All Aboard!

The next morning, First Lieutenant Taylor arose at six a.m. and tried to move around as quietly as possible, wanting to allow Margret Ferguson to sleep awhile longer. Evidently he was not that successful, for after shaving and showering, he exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist to see Margret was up. The drapes to their tenth-floor room had been opened to reveal a spectacular view of the dawn. The older woman was sitting on the cushioned bench at the small table with a mirror mounted on the wall over it. The table could serve as a desk or, like now, as a dressing table. Margaret was naked except for a garter belt, stockings, and high-heel shoes, and was brushing her hair.

"Oh, sorry," Taylor muttered, "I was trying not to wake you up."

Putting down the brush, she removed the applicator from her mascara tube to touch-up her lashes. Speaking to his reflection in the mirror, she chuckled. "Silly boy. Did you actually think I was going to let you leave without giving you a good-bye blowjob." She nodded towards the overstuffed arm-chair. "Take off you towel and sit down."

With a happy shrug and grin, he loosened the towel and strolled to the chair. Margaret watched the much young man in the mirror. She found him to be totally irresistable and an absolutely delicious piece of eye-candy. Already he was half-erect just from the sight of her. And, she thought, perhaps from her choice of words.

"One final thing," Margaret told him, turning on the bench to face the chair. Her knees were casually open, giving him an unrestricted view of her 'bush'. She applied her lipstick. Red. Bright red. Whorish, cock-sucking, red lipstick. Snapping the cap back on the lipstick, she dropped it on the table-top and arose to approach him. "Alright, soldier boy," she said, standing before him, "Spread 'em."

Moving his feet farther apart, his eyes slowly travelled over the mature female form in front of him, the full thighs, wide hips, slight belly, heavy breasts with a slight sag. The morning sun in her face really showed her age, but that didn't worry Taylor any, in his eyes she was everything.

Sinking slowly to her knees, her eyes staring into his, she reached out to his groin area with eager fingers. Margret gently rubbed and tugged his semi-erect shaft, coaxing it into a full-blown hard-on. Her other hand lovingly cupped and caressed this balls. With an up-turned face, she asked, "Are you going to cum in my mouth?" She continued to stroke and work him. "You going to let me suck you off and then bust your nut? You going to give me all of your man-juice? You going to watch me swallow it?" Her hand was pumping quickly. "You want me to swallow your sperm, don't you? You want to use my mouth to get off?"

From the way Taylor was panting and digging his fingers into the arms of the chair, Margret figured that she had given him more than enough audible stimulation. Swiftly her head swooped down, those whorish lips locking just behind the pre-cum oozing head. She began to suck as hard as she could while pounding away on his shaft. Milking his dick with her fist as her other hand squeezed his heavy balls.

With wide eyes of surprise, Taylor called out Margret's name and clamped his hands around her head. She had just started and already he was ejaculating. The naked man's entire body tensed as he fired out jet after jet of hot, thick spunk into that sucking mouth. The hand flying up and down the twitching shaft urging out more and more of his load.

Collapsing back into he chair, his hands falling away, gasping for breath, he looked down at his lover who had just blown him. "Jeez, Maggie. I've never... never cum that... that fast before."

Dabbing at the corners of her lips with her fingers, she smiled up at him with pride. "Well, I knew you have a train to catch." As she rose to her feet, she pointed to his sticky, soft, lipstick-stained dick. "Do not clean yourself off until your next shower," she said. "That way, every time you go to the bathroom, the lipstick will make you think of me."

Standing up as well, he took her in his arms. "I think of you all the time, anyway." He kissed her, but when the kiss dragged on, she pushed herself away. "You have a train to catch, remember?"

***** ***** *****

Carrying a suit-case with the three books he had been issued, Professor Samuel Drake approached the ticket windows at Washington D.C.'s Union Station. He had on a double-breasted, chalk-stripe dark-gray suit and black fedora. On the cab ride over, he had made a brief stop at the B.O.Q. (Bachelor Officer's Quarters). There, he had hanged the uniform he had worn yesterday in the standing locker in his room (which, due to Margaret, he had never slept in). Later on, a team would empty out his locker, boxing up the contents. Just like what was done when an air-crew did not return from a mission. Only, instead of being shipped back to the next of kin, the boxes would be put in storage.

"Well, don't you look nice?" a woman's voice said from behind him.

Turning around, Drake saw a five-foot-seven blonde in a light blue, two-piece, knee-length victory suit. She had on a white blouse with a smart hat sat rakishly on top of her head. "As do you, Mrs. Drake," he replied, falling in with the use of their cover names and passing his 'wife' her ticket.

As they walked down the crowded boarding platform, looking at the numbers on the sides of the cars for theirs, she said, "We can't be calling each other 'Professor' and 'Mrs.' all the time. Mind if I call you by your first name?"

"Not at all, Amethyst," he replied, referring to the name he had seen on several doctored forms yesterday.

Rolling her blue eyes, she sighed, "Amy. Please. Amy." She shook her head, "I don't know what my parents were thinking when they tagged me with that albatross."

"Alright, Amy," he answered, stopping at the numbered car matching their tickets. He let her board first. "And I am Sam. Sam I am."

He began to whistle a popular tune . Amy stopped short to spin around to face him, "Are you sure we are on the right train, Sam I am?"