Chapter 17: Officers' Cum Buffet
The hotel ballroom was a machine of polished brass and forced laughter. Sara moved through it like a flaw in the clockwork, a slow, delicious tear in the fabric of regulation. Her dress was a column of black silk that clung and released with each step, the back a plunging vertigo of skin that ended just above the cleft of her ass. She felt eyes on her—the appreciative glances of older men, the hungry, hastily averted stares of the young ones. She kept her smile calibrated: warm for the Colonels, coy for their wives, and a slower, more deliberate version for the lieutenants.
Doug was across the room, holding court near the bar, his dress blues impeccable. She watched his reflection in a mirrored pillar as she accepted a glass of champagne from a server. His eyes tracked her for a second—a husband’s cursory check—then returned to the story he was telling. He hadn’t seen the two young officers flanking her yet.
They were like matching set pieces. Lieutenant Clarke, broad-shouldered with a jaw that looked carved from granite, and Lieutenant Hayes, leaner, with sharp, intelligent eyes that kept dropping to her mouth. They were drunk on youth and two beers, buzzing with a coltish energy the room couldn’t contain.
“The Colonel’s speech was something else, wasn’t it?” Hayes said, his elbow brushing her bare arm.
“Inspiring,” Sara breathed, letting the word linger. “Makes you want to… serve.”
Clarke’s laugh was too loud. He leaned in, the scent of starch and cinnamon gum enveloping her. “I bet you’re great at following orders, ma’am.”
It was clumsy. Obvious. Perfect.
“I can be,” she said, her gaze slipping past them towards a dimly lit service corridor marked ‘Staff Only.’ “I get a little lost sometimes, though. This place is a maze.”
Hayes followed her look. A silent communication passed between the two men. “We could… help you get your bearings,” Hayes said, his voice lower now.
She let a flicker of helplessness cross her face. “Would you? I just need a moment to… fix my strap. It’s twisted.”
They were on her like hounds on a scent, escorting her with a mock formality that made her skin hum. Sara glanced once, over the slope of her own shoulder, towards Doug. She couldn't tell if he was looking at her or not. His expression was unreadable from this distance, a calm mask as he talked to the others around him.
The service corridor was a shock of concrete and humming industrial coolers after the ballroom’s opulence. A stack of white linens filled the air with a scent of bleach. Clarke didn’t hesitate. He pushed her against the cold cinderblock wall next to a mop bucket, his mouth coming down on hers. It was all hungry tongue and teeth. Hayes’s hands were on her hips, turning her, his fingers finding the zipper of her dress and tugging it down an inch, then two, until the top of her silk thong was exposed.
“Fuck, she’s real,” Clarke muttered against her neck, his hands groping the lace cups of her bra, his thumbs scraping over her nipples.
“We don’t have long,” Hayes said, but he was already unbuckling his own dress uniform trousers.
“Then be quick,” Sara whispered, sinking to her knees on the hard floor. The concrete bit into her skin. She didn’t care. Before her, two sets of hands fumbled with belts and zippers. Clarke’s cock sprang free first, thick and already weeping. Hayes’s was longer, paler, with a prominent vein running its length.
She took Clarke first, wrapping her lips around his girth, swallowing him to the root in one practiced motion. He gasped, his hands flying to her head. “Oh, fucking Christ.” She sucked him hard, her tongue working the frenulum, her throat relaxing to take his depth. Above her, she heard Hayes spit into his palm, the wet sound as he started stroking himself.
She pulled off Clarke with a slurp and turned her head, taking Hayes into her mouth without missing a beat. He was saltier, his skin hotter. She bobbed between them, a frantic, shameless relay. Her left hand cradled Clarke’s balls, her right worked the base of Hayes’s shaft. The air filled with their grunts, the slick sounds of her mouth, the rhythmic slap of flesh.
“I’m gonna—” Clarke choked out.
Sara released Hayes and turned back to Clarke, opening her mouth wide, her tongue flat. “Give it to me,” she panted, her lips shining. “Don’t waste a drop.”
