Chapter 6: Locker Room Relief
The locker room air hit Stacy the moment she shoved through the door, a thick stew of ozone, sweat, and the faint chemical tang of cooling servos that seemed to live in every corner of the Sector Four facility. She was drenched. The sim pod had run her through a full four-hour gauntlet of urban canyon pursuit drills, and her flight suit clung to her like a second skin, dark patches of sweat blooming across her chest and down her spine. She tugged at the collar, letting the fabric peel away from her throat, and blew a strand of choppy black hair out of her face.
Three figures sprawled across the long central bench, uniforms in various states of disarray. Stacy recognized them by sight if not by name, the rotating pool of pilots who cycled through the sim rotations alongside her. One was a big, red-faced man with a shaved head, his torso bare, his navy undershirt wadded up and tossed over the back of the bench. Another was leaner, younger, with a mop of sandy hair and his pants unzipped at the waistband, legs spread wide as he leaned back on his palms. The third was older, gray-streaked stubble on his jaw, his frame carrying the kind of wiry hardness that came from years in a cockpit instead of a gym.
None of them moved when she walked in. All three of them stared.
The older one had his hand resting loosely on his thigh, and even in the dim flicker of the overhead lights, Stacy could see the shape of him straining against his boxers. The sandy-haired kid wasn't bothering to hide it either, his erection tenting the front of his uniform pants, making a dark patch where the damp fabric pressed against the head. The bald man simply watched her with a lazy, knowing grin.
"Evening, rookie," the older one said, his voice rough from a long day of shouting orders over comms. "You look like you went three rounds with a cargo loader."
Stacy smirked and hooked her thumbs into the zipper of her flight suit, peeling it down an inch. The fabric was so damp it made a wet ripping sound as it separated. The cool air of the locker room hit her overheated skin and she shivered, but not from the cold.
"Try four hours in the pod chasing holographic scrappers through a burn zone," she said. "My ass is numb and my brain is fried."
"Then you should sit down," the bald man said, patting the bench beside him. His voice was a low, rumbling bass. "Take a load off."
Stacy laughed, short and sharp. All three of them had been in the sim rotation that afternoon. She knew because the pod status board had shown three occupied units right up until twenty minutes ago. They'd finished before her, come in here to cool down, and from the looks of it, they'd decided to strip down and make themselves comfortable.
Whatever spark had been in the air when she walked in, it was already catching. Stacy could feel the weight of their eyes on her as she turned her back to them, reaching for her locker. She made a show of it, working the combination with slow, deliberate movements, letting her hips sway just a little as she bent to pull out a clean towel.
Behind her, someone let out a low breath.
"Chen," the sandy-haired kid said, his voice cracking just slightly. "You, uh. You always strip down in front of the whole locker room?"
Stacy glanced over her shoulder, a grin tugging at her lips. "This is the co-ed locker room, genius. And I've got a shower stall with my name on it. You got a problem with that?"
"No problem," he said quickly. Too quickly. His cheeks flushed pink.
The older man snorted and leaned back against the lockers, folding his arms behind his head. The movement pulled his undershirt up, exposing a strip of pale belly hair. "Kid's got a point though, rookie. You coming in here looking like you just climbed out of a swimming pool and bending over like that? That's a morale hazard."
Stacy straightened, turning to face them fully. She crossed her arms under her chest, which did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that her flight suit was practically transparent where the sweat had soaked through. The thin fabric plastered itself to her skin, every curve visible.
"Morale hazard," she repeated, drawing the words out. "That's a funny way to describe it. Most of the senior officers I've met in this corps call it 'contributing to team spirit.'"
The bald man chuckled, deep and appreciative. "She's got a mouth on her."
"She does," the older man agreed. His gaze dropped to her chest, then lower, then back up to her eyes. He wasn't subtle about it. Neither were the other two.
Stacy felt a slow heat building in her belly, a familiar warmth that had nothing to do with the sim pod. It was the same charge that had crackled through her in the showers with Marcus, that had driven her to take charge in his quarters with Jamal. The APC ran on a simple principle, one that had been hammered into her during orientation: a unit that played together stayed together. And God, did this corps play.
