The Ballad of John and Al, Ch. 01

Lieutenant John Barnwell arrived at home before his fiancé, which pleased him. Today they had something to celebrate, and he was energized and happy to make the preparations. He had already stopped and picked up steaks and a bottle of wine and the makings for a salad, and he mixed himself a martini to sip as he started a marinade for the beef.

He moved on to the salad and got as far as dicing a cucumber when he heard the front door open. "Hey," he heard Allison call out to him from the other room. "You're home early."

"I am," he replied. "And I've got dinner started."

He turned to face her as she appeared in the kitchen doorway. Allison always lit up a room; even tired, at the end of a workday in her loose-fitting green nursing scrubs. Her golden hair was pulled up and back in a messy bun, and a couple of strands had fallen down over her right eye, which she blew up off her face with a puff from her full, pouty lips. She looked a little more frazzled than tired, but her blue eyes still sparkled.

"What's the occasion?"

He planted his feet and held his shoulders back, unable to suppress his self-satisfied grin.

"It's official," he replied.

All the stress evaporated from Allison's face, replaced with a wide, dimpled grin. "You got the promotion?"

"The whole shebang," he replied. "Promotion, transfer, grad school scholarship..."

Allison let out a little shriek of delight and raced across the room to leap with considerable athleticism into his embrace. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her legs came up to encircle his waist. He quickly reached down to engulf her ass with his strong hands -- not so much because he needed to; he just couldn't resist any opportunity to knead her magnificent cheeks.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered into his ear, her arms clutching him to her tightly. Then she leaned back, supported by his hands on her bottom and her legs around his middle, and held him by the shoulders as she looked into his face.

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. I really need a shower ..."

"'t's okay," John grinned.

"No, really, for me," she replied, relaxing her legs and slipping back down to a standing position. Face to face, he towered over her by more than a foot. "Let me get cleaned up, and then we can relax ... and celebrate."

"Go," he said, giving her a playful swat on one bouncing buttock as she turned to leave.

John sighed happily and returned to the counter to finish the salad. He put the steaks in the microwave to keep them away from the cat while they came up to room temperature and took his martini out onto the patio. Sitting back in a chaise lounge, he let himself savor the moment of satisfaction.

All the years of hard work and hope were paying off. Not that the journey hadn't had it own rewards along the way; but he really had a sense now of having "arrived."

The promotion and the upcoming move to Washington, DC, to get a master's degree on his employer's dime, was something he had been shooting for. It had been hard work, but his employer had treated him well. They had taught him to land fighter jets on the deck of an aircraft carrier, and to train other men. Yeah, his employer was the United States Navy. He liked to think the benefits had been mutual.

Meanwhile, he had found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Allison was fun and smart and successful in her own right, for her age. And she was his ideal of a classic beauty. His ideal leaned toward blonde and fresh-faced and curvaceous, with soft full lips and eyes that you could fall into; and she was all of that.

He had met her at a friend's wedding, where she was a bridesmaid. The perfect mix of angel and vixen. She was a college girl at the time, and he was 30. He almost felt guilty, lusting after her, as he asked her to dance at the reception. He later found out that he needn't have felt that way. She was angelic to look at, for sure, but like the girl in the raspberry beret, she knew how to get her kicks. From the delicate tattoo below her right breast, to the way she slammed herself down on his thick and urgent erection that first time, he knew she was going to be able to maintain his interest.

"Hey, flyboy," he heard. He looked up toward the patio door. Allison had completely transformed. Her long blonde hair was down now, falling past her shoulders, brushed out to a radiant luster. And she had traded out her nursing scrubs for one of the most breathtaking outfits she owned -- the tight white t-shirt and even tighter orange shorts from her old waitress uniform, from back when she had put herself through nursing school by working at Hooters.

God, she filled it out now even better than she had then.

John stood up from his chair, an appreciative growl emanating from his throat. He advanced across the patio toward her. She stood there, one hand on a hip, shoulders back and magnificent tits forward. He stooped down and swept her up, tossing her over his shoulder, her arms and legs flailing.

"Hey!" she laughed in mock protest. "What about dinner?"

"Dinner can wait," he grunted. He carried her into the bedroom.

