The calm and clear blue sky is torn to ribbons by four supersonic airplanes. One Equestrian screamer tailed by two mauve delta-winged crafts, with another two-engine jet fighter following. “I’ve got two unidentified aircraft on my six! Blue 3, do you read?”

“Copy Blue 2, I spy two bogies on your six. Unknown signature and optics seem strange. E.S. Godflyer, do you copy?” Soarin’ ejects his external fuel tanks to cut drag and weight.

The comms officer aboard the Godflyer picks up the handset, his fist clenched around the communicator lit up in a blue glow from the LCD screen. “We copy, Blue 3. We observe your unknown craft chasing Blue 2. Scrambling wings as we speak. If they open up, you are free to engage. Priority is keeping mission deniability, do you copy?”

Soarin didn’t need to touch the broadcast button fixed in his helmet to respond. The newest generation and somewhat experimental fighter was something else: smarter, sleeker, deadlier. “Are you fucking me? With all due respect, Spitfire’s in danger, and you’re saying I can’t deep-six the bastards on her six?”

“That’s an order, ESV-7. Do not engage unless bogies engage.”

Suddenly, Blue 2 pulls up and banks right over the landmass. “Soarin’, it’s just you and me out here, help me shake these fuckers!”

“Negative, Blue 2!” the communication technician barks through his headset, watching the battle of the multi-colored triangles on his screen. “Unidentified bogies could be neutr-”

“I can see their fucking weapons!” Soarin shouts. “Spitfire! Climb and do an aileron roll, I’ll do one opposite you and catch ‘em in my forward guns!”

“Negative, Blue 3, tha-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Alright, Soarin’,” Spitfire says into her microphone. “As long as you got my ba-” The unidentified fighter jets open fire with blazing, dark violet energy bolts. Many strike Spitfire’s fighter with sickening accuracy. The fuel tanks in either wing ignite in terrible fireballs, sending bits of scrap into the deadly air.

More dark bolts fly, impacting Spitfire’s clipped bird. The starboard wing flies off, nearly hitting one adversary.

“SPITFIRE!” Soarin’s vision focuses into a red-tinted rage, his only thoughts of vengeance and murder. Spitfire’s jet is spiralling into a fatal death-spiral at merely two-thousand feet.

“Blue 2, do you cop-”

“I’m hit! Blue 2, going down! Ejecting no-” another blue bolt launches from the under-wing plasma cannon of the first enemy fighter, vaporizing the port wing. Through the smoke and purple, noxious smoke, a rocket-propelled ejection seat flies out of the fray. Soarin’ watches the parachute unfurl over foreign land, then sets about destroying the two assailants.

Soarin’ turns off his communicator and unleashes two Sidewinders into the first jet. Both find their mark. The first decimates the plane, traveling straight up the tailpipe and exploding five feet inside the fuselage. The second missile impacts the debris, killing the enemy pilot instantly.

The first plane reduced to smouldering shrapnel, Soarin’ attacks the second with his last two missiles. One is confused with flares and a hard banking maneuver, but the second detonates midair, disabling some essential stabilizing systems. The banking aircraft rolls out of control. Soarin’ pulls the nose of his mach-4 jet fighter in line with the wounded enemy, then unleashes 80 tracer rounds in four seconds. The target is pocked with clinking flashes, then explodes in a fiery explosion.

Soarin’ pulls up and barely misses his kill, but catches the pilot’s parachute cords on his wing. The pilot is sucked into the starboard engine in a horrific flurry of suction. The jet’s engine frappes the pale adversary in less than a second, completely destroying one of the two engines Soarin’ is using.

“Mayday! E.S. Godflyer,” Soarin’ shouts. “Thi-FUCK!” he turns his communicator on with a slap. “E.S. Godflyer, this is ESV-7 Chief Petty Officer Soarin’, I’ve been hit. I’ve lost starboa-STARBOARD ENGINE! I CAN BARELY HEAR ANYTHING AT ALL! I DON’T KNOW HO-UGH!” Soarin’ leans into the stick hard to keep his craft aloft. “I’M USING EVERY OUNCE OF STRENGTH KEEPING THIS THING ALOFT! I’M ON MY WAY BACK TO THE CARRIER NOW-”

A blinking light distracts Soarin’ enough to stop mid-sentence. If he didn’t eject in two seconds, he’d be bloody mulch for the foreign jungle two thousand of feet below. Without another word, he pulled the eject cord. The canopy blew off and Soarin’ found himself being rocketed into the air. Something wasn’t right, though. He was flying sideways. Soarin’ blinked away his confusion and saw his angle of descent. He is on a near-horizontal trajectory, safely out of the way of the midair debris field. Blood rushes from his head to his toes as nearly 5 G’s of force propel him out of harm’s way. With his last efforts to stay conscious, Soarin’ flexes all of his muscles to push some blood back to his eyes. The final visage he sees is his sleek, sexy, wounded combat jet, worth ten times what he’ll make in his lifetime, soar into the black cloud he created with his missiles and cannons.

A sudden force jerks Soarin’ awake. He aches all over, but especially the front of his head. He can’t feel his feet, or his hands. Then, as if on cue, they flare awake in searing agony. He blinks away the pain and tries to get his bearings.

Soarin’ finds himself stuck in the middle of the canopy, entangled in branches, leaves, twigs, vines, and the heavy nylon parachute cords. He tries to lift his right hand to grab his KBAR, but instead shouts in pain. That arm is useless, broken for sure. His left arm is usable, but less smart. He grabs the heavy knife like a child and carefully lifts the visor of his flight helmet. Soarin’ can see some blue sky through the thick mat of leaves above him. He spits, watching the bloody saliva fall down and slightly to the right. Down isn’t down, not quite. He adjusts himself, painfully, and tries to right his eyes with the obstructed horizon. A smoke trail still thick and fresh heads due west. That’s Spitfire’s last message, and the last Soarin’ will get if he can’t get his radio working.

Resheathing the knife, Soarin’ slumps in the rocket chair. He unstraps himself, nearly falling out, and relaxes. He tries his helmet comms, but they’re dead. He grabs the rigid ration pack and carefully slings that over his left shoulder. He has a radio clipped securely to his flak jacket, but it’s comparable to his flight helmet’s self-contained communications device. Soarin’ grabs a sturdy vine in his left hand and makes his way down the high tree laboriously.

The descent is a grueling test of physical endurance and strength, but not comparable to the pilot’s bi-monthly PT tests. Soarin’s boots thud heavily into the soft dirt of the jungle floor within an hour. He winces as his broken arm falls heavily with him. He touches his forearm, then his bicep, feeling gingerly for the source. It seems his upper arm is the victim. Not good. Soarin’ moans, his arm throbbing and bleeding a little.

Soarin’ takes a deep breath, then another. He grips his wrist, then a little higher up on his forearm. Just touching here is hardly tolerable. Soarin’ screams as loud as he can and yanks hard on his own arm, dislodging the splintered humerus from the flesh inside his arm. The pain is like no other, hellish, searing, burning, exploding, mind-numbing. Soarin’ goes to his knees and pukes onto the dank soil. His nice breakfast is maggot food.

Soarin’ blinks back the tears and stands again, almost numb to any sensation other than the fucking pain in his right arm. With his long ration pack, Soarin’ makes a stint out of the multipurpose steel box. He pushes his elbow up to his shoulder, shuddering as the pain detonates again, but recedes fairly quickly. Soarin’ feels his legs go weak for a moment, but he rights his strong body again.

His right arm healing, hopefully, Soarin’ tries the comms in his flight helmet again. Nothing. He takes it off and sits down against a mossy tree, trying to ignore the puddle of half-digested eggs and bacon. The button is stuck, and plant material is lodged in the visor’s track. The microphone is torn clean off, leaving some dirty exposed wires in its place.

“Fuck.” Soarin’ pulls the twigs out of the helmet’s crevices and drops it in the dirt. He pulls the antenna of the walkie-talkie with his teeth, then takes it in his hand. He turns it on and dials into Spitfire’s personal frequency.

“Spitfire, it’s Soarin’, over. Do you copy, over,” he says into the the hand-held. After five seconds, he gets some garbled static in response. Soarin’ hops up excitedly, making his arm flare up painfully. He holds his right hand to his stomach and tries again. “Spitfire!” he shouts. “This is Soarin’, over! Do you copy?”

More faint, inscrutable static. “Spitfire, I saw your smoke trail heading, uh, due west from my location. If you can, try to stay in contact, I’ll come find you, over.”

With that, Soarin’ set out to find his partner and flight school crush.

Your combat boots crunch almost silently along the jungle floor as you follow the beacon on your HUD. Ahead is behind, and each side similar. The thick foliage is the ultimate disorienter. You climb through the thick vines and hold back the cellulose ropes for your partner, then take point again. ESV-7 Soarin’ and ESV-7 Spitfire remain your primary objectives, but the crash site of the foreign craft is between you and them.

Suddenly, something stirs ahead. You drop to one knee and lower your head behind a log, feeling the moisture in the air nearer the mossy cover. You active camouflage kicks in within a second. Newly invisible, or close, you peer over the log and scan the area. A bloody body is walking around, missing most of an arm and the other broken. His purple flight suit is matted and dripping crimson life blood.

You draw your sidearm, your only weapon. To save weight and increase capacity for medical equipment, a naval corpsman needs only a combat knife, a .45 caliber high capacity magnum, silenced for this mission, his fists, and his wits.

A bright green line fixates upon the concussed adversary’s head, leading to Chevron’s silenced sniper rifle. “Say when,” he whispers into his headset, linked to yours and to the Godflyer directly. There’s no reason to let this fucker suffer any longer. He shot down an Equestrian pilot and another was grounded prematurely. He deserves whatever hell he believes in.

“When.” Skull chips and brain juice squirt out of the other side of his head just after a tiny “pff”. The foreign pilot drops like the sack of meat he is. “Come on. Let’s scope the crash site, then find our birds.”

“Copy.” Communication is kept at a minimum for these operations. You holster you pistol and quickly vault the organic barrier and follow the beacon. Just like Future Warfare Three, you think to yourself. But with real bullets and more advanced technology.

The dead pilot’s face is on the dirt, next to the rest of him. You turn the body over, not doing well to ignore the gruesome sight of his mangled head. His body isn’t much better at all. His dog tags are made of brass, and the name “Lachlan” is the only thing readable on it. The last name is a jumble of foreign characters, the likes of which you’ve never seen. You can make out a few numerals, but nothing else. You walk again towards the beacon, disregarding the broken body in a violet and blue and crimson suit. His friend supposedly turned into a meatshake in ESV-7 Soarin’s right thruster, so there was no need to worry about another foe. Still, it was likely that their forces might be occupying this area. You pat your sides to make sure your four extra clips haven’t walked off.

After walking for only two minutes, you find the meatbag’s downed bird. The thing doesn’t look as modern in the description Chief gave you. Even mangled and on fire, this thing looks hardly capable of launching the mysterious attacks shown in the ten seconds of shaky POV video captured by Soarin’s helmet. You step over some scrap and look for the weapons system. It’s a mess, the plane’s parts are pulverised and scattered.

You touch your ear and speak, “Command, are you reading my feed?”

