Flight Suits

Here's another requested story. I know more or less nothing about the military, but I've always thought people in uniform were sexy. Maybe it's just the boots. Maybe it's not.

The Officer and the Sailor

I've seen her before, but never at the bar. Maybe that's because I can go off base without having to put on civvies, and she can't. She's not an officer. She works the deck. I've seen her, seen the way she walks.

 Maybe it's my imagination. We all walk the same way. We all went through boot, we all know how to march when we have to. It becomes natural. It's how you can tell when someone is in the service, even after they're swabbed their last deck, so to speak. My cousin's decommed, and he still walks that way.

But she doesn't walk that way. Not exactly. It's still crisp. It's still efficient. But there's something else. More than just a need to get from one place to another. She moves like she's just flexing her body, and the world is moving around her. She moves like she owns the place. Like she owns the ship, like she owns the port, like she owns the whole fucking planet.

There's so much power there in her walk. Power that makes the flight suit somehow look sexy on her. The formless coveralls that we all wear, and she somehow makes them fit her form. And she's got quite a form when she wants to. From the sole of those perfectly shined black boots to the top of her perfectly styled black hair, she's all power. The dark eyes, the dark skin, the strong nails cut short and efficient but still with the look of talons when she needs them.

I turn away when her eyes flick towards mine, and I can feel my face getting red as I remember the look in those eyes for the split second. For that flash of connection, her eyes were flirtatious, they were enticing. They were seductive, confident, and completely in control.

I take a deep breath to settle myself. I'm an officer, for god's sake. I can order her to do just about anything within reason and regs. I'm the one with all the power.

But when I look back, and her eyes are still there, waiting for me, I know that it just isn't true. I'm not the one with the power.

She saunters over to me, moving like liquid sex, and stands at the stool next to me. “Buy me a drink,” she says. It's not a request.

I didn't snap to orders that fast when I was fresh off the bus, but when it comes from her it's like a command from up on high.

She smiles up at me. I'm sitting, she's standing, and I'm taller than she is. But it still feels like she's looking down at me. That little smirk, the crooked smile on her face makes it clear who is judging and who is being judged.

She takes a sip of her drink and her eyes molest my body, going over my name tag, my rate insignia, and the way my own flight suit rests on my shoulders.

“Lieutenant,” she says.

I smile. “I'm not on duty,” I say. “No need to stand on ceremony.”

She gives me the smirk again. “Oh, I had no intention of that,” she says. “Besides, I prefer my men to kneel on ceremony, not stand on it.”

My eyes go wide, and my mouth dries up like the Sahara. Part of me thinks I'm hearing her wrong.

She smiles, all innocence. “Am I wrong about you?” She asks. “I've seen you around. Seen the way you look at me. Don't you want to get on your knees for me?”

She's quiet, knowing her voice won't carry across the bar. But each word pounds into my mind, tearing away at any resistance I might have. It's not right. I outrank her. It would be unfair.

I open my mouth to tell her that I can't, and she puts a soft brown finger on my lip.

“You're not my commanding officer,” she says. “There's no direct reporting. No balance of power issues.” Then her smirk returns and her eyes bore into mine. “I'll be the only one with power.”

She finishes her beer and slams the glass down on the bar. “Pay for our drinks,” she says. “I'll be waiting for you outside.”

She turns and walks out, not even checking behind her to see that I'm frantically digging for money, so desperate to pay that I end up giving the bartender twenty dollars for two beers, and rush out after her without even asking for change.

She's waiting at her car, and she hands me the keys. We don't speak while we drive, except for her to give me directions. We end up in a part of the base that is almost completely abandoned. It's secluded, but still visible should anyone come by.

Kind of exciting.

She tells me to get out of the car and takes the keys back from me. Then she pushes me up against a wall and starts to kiss me, hard. She invades my mouth with her tongue, and her hands start to grab at my ass. I reach around to pull her closer to me.

She pushes me back and breaks the kiss. “No hands,” she says. Then she starts kissing me again.

At first I keep my hands by my sides, but as the kiss deepens, as she rubs up my back, I find my own hand sliding up her spine.

She pushes me back again, then stands and glares down at me, even though I'm taller than she is. “I thought I was very clear,” she said. Then she pulled off her belt. “Turn around.”

Once my hands were bound, she goes back to kissing, running her fingers over my shaved head, pulling me to her, guiding me around the building and then pulling me on top of her on some covered pallets. Not the best place for sex, not the one I would have chosen. But I'm not exactly the one making the decisions right now, which is kind of the point.

She pushes me back, so I'm standing with my hands tied behind my back and my cock straining against my flight suit. She looks down at it, then back and me with a smirk.

“Don't worry about that,” she says. “I'll give you the best orgasm you've had in your life. I promise.”

I take a step forward, and she raises one leg, presses her flight deck boot to my chest to stop me.

“You want to get rewarded, you play by my rules,” she says.

I nod. “Okay.”

She snaps her fingers and points at the ground between her legs. “On your knees, boy.”

I get on my knees carefully; I never realized how important hands are to that sort of thing before. But I'm soon kneeling in front of her. She puts one foot up on my shoulder and lets me watch as she unzips her flight suit. It moves slowly from the top, showing first her rich brown skin and then the stark white of a sweaty muscle shirt straining desperately to try to hold her breasts inside it. The zipper slides down over the bare skin of her naval to the soft gray fabric of her panties. She doesn't pull the suit off, just slides the panties down a little bit, enough so I can see that while her drapes are black, she doesn't have carpeting. Just bare floors.

Then the foot comes off my shoulder. She passes it slowly across my chest, making sure I have a good, long look at the treads in her boots. Then she puts it behind my head, and I feel the laces of her boots pressing against my skull. She pulls me closer and closer.

“Get to work sailor,” she says. “You please me enough times and I'll let you cum on my boots. And if you're a really good boy, I'll let you lick them clean after.”

My tongue reaches out to her slit as I close the distance, no longer needing her foot to guide me.

“Of course, once you do,” she makes a soft sound of pleasure when I start licking, and puts her hands on my head, ready to push me where she wants me. “Once you do, I'm going to want my belt back.”

She holds me tight in her crotch for a second and rests her knees over my shoulders. “But not until you've cleaned my boots,” she says.

“Wouldn't want them to be as dirty as you are.”