"You boys look a little tense," she said, pitching her voice low and easy. "Long day in the pods?"
The sandy-haired kid nodded, his eyes wide and fixed on her. "Three hours of evasion drills. Captain had us running the same gauntlet over and over. My arms feel like noodles."
"Poor thing." Stacy took a step toward him. Then another. She stopped in front of the bench, looking down at the three of them, sweaty and half-naked and unmistakably hard. The kid's erection was poking up out of his unzipped pants now, the head of his cock pressing against the waistband of his boxers. The older man had given up on hiding anything, his hand wrapped around himself through the thin cotton. The bald man just watched, patient and hungry.
Stacy let her towel drop to the floor. Then she reached up and tugged the zipper of her flight suit the rest of the way down, pulling it open to reveal the sweaty, lace-free sports bra she wore underneath. No frills, just function, but the way the damp fabric clung to her small, firm tits made them look like they'd been painted on. The freckles dusted across her nose stood out sharp against the flush of heat in her cheeks.
"Morale is part of the job," she said, and dropped to her knees on the concrete floor between the three of them.
The sandy-haired kid made a noise that was half gasp, half strangled laugh. "Holy shit."
Stacy reached out and hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging them down just enough to free him. His cock sprang out, hard and flushed pink, slick with a smear of pre-cum. He was average length but thick, and he twitched the moment the cool air hit him. Stacy wrapped her hand around the base and gave him a slow, deliberate stroke.
"You ever had a pilot do this for you before?" she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.
"No," he breathed. "I mean, I've seen the, uh. The videos they show at orientation. But nobody ever actually..."
Stacy leaned in and took the head of his cock into her mouth. His whole body jerked. She hummed around him, a low vibration that made him buck his hips, and she had to press a hand against his thigh to steady him. She worked her mouth down his shaft slowly, inch by inch, hollowing her cheeks as she went. His hands came up, hovering awkwardly over her head like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch her.
She pulled off just long enough to say, "Go ahead. Grab my hair."
He did, fingers threading through her short, choppy locks, gripping tight. Stacy moaned around him and sank back down, taking him deeper this time, her nose brushing against his coarse pubic hair. She worked him with her hand and mouth in tandem, stroking the shaft while she sucked the head, curling her tongue around the sensitive ridge.
"Fuck," the kid whimpered. "Oh fuck. I'm not gonna last."
Stacy pulled off with a wet pop. "Good. I don't have all night." She turned to the older man, who was stroking himself lazily through his boxers, watching her with a half-lidded expression. "You next."
He grinned, wide and wolfish. "Name's Keller. You're gonna want to use my name when you're choking on me, rookie."
Stacy crawled toward him on her knees, leaving the kid shuddering and breathing hard on the bench behind her. She tugged Keller's boxers down, and his cock sprang free, thicker than the kid's but shorter, with a nest of gray-brown hair at the base. He was already slick with pre-cum, glistening in the flickering light.
She didn't waste time with preamble. She lowered her mouth onto him and took him as deep as she could manage, her eyes watering as the head hit the back of her throat. Keller grunted and settled his hand on the back of her head, not pushing, just resting there.
"That's it," he said, his voice a rumbling growl. "Nice and slow. Don't rush it."
Stacy pulled back, dragging her lips along his shaft, then plunged down again. She worked a rhythm, bobbing her head, letting her tongue swirl around him on the upstroke. She could feel the big man's thighs tensing under her hands, the heat of him flushing through his skin.
Behind her, she heard the bald man shift on the bench. "Quit hogging her, Keller."
Stacy pulled off with a laugh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The kid was still stroking himself, trying to keep the edge off. Keller was leaning back, chest rising and falling, his cock glistening with her spit.
She turned to the bald man, who had finally stripped his boxers off entirely. His cock stood out against his pale belly, thick and heavy, the biggest of the three. Stacy eyed it appreciatively, then crawled over to him.