“Affirmative, Spectra one. It’s like we thought, this craft isn’t Equestrian, Amareican, or anything we’ve seen before. Look for insignia, serial numbers, a black box, but most of all, try to find out where those energy bolts came from.”

“I still say they’re magic,” Chevron snarls.

You walk forward, kicking out a small electrical fire. The plane’s metal isn’t steel, or aluminum, or titanium, or any material you’re familiar with. You pick up a bit of the wing, maybe a three inch section, and flip over the heavy chunk. Regular aircraft scrap this size would weigh half as much, easily. You try to bend it, but the heavy stuff is impossible to warp with your fingers.

You toss the bit aside and thump your fist on the detached wing in front of you. It reverberates softly, ringing like a tuning fork. The low pitch created sounds eerie and alien. The purple paint flakes off a little.

“Found something. I fucking knew it, pure mother fucking magic.”

“Bullshit,” you reply, still speaking softly into the microphone, even though Chevron is fifteen yards away. You step over to him and look at the oblong object embedded into the soil.

The oval thing is made of glass and brassy metal, reinforced around a purple object inside. You’re tempted to blow a hole in the glass and look inside, but picking it up will do. There’s no telling if the thing would explode and turn you into goo on impact.

Upon closer inspection, the purple thing inside looks crystalline. Geometric shapes are formed and it looks like it’s perhaps electrified. The center turns from opaque to faintly translucent. You squint your eyes and stare closely. The pink-purple crystal in the glass and brass container seems to hum, maybe. No, you can’t deny it. The container feels warm, and then some light pulses out. Your face feels warm, as if close to a blazing fire. You pull your head back, then the container starts to heat up.

“Ah!” You drop the brass pod as it singes your palms, the fifty pound mass thuds into the soft earth. A purple pulse shoots out the instant the weapon hits the ground, sending a mauve bolt into the air at a skewed angle. The energy burns leaves and branches, cutting clear through a thick trunk on its way up.

You shake your hands to cool them, but the damage is done. No burns, but they sorta smart a bit. The brass pod sits still, silent in the earth. You follow the crystal’s aim and look to the path the bolt created. Blue sky shines through a round hole in the jungle, the size of your head. Bark and wood are singed or smouldering.

You touch your headset again. “Command, did you s-”

“Affirmative, Spectra, we caught that on your helmet cam. Proceed to extract target and return immediately for debriefing. We’ll send in a team to investigate the crash, just leave everything be, over.”

“Spectra copies. Proceeding to objective, over and out.” You turn to Chevron, his mouth agape behind his mouthless balaclava. “You heard bossman, hoof it.”

“Oh man, that was some crazy shit. We got some magic bullshit on our hands. It’s if those fuckers decide to attack in for-”

“I said hoof it! We don’t know what this is, if there’s more, if there are more soldiers or anything. For all we know, it’s a god damn alien.”

Chevron straightens up, adjusting his rifle strap. “Fuck your god,” he mumbles, continuing west to the downed friendlies. There’s no telling if they’re injured, just where their suits’ ID chips are.

You find nothing but jungle for the next half hour, laboring maybe two or three miles. The humidity sucks at your strength, and your medical equipment weighs like a squad automatic weapon on your back. Chevron carries the extra medical kits, but they’re light.

At last, you come across the first sign of human life. Hopefully, human life. Bloody and torn Nomex ribbons lie about, as well as many heavy footprints. A yellowish puddle is in the clearing, rotting and festering with bugs. Scanning the treetops reveals an ejected chair hanging by the parachute. You pick up the scrap of flight suit and stuff it in a pocket, then continue on silently to the objective.

The jungle is so thick, now, that your active camouflage can activate with your slow movements. You come across a few streams and clearings where your movements are too swift for the new technology to cope, but it’s invisible work most of the way.

Two miles and one hour later, you come within a hundred yards of both signals. At least they found each other, so that means one of them is mobile. You stoop down and unholster your sidearm, just in case.

“It’s one of them,” Chevron whispers into his set. “Holy hell, look at that ass.”

You peer around a thick tree while Chevron takes position to your right. A blue line appears on your HUD, connecting the muzzle of Chevron’s rifle to ESV-7 Spitfire’s posterior. She’s laying on her side, her head propped up on a flak jacket. She’s wearing hers, but her slate and navy blue flight suit is unzipped all the way down her front. She’d look damn good in the thick armored jacket with nothing else on.

You scan the clearing, noting the smouldering treetops, but fail to spot the other signal. You turn to your right and see Chevron, snickering, with a small blue diamond on your HUD just behind him. ESV-7 Soarin’ is creeping up, his suit fully zipped and a KBAR in his left hand.

“Chevron, jerk off later, you got company on your six.” The blue beam dissipates and he spins around, accidentally smacking Soarin’s head with the suppressor. Soarin’ ducks and springs up, trying to stab your partner. You stand up, letting your camo fall, and watch the tussle.

Soarin’s stab dumbly hits the rifle, clanging and chipping off some paint. Chevron whirls the butt around and pushes Soarin’ back. You can only see the pilot using only his left arm, as does Chevron. He fakes a jab with his rifle butt, but Soarin’ backs off defensively.

“You’re Equestrian!” he shouts, his high tenor voice trembling with pain and fury. “What, WHAT THE FUCK? Why the hell are you aiming that thing at Spitfire like that?”

“Why the hell are you using your squadmate as live bait?” you shout back. “Once you two are done, put your dicks away and let’s get out of here. We might be in danger from the friends of those two planes you shot down.”

You walk into the clearing, ignoring whatever your fellow sailors are doing. Soarin’s obviously healthy enough for now. Spitfire’s not so lucky. At first glance, you notice her fire-retardant suit saved her life; it’s charred, but not melted to her skin. Her helmet hair is matted with sweat and a little blood from superficial lacerations on her forehead. Nothing bad, but her lip is cut and swollen fairly badly.

You kneel down and slip a hand under Spitfire’s flak jacket to feel her toned chest. She’s breathing, and her heartbeat is steady. She also jumps a little bit at being groped, but you’re not here to cop a feel. She’s unconscious, but no broken ribs or anything. You pull your hand out, inadvertently touching her nice breast.

You bite back the distraction and move down her nice body with your eyes. She’s amazingly attractive, completely at your mercy. You don’t want to use her, take advantage of her. No, you want to make sure this intelligent, strong, sexy beauty gets a chance to see tomorrow in the safety of either the carrier’s infirmary or in Ponyville. That town has the closest full-blown hospital, and she’s definitely earned shore leave.

You open up a first aid kit and look at her legs. They’re not broken, but there’s quite a bit of blood, hinting at a laceration of some kind. She stirs some, mumbling out a word, then falls back into agonized rest. You touch her hot forehead and find a morphine syringe. You roll up the suit’s arm, finding her elbow’s vein. Using the suit’s somewhat elastic Nomex as a tourniquet, you find the strong arm’s main vein and inject her with 20 ccs of the painkiller. Spitfire breathes a little harder, tossing her yellow-orange hair around.

“Hnnn that means, you, uhn. . . .” Spitfire manages to say. She seems concussed.

“Spitfire!” Soarin’ shouts, suddenly near you. You were so absorbed in your patient that you didn’t notice him at all. You’re normally effectively aware of your surroundings as anyone in combat with a wounded soldier, but Spitfire’s comatose sexiness is draining on your senses. You want to use all five with her, especially touch.

You gulp hard. A large amount of blood is beginning to pool between her legs. “Not good,” you mutter. You try to gingerly roll Spitfire onto her back and spread her legs to look for the wound. She groans in protest, inhaling sharply once, making the heavy jacket rise suddenly. Her movement makes light glint into your eyes. A large shard of steel juts out of her flak jacket. That thing saved someone’s life; whoever was wearing it was very lucky.

“Ow,” Spitfire moans. You apologize, not sure if she can even hear, and look at her leg. The right one has a chunk of jagged steel lodged about halfway up the inner thigh. The wound is bleeding pretty badly. The femoral artery isn’t severed, she’d be dead long ago if that was the case. It’s likely nicked, though.

“Fuck. She’s in trouble. Chevron, get the tourniquet from the kit and stop the femoral in her right leg.”

“And you better not enjoy it!” Soarin’ chimes in.

“Soarin’, if you’re not gonna help, you can radio in the rescue chopper.” You toss him your handheld and turn to assist in the difficult procedure.

It seems like if the piece of metal was pulled straight out, her life would be cut short in the prime of existence. However, cutting below and around it and pulling it down, towards her posterior(the direction not her fantastic body part), it could be removed without cutting her artery any more.

“Chevron, tie that off tighter.” He pulls on the rubber tube harder, making Spitfire groan meekly in pain. Finally, the blood stops trickling out. “That’s good, tie it off tighter than you think you need to.”

He does so as you toss aside the plastic cover on the scalpel. “Give her the chomp rag.” You hold up the small cotton thing to Chevron.

“Bite on this,” he says softly. She confusedly mumbles, but her mouth is soon stuffed. “Bite down, as hard as you can.”

You take a calming breath and go about the potentially terminal task. Slowly, you make a shallow incision all around the metal. “Soarin’,” you whisper. “Don’t touch her, but grab the tweezers from the kit and hand them to me.” Your voice is soft and level, perfect for reassuring the unsure.

He does, silently. You take the tool from his shaking fingers. “You’re gonna want to look away.” He probably does, you don’t check. You carefully adjust your grip on the razor-sharp instrument and glide around the shrapnel. Her soft skin parts around the blade, spilling dark blood around it. Suction would involve lips and dabbing it away could push the metal into the artery.

“Chevron, gauze and the other cloth. The sterile one.” He stands and holds your items, ready for the worst. The tiny bit of flesh obstructing the shrapnel is bloody, but not in the way anymore. You hold the debris with the tweezers and stick the scalpel in the dirt, not to be used again.

“Second tweezers,” you command evenly.

“Twizzies,” Chevron says. The humor lightens the dark situation, thankfully. He’s a huge asset, in some ways other than practical.

You take the second set and hold the flesh around the metal open, disgustingly exposing the subdermal tissues. “On three, press the sterile square right into the wound and wrap with gauze thrice. We’ll hopefully only need one more cloth to contain it. Keep plenty of pressure on, let me assist with the cleanup.”

“Got it, Foray.” Chevron kneels in front of you, on the other side of Spitfire’s strong, yet injured leg.

You take another calming breath, then close your eyes and take one more. “One.” You adjust your grip on the stainless steel, cursing the heat and your sweat. “Two.” Chevron stoops over a little, tense. You adjust the grip the stainless steel teeth have on the jagged aircraft steel. “Three!” With a swift yank, the aircraft debris slips out, pulling a few droplets of thick blood into the air. Spitfire’s muffled screams give no distraction as you spring to your left to grab another clean rag. When you turn back, the cut is already disinfected and a reddening square has one layer of gauze over it. You let Chevron swiftly wrap two more layers, then motion for him to make one more. You press your rag onto her wound, pressing down into Spitfire’s shaking thigh. Her other leg hooks around yours, her left knee pushing up into your butt cheek. You ignore it, mostly, and compress to stop the bleeding.

You can’t help but watch the flak jacket get lifted off. Spitfire arches her back, pressing her nude chest into the air. Chevron notices, too, but you don’t stop working to keep her alive. The femoral artery was spared, but not kept whole.

