The Missing Pilot

He'd mirrored my sentiments exactly, and I leant forward, closed the tiny gap between us and kissed him. A kiss of assent.

"Yes, Johnny, that's just what I want," I gushed. "I missed you so terribly and I wished we were married so many times."

"Then we'll do it," he said, firmly. "First thing tomorrow I'll go straight to the vicarage and get that vicar to marry us, post-haste."

I laughed softly. "I believe you," I said, and we kissed again, blissful in the darkness together, not a person in the universe except us in that moment.

After the kiss, we looked at each other for a few seconds, letting it sink in.

"I suppose, to answer your question, that if we were married..." I said slowly, my fingers shaking slightly as he held them. "Then it wouldn't matter, if a baby came along."

He squeezed my hand.

"I love you, Ava," he whispered. Before I could respond, he'd pushed me back into the hay, the mad rustling confusing me for a moment as he laughed and kissed my cheeks and my nose, then took my bare thighs in his hands and spread them, lying on top of me.

"I'm ready," I whispered, my arms around his neck, and with a little bit of clumsy bumping around down there, I felt the tip of his cock pressing into me. I expected pain and tensed up, waiting for it to hit, and as he pushed into me I felt it, a tiny bead of soreness which blossomed into a flower before I could stop it.

"Relax," Johnny said softly, stopping and kissing me. "I can feel how stiff you are, it's supposed to be fun."

I couldn't for a moment understand how this was supposed to be fun. His penis was hurting me and tears were welling up. I wanted this time, our first time, to be perfect and romantic, a Valentine's Day moment to remember forever, but all I was feeling was hotness, embarrassment and pain.

"Ava," Johnny said, more firmly as I sniffed back a sob. "Let's stop."

"No," I said, willing myself onwards. "I don't want to ruin it."

Johnny let out a little frustrated huff, then shifted his weight on top of me, pushing his arms out in front of me so there was a gap between my chest and his. Then, carefully balanced, he took hold of my hand and pushed it down between my legs.

"Show me where it feels good," he suggested.

I put his fingers into the right spot. "Here," I said, and as he began pressing I felt heat rising there again. Then he started rubbing gently, and I closed my eyes, lying back on the hay. I tried to relax. This did feel good. It was fun. I kept telling myself, trying to encourage myself to keep going. This felt good. It was fun.

And before I really noticed, the pain was gone. It was replaced by a kind of pleasantly stretched feeling, and a muffled groan from Johnny made my heart flutter. He pushed in again and I grabbed handfuls of hay, crushing it in my palms. Now he was going in and out, still rubbing my clit, my thighs spread around him, my breaths rising into noises now, soft moans coming where I had thought pleasure impossible.

Johnny took his hand off my clit and lowered himself onto me again, my nose filling with his scent again. I wrapped myself around him as he picked up speed, making love to me properly now. My noises were muffled as I pressed my mouth into his shoulder, his muscles moving under his skin as he pushed in, out, pressing me down into the hay. His breathing became ragged and he kissed me hard, his hands on my shoulders, holding me, pulling me into place. I moaned once again as I allowed myself to think that forbidden word: he was fucking me.

He gasped, pushed in fast, hard, breaking his rhythm, and in a moment I felt his whole weight on me, his cock pulsing inside me. I held my breath, waiting as he kept himself deep inside me, feeling overwhelmingly in love with him. And then he took a deep, steady breath and pulled back, releasing me, his cock sliding back and out of me.

"How was it?" he asked, sitting back on his haunches. I could tell he was looking at me.

"Wonderful," I said, sitting up a little, and he knelt forward to kiss me again.

He left me lying on the hay as he went to wash himself again, leaving his clothes behind. I reclined into a kind of soft, dreamlike state, a strange sensation of floating going through me in waves. I could hear him quietly whistling some kind of shanty, splashing a little in the trough, and a lone cow was lowing. I felt as if I could fall asleep there, the cares of the world lifted from me, and I think I did doze for a few minutes because the next thing I knew, Johnny was lying beside me, still naked, his arm tucked around me.

"I really will see the vicar, you know," he said, trying to reassure me.

"I know, I believe you," I told him, sleepily, cuddling closer into his embrace.

There was a minute of silence and I drifted, happier than I thought possible.

"Ava," he said, and I opened my eyes again to the darkness.

"Yes?" I asked, feeling his hand rubbing my back gently.

"I feel odd for asking but... would you mind if we had another go?"

I giggled and kissed whichever part of his chest I was lying against. "That sounds fun," I replied, as much as I would have liked to sleep then and there. More time with him just felt too precious to pass up.

"And, um, well, I have a request," he said, sounding nervous.

I froze.

"It's nothing bad, well, I hope nothing bad, for you," he said, tripping over his words. "I mean to say, I hope it's something you want to do, too."

In the darkness I lay there, unblinking. "What is it?" I asked, guardedly. My mind was whirling with possibilities, pieced together from half-understood innuendoes I'd heard from other women and frenzied imaginings entirely of my own making.