He came with a shudder, his hips jerking forward. The first burst hit the back of her throat, bitter and thick. The next two painted her tongue. She swallowed convulsively, milking him with her lips, her eyes closing in genuine bliss.
Before she could even savor it, Hayes nudged her cheek with his cock. “My turn, you greedy whore.”
She looked up at him, Clarke’s cum still glossing her lips. She opened, and he pushed in, fucking her face with short, frantic thrusts. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but her hands clutched his ass, pulling him deeper. He cursed, the rhythm growing ragged. He pulled out just as his control snapped, jerking himself off over her face. Hot stripes landed across her closed eyelids, her cheeks, her chin. It pooled in the hollow of her throat, dripping onto her exposed cleavage.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their heaving breaths. Sara slowly opened her eyes. The two young men were staring down at her, their expressions a mix of awe, horror, and satiation. She smiled, a slow, messy smile, and ran a finger through the mess on her cheek, bringing it to her mouth to suck clean.
“Gentlemen,” she whispered, hoarse.
They scrambled to tuck themselves away, their uniforms suddenly looking like ill-fitting costumes. Hayes offered a hand to help her up. She took it, swaying slightly. She reached back for her zipper, her dress gaping. Clarke, with trembling hands, zipped her up, his knuckles brushing the skin of her spine.
She didn’t look in a mirror. She simply smoothed her hair, licked her lips once more, and stepped back into the glow of the ballroom, leaving them in the dark corridor.
The music and light were a sensory assault. She made her way to the bar, ordered a neat whiskey, and drank it in one burning gulp. She could feel it, the evidence. A cooling trickle down her inner thigh. The stiffening patches on her face, the subtle, musky scent woven into her perfume. She saw Doug detach from his group and begin to move towards her. His walk was casual, but his eyes were dark satellites, locked onto her.
He stopped in front of her, his gaze doing a slow, meticulous inventory: the smudged eyeliner, the slight puffiness of her lips, the almost imperceptible viscous shine on her chin that her napkin had missed.
“Having fun?” he asked, his voice neutral.
“It’s a lovely party,” she said, her voice raspy. She leaned into him, a wife seeking comfort. Her hand “innocently” brushed the front of his trousers. He was granite hard. A jolt of pure power shot through her. He knew what she was after, or he suspected. And he was fucking thrilled.
“You seem… flushed,” he murmured into her hair.
“It’s warm. And the champagne.” She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with manufactured innocence and real need. “Doug… those lieutenants you introduced me to… they were very… attentive.”
“Were they?”
“Mmhmm. It was flattering.” She let her fingers trace the medals on his chest. “You know… it got me thinking about what you said. About how you like seeing me… admired.”
Doug smiled softly as he passed her a glass of whiskey. "Were you now?"
Emboldened by the liquor and the adrenaline, she pressed on, her words a tipsy, seductive slurry. “Hayes… the tall one… he has such nice hands. I couldn’t help but imagine them, you know? Touching me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper he had to strain to hear. “I was just in the ladies’ room thinking about it. Thinking about his cock. Wondering if it’s as pretty as his hands are. Wondering if you’d let me find out. Like you promised, baby. You said maybe…”
She was laying it on thick, a performance of drunken horniness, but beneath it was a raw, pulsing truth. She needed it to be real. She needed his permission to make the fantasy in the storage closet something he had given her, not something she had stolen.
Doug looked over her head, his eyes scanning the room. He spotted Hayes, now back with his buddies, laughing too loudly, stealing furtive glances at Sara. Doug’s expression was unreadable. Then he looked down at her, at the desperate hunger she couldn’t fully mask.
“You’re drunk,” he stated, his voice playful.
“I’m thirsty,” she corrected, licking her lips. “And I know exactly what I want to drink.”
"I bet you do. You know, I can give you that right now, we can go out to the car and you can have all you want."