Spitfire screams horribly into the cloth in her mouth. She convulses in pain, her hot, sweaty torso wrenches this way and that in agony. Chevron’s elbows shake a little.

“On task, sailor!” Chevron shakes his head and looks to you for guidance, not bothering with an apology. “Take the tourniquet off and elevate her foot. Soarin’, what’s the status on that chopper?”

“Th-they’re airborn. ETA in five,” he says.

“Good,” you reply, helping with another rag. Spitfire’s bleeding is quickly under control. Chevron is standing, now. “We don’t have much more than an hour, unless Spitfire comes back around on her own.”

“Ugh,” she moans, “I did take the jacket off myse-ELF! That’s tender!”

“Sorry,” Chevron mutters. “Her ankle is sprained, I think.”

“That’s the least of our worries. Soarin’, can a chopper land here?”

He looks up and around the small clearing. “A four person bird? Maybe, but it’s a tight fit. We’ll have to move out of the way, at least a little. Yeah, should fit. If not, they got buckets. And you guys can just swim one hundred miles to the carrier, right? Corpsman are close to PONYS, right?”

“Not quite,” you reply. “Those guys are insane. I’d rather not run a hundred miles a day and bench seven hundred pounds. Besides, I’m getting out of the navy in a year.”

Soarin’ hands you your radio and kneels down, staring at Spitfire. You pocket your handheld and look, catching Spitfire’s large breasts as they hide behind her flight suit. She zips the last inches and flips no one in particular a lazy bird. Soarin’ and Chevron chuckle, but Spitfire’s obviously in pain. You want to hold her or comfort her, but all you have is one more syringe with 20 milliliters of morphine.

You wipe some of the blood off of Spitfire’s half-clothed leg and stick the tweezers, the scalpel, and the dirty cloth in the most empty kit, and grab the second morphine dose. Spitfire’s tried body offers no help or resistance to your needle. She murmurs “thank you” before nodding off, somewhere between asleep and comatose.

You prop her head up on both flak jackets and use the last clean cloth to wipe her sweaty and bloody forehead. Chevron takes a look at Soarin’s arm. Short of resetting it better, there’s nothing to do for him. Taking off the splint alone would be hellishly painful. How he managed to fashion it, let alone repair his arm well enough to do so, is a marvel in its own right.

He adamantly denies treatment, even just a dose of painkiller. The three of you share one liter of water, the rest is, more or less, forced down Spitfire’s throat. She’s by far the most in need, after losing that much blood. The red dirt between her legs makes you cringe. Chevron’s probably thinking that it looks like a period. Thankfully, no one says it.

The silence doesn’t remain for long, and the evac heli comes to take you all out. Spitfire comes back briefly as she’s hooked up to an IV aboard the chopper.

“P-peter,” she whispers, holding your dogtags. You hold her hand and meet her eyes. You lift your glasses, moving the HUD out of the way. You smile at her, and she smiles back. Her lashes flutter some, her pale face turns a shade or two darker. Spitfire’s strong hand goes limp in yours, and her eyes close. You touch her sternum, just in case. Spitfire’s heart is beating strongly and slowly, her messy hair is buffeted by the winds above the jungle. The ocean rushes into view far below you, the sun beginning to set. You can see the E.S. Godflyer on the horizon, a tiny dot. That dot is a 2,000 foot long tool of peace and war, and your temporary home.

“I said, did you see it?” Andre flicked the first ashes off his joint and offered. You refuse and sit up, hating the navy’s zero tolerance drug policy.

“No, I didn’t see it. The shrapnel was in her upper leg, not her crotch.” You rub your tired face. Your civilian clothes are far lighter than your combat gear, but you keep the shit-kickers on. There’s something about combat boots that makes you feel prepared, ready, capable. “I’m a corpsman, not a perv.”

“Why not both?” Andre laughs a bit and puts his left foot on his right knee. “Ya know,” he pauses holding in his hit. The stench of cannabis is sweet and tempting, but only weakly so. “Pssh, I met this girl the other night at a concert. We smoked some, then a buddy came over with his girlfriend and the four of us dropped some acid and smoked some more. Greatest sex I’ve ever had, hands down. Ya know, Peter, you sh-”

“Pete. It’s Pete. Peter sounds dumb as hell.” You fan away the second hand smoke and sit back. “And if I fail a drug test, you’re gonna need a fucking corpsman. You might not have liked the service, but I get paid damn well to put myself over bleeding friends and put their lives before mine.”

Andre smiles an infuriating smile and holds his hands up, the paper in between two of his fingers. “I’m all for that patriotic shit, man, but I’m more for smoking and fucking ‘til dawn than running and working out everyday.”

“Right.” You slump forward on the bench outside of the hospital and rub the tiredness out of your eyes.

“So.” Andre puts out the joint out on the bench, replacing it behind his ear. “She die?”

You give him a serious look. “No. She’s doing fine, doctor said she has a hundred percentchance of making a full recovery, and Soarin’ is gonna be okay, too. He’ll be out of commision longer than Spitfire, with his broken arm. Spitfire will be up and walking in a day or so, I’m sure of that. She lost a lot of blood, but she’s recovering.”

Andre gets up and stands in front of you, watching a patient walk through the parking lot. “Well, Peter, it’s been real. Hey, really. What you did was fucking cool, that’s cool, saving lives. And your biceps are as big as my head. I’m sure chicks dig that. I gotta get back to my place and eat me some muffins.”

“Yeah, fuck you too, Antonio.” You stand, not sure if you want to stay in the hotel tonight. “Hey , Dre, wait up. What’s going on at your place tonight?”

He stops and turns to you. “Nothin’, man. Just gonna smoke up with my new lady and maybe watch tv or something. I got plenty of beer, you’re welcome to stay on the couch.”

“Still live over by the market?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

You take one look at the hospital, illuminated by security lights in the middle of the night. “I’ll come over in a bit, I wanna check on her.”

Your old pal from boot camp flashes you a peace sign and walks off, almost bumping into an old woman with an IV rack.

You walk back into the lobby, flashing a smile to the aging receptionist. She’s sweet. You adjust your cap and hit the up button on the elevator. The light says it’s on floor five, one above Spitfire’s floor. You glance at the stairs, remembering you haven’t done any good exercise today.

Fuck it. You turn to your left and take the stairs two at a time, enjoying the rhythmic thud of your boots on the staircase. Eight flights and four stories later, your strong legs carry you up to the door by the elevators. The light over the elevator you called moves from two to one as you walk by, barely breathing harder than normal.

You turn right and head down the corridor to Spitfire’s room, number 429. You hold up a fist to knock, but the door opens out into your knuckles. You take a quick step back, out of the way. A gorgeous nurse with light red hair in a tight little bun and a tight little dress over her tight little body jolts when she sees you. Your five feet and ten inches towers over her, somehow.

“Oh, excuse me!” she says, touching a hand to her chest. “You’re the corpsman, right?” She barely holds in a little giggle. “Go on in, sir,” she quietly says to you, looking over your muscular frame.

“So sorry,” you reply. “Thanks.” God, she’s cute. You hear her snicker a little as you walk in. The sexy nurse closes the door behind you, leaving you and Spitfire alone.

Spitfire lays in her bed, nothing but a thin paper gown between her nice body and the rest of the world. Her eyes shift from the boring tv to your face. “Oh, hey again,” she says quietly.

“Still okay, I see,” you reply, pulling up a chair. There’s a little cd player softly playing some music, and the tv is muted, selling some god awful product. “Did Chief debrief you, too?”

Spitfire nods, shifting in her bed to sit up some. “Yeah, that’s some creepy stuff.”

“It’s been nearly three weeks, I doubt they know much more than us.” You open the disc tray and look at the cd. The paint side is plain orange, a mix with no label. You pop down the lid and turn up the volume a little.

“More than you, you mean. I just got shot down, didn’t get a good look at the fuckers.” Her voice more calm, more so than when she was screaming in pain, is sexy.

You sigh deeply, listening to the jazzy music. It’s kinda neat. “Did you watch the feed from my helmet when you came back?”

Spitfire nods. “I’ve never seen that before. Chief says he did when he was little. It was in a comic book. He told Soarin’ it looked just like one of Nightmare Moon’s space fighters. The metal, the paint, the. . . weapons.”

“Who’s this Nightmare Moon guy? Some caped supervillain with an eyepatch who spins around in a swivel chair, petting a white cat?”

Spitfire chuckles lightly. “K-kind of. She was supposedly Princess Luna, Celestia’s sis. She did, something, fuck if I know, and then got launched to the moon. That’s all I remember from what Soarin’ was rambling on about when we were dropped in here.”

“So, yeah, supervillain. Er, supervillainess, or whatever. How, uh, how are you doing?” You want to see her in different clothes and circumstances with every fiber of your being.

“I’m fine, I told ya. If my artery reseals, which it basically never got cut open at all, thanks to you, I’ll be able to fly within a week of getting cleared. And I think I’ll get a medal or some shit, I don’t know. You deserve that.”

“Hey, I get paid to save people. You don’t get paid to get shot down.” Fuck, you think. Bad choice of words.

Spitfire turns off the tv and looks away. “Well, yeah I guess. Hey, I’m free from this fucking bed tomorrow. If you’re still on leave, wanna get a drink? I can at least try to pay you back.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Say, where do you wanna go, if you are all better now?”

“It’s been nineteen days, I’m fine! And Sugarcube Corner. I heard that’s got the best bar around.”

Your stomach grumbles loudly. “Right, well, we’ll get some drinks tomorrow. I’ll bu-”

“No, no, that’s not how it goes. I get shot down, you get me back to safety, I buy you drinks. Hey, speaking of drinks here on land, why are you in Ponyville?”

You shrug your shoulders, honestly unsure. “Chief just said I get a month free, just because of the nature of the mission. Maybe he thinks me and you and Soarin’ and Chevron got mindfuck issues or something.”

Spitfire looks around a little, blushing slightly. You just want to hop in that hospital bed and hold her, maybe touch her some. You stand up, not really trying to hide your semi-full erection, and take out your wallet. You sit back down and look at the picture of a girl. She’s only seventeen, but so were you at the time. You think back to the day she said “let’s just be friends”, the months of depression and heartache afterwards, the taste of a gun. You feel your eyes water for the first time in years, all those painful memories. There were so many good ones, but they’re all tainted by her want for causality.

You blink away the old thoughts, not wanting her to come back into your mind. Impressing her was the reason you decided to go into the Equestrian Navy, but it turned out that being a corpsman was a way to forget her a little.

“Pete? Or, Foray, whichever you go by.” Spitfire’s voice is too tiny.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice trembling the most miniscule bit. Why the hell did I pull out the picture? I’m such a fucking idiot. You lean on your left side and slide your wallet back into your pocket.

“Do you have a girl waiting for you when you get out?” Spitfire sits up and slouches forward some.

You shake your head, counting the tiny specks in the floor tiles. “Nope.”

A minute of silence passes. The music is really intense, and images of her face flash behind your eyes.

“Who is she?” Spitfire asks, quiet as ever.

“Just a fling, I guess. It’s a long story, sorta sad. Hey, I’m gonna go over to my bud’s place, maybe have a few beers. I’ll come to watch you check out tomorrow, alright?”