After he deposited her on the bed, though, she surprised him by taking the initiative. Of course, she couldn't have thrown him off her without his complicity; but when she pushed him to the side, he fell back onto his back, curious and compliant. He let her straddle him. She leaned down and kissed him, her tongue urgently invading his mouth, then pulled away and shook her shoulders, whipping her fine blonde hair around her head.

He moved his hands from her hips to her waist and grabbed the hem of her t-shirt to pull it up over her head, but she put her hands on his and stopped him.

"Huh uh," she hissed, shaking her head. "We don't have time."

He looked at her quizzically. We don't have time?

"My boyfriend will be looking for me," she explained. "I don't have time to get undressed."

John's eyes narrowed as he watched Al suppress a smirk. Oh, so she wanted to do some roleplaying. She was definitely in a good mood now.

"Boyfriend, huh?" he asked, slyly.

She nodded, her eyes twinkling mischievously, and leaned down to give him a quick, teasing kiss on the lips, with just one flick of tongue, then sat upright again. "Fiancé, actually."

"No kidding," he murmured, feeling his cock stiffening against the crotch of her orange shorts.

"No kidding."

"So," John explored, still not quite sure what role she expected him to play. "He's not the jealous type?"

"Oh, hell, he's a very jealous type. He'd kick your ass if he found us like this."

"Hrmmn," John grunted. "I think I could take him."

"I doubt it," she purred, leaning down as if to kiss him again, but then pulling her parted lips away at the last moment, leaving him with just a promise of a taste of mint and cherry lip balm. "He's six-five and like 230 pounds. And he's a Navy pilot. He'd break you in half."

Uh huh, John thought. So obviously, she was playing the bad girl. But he wasn't supposed to be Lieutenant John Barnwell in her little act. He was supposed to playing his anonymous rival. And she was rising up on her knees, reaching down to unfasten his slacks and wriggle them down over his hips, leading him to his doom. He raised his butt off the bed to assist her, imagining himself as her mysterious lover, throwing caution to the winds.

She wrapped her hand around his thick shaft, fully turgid now, and then seated herself on his lap, pressing his cock up against his stomach, sliding back and forth over his tender underside. He could feel her warmth and wetness through the fabric of her shorts and whatever, if anything, she had on underneath them.

"Huh," he said, grabbing up one breast in each hand, feeling her nipples hard against his palms through the thin fabric of the shirt, squeezing a little harder than usual, as if eager to claim something that wasn't his. "Well, I think you're probably worth it."

"Hmmm," she replied. "I like your style."

He chuckled at that, and then gasped, as she rose back up on her knees, holding him upright in one hand, while with her other hand, she pulled the gusset of her tiny orange shorts to one side. Originally, this garment had been a little too tight for this; but the material was stretchy, and, well, this wasn't the first time they had done this.

He flinched the moment that she directed his swollen glans up against her moisture-slickened labia. He looked back up into her beautiful face. Her eyes were locked on his, full of devious intent. Then she closed them and emitted a gasp and a moan as she lowered herself onto him, quickly, all in one smooth, slippery motion. Just like that, he was fully inside her, encased in her wet warmth and tightness, feeling her gripping and releasing him with her pelvic muscles. Damn, she was good.

Her eyes opened again, but now they were rolled back up into her head, perhaps exaggeratedly so, because she was a magnificent actress even with a column of dick up inside her. She let out another groan.

"You like that?" he prodded.

"Uh huh," she confirmed; but now she was looking back down at him and starting to grin a bit in spite of herself.

"I can tell," he played along. "Am I bigger than your boyfriend?"

"Not a chance," she laughed. "But that just means you'll have to work harder."

"Huh," he replied, gripping her hips to grind her against him. He could do that.

He closed his eyes and fucked her and tried to imagine for a second from just whence she had conjured this fantasy. There was something random and disjointed about it. The clarity and specificity of the bright white and shocking orange Hooters uniform, and the vagueness of everything else. Of course, how many hundreds, or thousands, of men had ogled her as she wore it at her old job; had gone home and masturbated or fucked their wives while thinking about her, closing their eyes, and picturing her, Allison, his vivacious and fresh-faced Al, writhing on their laps or underneath them? It certainly wasn't the first time he had tormented himself with that thought.