Sara's hand slid down again, gripping him a bit firmer. "I know you can baby." She leaned into him, a conspiratorial whisper in his ear. "You know how much I love this beautiful cock. But you promised I could have another." She pulled back and looked up at him with wide pleading eyes, a pout on her lips. "Please baby, can't you give me both? I'm so thirsty."
Doug just about lost control right there, seeing his wife, already with semen wet on her lips, openly begging for him to let her have another man's cock. His dick throbbed in her grip through his pants. She felt it, looked down at it, then back at him. She tilted her head and said "I'm not the only one who wants to see another cock slide between my lips, am I?"
Doug breathed a deep sigh and then kissed her. He could taste the other officers on her lips, he could smell their cum on her breath even over the whiskey. He nodded and her sly seductive grin grew into an excited smile. "Soon." he said and then patted her ass.
It wasn't long until the party started to wrap up. Doug had only been nursing a drink throughout so he could drive them home. While he watched Sara flit through the crowd, he decided on a plan. He came up to her with three fellow sergeants, all three stumbling slightly from the drink.
"Hey babe, this is closing down so we should head out. These guys are pretty done, and they'd be waiting forever for a drive, so I offered to drop them off at their place on our way home. That okay?"
Sara took in the look of the three of them, handsome, fit, typical infantry men, though they were giggling like children. One of them, Simmons, couldn't keep his eyes off her cleavage. She nodded "Sure, no problem love." She stepped closer to whisper into his ear as she linked her arm into his offered elbow. "You promised."
Doug nodded, "I know."
They walked out towards their car. Sara stopped them as the three men tried to cram into the back seat. "No need for that, you guys are too big to squish back there, here, Jonas you can go up front with Doug. I'm little, I can squeeze in the middle back here with Simmons and Mitchell."
Doug nodded and they loaded into the car, laughing together over some inside army joke as they started the engine and started driving. Doug adjusted his rearview mirror slightly down so he could see his slut of a wife in the back seat better, he met her eyes as Simmons leaned into her, his hand drifting up to her thigh. Doug gave an imperceptible nod and Sara smiled back.
Doug gave an imperceptible nod and Sara smiled back.
The car’s interior was close, thick with the smell of wool uniforms, whiskey breath, and the eager, sweaty musk of young men. Sara settled into the middle seat, her dress riding high on her thighs. Simmons, to her left, was already leaning against the door, his arm stretched along the seatback behind her head. Mitchell, to her right, stared out the window, but his knee pressed firmly against hers. Up front, Jonas joked with Doug about some sergeant, his words slurring.
A minute into the ride, Simmons’s fingers, hanging idle near her shoulder, began to move. They traced the bare skin of her collarbone, then dipped lower, skating along the edge of her dress’s neckline. His touch was feather-light, a ghost of pressure. She didn’t look at him. She looked ahead, at the back of Doug’s head, at the slice of his profile she could see in the dim light from the dashboard.
Mitchell’s hand found her right thigh. His palm was hot through the silk of her dress. He smoothed the fabric, his fingers inching upward toward her hip. She let her legs fall open a fraction. It was an invitation. Both men took it. Simmons’s hand now cupped her breast over her dress, his thumb strumming her nipple into a hard peak. Mitchell’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of her inner thigh, so close to her heat she could feel her own dampness seeping through her thong.
Doug kept driving, his eyes on the road. He adjusted the rearview mirror again. She knew he could see.
“You guys have a good time tonight?” Doug asked, his voice conversational, normal.
“Fuck yeah, Sarge,” Jonas said, laughing. “Open bar’ll fuck you up.”
Sara bit her lower lip to stifle a moan as Mitchell’s fingertips brushed the lace edge of her panties. Simmons was kneading her breast now, not subtle at all. She let her head loll back against the seat, turning it slightly towards Simmons. In the reflected green glow of the dashboard lights, his eyes were dark and fixed on her. She reached down with her left hand, finding the hard line of his erection straining against his dress pants. She palmed it through the fabric.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
With her right hand, she found Mitchell’s cock. It was already out, his fly undone, his hard, warm shaft lying in his lap. She wrapped her fingers around it. It was different from Clarke’s or Hayes’s—longer, smoother. She began to stroke him slowly, her thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum over his swollen head.