“Well, okay.” Spitfire falls back into the thin pillow, her unsupported breasts bounce a lot. “See ya.”

“Um, see ya, Spitfire.” You can’t help but be hard. Your jeans are really uncomfortable as you walk to the door. You reach for the rocking handle and push.

“Foray!” Spitfire almost shouts. “Pete, I’m sorry, but, um, can I ask a favor? You know, since you’re a combat medic and all.”

You turn around, suspensefully hopeful. The door shuts behind you quietly, and you walk back in. You try to say something, but melancholy grips your tongue tiredly.

“I, Foray, uh, I was wondering, since you did what you did, uh what you thought about my scar. On my leg.”

You take another wordless clacking step and stand at arms length away from the foot of the bed. “Uh, I could.”

“I want your honest opinion okay?” You nod, and Spitfire tosses the miniscule and clashing blanket to her toes. “Just, uh, well, I’ll ask.”

Spitfire takes a deep breath and grabs the hem of her paper hospital gown. “I want to know, am I healed enough to have sex? I mean, you know, sorta rough.” Suddenly, Spitfire lifts her paper garment up, exposing the healing wound. You lean forward and look, her nice thighs are so inviting. Her right one, however, has one hell of a blemish. The stitches have dissipated, and the scab has completely healed to reveal new skin. There will forever be an X-shaped scar. You instinctively touch the skin of her upper leg. Her body radiates heat, warming your whole hand, even if only two fingertips are touching her scar.

You press once, making her grit her teeth. “Does that smart?”

Spitfire nods her head twice.

“That means it’s healing just fine. I’d say you’re ready for, sex, now, but it wouldn’t be very comfortable. Not unless you found a position that didn’t have to do with touching your upper thi-”

Without warning, Spitfire grabs your wrist and puts it to the bare, hairless skin of her flat stomach, under her gown. She lays back, looking at you.

“Foray,” she whispers, playfully thrusting her hips just an inch. “I don’t know what a few rounds will do for you, but I think I know a way for you to get over her.” Spitfire pulls on your captive hand, guiding you to the side of the bed. She makes you grab one of her big breasts.

You instinctively squeeze, relishing the soft flesh before your brain tells your fingers to flex. Spitfire moans, biting her lip and flexing her legs. She breathes hotly as you stoop over her bed and squeeze again.

“Peter, oh, it’s been too long since I’ve just had a night, ya know? Oh, god, I don’t want to come off too strong, but, well, fuck that.” Spitfire sits up and flips her hair around. She unties her hospital robe and lets it drop into her lap. Her big, round breasts are on full display. She’s pinup materiel, easy.

“When that cute nurse was giving my a sponge bath the, um, fourth night after surgery, I really wanted her to take her time. Let’s just say there was some, mess, to mop up between my legs. I kept thinking of your strong arms carrying me to the helicopter, your big hand holding mine. Pete,” Spitfire pauses, sitting seductively on her straight arm. “I owe you a drink, but I need you again.”

“S-Spitfire, this, alright.” You laugh and smile, admiring the beauty in front of you. “I, I really enjoyed holding you, ya know.”

Spitfire looks around a little, blushing deeply. “Foray, would you wanna, do some quick stuff right now? I haven’t gotten off in weeks. This fucking hospital is just a huge turn-off. W-well, not when we’re, ya know, alone together.”

You glance at the door with no lock. The bathroom doesn’t have a lock, either. On top of that, it’s past visiting hours. “Uh, what if someone comes in? Or, wait. Who’s the nurse who left when I came in? She’d be cool to watch, I’m sure. I mean, stand watch.”

Spitfire’s eyes pop open a little, and a mischievously joyful grin spreads on her face. “Yeah, yeah! Nurse Redheart,” Spitfire says in mock anguish. “Oh, nurse, I believe I’ve fallen ill once a-gain.” Spitfire falls back, her dainty hand on her forehead. The small cuts have healed completely, and her lip is almost back to normal. With one flick of her wrist, Spitfire hits the call button on the bed.

Spitfire sits up, giggling, and ties her paper robe back on, then gets under the covers. You just adjust your waning erection and sit back down.

Within fifteen seconds, an effeminate and doughy male nurse walks in, three clipboards in hand and his big red scrubs stained with what is hopefully mustard. “What’s wrong?” he says, his fat body betraying his tiny, high pitched voice.

“Hmm?” you ask, nonchalant. “Nothing, just checking on the pilot I saved. What’s up with you?”

“I have a shoot-load of work to do! If you don’t need help, then pretty pleeease don’t ask for it!” He storms out, almost raging.

You look to Spitfire, and then the two of you burst out laughing. You stand again, ready to go to Andre’s for some needed sleep.

“Oh, man, that was hilarious,” Spitfire says, rolling onto her side. She hops up and stands close to you. “But, I’m looking forward to tomorrow night. Foray?” Spitfire whispers.

You turn and grab her hips, her strong body small in your arms. “Yeah?” you ask back quietly.

Spitfire cosies up to you, resting a hand on your strong chest. “You sure we can’t get out of here tonight? Or maybe, just, a quickie or something?”

“Well, I, uh, don’t have a rubber or anything. But, I do got a hotel room. I could talk to the doctor, but I’m not sure if he’ll agree. You look just fine to me.”

Spitfire stands on her toes and drapes her arms over your shoulders, pulling herself up some. You grab her tight ass and hold her up, easily enjoying her full weight in your embrace. “Foray, it’s alright. I really wanna get out of here tonight, but I can wait one more night.”

“You sure?” you ask, lifting her up and letting her fall. It’s one of the funnest workouts you’ve ever had.

Spitfire giggles, wrapping her legs around you. You carefully part her paper gown and grab her bare ass, making her giggle. “Well, now when you put it that way, I, oh! Hmmheheh, god, we should do it standing, right here.”

“Spitfire, that sounds like a whole lot of fun, but I don’t kno-”

“Am I interrupting something?” a female voice inquires, the sudden ambiance of a busy hospital louder in the background. The noises in the hall quiet again with a simple latch closing.

“N-nurse!” Spitfire hops down out of your arms and onto the floor. “I-it’s not what it looks like, we, we were just, uh, well we weren’t doing THAT!”

You turn and watch Spitfire try to reason with nurse Redheart. There isn’t much need, it seems. “Whatever the two of you were or were not doing is fine with me, believe it,” she says flatly. “I just came by to tell Spitfire the good news. The doctor said that the military doesn’t want to pay for another night here, on account of your bill of health. Too expensive for a perfectly healthy person to stay.” The nurse undoes the tight bun her light hair is in, letting it fall sexily to her shoulders. “And I just clocked off for the night. Spitfire, we’ve grown close these past weeks, haven’t we?”

Spitfire touches her chin, then shoots you a quick glance. She bites her lip and simply nods to the nurse. Redheart looks really sexy in the little white thing she has on. No need for cheap scrubs when you look that good in a short nurse outfit.

She moves to the couch opposite the bed, next to the television. She crosses her legs, flashing you a glimpse of some dark red panties. “Care to acquaint me with your big, strong corpsman friend?”

Spitfire fidgets in her gown. “If you mean acquaint in the same way you mean us, I think we’ll need a hotel room.”

You watch Redheart blush a little, appraising your standing form. Your manhood has been hard for the past few minutes, and now the bulging snake in your jeans is hardly hidden. “I’d like that,” she says, her voice trembling the tiniest bit.

“Come on,” you say with your deepest voice. “I say we fuck the bar idea, just get some whiskey at a liquor store and head to my hotel room at the Tenpony Tower.”

Spitfire clings to your arm, pressing her right breast into your elbow. “Genius idea, Petty Officer. Now sailor,” she barks, snapping to attention. “Get your tight ass to the lobby on this floor, grab my clothes, and let’s go!”

You snap to attention and left face, then salute perfectly. “Yes Chief!” You lower your hand, keeping eye contact with the pilot who, technically, outranks you. You right face and make for the wall, then left face and head for the door.

The nurse at the desk is a fiery old black lady, but she melts to one wink. Spitfire’s suitcase, with her civvies and everything, is relinquished quickly. You take it and the signout clipboard back to room 429.

“Spitfire,” Redheart says at your door, carrying the big brown bag. “Ever do it with a girl before?”

You reach in between the two of them, opening your hotel room. “Well, uh, I had a thing with this chick back in flight school, but I wouldn’t say we did it, or anything.” You take out your wallet and your phone, then toss them on the table as the girls walk in. Spitfire’s about four or so inches taller than Redheart, who’s pretty cute with her hair down. She looks pretty cute with her hair up, for that matter.

“Did you ever get to put fingers in her? Was she cute?” The order of the questions strikes you as odd.

“Y-yeah, a couple of times, and she ate me out a handful of times, too. I felt bad, because I didn’t really know how to give back. One night,” Spitfire tosses her leather jacket on a chair and continues, removing her shoes casually. “We had a night. Oh, god, what a night. We went to town on our three-night leave. It was a bitch getting those days to coincide like they did. Well, we got a hotel room on a false name, right? We had some schnapps, some vodka, some orange powder drink mix stuff, and some other stuff.”

Redheart sits next to her and lays back, stretching her back. “We made out and watched this cartoon and played a drinking game. We stopped every commercial, and took off one piece of clothing. We made out and drank the vodka with the orange stuff, and we were just really going at it on the bed before the second episode was over.”

“Was she a good kisser?” Redheart interrupts.

Spitfire nods, rolling her head around to stretch her neck out. “Yeah, Solar Chaser was great with her mouth.” Spitfire sighs heavily and rubs her bare thighs. The tanned skin looks so fun, and her short shorts leave very little to the imagination. “Oh, I remember how we were full nude, she had these little, perky tits. They were fun, and she was sooo sensitive. I sucked on those little things so hard, she almost came, just from that. I, oh hello, dolly.” Spitfire giggles as Redheart lightly plays with Spitfire’s breasts in her loose and stylish top. You just stand and watch, getting harder.

“Oh, mmmm oh yeah. Solar Chaser. She had this dark red hair that was really sexy. Chaser really loved it when I played with her pussy, but I didn’t know much. So, she let me take my time to get familiar with it. Chaser gave me a few tips and some information, then told me how to make her squirt.”

Redheart stops mid-squeeze at that comment, blushing deeply. “T-then what?”

Spitfire sits up, encouraging Redheart to go on. “Then I made her squirt. I fingered her some, then got three fingers in and played with her little spot, kept going fast and hard, then she did something that looked like pissing. Seriously, just one long, hot spurt came out of her lips and soaked a football sized spot on the bed.”

Redheart stops again, breathing a little heavily. “You alright, nurse?” you inquire quietly. “Got a bit of a fetish, do we?”

She nods, holding her body close to Spitfire’s by way of gripping her big tits. Spitfire sits up a little more, letting more of their bodies contact. “Come on, nurse,” Spitfire whispers. “Wanna play “Never have I ever”? We all take turns saying something we’ve never done, and if you have done it, you drink. If you’re the only one who hasn’t, you strip and drink. Sound fair?”

You nod, and Redheart pronounces her approval. “Sorry,” she whispers. “It’s just, I’ve been working doubles for two weeks straight and tonight’s my first night where I don’t work at five the next morning. I, I don’t really know many people in town, much less hot pilots and strapping young lads with bulging jeans.”