"Name's Vaughn," he said, his bass voice rumbling. "And I'm gonna warn you now, rookie. I last longer than these two amateurs."
Stacy smirked, reaching up to wrap her hand around his shaft. "We'll see about that."
She had to use both hands just to stroke him properly, one wrapped around the base and the other working the length. When she finally lowered her mouth onto him, she could only take about half before the thick head pressed against the back of her throat and refused to go further. She looked up at him, eyes watering, cheeks hollowed, and he moaned deep in his chest.
"Fuck, that's a pretty sight."
Stacy pulled back and tried again, relaxing her throat, forcing herself to take him deeper. The head breached the back of her mouth and she gagged slightly, a tear rolling down her cheek. Vaughn didn't push or force her, just let her set the pace, his big hands resting on her shoulders.
She worked him with a combination of mouth, hands, and spit, her jaw aching by the time she found a rhythm she could sustain. The other two watched, stroking themselves, their breathing growing rougher. The air in the locker room was thick with the smell of sweat and sex, the hum of the ventilation system lost beneath the wet sounds of her working.
"Enough," Keller grunted. "I'm close."
Stacy pulled off Vaughn with a gasp, her lips swollen and slick. She crawled back to Keller and bent over him, taking his cock in her mouth again with practiced ease. He groaned and gripped the back of her head, thrusting up into her mouth with short, sharp strokes.
"Swallow it," he growled. "Every drop."
She bobbed her head faster, one hand cupping his balls, stroking the taut skin beneath her fingers. His thigh muscles went rigid, his whole body arching up off the bench, and with a guttural groan he came. Hot, thick spurts filled her mouth, and she swallowed around him, working her throat until he was spent.
She pulled off, licking her lips. "Good."
Kid was next. He was trembling when she reached him, his pink cock slick with pre-cum, his breathing ragged. She took him in her mouth with a sigh and worked him without mercy, stroking his shaft with her hand while she sucked the head. He came with a high, strangled cry, his cum spilling into her mouth faster than she could swallow. Some of it escaped, trickling down her chin, and she wiped it away with her thumb.
Then she turned to Vaughn, the biggest challenge. He was stroking himself slowly, his eyes dark with patience. Stacy didn't hesitate. She straddled his thighs, dropped to her knees, and took him as deep as she could manage, breathing through her nose, forcing her throat to relax around his massive girth. Tears streamed down her face, but she held him there, her nose buried in his pubic hair, her throat working around him.
"Fuck," he breathed, his fingers digging into the bench. "Fuck, that's good."
She pulled back, gasping, then went down again. Over and over, driving him deeper each time, until her gag reflex finally surrendered and she took all of him. Her hands gripped his thighs, her fingernails digging in as she started to lose control.
Vaughn came with a roar that echoed off the concrete walls, his cock pulsing in her throat as she swallowed convulsively, trying to take everything he gave her. It was a lot. Too much. She choked, some of it sputtering out of her mouth, running down her chin and onto her chest. But she kept him in her mouth until he finished, then pulled off with a wet, gasping breath.
She sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the mess across her cheek. Her lips were swollen, her jaw was sore, and she was covered in a mixture of spit and cum.
"Not bad," she said, her voice hoarse. "For amateurs."
The three of them stared at her, spent and dazed.
Vaughn let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Where did Rostova find you, rookie?"
Stacy pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. She grabbed her towel from the floor and wiped the worst of the mess off her face and chest. The taste of the three men lingered on her tongue, salty and bitter and strange, but it was a familiar feeling by now. She'd barely been at Sector Four a week and already she'd swallowed cum from half the senior officers on rotation.
"Morale is part of the job," she repeated, tossing the towel onto the bench. "Any of you want to run a drill past me in the morning, you know where to find me."
She walked toward the showers, feeling their eyes on her the whole way, and let the hot water wash the evidence of the evening down the drain. Behind her, above the hiss of the spray, she heard Keller's low whistle.
"Rostova's gonna have her hands full with that one."