked me to sleep in my first comfortable chair in over 36 hours.
It was the bump and screech of wheels meeting the tarmac and the change in the whine of the engines which woke me up. To my chagrin I woke to find myself slumped against the passenger beside me, my head resting on his shoulder. A fellow traveler in BDUs which sported the collar insignias of a Navy Captain. I straightened up quickly and blushed at seeing the wet spot on his BDUs where I'd drooled.
"Captain, I so sorry! I..."
"Relax, Petty Officer..." He laughed and leaned forwards to read the name plate on my Dress Blues. "...Ellis. Being a pillow for you is the most productive service I've provided to the Navy in months. You looked exhausted when you boarded. Traveled a long way?"
"Yes, Sir. Diego Garcia. Someone apparently wants me in Texas ASAP."
The C-17A came to a stop and after the loadmaster gave us permission to leave our seats, I tried to arrange my Dress Blues to make me look more presentable, but it was a losing battle after hours of flying military cargo planes. Though the wool never showed wrinkles as much as my Dress Whites, I knew the iconic Dress Blue 'Crackerjacks' were showing all the miles I'd put on them. I settled my duffle bag on my back and was lifting two backpacks to put one on each shoulder when the captain reached over to take one of them. His eyes widened in surprise at the weight.
"Why do I believe there's more than clothing in here, Petty Officer Ellis?"
"Because you're very perceptive, Captain. Let's just say that what's in the pack is one of the reasons I can't fly commercial," I answered with a smile as I lifted a long-ish metal case that was heavier than the bookbag.
"And that," he asked, looking at the case in my hand.
"This would make TSA shoot me on sight, Sir," I laughed and answered in a light tone.
"Not normal luggage for someone in Logistics," the captain said, looking at the crossed keys on my shoulder patch.
"I'm not your normal Logistics person, Sir."
"No. You certainly are not," the captain replied with friendly admiring eyes.
In the MAC office I was praying to Neptune, the Roman God of the Sea, that there wouldn't be a flight to Texas until the next day; preferably not for two or three days. I really needed a shower and a long night in a soft bunk. Captain Hayes and I continued to exchange small talk as we made arrangements for the next legs of our respective journeys.
"We're not in the same command, Petty Officer Ellis," the Captain said. "Would I be out of line in asking you to have dinner with an old codger like me if we both have layovers here? My treat. No expectations other than the pleasure of not eating alone while having polite conversation."
My appetite had finally returned while I was asleep and I was in need of food.
"Not out of line at all, Sir. As long as we're in civilian clothes and I don't have to say 'Sir' all night," I said, then changed my voice to a softer tone and slower cadence. "I've always depended upon the kindness of strangers."
"You know your movies," he chuckled.
"In my opinion I don't think the actress got the Southern accent quite right and for some reason most people wrongfully attribute the quote to Mae West. This wasn't hers but she had so many other memorable ones."
"Oh? And do you have a favorite?"
I slouched against the office counter, put my hand on my hip and looked the captain up-and-down with frank and appraising eyes before trying to answer in the cadence and accent of Mae West's nasal, Brooklyn voice.
"Well, when I'm caught between two evils... I generally like to take the one I've never tried."
That caused everyone who caught my performance to laugh. Unfortunately, Air Force Sergeant Peters was still grinning when he handed me a boarding pass for a twin-engine plane due to leave in an hour.
"Sorry, Captain," I said, straightening up and returning to military decorum. "Looks like we're just two ships passing in the night."
"It was a pleasure, Petty Officer Ellis," he replied, extending his hand for me to shake. "Look me up if you ever need another shoulder as a pillow."
"Fair winds, Sir."
"And following seas, Petty Officer Ellis."
**********
The pilot said I was lucky to have made the flight.
"You might have had to wait another day or two for another plane going to Fort Hood, Ellis," the pilot shouted over his shoulder. "We're headed for the Gulf Coast to be used for search and rescue. We were going to have a layover at Camp Hood anyway."
Luck? 'Yea, bad luck!', I thought as we took off. For most of the trip the DHC-6 Twin Otter twisted, rolled and performed like a rollercoaster in the air currents of the unstable weather front we were flying through. Up-and-down, back-and-forth... I made the crew laugh when the pilot looked over his shoulder, shouting to ask how I was doing.