Her face goes red, her eyes fixed on your groin. You playfully put your hand over your sheathed shaft, making it appear more vividly through the denim. The two babes bite their lips at the same time.

You clap your hands and stand straight. “Okay, everyone put on their clothes. It’s time to play!” Spitfire jumps up instantly, grabbing her shoes and her jacket. The sexy nurse, in her casual blouse and jeans, just sits up.

“Nurse, why aren’t you in uniform?” Spitfire asks, slipping into her leather jacket.

Redheart smiles and hops off the bed. “You asked for it,” she says with a wink. Redheart takes her pants off and takes her white coat out of her bag. You watch the tight red panites get covered, mostly, by her short white coat. Redheart puts on her sexy little hat. “Should I bother with my scrub pants?”

You look to Spitfire, and then you both nod in consent. She speaks first. “And the hair. Put the bun up, but take that down last.”

Redheart smiles meekly, slipping into some tight pink pants. “Okay then. Let’s get started.”

You turn and reach into the big brown bag and pull out the whiskey, cola, and four of the hospitals plastic-wrapped plastic cups. “Fuck, Redheart? Could you grab some ice, please?” you ask.

She simply nods and takes the bucket to the hall for one moment. Spitfire helps you pour the drinks, then sits opposite you.

“Ya know, Foray, you’re a pretty special guy. Save a girl and cash in the favor the first night she’s out of the hospital, WITH the nurse who treated her no less! I admire your style, guy. And that cannon you’re packin’.” She giggles, holding your eyes with her vibrant irises. Spitfire runs some fingers through her thick orange hair, still staring into your face. She moves one chair closer to you and gives you a quick little kissy face.

“Thanks,” you reply. “I guess.”

Redheart returns with ice and sets it on the desk table. “Shall we?” she says, her womanly voice suddenly sexy.

She takes a seat opposite Spitfire and dishes out some ice. You try a sip of the bourbon and cola. It’s really strong, but really good. It’s still a little warm, but that will change soon.

Spitfire sits back in her chair and looks at the both of you. “Never have I ever made myself orgasm.” She raises her eyebrow and looks around.

You and the nurse pick up your cups. She drinks, but you pause. “Really?” You take a large two-gulp sip and take off your cap. Redheart almost gags a little bit, but downs her sip.

“Really. Almost did with the dryer one time when I was seventeen, but never could, well, finish.”

“Huh.” You stir your drink with a finger. “Never have I ever transferred funds electronically.” Spitfire mouths a “dammit!” and sips her drink. Redheart doesn’t. You lift your finger out of the cup, letting the drink drip off your finger. Redheart quickly grabs your hand and slurps off the last drops, sucking hard and moaning a little.

She lets go with a smack and says: “Never have I ever been on a boat.”

“Fuck!” Spitfire shouts. The both of you take a sip.

Spitfire unzips her jacket, then kicks off her shoes, again. “Never have I ever seen a butthole!”

Redheart laughs and smiles into her drink, then you look away and take a sip.

“No. Redheart sees that shit daily, but you? No! Where and when, Foray?” Spitfire inquires in disbelief.

You gulp down another mouthful and watch Redheart strip off her coat, revealing her tight blouse. “Let’s just say that after me and the most serious girl broke up, I tended to drink and go after fat chicks with weird tastes.”

You take another sip as Redheart snickers under Spitfire’s voracious laughter. You stand and toss off your coat. Seeing your wide chest makes Spitfire, astonishingly, shut up. “Your turn.”

Spitfire looks over Redheart’s chest, her small breasts popping out of that thing. “Never have I ever taken if up the butt.”

Redheart blushes and begins unbuttoning her shirt. You just watch, content with leaving her past in the past.

Several rounds go by, and it’s fairly balanced. Spitfire takes big sips whenever she “loses”, so you match her pace. After a short while, you sip the last of your first cup and toss your belt aside. Spitfire lets her tight shorts fall to the carpet. You help pour her another drink, but she insists on just a big splash of bourbon on the rocks.

“Alright,” Spitfire says. “Never, have I ever, um, saved someone’s life.”

You give the topless nurse a toast, then take draft straight from the bottle. Both you and Spitfire eagerly watch nurse Redheart turn, bend over, and take off her panties. Her tight butt is a huge turn on. You feel your boxer shorts grow more and more uncomfortable. Redheart turns and holds her little red panites in front of her shaved pussy, then holds them up to her collarbone to show off the goods. Spitfire makes a sort of moan, and your shaft is now fully erect. You lick your lips and resist the urge to adjust your erection.

Redheart dips her panties in her drink and holds the crotch up. You rush forward to catch the kinky fluid, but it just falls on your cheek. You grab the little red cotton garment and suck on the cloth, pulling out some cola and bourbon and a little pussy flavor. Spitfire groans in her seat. You savor the taste, feeling your cock throb. You remain standing, showing off your bulge in the lamplight.

You toss Spitfire the dirty underwear and hold the bottle of whiskey. “I’ve never taken off my panites and put them in my drink.” You take a gulp of rugged liquor, then top off Redheart’s drink as she grabs the stick holding her bun together. Spitfire giggles, wobbling in her chair a tiny bit.

Redheart pulls the stick in her hair and lets her long pink hair fall past her shoulders. She shakes her head and holds her hair in her hands, messing it up in a fantastic way.

“I’ve never sucked the liquor out of my panites, and Spitfire’s never seen that happen. Can we just get started? I’m really ready.” Redheart stands and puts her hands on the table, bending over.

“Yeah, I can taste that much,” you snidely reply. You feel kinda rude, but drunk enough to be mildly belligerent.

Spitfire tries to take her tiny blue banties off, but stumbles, laughing, and falls onto the bed. You follow Spitfire, laying over her perfect body. She drunkenly kisses you, holding your head close and sucking your lips. Your tongues slip over each other for a moment, your clothed erection rubbing her navel and her hot wetness sliding over your upper thigh. Spitfire moans deeply, making her pussy rub your leg until she pushes you back.

“Foray,” she whispers. “Want me to suck your cock?” She smiles, her fiery bangs hanging in her face.

“N-no!” Redheart quietly shouts. “Let me! Or, let me help, please?”

You stand and let Spitfire pull your shorts down. She giggles as your long cock stands at attention, aimed at her face. “Sorry, nurse. Spitfire asked first. But,” you reply, “I have an idea. Wanna sit on my face? It’s been too long since I’ve pleasured a nice, tight little pussy.”

Redheart shudders a little bit, some drool forming on her lips. “Y-y-yeah,” is all she can mutter. There’s more than a little visible dribble dripping from her slit.

Spitfire giggles as she grabs the base of your cock. “Me next, please?” She strokes lightly and slowly, more admiring than working.

“Of course. I’ll lay on the bed, then you two can position yourselves however you want. Sound good?”

Spitfire voices her approval while kissing your rigid head, but Redheart’s red face can barely say anything. She nods, horny as fuck.

You wink as Spitfire licks the tip, then lets go. You step out of your boxers and lay naked on the bed, propping your head up on a pillow.

Redheart is the first to fit herself into the sex trio. You grab her tight ass and move her pussy to your mouth. Redheart’s pussy smells strongly of needing. You lick the light-pink labia lightly, then again, drawing out some serious moaning. You feel Redheart tremble on top of you as some hot breath ethereally caresses your cockhead. Spitfire sucks your cock in just past the scar and bobs up and down deftly. You dip your tongue deeper into Redheart’s sweet petals. Her hot pink is oozing inviting lubricant. You take one finger and slip inside, feeling for the g-spot and her moaning.

“Oooooaahhh, oh god! Yes! More, Foray, MORE!” Redheart’s hips undulate on their own, pushing your muzzle into her crotch. You slip in two, the three fingers inside. Redheart’s moaning increases with Spitfire’s amazing mouth. A slick, soft tongue massages the underside and the head of your cock in double time. Spitfire spits on your long shaft and jerks you off quickly with her hand.

In response, you instinctively bite on Redheart’s hard nub and push into her g-spot. She cries out through the thick moaning, drunkenly spilling fluids all over your chin and neck. “God, YES! Oh, yes, bite harder, Foray. Harder! Faster! Oh FUCK!”

You oblige and suck on Redheart’s clitoris harder. You thrust three fingers faster and deeper, feeling Redheart’s cervix behind her soft, tight pussy. She arches her back and screams, really wails as you bite on her clitoris with your incisors. You force in your pinkie, Redheart really wants it rough tonight.

She cries out louder and louder, begging you to treat her like mere meat. Spitfire, however, is delicately pleasing your sensitive organ, content to watch.

“FUCK! Oh, oh GOD, Foray! Keep, ah, keep going, I’m gonna, gon-oh god.” Redheart bends over and rests her hands on the headboard, her petite tits bouncing as you nibble and fuck her with your fingers.

Without words, Redheart begs for your fingers in her ass. You’ve never done such a thing, but it’s hardly hard to do when her wet pussy provides all the lubrication you’ll need. You let her clit go and draw your deft fingers out of Redheart’s tight pussy. You prod her asshole with one finger, and it slips in easily. Her tighter hole is clean as you push inside to the third knuckle. You take your left hand and go back to her pussy. Redheart praises every movement you make with her moaning. Three in her pussy and one in her butt, Redheart shakes more and more as you continue. Meanwhile, Spitfire begins to take you in her throat.

Redheart’s words are constant, yet inscrutable. You make out various curses and sex words as well as your name every so often, but her pre-climax rant is incoherent. You push against Redheart’s g-spot just when her ramblings turn into a solid moan. Her wild hips shake, your cock throbs inside Spitfire’s mouth, and Redheart finally cums. You press your teeth together around her little cum button and gyrate your fingers into her g-spot, your other finger dives deep into her ass.

Redheart lifts her ass up reflexively, screaming out nothing, and coats your chest with a long spurt of female ejaculate. You pull your dirty finger out and lift her ass up, making her squirt again with your other four fingers. Spitfire yelps and laughs as the squirt gun plasters her bangs to her forehead.

Redheart falls limp immediately, her petite frame awkwardly laying over you and the bed. Spitfire crawls up and helps the nurse to lay on her side, holding her shaking body. You help, your skin sticky with body fluids.

“Saw what you did there, Foray,” Spitfire whispers over Redheart’s ear, wiping her wet brow.

“Sorry if we picked up a squirter, Spitfire. I thought you were into that.” You grab Redheart’s ass and give her a nice squeeze, sneaking a knee in between her legs.

Spitfire only whips her wet hair out of her eyes. “Can I have a turn, now?” she whispers quietly.

You give the nurse a quick kiss on the lips, then a slower, more passionate one. You climb off the bed and help Redheart crawl under the covers. “Yeah, but I’d better wash my hands. Just chill with the nurse for a minute.”

Spitfire groans into a pillow from boredom. You give her a solid spank, making her tight ass jiggle nicely and her body spaz out for a second. Spitfire rockets upright and comes right at you. You hold her wrists when she tries to slap you, smiling and giggling. Spitfire lunges forward, holding her body to yours. You share a nice, long, tongue-filled kiss for twenty seconds. She reaches down and lightly caresses your stiff member. You and Spitfire swap spit for a few moments more, feeling each other’s bodies.