But then, throwing in the bit about "my boyfriend will be looking for me." It didn't fit with her wearing her provocative Hooters costume. There would be nowhere at work where she could slip off to a furtive liaison with some customer. He tried to think ... had she ever worn this outfit to a party, on a lark or a dare?

That gave him something to work with, he thought, as he manipulated her hips between his hands, stirring her dense liquid insides with his cock. Yeah. He could see that. They were at a party at a friend's house. She was getting all kinds of male attention for her sexy little costume. She knew all about his kinky little cuckold fantasies, and she indulged them -- at least when it came to bedroom role-playing and pillow talk. But she also understood that what he really loved was the risk, the uncertainty, the wondering -- much more than the trite desire to watch, to direct her, to be in charge.

She knew this would be a scenario that flipped all his triggers. Letting one of the flirtatious men at the party lead her down a hallway to an empty guest room. Letting him kiss her, grope her ... but not letting him undress her. She would remain in control. Pushing him down on the bed, straddling him, unbuckling his belt, and pulling his pants down to mid-thigh but no further, telling him, "You can't undress me. My boyfriend will be looking for me."

He studied Al's face as she rose and fell on him. Her lips were parted and her eyes, while still partly open, were glazed. A flush was creeping up in the considerable cleavage revealed by her low-cut t-shirt. She was on the verge of orgasm. What was she thinking about, he wondered? Was she also focusing on this fantasy? Was it a fantasy, or ... a memory?

He loved making her cum, watching her in the throes of orgasm. But it gave him a knot in his stomach to imagine some other man enjoying that pleasure. Maybe, in that situation, she wouldn't be able to let herself go. She had to stay in control. She couldn't lose herself in wave after wave of climax if her fiancé was likely to burst in the door at any moment.

She was cumming now. He could feel it, and he could see it in her face. But in his mind, she wasn't there yet. In his mind, he was on the other side of the bedroom door, knocking gently. Al's eyes opening wide. Al pushing herself up off her lover, a motion that took half a second, half a second in which she went from full of foreign cock to empty, leaving her lover twitching and wet. A full second to dismount and get her feet on the floor. Another second to step across the room and slip out the barely opened door, greeting her fiancé with eyes full of innocence. "Sorry," she would say. "I left my lipstick in my coat pocket." Lacing her fingers through his and leading him back toward the party in the living room, full of lust and doubt.

And that's what pushed him over the edge. John prided himself in his self-control, but Al had had an orgasm, and now he needed to have his. He held her tightly by the waist and pushed up inside her and let it wash over him, feeling himself pulsing inside his fiancé's perfect body. She smiled at him, recognizing the sensation. He wondered if she was concentrating on enjoying the sensation of him cumming inside her. Or was she still imagining that the pulsating cock behind her belly, the semen flooding over her cervix, belonged to that other man?

He hoped so.

***

They sat on the patio, enjoying their dinner, enjoying each other's company. The upcoming move was something that they both knew was a possibility, but now it was an actuality that they would need to start planning for.

"Do you want to take a few days and go up and look for a place together?" John asked.

"Sure, if I can get the time off," Al replied. She speared a cherry tomato with her fork.

"But you know. It's just eighteen months, right? We're just going to get an apartment. It's not like house hunting."

"True," he said. "But I want to have the right amenities. Like, indoor pool? It gets cold up there in the winter."

She closed her lips around the little tomato and seductively sucked it between her lips. "Yeah, you're right. You're going to be working and going to class. I'll need to find ways to entertain myself."

He smiled as she arched her eyebrows at him playfully.

"Or, you know, we could just save some money," she suggested. "You could go up there and just find a roommate. And I could stay here and play at being a single girl for another year."

He choked a bit, and looked into her tell-tale twinkling eyes, as she continued: "Would you like that?"

He cleared his throat. No, he wouldn't like that. But he couldn't deny that the implication was making him hard. She had obviously enjoyed teasing him earlier and she evidently wasn't done with it yet.

"Relax," she laughed. "I'm just joking. And at any rate, if I sent you up there alone, I'd have to keep you in one of those little cock cages the whole time."

