Page 40 of Race With The Devil

“Oh, give me a break! So your fellow cadets or whatever they call themselves wander around in the shower room admiring your penis?”

That gave me an idea. I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

She calmed down instantly. “What . . . “

“What do I mean? I’m talking hot man-on-man action in the showers, that’s what I’m talking.”

She inhaled sharply. “In the . . . air force?”

“Sure, why not? We’re men. We can do whatever we want. And sometimes we’re away from women.”

“So, a guy would come up and say ‘hey, Sergeant Tanner, you sure do have a nice tasty hose, let me suck on it?”

“Exactly,” I said casually, as though it’d happened every day. It’d happened exactly once, and it was that once I intended on talking about, if it would keep Unity close to me.

It worked. She walked her hand back to my erection and clamped down over it. She snuggled so close her shoulder bobbled mine, and she squeezed the entirety of my cock in her palm. Stress soared inside my tube, creating the same pressure as a boa constrictor suffocating its prey. I helped her out by unbuckling my belt. Her little hand did the buttons.

“Tell me more. He was in the shower? So he got down on his knees?”

“Right. There wasn’t much to it. He just gobbled me up like he hadn’t eaten in a week and hoovered away.”

She shimmied her tits against my bicep now. It was going to snow that night, but Unity managed to still display a good amount of side boob, for which I was grateful. Before my dick even popped out into the air, I’d spurted some pre-come drops. She used this blob of jizz to smooth over my cockhead, giving slickness to her pumping.

“Was anyone watching?”

“Not at first. I guess my groaning brought curious people running.” That was true. The suction was so sudden and unexpected—and it’d been so long since I’d been blown—I just growled mightily like a lion. Suddenly it didn’t matter that it was a guy on his knees giving me such erotic sensations. Suddenly it was my entire world, and the lusty encouragements of my fellow airmen only added to the quick buildup.

Now Unity used two hands—one to massage my balls, which she’d brought out into the light of day. She spit ladylike into her palm and applied it to my ballsac, and jizz surged, again glistening the slit. Doctors called this “the point of no return.” No shit. Any second now I was going to spew my load, and if it hit the windshield we might be in trouble. A very tiny part of my brain looked for the windshield wiper switch.

“So they were into it too?”

“Why not? I guess the guy had done it before to some of them. He was like a mascot, a sexy gay mascot for desperate horny men.”

“So you were hard?”

“Are you kidding? A little less hard than I am now.”

Unity rubbed her entire breast against my bicep. “I’ve never seen a dick this big. Except, you know, in Triple Exposure films.”

“What’s that? Oh Law, Unity, I’m going to bean you right in the eye.”

“Good,” she purred, and jacked me even harder.

That was it. A starburst of muscle contractions rippled through my scrotum. Bladder, balls, anal ring, and most of all, that sacred and holy p-spot, the prostate gland that trembled before the almighty sword of Unity’s live-giving hand.

Luckily I was still on the straight part of the road, or I certainly would’ve veered off into a fucking ditch. I had to remember to force my eyes open, as they naturally wanted to squeeze shut so I could revel in the utter bliss of my throbbing member.

When Unity laughed, it sounded a half mile away. The cocksucker in the shower was a million miles away. I forced myself to come to as the spasms slowed. I looked around to see where I’d blasted my load, but it was too dark. Someone had replaced a veil on the world while I was selfishly jizzing all over the place. My eyes adjusting, I saw some of it in Unity’s hair, on her chin. I laughed somewhat sheepishly when a viscous blob dripped from the tip of her dimpled chin. She laughed, wiping it with the back of her hand.

“You know when I did that by the waterfall?” she asked. “That was the first time I’d ever done that to a man.”

“You’re kidding,” I blurted, without thinking. “I mean, I just pictured you having a shit ton of boyfriends, and . . . “

“Not really. Almost none, in fact. I mean, men get all over me at ganja events. Because I wear a thong or a tank top with nothing beneath it, they think they can just grab.”

Irritation roiled in the pit of my stomach. “You need a bodyguard.”

“I do. I have a few guys I sometimes bring with me. But if it’s an out of state event, I can’t afford to pay another guy’s plane fare and hotel.”