“Fuck,” Mitchell whispered, almost a prayer.
She worked them both, her hands moving in opposing rhythms. One up, one down. Her left hand worked Simmons through his pants, a furious, grinding pressure. Her right hand slicked up and down Mitchell’s bare flesh, her grip tight. The only sounds were the hum of the engine, Jonas’s drunken monologue up front, and the wet, rhythmic slide of her hand on Mitchell’s cock.
“Gonna… shit…” Simmons hissed, his hips bucking off the seat.
She felt his cock pulse and jerk under her palm through the wool. A warm, sudden wetness bloomed against the fabric. He came in his pants, his whole body stiffening, a choked groan escaping him. He slumped back against the window, spent.
She brought her left hand up slowly, pretending to adjust her hair. In the rearview mirror, she caught Doug’s eye. He was watching. She lifted her glistening, sticky fingers to her mouth. She held his gaze as she slowly, deliberately, licked Simmons’s cum from her skin, cleaning each digit with a slow drag of her tongue. Doug’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
Mitchell was close, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sara leaned forward suddenly, feigning a stumble as Doug took a corner. “Oh!” she exclaimed, dropping her phone onto the floor mat near Mitchell’s feet. “Dammit.”
She bent down, disappearing into the footwell between Mitchell’s spread legs. From Doug’s perspective, all he could see was the crown of her head and the curve of her back. He heard Mitchell’s sharp, bitten-off groan. He heard the soft, wet, rhythmic sucking sounds. A wet gag. A deep, relieved sigh.
Doug strained to see more. In the mirror, he could just see the very top of Sara’s forehead, the bridge of her nose. Then Mitchell’s hands came up, tangling in her hair, his hips lifting off the seat. Doug saw the distinct, impossible bulge travel down Sara’s throat, a lump gliding beneath her pale skin. It pressed outward, then retreated, then pushed down again, deeper. Mitchell’s thighs began to shake.
“Oh god, oh fuck, I’m coming,” Mitchell whimpered, his voice tight.
The bulge in Sara’s throat pulsed violently, once, twice. Doug saw her Adam’s apple work, swallowing convulsively. A final, choked swallow, and then she was pulling back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she sat up, retrieving her phone. Mitchell slumped, boneless, against the door.
“Found it,” she said brightly, her voice a little hoarse.
They pulled up outside a rundown apartment complex. Mitchell fumbled with the door handle. “This is me,” he slurred. “Thanks for the ride, Sarge.”
“I’ll help you get to your door, man,” Simmons said, suddenly alert. “You’re fuckin’ wrecked.” He glanced at Doug. “Two seconds, Sarge.”
Doug nodded, killing the engine. “Sure.”
The two men stumbled out of the backseat, supporting each other, and shuffled towards the building’s entrance. The dome light faded as the car door closed, leaving Sara and Jonas in the quiet dark.
As soon as Doug’s foot hit the pavement to follow them, Sara moved. She pushed open her own door and stepped out into the cool night air. Jonas, confused, started to get out too. “Wait, where you—”
“Shhh,” Sara said, her finger to her lips. She walked around to the front passenger side, her heels clicking on the asphalt. She took Jonas by the hand, her grip firm, and led him to the shadowed space between the car and a thick hedgerow. “You’ve been so patient,” she purred, looking up at him.
“What are you—” he began, but she was already sinking to her knees, her hands working his belt buckle with a frantic urgency.
“I need a nightcap,” she whispered, freeing his cock. It sprang out, thick and already hard. She didn’t bother with preamble. She took him whole into her mouth, deep-throating him in one smooth, practiced motion.
Jonas gasped, his head thudding back against the car roof. “Holy shit, Sara.”
