After Lunch - [BJ]

Around 1400 Hours Doctor Boyce and Commissioner Anderson were sitting at the folding table holding the mobile mini-lab. The loading operations had not ceased work during lunch-time. Rather, small groups of ten or twelve men would stop for fifteen minutes, wolf down their food, and get back into the cycle.

"How is it going?" Commander Smith asked as he stepped off the access ramp and approached the table.

"The quality of the ore is a little below optimum," Doctor Boyce answered. "We'll probably need another ten tons to be able to extract all the pure Zenite we need."

Waving the Stevedore over, Commander Smith asked the same question. The man in the blue jump-suit and cap consulted his clipboard before saying, "Pretty good. According to my reckoning, we've loaded about eighteen tons."

"If we need ten more tons," Commander Smith asked, "at what time could I lift off?"

Again the man studied the clipboard before looking up to answer, "You can be airborne by ten A.M. Probably sooner."

The ship's Captain looked to the Special Envoy. Smith was in charge of the ship; Anderson was in charge of the mission. He shrugged in a do-I-have-a-choice fashion and answered, "Do it."

Commander Smith nodded to the Stevedore who walked away, making entries onto a form buried under the other papers clipped to the board. Adding another ten tons to the shipment.

"Well," Anderson slapped his thighs and stood up. "I guess I should get up there and negotiate the final price on the ore. Doctor, you might as well stay here and continue with your testing."

When Commander Smith asked if Commissioner Anderson minded if he tagged along, the Special Envoy said, "No. Of course not. Please do."

It was only then that Commander Smith noticed the large plastic water jug on the far corner of the table. Pointing to it, he said, "Ah! I see Dawson 'hooked you up' with water. Good man."

"Not water, Captain," Doctor Boyce held a disposal cup under the spigot and pressed the button. A dark brown liquid flowed out. "The house wine of the South. It's quite good, actually."

Commander Smith smiled. He and Petty Officer Dawson had served together long enough for the Captain to know what the term meant. "Iced tea."

The Doctor took a satisfied sip. "Sweet tea, is what I think he called it."

As if on cue, Petty Officer Dawson descended the access ramp. Walking over to the table, he said, "Captain, I hate to be a bother, but I was talking with the Boatswain and I was wondering if . . ."

"You want to go ashore?" Commander Smith asked, to which the Cook nodded. Turning to Anderson, the Captain said, "Just give me a minute. I need to issue a side-arm to Petty Officer Dawson."

After successfully running the gauntlet of people outside the Main Gate, Dawson confident pace slowed, becoming somewhat hesitant as he walked through the canyon between the rows of containers. Up ahead, off to the left, were the hookers Chief Wallace had told him about. His steps slowed even more. Picking up on his obvious uncertainty, one of the women headed towards him. Seeing her approach, Dawson stopped completely.

The woman was plump. Not fat or a BBW, but she was carrying a few extra pounds. She had on a spaghetti-strap summer dress, a green background with a floral pattern. On her feet were brown leather flat sandals. Her hair was brown and wavy, and like most women in her 'profession', her face was heavily made up. Although her make-up could not hide her age. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, the lines framing her mouth, the flab under her chin.

"Looking for a little fun, Hon?" she asked when she neared him.

"Yes, M'am," he answered, looking down at the black asphalt, unable to meet her eyes.

"What would you like?" she questioned, stepping up close enough that he could smell her perfume.

"Well . . . I was kinda wanting . . .," he quickly glanced up at her. "You know. Maybe . . ."

Seeing the way that his eyes were not looking into hers but were focused on her lips, she laughed. "Do you want a blowjob, Hon?"

Nodding his head as he lowered his eyes once more, he softly said, "Yes, M'am."

When she quoted a price, Dawson was a little shocked. So shocked that he actually made eye-contact. "Oooo, that's more than I was expecting. The Chief told me . . ."

Laughing again, she patted his chest, "Alright, Hon. Let's make it . . ." and she named a price in line with the amount Chief Wallace had said. Dawson agreed to the new, lowered price and she took his hand, leading him into an aisle between the rows of containers.

"What's you name, M'am?" Dawson asked as he tagged along.

"Callova," she answered, stopping between two forty-foot cargo containers and holding out her palm. "What's yours?"

"Will. . ." he started to say 'Willard' as he counted out the money. But he changed it to, "Willie."