At last, you push her away and make for the bathroom. You don’t bother with taking a piss, just cleaning the human off your fingers. With soap and hot water, you wash your sticky chest as well. You take some time and find a condom in your wallet. You slowly roll it on, listening to the room outside. Their words are inscrutable, mostly. You can make out an occasional name or curse word or just a laugh. They stop for a moment, and you can faintly hear moaning. You pull the rubber all the way on and step back into the room.

Redheart lays on her back, her nice little pussy fully open to your worship, penetration, domination, abuse, anything. Your cock throbs as you watch Spitfire wrap a blindfold around the nurse’s eyes. “What’s going on?” you ask, more horny than concerned.

Spitfire turns to her side, pinning Redheart’s right arm. “Huh? Oh, this? Nurse Redheart insisted we do this. She likes a little slap and tickle. Or a lot, as she put it.” Spitfire pinches Redheart’s left nipple hard, making her cry out in pleasured pain.

Spitfire lets up and puts both of her knees on Redheart’s biceps. “Oh, c-careful, Spitfire. Remember the safeword, alright? J-just stop when I say aspen, okay?”

“Alright, nurse. How shall we administer the treatment?” Spitfire sits back, resting some weight right into Redheart’s abdomen. “Orally? Mmmmm, maybe. Externally?” Spitfire lays her hands between Redheart’s spread legs and leans back, using her knees to compress Redheart’s round B-cups. Spitfire lays back fully, looking behind herself and right at you. “What do you think, Foray? Little nurse Redheart’s got a fever. And the only perscription, is that long, hard cock of yours. I think she can survive a few more hours, though.”

The pilot rolls over onto her stomach and kisses Redheart’s soft labia. Spitfire moans softly, her large C-cups pressing into Redheart’s womanly v, and slips her tongue into the Redheart’s pink folds.

You take a step to the side and watch Redheart use only her mouth to play with Spitfire’s pussy. You feel your cock twitch at the sight, sound and smell of Spitfire’s slit getting a submissive tongue. Redheart’s wrists are bound to the bed with her own clothes.

Spitfire calls you back, and you return to Redheart’s exposed slit. Spitfire lifts her hips a little as her pussy gets played with. “Mmm, well? You got a little pussy to slide that stallion into.” Spitfire bites her lip and spreads Redheart’s glistening lips. You take your steel rod and move in. Gently, you prod the nurse’s pink, hot entrance. Spitfire giggles a little when she isn’t moaning . She takes your thick cock in one hand and strokes some. You grab the base and pull back a little. You place a hand on Spitfire’s head, telling her wordlessly to work her magic.

The pilot’s shoulders shudder some as she mentally prepares. “Okay,” she mouths. Spitfire quickly takes your large cock past the scar, coating your head with her slick saliva. She pulls back and kisses the tip, using her hand to coat the rubber with some natural lube. Spitfire licks her lips some. “Mmmmm, orange dreamsicle. I think. Is that it?”

You just nod your head and push her face back down. Spitfire chuckles confidently and takes your hard-on head on. Her wet mouth engulfs four inches on the first try, then five inches on the next. Spitfire gags and tries for the gold. You feel her throat accept you, but she pulls back immediately.

While she’s recovering from a coughing fit, Spitfire has trouble just standing on her hands and knees. Redheart’s restricted movements must be damn good, because Spitfire can barely breathe.

You give her a sip of icy cola, only a little Applejack Daniels in it. Spitfire gulps down the weak drink and chews hard on some ice cubes, drooling a few tiny chunks of ice. Redheart moans a little bit. You glance down to her pussy, noting some of the ice on her hot slit. You take an ice cube and get down on your knees. Spitfire pauses you with a slow kiss, then lets you go on.

“AAAAAAAAAaaAAAh~!” You lick the half-melted ice cube in your fingers and the tiny object into the nurse’s slit. “OOAAAAAAAA-rmf!” Spitfire shuts her up with her own slit. The faces Spitfire makes as Redheart screams into her pussy are priceless. You hold her head, her absent eyes and slack jaw are completely unaware of your touch. Spitfire’s likely completely oblivious to any other sensation than the entirety of her reproductive tissues being reverberated. You almost feel bad for Redheart, torturing her to make this happen. Almost.

You guide Spitfire’s drooling lips to your cock, and she sucks it into her mouth eagerly. Her wet lips suck your hard organ into her mouth. Spitfire moans into your meat, gagging around it as you fuck her face. Some switch must have flipped, because Spitfire’s now more than willing to try to take you all the way in. Her hot throat offers some resistance, but it opens for you, sucking your head into the hot, wet tightness of her esophagus. Spitfire’s tongue slips out to flick your sack a little. She groans around your obstructing pole as you move your hips. Spitfire’s tight throat opens and closes around your sensitive, protected head over and over and over again. The hot squeezing sensation, as well as her vibrating moans, feel extremely good.

Spitfire forces her way off of your cock, choking and coughing and surprisingly not angry. Spitfire smiles and clears her throat some more. She wipes her lips and puts her fingers on Redheart’s slit. “If you’re done abusing me, care to ram Redheart some? She’s more into masochism than me.” Spitfire smiles and closes her eyes, loving Redheart’s work. “Oooohh, nurse, yes. Oh, yeah, yeah, you wanna get fucked, Redheart? Suck on th-AT part for no, bite for yes.” Spitfire puts her fingers on Redheart’s lips and suddenly shrieks. “AH! Oh, that’s a fuck yes.”

You grab your shaft and Spitfire’s head. She parts Redheart’s pretty little pussy for you. Redheart’s muffled moans escape wetly as your protected cannon slips in slowly. The inner entrance parts hotly for you, squeezing the hell out of your head. The pleasure is agonizing through the thin rubber. Her ribbed flesh slowly accepts your girth, but not without difficulty. Spitfire licks and nibbles the clitoris, clearly closing in on her personal finish line. You feel near as well; it’s been over a year since your last fuck. Six years ago was the first day at boot camp. Since then, masturbation was a luxury, and pussy was a rare delicacy, for penetrating and consumption alike. Your sack aches for relief, and Redheart’s tight pussy is more than perfect.

Redheart’s slit is too good, and you can feel your pleasure change as her hips shake. She’s going to cum any second, and you’re due soon after, if not simultaneously.

“Fuck, Redheart,” Spitfire half moans. “You’re a real trooper to take that fucking thing like that and keep me go-oing.”

You push Spitfire’s head back down to Redheart’s pussy. She playfully giggles and goes back to work.

You look up and begin thrusting, about halfway engulfed, roughly five inches in. Redheart’s smothered moans float into the room over Spitfire’s. The boring painting on the wall is swimming on the off-yellow paint, the room is moving a little.

Suddenly, a hand grasps your shaft and pulls it forward. You let it take you deeper into Redheart, feeling more of her delicious ribbed flesh suck you in. The tight, hot, wet walls caress your erection like nothing else. You push deeper, all the way to her barrier. Redheart’s cervix is like a second g-spot, making her shake and moan and everything. Spitfire’s bright bangs tickle your groin as you just move a little deep inside.

You look down to see two shaking females, both moaning in increasingly higher volume and pitch. The sight, smells, and sensations make your entire core tense up. You’re going to cum, and soon. You press Spitfire’s head into Redheart’s slit and begin to pull back a little, cursing and worshipping the amazing feeling of the tight walls sucking your meat.

You let and force Spitfire to tongue-fuck Redheart while your head barely remains engulfed. Redheart’s petite hips convulse widly. Spitfire’s tight ass is moving a little more than it was a second ago, and she’s obviously holding in some serious screaming.

You slowly push inside, mentally recording the way her tight lips swallow your shaft. Inch by inch, you push inside. Redheart’s small frame can’t take all of you, but it can take a whole fucking lot. You pull all the way back and ram inside, making her stop with her tongue and scream at the ceiling.

“AAAaah! Oaaaah, oh, oh, fuck, FUCK! FFFU-mmmfffmmmm~!” You pull back and ram again, then again, watching as Spitfire smothers her with her wet pussy. Your mouth waters and your brain seems like it’s going to boil into stolid vapor. You punish Redheart and feel your entire body begin to feel like jelly. You grab onto Redheart’s legs and thrust as hard and as fast as you can, her tight, soft walls milking your hard rod for all it’s got. You pump faster and hard, unmercifully jabbing Redheart’s cervix. You finally feel release, at long last, when Redheart’s muffled screams make Spitfire’s throat catch in orgasm. The first load is amazing, a long shot of hot sperm into the rubber. Redheart’s tight cunt spasms around your steel shaft as you cum together. You unload thick rope after rope of sticky, hot milk into the protection. After what seems like a volley of twenty or so shots, you let out your breath.

You pull out halfway and watch Spitfire and Redheart catch their breath. You pant a little, some sweat on your brow and back, triumphant and momentarily spent. You pull your cock out all the way, careful of the new presence at the end of the condom.

You rub Redheart’s freshly fucked lips a little, then tousle Spitfire’s wild hair. She looks up at you, smiling, half of her face drenched in female fluids.

“That shit was thoroughly good,” Spitfire hoarsely whispers. She clears her throat and stares at your cock. “Oh- oh my god that’s a lot of... s-stuff. You really were holding this spunk in, weren’t you?”

You just nod, no need to delve into your personal history. You start to unroll the rubber when Redheart responds.

“Foray?” she barely whispers. She gulps and tries again quietly. “Foray? Can, can I have a taste?”

You stand fully and get on the bed next to her. Spitfire turns and watches as Redheart blindly finds the cum balloon with her lips. You help her take it off and bring the opening to her face.

“Make her down it all,” Spitfire cruelly whispers. “Mmm, yeah, I wanna see this bitch swallow a whole load.”

“Yes!” Redheart quietly screams. “Yes! Make me eat it all! Watch and make sure I don’t let one drop go.”

You obey and bring the open end to Redheart’s lips. She sucks on the rubber, her tongue exploring inside. Her lips curl into a wicked smile, humming praise. You tilt the stretched end up, watching the thick cream shoot into her waiting mouth. Redheart gags a little as the cum hits her throat, but she doesn’t swallow or hurl. Spitfire uses her fingers to squeeze out the final bits of sperm into Redheart’s mouth, holding up the rubber to watch the strands fall onto her coated tongue. Redheart swirls the sperm in her mouth around some, erotically playing with her food. Spitfire giggles as the nurse’s lips clamp closed. With one grimace and a loud gulp, Redheart smiles wide and licks her teeth.

“All gone,” Spitfire whispers. “Wait, you missed a spot.” Suddenly, Spitfire’s tongue laps up a single strand of semen on Redheart’s chin. Spitfire spits it into Redheart’s long pink bangs.

“Hey!” the nurse objects. “I, I wanted that!”

“You can have more in a minute,” you whisper, feeling your half-rigid shaft begin to harden again already. You feel extremely drowsy, but nothing some water and a stretch won’t fix. You stand and watch your vision and consciousness wane for a moment, then return. Walking to the bathroom is amusingly challenging. The wall rolls around in place some, trying to block your path. You use its sturdiness as a crutch and find the bathroom. You get a drink and take a leak and venture back into the slightly spinning room.