"Well, it's... a bit difficult to explain," he said, sounding even more nervous. "Maybe I could show you?"

I let him. With infinite care, he kissed me and laid me on my back, then he straddled me, sitting on my hips. Usually having his weight on me like this would have been uncomfortable, but the soft hay beneath me cushioned it and my only discomfort was some scratchy bits poking into my bum. I looked up at him expectantly, and as he moved, I could feel the soft weight of his cock, thick and hard again, on my tummy. With slow movements, he moved up my body, his cock working its way past my tummy to my ribs, and then up into my cleavage. In a moment of realisation I became aware of what he was working up to, but I clamped my jaw shut. It felt forbidden and my instinct was to shy away from it.

However, he never got that far. Once he was sitting on my chest, kneeling as much as he could to keep his weight off me, his cock lying between my breasts, he reached down with his hands, softly took hold of my breasts from the outside, and squeezed them gently together around his cock. And then, in a rush of courage, he started pushing his cock backwards and forwards, making love to them.

I smiled, partly relieved and partly surprised. "Where did you learn about this?" I asked, over the sound of his breathing getting heavier and heavier.

He sounded embarrassed. "One of my crewmates had some dirty pictures and one of them... was this," he admitted. "It's just, it feels good and you've got such beautiful tits."

I felt a little rush of emotion as he kept pushing his cock between my breasts, his fingers on my nipples, pressing and squeezing, and I could feel it slowly having an effect on me. Nobody in the world had ever called my breasts beautiful before. Nor had anyone called them tits, to my knowledge. I was struggling to believe that the two objects that had been the bane of my existence for years could bring so much pleasure to him.

"I... I've never liked them," I told him, rocking slightly on the hay as he started moving faster. "They're too big."

"Nonsense," he replied, instantly. "They're gorgeous. So soft and... special."

I was blushing furiously. I suddenly had a newfound liking for them. I looked down at my chest, and vaguely in the darkness I could see his arms, his hands gripping me, and the movement of his cock between my tits. My cleavage was slightly damp from him now, which allowed him to slide his cock there faster, and his breathing was getting ragged again. I hadn't realised that another human could adore me so much just for being me, and nothing more, and the warmth I felt coursing through me was a potent mixture of arousal and love.

In this position, looking directly downwards, my chin on my collarbone, I could feel the tip of his cock pushing close to my lips, and whether it was true or not I had a feeling it kept getting closer. But my earlier aversion to his cock meeting my lips had faded, and for an experiment, I parted my lips and poked out my tongue. His cock touched it and I heard a groan of pure satisfaction come from Johnny's mouth. He stayed still now, pushed forwards, and I licked it. The taste was very strong, much stronger than I had expected and completely unlike anything I'd tasted before, and it was slightly sticky on my tongue and teeth. I reached down, putting my hands on his thighs, and gently encouraged him upwards. His cock moved towards me and pushed into my mouth, and I licked it again, firmly, like a cold ice at the beach. He groaned, his cock pulsing in response. I experimented with sucking it, like sucking the juice out of an orange segment, my lips tight around it, and his groan was louder. His hands found my shoulders, and he pushed himself further in. Another inch of his cock went into my mouth and I kept my lips tight around it, my mouth full of him. It was too big, almost unmanageable, my tongue pressed against the underside. He pulled back an inch, then back in. Out, back in. A third time.

I moaned on his cock. My boyfriend, or was it fiancé, now? He was fucking my mouth. It felt deliciously dirty to think that. He'd fucked my tits. That made me sound like a tart. He'd fucked me. Taken my virginity. That made him sound like my lover. He kept fucking my mouth, slowly, carefully, then he stopped, jerking suddenly to a halt, and with a rush of panic I felt it pulse between my lips, then shoot one, two, three, four. Now five. Five jets of hot liquid into my mouth. I almost choked but I fought it and in a reflexive motion, I swallowed. It was gone. The taste, incredibly somehow a much stronger version of what I'd tasted before, lingered, filling my mouth and my nose, like when you sipped a neat spirit.

"Sorry, I didn't realise I was... ready," Johnny said, climbing off me.

I smiled, sitting up and swallowing again, which did nothing but refresh the taste. "I don't mind," I reassured him. "I suppose that's a good form of-"

"-Baby prevention," he finished, and we both laughed.

At some point when I was lying in his arms on the hay afterwards, our naked bodies together in the most natural way, it must have turned midnight. The end of St. Valentine's Day, the first minutes of a dreary, cold Monday to follow. The world felt uncertain and full of fear, and for who knew how long to come I had to face the thought of Johnny at the controls of a fighter aircraft, knowing that every newsreel of a burning plane or an exploding ship would fill me with agony. But for now, for this time, we still had each other, and thoughts and plans for our wedding (if Reverend Hawkswell was agreeable). Everything else, the crushing weight of the war and the relentless sad news of lost loved ones, could fade, just for tonight.

A cow snuffled down in the pen. But I didn't hear it. I was dreaming, in the arms of my lover. It was the happiest of Valentine's Days.