She set a brutal pace, bobbing her head, her throat working around him. She used her hands on his ass, pulling him deeper with each thrust. She was a woman possessed, driven by Doug’s watching eyes, by the promise she’d wrung from him, by her own bottomless hunger. Spit dripped down his shaft, coating her chin. The sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet street—the wet slaps of her lips, his guttural moans, the slick friction of her mouth.
Doug and Simmons appeared at the apartment door upstairs. Doug paused, pretending to listen to something Simmons was saying. His eyes scanned the parking lot below. He saw it immediately: the back of Sara’s head, the elegant line of her neck bent forward, the rhythmic movement behind the bulk of the car’s hood. Jonas’s hands were clenched in her hair. Jonas’s hips were pumping erratically.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come!” Jonas hissed, his voice strained.
Doug watched, frozen on the stairs, as his wife’s head bobbed faster. He saw Jonas’s body arch, his back leaving the car. He saw Sara’s throat constrict, then work in a long, deep swallow. Her head stayed down, milking him, until Jonas finally slumped, pushing her gently away.
She stood up smoothly, wiping her mouth with a swift, discreet motion. She patted Jonas’s chest, said something too low for Doug to hear, and then Jonas walked shakily back into the front seat, Sara returning to the back seat as Doug and Simmons reached the bottom of the stairs.
“All set?” Doug asked, his voice remarkably steady.
“Yep,” Sara said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. She had a line of cum dripping from the corner of her mouth, a shiny splash of it on the tops of her breasts.
Simmons climbed in beside her, a knowing, tired smirk on his face. The only drove a few minutes before Jonas pointed out a street "You can just let me out right up here, thanks buddy." Doug pulled over and Jonas slipped out, thanking them again.
Doug asked Sara if she wanted to come up front. She replied with a false sleepiness "I was just about to lay down back here if that's okay. The whiskeys making me tired."
Doug nodded and subtly adjusted the mirror as Sara laid down, an obvious lie to get her mouth in range of Simmons cock. He heard her whisper "You didn't get to cum in my mouth, that's unfair." as she slowly unzipped him. This time Doug had a perfect view in his mirror of Sara pulling his coworker's cock out, of how hungry her look was as she licked the head gently before popping it into her mouth.
Doug drove somewhat aimlessly for a good five minutes, waiting for the two in the back to be sufficiently distracted that they wouldn't notice him pull his own cock from his pants, it painfully hard by now, aching for release. He pulled up to a red light and watched his wife devour his cock aa he waited for the light to change. Her eyes were closed, not meeting his gaze in the mirror this time. This one might have started as a show for Doug, but right now, this was all for Sara. Doug and his aching dick were again neglected as his wife lost herself in the taste and feel of another.
"So you live close to around here?" Doug said to the backseat, keeping his eyes locked on the mirror, watching his wife work. Her hand drifted down her body and started touching herself.
Simmons grunted, his brain struggling to maintain composure. "Uhh yeah, just keep going, I'm really close." Doug's dick throbbed, he knew those were instructions to his wife, not him.
Doug pulled ahead as the lights changed and he heard a moan. His eyes flicked to the mirror again to see that Sara had fully engulfed him, her fingers flying furiously over her clit, her chest heaving. She was moaning around the cock in her mouth, muffling the sound of a powerful orgasm with another man. Another man who erupted as her orgasm crashed over her, spilling his hot cum into her gasping mouth.
Doug couldn't hold back any longer and he came as well, his cum shooting out to the floor of the car, pooling between his feet under the steering wheel in front of him.
After a moment they regained their composure and Sara sat up, while Simmons said "Uhh yeah, just over here." Doug pulled over and he got out, he mumbled a thanks and then hustled away in a light jog, clearly nowhere near his actual house.
Sara sprawled in the back seat, sated, at least for the moment. She looked up at Doug, meeting his eyes again. Her hand slid up her body, caressing her sensitive flesh through her now cum stained dress. She squeezed her tit, her body rippling with orgasmic aftershocks. A soft moan escaped her swollen lips, which curled into a sultry smile, a gleam in her eyes, as she said "Thank you baby, tonight was perfect."