"I'm not getting airsick yet, Sir, but the only time I enjoy getting bounced around like this is during great sex." I shouted back, holding onto my seat as the plane dropped out from under me for several gut clenching seconds before beginning to climb upwards again.
"You're alright, Ellis! I like a sense of humor," he shouted back as everyone laughed.
Hours later I was back on stable ground, trudging a crooked course under the weight of my gear through rain and around puddles. My rain gear was- of course! -packed at the bottom of my duffle bag. I was looking forward to checking into a hotel and reporting tomorrow but...
“Petty Officer Ellis,” a sergeant with Ranger insignia asked uncertainly as I stepped into the MAC office.
“That’s me. Guess the uniform makes it hard to blend in on an Army base.”
“Just a little, but I was expecting a man. You are definitely not what I was expecting,” Sergeant Richter observed as his eyes traveled over my slender body. Then he paused, really looking at my travel worn uniform and tired, sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m really sorry, Ellis. You look beat but Colonel Brigham sent me to bring you to him ASAP.”
"Not your fault a colonel has his panties twisted in a knot, Richter," I sighed in resignation as he helped me carry the heavy backpacks to the Humvee parked outside.
"Pistols," he asked, sniffing the fragrance of gun oil and doing easy arm curls with the heavy bags. I nodded and he looked at the case I was carefully strapping across the backseat where it shouldn't bounce too much. "And a long rifle? There are no female SEALS and you're not Marine Recon... So, what are you, Ellis?"
"I'm in Logistics," I replied, pointing to the crossed keys on my arm patch. "I count paperclips."
"Riiiiigggghhht...” Samuels said, drawing out the word with heavy irony. “I bet you've been sent to some interesting places to count those paperclips.”
"A few. Wherever you need paperclips counted, you'll find me."
Samuels dropped the questions he knew I wouldn't answer. When I got out a short time later in front of a building, he objected when I began unstrapping the case from the backseat.
"You can leave everything, Ellis. I'm to drive you to the female BEQ when your meeting with Colonel Brigham is over."
"I don't like to leave this out of my sight unless it's locked in a secure place."
Minutes later I was leaning the case against the wall of Colonel Brigham's office. Marching to exactly two paces of his desk, I came to attention.
"Petty Officer Ellis reporting as ordered, Sir!"
If the colonel was surprised I was a woman, he hid it well. After having me stand at attention while he noted my disreputable uniform and tired appearance, I was told to stand at ease. I assumed a more relaxed Parade Rest.
"Long trip?"
"If by long you mean from the middle of the Indian Ocean to your office on connecting MAC flights in just over two days? Then, yes Sir, it's been a long trip."
"I'd say sorry, but I'd be lying. A naval officer I have a lot of respect for told me that you are the one, the only one, who can help my Rangers on their next deployment," the colonel said as he rose and picked up a laminated map from the credenza behind his desk. He laid it across his desk. "Let's see if he's correct. Can you tell me what this is?"
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘It appears to be a map, Sir.’, but Brigham didn’t strike me as a man who appreciated flippancy. Stepping closer to the desk I examined the map and...
"It's a satellite photo of a walled compound and the terrain surrounding it, Sir."
"Yes. Yes," Colonel Brigham said impatiently. "Anyone can tell me that, but can you tell me where this compound is?"
I hesitated...
"Petty Officer Ellis, if I ask you a question you can be assured that I'm cleared to hear your answer."
"Yes, Sir," I replied. I took a breath and began pointing out features.
"This is an old site, Sir. There used to be a small lake here on this side of the wall and this ridge. Back in the time of Marco Polo it was a stopover on the Silk Road. The lake is long gone now. There's still a trickle of water from a pipe hammered into the side of this ridge. So instead of a small lake there's a small pool of water now. Still, it's the only source of water for miles around.
"This compound is in northern Afghanistan and right about here," I traced a line with my finger a few miles north of the compound. "Right about here, is the border between Afghanistan and Tajikistan."
"And you know this how, Petty Officer Ellis?"
"Because I do my research and because I was there a few months ago, Colonel."
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