He grinned back at her. Funny, that aspect of being apart from her hadn't even occurred to him. She would indulge his little fantasies about cuckolding him, but she always made it clear she did not want him to reciprocate.

"No, that's all right. I'm not going anywhere without you."

She took a bite of her filet and chewed silently. They both knew that eventually he would be deployed again. She could tease him about that, and probably would when the time came, but she wasn't pursuing that at the moment.

"Actually," she said instead, "I did have another thought, though. Maybe while we're up there, I could take a break from the nursing, and take some classes. Get started on my P.A. degree."

John nodded. That was an excellent idea. She had never expressed any interest in becoming a full-time homemaker, or a stay-at-home mom when the time came. And that was part of what made her so interesting to him.

"I'd still want to get a job, too. Something part time."

He watched her and let his eyes drift down to the owl stretched across her breasts on her Hooters t-shirt. "What, like, in a restaurant?"

Her wicked smile had returned. "Of course. What else?"

He decided not to push it any further for now. He turned his attention back to his steak, and quietly adjusted his erection.

They finished their meal and cleaned up, talking now about more practical considerations. But in the back of his mind, he was starting to consider some of the other possibilities of their upcoming arrangement.

They had a great sex life. Al was a playful and adventurous lover. She wasn't a virgin when they met, of course. In fact, she seemed to get some amusement out of telling him that she had dated a number of black guys in college. He didn't find that particularly intimidating; despite all the tropes and cliches, he had no doubts about his own endowment or prowess, but it intrigued him, nonetheless.

There were only a few things she hadn't done for him, and it excited him to wonder if she had done them for other guys. She enjoyed giving him blowjobs, but she didn't swallow; and the one time he had just gone ahead and cum in her mouth ... well, she had let her displeasure be known, and he hadn't done it since. And she hadn't let him take her in the ass ... although she had slyly hinted that that might be on the table later, after he had made an "honest woman" out of her.

And she wasn't into threesomes or swinging; but that seemed to him to be more a matter of her possessiveness toward him, than outright disgust with the idea. Because she seemed to genuinely enjoy teasing him about cuckolding him. And she didn't even insist that it was solely a bit of fantasy pillow-talk that she was willing to do for him. More than once, they had talked about it in the cold light of day, or at least in their lamplit bedroom, after their mutual orgasms had burned off the fog of lust.

"So, you really would be okay with me having sex with another guy?" she had suddenly asked, that first time, sitting up in bed, having pulled on one of his oversized t-shirts to sleep in several minutes after having finished making love.

His heart had raced at the realization that she wasn't role-playing or teasing this time. "Yeah, I think so."

"Hmm," she had murmured.

"Hmm what?" he had asked, gingerly.

"Just ... yeah, okay, maybe," she had responded, matter-of-factly. "But you couldn't be there. That would be weird."

He could still remember the sensation of blood pounding in his ears when she had said that. And the way she had said it with a casual shrug, as if to say, "Yeah, I don't care whether our next car is red or black."

No suspicious questions or cross-examination. No protestations or insistence that that was only for fantasy role-playing purposes. She had opened a magazine from her nightstand, as if to say the conversation was over and she was going to read until sleep overtook her. He had propped himself up on one elbow and stared at her, until she made eye contact again. "What?" she had asked. "I like sex. If it's okay with you, maybe I'll do it. Doesn't mean you get to." And then she returned to her magazine.

He had settled back onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his recently-spent cock suddenly hard again. After a few minutes she had leaned over and kissed him, then turned off her light and gone to sleep.

Later, when they had returned to the subject, she had acknowledged that there were elements of curiosity and competition to her possible willingness to experiment. She had a point. He had been sampling the delights of girls and women for half of his life, since she was seven years old. She had some catching up to do.

But he found her insistence that he was done with other women to be strangely thrilling, too. He liked the idea that she was jealous and possessive. And to be sure, he had spent seventeen years fucking everything from high school cheerleaders to fifty-something cougars -- maybe not daily or weekly, like some guys he knew, but plenty enough; he had no regrets. Surrendering the keys to his cock (figuratively; her suggestion of a cock cage was just a joke) to this delightful and delicious young woman felt like the culmination of his sexual adventures, not the end of them.