You return to the bed feeling less drunk and more horny. Spitfire and Redheart are swapping tainted spit and moving their hips. A change of perspective reveals a sexy sight: Spitfire’s tight, pristine and dripping labia rubbing hard against Redheart’s fresly fucked slit. You can hear sporadic moans and sexy little noises as they grind their lips together.

You massage the soft out of your tool and move in raw. Spitfire jumps a little when your cockhead touches her pussy, but she just lifts her ass up in understanding. You give her a rough little slap on her nice, round butt and take a handful. She giggles a little and goes back to tongue wrestling. You slip your dick in between the two moist folds, feeling a nice pressure fully caress both the top and bottom of your long, hard shaft. You push into both pairs of hot, sopping wet lips, using Spitfire’s amazing ass for leverage.

The feeling of two labias and the hot pink underneath completely coating your hard shaft in steamy pussy fluids is beyond compare. The warm flesh caresses all of your tool at the same time, and thrusting provides a perfect mixture of softness and friction. Spitfire reflexively sits up, pressing her hot slit down onto yours, also pressing the sensitive underside of your shaft into Redheart’s warm womanhood. She rocks back and forth, cupping her big breasts, as you thrust in and out of the combined fuck-tool. You can feel two clitorises, two hard nubs as you push your entire length in between the women’s lips and stomachs. Your head reaches Redheart’s navel as her clitoris pushes a little into the very base of your shaft. Spitfire moans, her clit pressing harder into the upper side of your shaft. You use her ass to shake her back and forth, making her giggle and laugh as her skin massages your rock-hard tool. The sensations are amazing, but Spitfire stops and stands on her hands and knees.

“You gonna stick it in soon or what?” she whispers over her shoulder, more begging than asking.

You simply slap her again and pull her ass to the side of the bed. Spitfire shrieks and laughs playfully you catch her falling off the end of the bed. You hold her backside up easily and position her so that she can eat out Redheart. Spitfire slips her arms underneath the nurse’s thighs and supports her upper body on the bed while you hold her up by her slim waist alone.

“Uh, I have to ask this, Spitfire.” You lean back and look at her perfect pussy. “You’re clean, right? I mean, you definitely look cle-”

“YES! Yeah, just FUCK ME ALREADY, SAILOR!”

You smack Spitfire’s now red ass again, just for the hell of it. She’s begging for cock, and you aim to deliver. Without even setting her down, you carefully push your head inside her tight entrance. The first few inches slide in easily, her soft walls wetly suck your girth inside. Spitfire sighs heavily as you rock back and forth just partly inside her, rubbing her g-spot with each movement.

You push forward and slowly slip further inside, pushing out some fluids. Spitfire moans as she starts stroking Redheart’s slit with her tongue. You just move deep inside, then pull out to her entrance, and then gradually push all the way inside Spitfire’s tight vagina. Her slimy walls squeeze and coat your cock with her fluids, hotly massaging your moving organ. You pull Spitfire’s hips to yours and penetrate her completely, bumping into her cervix. Spitfire sort of cries out, her face falling into Redheart’s groin. You pull back and thrust forward forcefully, making her scream a little. You, worried about the other guests at the hotel, grab your shirt and toss it at Spitfire’s head.

“If you’re gonna scream, do it in that. We gotta keep it down some, I think.” Your arms ache from holding Spitfire like this for so long. You let her down until her feet touch the floor. You stoop over some, ensuring your cock will push into her special spot with every thrust. Spitfire’s moans slowly increase when she’s not gasping for air.

Redheart’s little hips move up and down, coaxing Spitfire to do more. You push deep inside, pressing your hard head into Spitfire’s cervix. Something Spitfire does makes Redheart moan and arch her back. You pull back and thrust hard again. Your hips slap Spitfire’s nice round ass, and you take no time with going at it again. The pleasure Spitfire’s hot, ribbed flesh brings to your organ is beyond compare.

You breath deep and establish a quick rhythm. You look down and spread the pilot’s tight ass, staring at the way her lower lips suck in all of your manhood. She can really take the whole thing, not like Redheart. Spitfire moves along, moaning and licking and sucking on Redheart’s pussy. The, sights, the sounds, the smells and the sensations all mix together inside your head. You feel stronger than ever, a primal hunger growing in your core. Watching Spitfire’s willing pussy suck your tool in over and over and over makes it that much more enjoyable. The pilot’s hips are struggling to keep up now. Her hot moans vibrate Redheart’s sex, making her cry out some as well.

Spitfire loses control and just lets you fuck her from behind. You instinctively stoop over a little, speeding up your long thrusts. Your dick slips out to the tip, then flies back in, noisily penetrating Spitfire’s pleasure center. You can get a view of Redheart’s pussy as Spitfire works her tongue inside and out, stopping to flick and bite the clitoris every few seconds. Wet spit noises combine with intense moans and the sound of your cock ramming Spitfire’s wet hole.

Again, your mind ignites. Redheart’s and Spitfire’s sex noises escalate as you thrust harder and faster, reaching Spitfire’s cervix every time. You feel like you’re about to explode again. You hold back as much as you can without slowing down, but it’s an uphill battle. The pilot’s hips are unsteady as she nears climax. You stand a little straighter and move a hand down her back to Spitfire’s ass. You give her butt a hard smack and thrust harder. Spitfire’s legs are useless as they tense up in pre-orgasm. You carefully put a finger right on Spitfire’s anus, getting some vocal response. You can’t tell if its consent or denial, but it doesn’t matter. You time your finger with your quick pace and push in the first knuckle.

“Ah! FUCK!” Spitfire shouts. “Fuck, fuck! Yeah! Oh god, gaaawd i’m gonna cum. Oooohh~! Ah, ah yeah, yes, YES! FUCK ME! FFFFFFFUUCK ME!”

Your thick finger slips in hotly into her ass. Your cock is ramming hard, pushing her inner cum button like an elevator call button, really jabbing as you slide over it. The spongy spot massages the sensitive bulge on the underside of your shaft as Spitfire’s ribbed walls suck on your organ. Her hot, wet hole is too amazing. You feel your core tense up suddenly, and it’s all you can do to pull out. Spitfire’s shaking ass cheeks provide a nice rifle stand to shoot from. Her curvy and symmetrical back provides the perfect landing strip for your cum. You grunt as your cock shoots out thick lines of sticky semen all over Spitfire’s back. A few strands fly into her orange hair. You grunt through the volleys, the amazing juices cooling on your rod.

Spitfire rests her head on Redheart’s belly, then she carefully stands up. “O-okay,” she quietly says. “When I can walk, I’m gonna take a quick shower, then pass the fuck out.”

You stand with Spitfire, helping her balance, her back facing the restrained Redheart on the bed. “Alright,” you reply. “You’ve got one tight fucking pussy, Spitfire.” You grab her by the waist and give her a huge kiss. Redheart’s flavor clings strongly to Spitfire’s soft, full lips. She moans a little as you just barely trace her labia with your first two fingers.

Spitfire playfully pushes you away and sways her way to the little bathroom. The lights flick on and the sound of the whirring fan is muted behind the heavy door.

“Redheart?” you inquire quietly.

“F-foray?” she desperately replies.

“You didn’t cum, did you?”

Redheart sort of nods her head and burps a little. “I, ah, I kinda came, buh di- I didn’t. C-c’n you take thisofff?”

You blink and control your fall forward. You aim your elbows on either side of Redheart’s splayed pink hair, catching yourself over her as the bed squeaks. You rest on your right arm, pressing slightly into the soft bed and pull off the blindfold, careful of the nurse’s pretty mane. She blinks and breathes deep in drunk approval.

“Ah! Thanks, ugh, oh man. I think I had a lil’ too muchsh tadrink, Foray. I wus, I was spinning and, an, I feel a liddle beder.” Redheart visibly gags lightly.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly. “You kinda lost the game, didn’t ya? Come on,” you say, working at the knots. “Get up, let’s get some water and pray.”

Redheart sits up uneasily, rubbing her wrists. “I’m not that drunk, sheesh. You religio-oh, ooh you mean the porslin goddess, huh?” The nurse breathes in through her nose, watching your tool as you stand in front of her. You realize that your tool isn’t clean anymore, but sticky with male and female juices.

You watch her rub her head and sway in place, focusing on standing straight. It’s not too hard, unlike your manhood. “Think you need me to carry you, Redheart? Or can you manage?” Her glazed eyes betray her little grin.

She bites her lip softly, but hiccups a little. “I, I think I can. Water sounds good.” Her speech is cleaner, now. “Yeah, yeah I can make it.” The mild drone of the shower moves from the ground and into the figure as you help Redheart to stand. She pushes away your helping hand, but her fingers clasp around your wrist as her hips fly outwards. You catch the nurse and quickly hoist her in your arms.

Walking with a petite nurse in your arms isn’t tough at all, especially compared to a two-hundred pound marine in full combat gear, blood and bullets flying through the air. You grab the doorknob and walk inside.

The steamy bathroom air warms your body as you set Redheart down. She uses the wall for support and does her best to stand still. You close the door behind you and watch over the top of the short shower curtain as Spitfire runs her fingers through her hair. She rubs the water out of her face and pulls the curtain back a little.

“What up?” she says over the dull roar of the shower.

You grab Redheart’s shoulder in one hand. “The nurse didn’t like the way the blindfold looked through beer goggles, so we’re getting a drink of water. She’ll be alright, but she needs to take a nap soon.”

Redheart stands, wobbling some, and spins around and carefully falls onto the toilet seat, tight, round butt first. Redheart gives a timid thumbs up in assurance.

Spitfire kills the water and pulls the curtain open fully. Her sopping wet breasts, round and glorious, catch your eye. The way her wet hair hugs her head makes you stand at attention. The pilot spreads her feet a little wider, giving the both of you a perfect view of her nude body. You feel that same primal lust burn in your groin as she steps out, still dripping wet.

Spitfire reaches for a towel hanging over Redheart’s red face, but you stop her. “No,” you manage to whisper. “Let’s fuck, right here, soaking wet.”

The pilot just looks at you, eyes wide and legs trembling just the slightest. You look down to her pussy and notice that her upper thigh is slightly more crimson than her salmon-colored labia. You instinctively get on your knees and inspect the scar.

It’s holding up perfectly, coated in water and other fluids. You lick it and let your nose press into Spitfire’s dripping lips. Her femininity reeks, driving you insane with more carnal lust. Spitfire is having trouble, or maybe her hand pulling your mouth to her pussy is just a sign of admiration. Her dripping slit tastes nice and clean, only unfiltered shower water spoiling the fun. You suck on her hard little nub, drawing out pleased little giggles under the loud fan. You slip a hand up her thigh, grazing her healing scar, and touch her wet lips. Spitfire’s uneasy legs tremble as your finger penetrates her pussy.

“Aahh, uhn, oh, mmm Foray, oh,” Spitfire whips her hair out of her eyes and touches your head with both hands. “S-stop, stop. Foray, fuck me right now,” the pilot barely manages to command.

You bite her clitoris softly, making her giggle a little bit, and then stand up. Redheart is red faced and really interested. Spitfire draws your face to hers with an inaccurate hand. Your lips meet, and Spitfire gladly takes her own flavor. You grip her ass in both hands and pull her front to your rigid manhood. The pilot’s toned stomach caresses your shaft as you pull Spitfire up and down, swapping delicious saliva.