"Alright, Willie," she replied, shoving the script into a waist pocket of her dress and then placing her palms on his shoulders and gently pushing him back against the corrugated metal wall. "Just lean up against this and let Callova take care of you."

When he said, "Yes, M'am," again, she laughed. "I wish you would stop calling me M'am," she said as she squatted down in front of him, "It makes me feel old. Although, I guess compared to you I am old." She unzipped his fly and reached inside. "I have a son about your age." Fishing around within his boxer shorts, she found his flaccid dick and pulled it out. "Maybe a little older. He's a miner." She said the last with a hint of pride. "I used to be a miner, too, until I got into this line of work."

She smiled when she saw that his member was already starting to harden. Kissing the head and licking the sides, as she held it aloft with the tips of her fingers, she was soon able to get him fully erect.

"Ooooo, you have a pretty cock," the older woman cooed as she curled her fingers around his shaft.

"Do I?" Dawson asked in surprise. He had never been told that before. Well, not exactly in those words.

"Oh, yes," she nodded her head, stroking his erection. Twisting it around as she crouched there before him. "Nice and hard and firm." She continued pumping on it. "Nice and young. I like young cocks. So hard and firm."

Parting her lips, she leaned forward and took him into her warm, wet mouth. She reached up to grasp him at the waist and began rocking back and forth on her heels, her lips milking his shaft as she sucked on him. Not only did she move her head back and forth, but she twisted it in a figure-eight fashion. Dipping to the left, raising her head, dipping it to the right, and then lifting it to start all over again. All the while her lips were sliding back-and-forth.

After a few moments, Dawson closed his eyes and moaned loudly. As she worked on him with just her mouth, no hands for her, Dawson reached down to cradle her head. Stroking her hair. Petting her head as she sucked him off. Not much longer after that, he started to move his hips to-and-fro, moaning repeatedly and sighing loudly.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at the top of that brown-hair covered head, watching the way her lips slid along his shaft, the way his cock disappeared and reappeared in and out of her mouth.

As his sounds of pleasure grew louder and his pelvis moved more pronouncedly, she lifted her mouth from his dick. Gripping his erection and stroking it to keep it hard, she looked up at him, asking, "When you cum, Hon, where do you want to do it? In my mouth? On my face?" Her fist made squishy noises as it pumped up and down on his spit-coated cock. "If you want, I can slip these straps off my shoulders and lower my top so that you can shoot on my breasts."

"Your . . . your mouth," he stammered, obviously close to 'busting a nut'. His hands gently tugged on her head, encouraging her to take his cock back into her mouth.

"O.K.," she replied, not engulfing him quite yet. "Just let me know before you cum, O.K.?"

"Yes, M'am," he answered and then grunted in happiness when she once more sheathed him in her wet, sucking, slobbering mouth. She moved her head faster, sucked harder, trying to push him over the edge.

"Oh, Call . . . Callova," he gasped as his hips bucked wildly, "I'm gonna cum."

"Hmm, mmm," she hummed around his cock, her head nodding rapidly back and forth. "Hmm-mmm, hmm-mm, hmm-mmm."

His fingers dug into her scalp and he arched his back, shoving his hips forward, only his shoulders maintaining contact with the wall behind him. Callova's eyes went wide when the first blast splattered against the roof of her mouth. The second one coated her tongue. The third and fourth shots painted the insides of her mouth.

She never stopped rocking her head back and forth, continuing to slide her tightly stretched lips along his shaft as the throbbing, twitching organ filled her mouth with cum. The woman's cheeks bulged out and some of the hot, spewing liquid seeped from the corners of her mouth.

Collapsing back against the container, his hands fall away, Dawson gasped and panted for air. Callova leaned back further, a thin strand of spittle connecting her lower lip to the head of his softening cock as they broke contact. Twisting at the waist to one side, she held her hair back as she spat out his load onto the ground. The black asphalt beneath the mixture of sperm and spit made the large glob seem even whiter.

After spitting a couple of more times, she returned her attention to Dawson. Kissing the head of his soft, spent dick and returning it to the confines of his clothing. Once she had zipped his fly, she stood up, staggering slightly but quickly regaining her balance.

"Feel better now, Hon?" she asked, patting his chest. When he nodded weakly at her, his eyes somewhat glazed, she told him, "Well, next time you want to have your dick sucked, you know where to find me."

And with that, she turned to exit the space between the containers, heading for the road to resume her position. To wait for her next customer.