Spitfire can’t take it. She pushes you back out to the sink outside the tiny bathroom, making you sit on the sturdy thing. The cold countertop soon warms under your cheeks, and Spitfire is sooner trying to ride your rigidity. No words are said as the bathroom door half slams shut, covering the noises Redheart’s making.

“Oh, mmmmmmmng, it’s big alright,” Spitfire barely whispers as she takes your shaft in her hand. She aims it at herself and lowers her hips. Her dripping pussy lubricates your tool just before entry. You put a finger in Spitfire’s mouth to cover her screams. You almost grunt loudly as her tight slit begins to take you inside.

Spitfire sucks hard on your finger as she takes you further inside. Her tight hole feels just as amazing as it did before, maybe even more. Her sopping wet breasts are yours for the grabbing as Spitfire takes her own fast pace. She moans into your finger and falls onto your tool, fully impaling herself. Spitfire sort of cries out into your first digit and sucks it deep into her mouth, testing her gag reflex. She doesn’t even flinch when you thrust up into her.

You lean back into the freezing cold of the mirror and let Spitfire ride. She fellates your wet finger like it’s the real deal, loving her pussy getting filled. Spitfire lifts her ass up, letting your cock out to the tip, then falls down onto it noisily. She squeaks a little bit and takes your finger out. Her long strokes increase in tempo with every thrust, her pain tolerance increasing some with your girth. Her tight walls milk all of your shaft, the head, the underside, the entire length. The sexy pilot’s pink completely pleasures your organ. You hear a faint crackling as you lean your head back in ecstasy. Spitfire’s heavy tits wetly slip out of your grasp over and over again as she rides your cock.

Spitfire makes you hold her up by her ass as she rides you, leaning back and making the countertop bounce a little. You lean forward some and hold Spitfire close, stopping her. Before she can object, you jump up and off of the ailing counter. She wails a little when you land, making her fall hard on your cock, but she moans gratefully when you lean her up against the wall in front of you. You adjust her some and then begin to fuck her standing. Spitfire leans her entire back against the wall, breathing hard, her chest shaking a little. She mouths something like “come”, probably about to orgasm. She’s obviously fucked beyond the point of coherence. You feel close, too. You push into her a few more times, taking advantage of all of her delicious flesh, and then pull out and let her get on the ground. “What now? How do you wanna finish, Spitfire?”

The pilot sways in place, a little bow legged and breathing hard. She falls back to the wall and mouths the word “bed”. You give Spitfire a quick kiss and lead her to the bed. She falls on her back, giggling as you jump on, too. You bend your head down to her neck and suck gently on her damp and tender skin. Spitfire sort of moans and giggles as she lightly strokes your wet dick. She kisses your ear and makes you sit up. The blanket on which she fell is soaked in places, especially where her hair was.

“You close?” she whispers. You simply nod back at her. “So am I. Use your fingers, please? You’re so good with those, making Redheart squirt like that. I’ve never done that, you wanna try?”

Spitfire’s face rolls around under yours. “Yeah, sounds awesome. Yeah, yeah wanna do me the same?” The pilot laughs in your face and nods, biting her lip.

“But where would you finish?”

You spread your leg a little for comfort and find a wet spot Redheart made. “Anywhere. Sheets are already dirty.”

Spitfire squeezes her fingers around the very tip of your dick and massages it wetly. “I’ll make you cum so fucking hard, then, right into the fucking blanket.”

You sit up and watch Spitfire work her juices around on your rock-hard organ. Your hand traces her soft, warm and still somewhat damp skin to her glistening petals. The way her soft labia moves under your slight pressure is entertaining, to say the least. You move to the foot of the bed, your teeth chattering at the sensation of your cock leaving Spitfire’s wet grasp, and begin to really finger Spitfire. Her head falls onto a pillow as your first two fingers dive inside her tight pussy. Her walls and her hips shake as you pick up the pace, circling and thrusting over her special cum spot. She grips the sheets in agony as you slip in a third finger and really go to work on her. Spitfire’s hips are tensing up in no time at all. Her moans try to pierce the ceiling when you add your tongue to the fun.

Spitfire grabs your short hair and flexes every muscle in her body, especially her cunt. She whimpers as a little bit of clear-ish fluid leaks out and onto your compressed tongue. It tastes somewhere between vile and ambrosial. Spitfire’s orgasmic scent makes your rigid length go even harder. You press three fingers into Spitfire’s g-spot and listen to the intense moaning.

After ten seconds or so, Spitfire relaxes and pushes you away. “J-just one sec, stud.” Spitfire jumps up and makes it to the sink, her upper legs coated in girlcum. She bends over the sink, filling a cup with water. You move behind her, sticking your rigid cock between her shapely thighs. She perks up and closes her legs for you, letting you fuck her slick thighs for the moment. You watch in the slightly cracked mirror as your thick cock penetrates her legs, popping out and then hiding in her thighs.

Spitfire’s nice tits hang over the sink as she adjusts the tap some and fills the cup again and again, fucking with the temperature. Spitfire’s slick thighs feel so good, you just want to reach around and make yourself finish with her hand. You try to do just that, but Spitfire slaps your hand away and turns to face you, a little plastic cup full of steamy water.

She kisses your strong chest and gets on her knees in front of you, sucking your steel shaft and stroking slowly. Spitfire spits on your tool and looks up to you. “Ready?” she barely whispers.

All you have to do is touch her face with one gentle hand. Spitfire smiles as she sticks your tip on her flat tongue. The rosy pink head disappears in her nice mouth. She tries again and takes half of the long rod. You feel ready to cum again already. Spitfire suddenly takes your entire length, ballooning out her throat as your cock fills it. She coughs around it and spits your meat out, then coughs again as she strokes some more.

Spitfire smiles as she puts your long cock between her tits. She buries you in her tits and slowly pours hot water all over your shaft, lifting her chest and masturbating you. Her sticky skin instantly becomes softer and amazingly fuckable. The heat from the water makes it even harder not to blow right now. Spitfire smiles up at you, noting your grimace of joy, and pours the last of the cup out on your cock. She pulls her other arm around to squish her boobs around your tool tighter.

“You like that, don’t you? My big fucking tits all wet for you, just like my pussy. Nice and hot, too, is it gonna make you cum? Are you gonna blow another monster load for me? I’ll make you shoot so much sperm out, right in this cup, and then I’ll swallow your whole fucking load. Mmm, mmmm!” Spitfire licks her lips and picks up the pace, stroking longer and faster. Your head penetrates her soft flesh over and over again, unbelievably massaging the sensitive head over and over again.

It’s all you can do to utter a warning. Spitfire grips the shaft just below the head and squeezes hard. Her strong hand aims your cannon at the flimsy cup just in time to fill it. Your sack tenses up, and you unload. Three thick spurts launch out and smack into plastic, splattering Spitfire’s hand with droplets of semen. Your tired tool spurts out an impressive amount less violently, but no less pleasurable. You feel suddenly tired as the last drops dribble out. Spitfire uses her thumb and her tongue to pull out the last strands, then spits them into the cup.

“Jeez, guy, you should do porn,” Spitfire says with stained lips. The little drinking cup has quite a bit of spunk in it. Spitfire gives it a sniff, but backs off a little, disgusted. “Uh, I’m really not that hungry. Maybe Redheart wants it, what do you think?”

You open your eyes again and try to stand straight. “Y-yeah. Yeah, yeah whatever.” It’s hard to just stay fully awake. You move forward, avoid the dirty cup, and get a drink right from the sink. You feel much better after getting some hydration.

“You don’t have to drink that, ya know,” you tell Spitfire as she licks her lips clean, staring at the jizz. “Do, are you even into that?”

Spitfire blushes redder and looks away. “W-well, senior year, I kinda got kicked out and I was living with a boy, and, we were low on funds so, so I ate his stuff on camera and sent it into a site once. We got one grand for it, and it wasn’t that bad, and I watched the tape. My eyes aren’t in it, soo, yeah. It wasn’t that, that bad.”

You take a nice handful of Spitfire’s ass again and move in close, watching her in the mirror. “You obviously like the taste,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she whispers into the cup just inches from her face. The sticky stuff on the rim drips onto her finger, creating a little bridge.

“How about a little taste of me, for me?” Your finger slides down her leg, then back up, slipping over the wetness of her inner thigh.

Spitfire gulps and takes another smell, this time her mouth waters. She looks in the mirror, then crosses her eyes as she looks at the bubbly spunk. She tilts the cup, then holds it upside down over her face and open mouth. Thick strands descend to her lips and her tongue and her nose. Spitfire moans softly when your fingertip traces her labia. More and more cum falls into her mouth or onto her lips. She opens one eye, the other slightly sticky, and uses a finger to pull the cum out. She sucks it off, then licks the rim of the cup. She holds all the cum in her mouth and looks into the mirror, playing with her food. Spitfire uses a finger to wipe her eye and pick up the spare spunk on her chin. What’s in her mouth coats her teeth and tongue well. Spitfire swirls the cum around, then spits it back into the plastic cup. She swallows the last bit left in her mouth with a smile, however.

“So strong and salty,” Spitfire mutters.

“Fucking ass, that was hot, Spitfire.” You stand behind her, still too drowsy, and play with her warm, wet breasts. “If Redheart’s still alive, maybe she wants some. If not, well, I’ve never fucked a corpse before.”

Spitfire laughs deeply, bending over slightly and pushing her ass into your lap. “That’s fucked up, Foray.”

“Yeah, so is not cumming inside. Come on, we should check on the nurse.”

The bathroom door opens immediately, and Redheart is wiping her chin. When she sees the cup of white stuff, she gags and retreats back inside.

You and Spitfire share an understanding look, but say nothing. She leads you silently to the bed, but not before brushing her teeth with a spare toothbrush. You take another drink of water and down some ibuprofen, preparing for a hangover. The room isn’t spinning anymore, thankfully, but you know tomorrow will suck.

You crawl under the stained covers with Spitfire and hold her back to your chest, her nice butt pressing into your tired tool. Spitfire uses her tight ass to make you hard again and her hand to play with your organ behind her back. You close you eyes, inhaling her scent, and play with her pussy with three fingers.

Spitfire pulls your tool between her legs and cooks it with her womanly heat. Her moist lips provide some lubrication for your rigid member. Soon, she’s under you, getting slowly fucked. Spitfire shuts her eyes and wraps her arms around your torso, hugging you as your cock fills her up over and over again. Soft moans and deep breathing fill the quiet room, just under the mildly annoying bathroom fan. In twenty or so minutes, Spitfire’s back arches in another orgasm. It’s tough, but you sleepily hold back. Spitfire repays your patience by throating you like a professional. She takes your last load in her mouth and spits it out in her hand. After hardly any convincing, she licks it all up and swallows. Spitfire gets up to rinse her mouth, and returns in a few minutes with Redheart’s arm over her shoulder.

The two women climb into bed, freshly dicked and sleepy. Spitfire presses her tight butt into your lap again as Redheart presses her ass into Spitfire’s groin. You fall asleep moments before your arm does, warm, fed, dry, spent and happy.