Stacy Vs. SEAL

by Mona Cox

  But I'm not sitting on one, I am an earthquake, shuddering lust with a massive cock pumping into me. My throat is raw, too many moans and screams, and I'm going to be hoarse tomorrow from all the sound I'm making. My ability to walk is definitely going to be impaired. He yanks my legs up higher and slams even deeper into me and I know, no way I'm not going to be deliciously sore tomorrow.

  Sanders pulls out, a thick load of cum coming with it, and flips me over, crawling onto the bed next to me. He spins me like I'm a hand on a clock, holding my leg up, and rolling his hips so his cock slams so deep into my wet pussy. We are obscenely, pornographically wet with each other's cum. My thighs are sticky, the whole room smells like the musk of fucking, and I can practically taste the sweat on our skin. Wait, I am! Sanders slams deeper into me and I'm biting my shoulder, I'm coming so hard I almost push that cock out. But there's so much of that long cock buried deep in me, and he keeps pumping, that my pussy is just strangling that huge cock as it keeps slamming into me. Sanders wraps his arms around me, one of his hands grabbing my breasts and rolling my nipples. I shudder with pleasure, every sensation almost too much because it is so intense. Sanders's other hand finds my clit, and teases it in long strokes that are the counter pressure to the cock fucking me in a way so unimaginably perfect.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck," I groan out at the way he keeps stroking my clit. He alternates between teasing my pussy with soft, gentle, almost teasing strokes, and the insistent and intense pressure of harder, circular motions that make me sink my teeth into my own shoulder and gasp. My pussy is gushing arousal. I don't know how I can possibly come this much. I think I am more likely to black out tonight than I am to actually fall asleep. My whole body runs on my pussy's clock. I breathe in when Sanders shoves his cock so deep in me that it steals my breath away. Every time he exits me before another stroke, I exhale. Shivers run up and down my body in time with this.

  Sanders presses his lips to my neck and he kisses me. Little nibbles punctuate the sensation. I feel him groan against my neck and I get even wetter because he's going to come again. We are both testing the limits of just how many times someone can come. I had no idea that I could go this long. No matter how alpha the male, I didn't know that they could keep coming like this either. Of course, I've never met a man like Sanders. I have never been fucked by a man like Sanders. It makes me doubt the validity of anyone else as an alpha male. this is what an alpha male does. Making my point with his cock, Sanders pulls his cock all the way out of my pussy. I back up against his cock in time with him slamming back into me and I shatter around him. My pussy is so thoroughly his. I imagine how the inside is molded to that massive length, the width. I'm not certain my body is meant for anything so much as taking his cum and his cock. I want to beg for more, in a nonsensical way. He brings the hand up from my breasts and strokes my neck so softly I feel my pussy flutter like it has a heartbeat. The gentle way he touches me transposed with the rough, utterly claiming way that he fucks me drives me utterly wild.

  "Goddamn, wanna drive my cock so deep in you I don't know where you begin and I end," Sanders groans against my skin. He sinks his teeth into me for a second while his cock unloads even more cum into me. I can't believe how much this man has to give...and then there's always more.

  This was supposed to be a reward for him, but I am the luckiest little princess in the world. The way he touches me, kisses me, even dirty talks to me, is somehow still his special Sanders brand of gentle.

  "Gonna fuck you from behind. I wanna squeeze those perfect tits while I drive into you, sweet little Stacy," Sanders tells me. By the time he's finished his sentences, he already has my ass up in the air and he's standing at the edge of the bed, driving his cock into me. He reaches out and grabs my tits. I'm impressed at his reach, but he is so massive in comparison to me that I'm not too surprised. The pressure of him squeezing my nipples while he pounds his cock into my pussy is dizzyingly good. I try to keep breathing. He squeezes the fullness of my breasts and makes me gasp, and I feel like my heart is skipping a beat. I moan more, my heart rate rushing through my blood again. I'm summoning my energy reserves staying up like this, my ass in the air when that huge cock is pounding into me.

  Sanders releases my breasts, and his massive hands close around my stomach. His hands nearly wrap around my back and stomach and he holds onto me while he pounds into my pussy. He is holding me so close, sometimes my knees aren't even touching the bed. Sanders is fucking so hard and deep into my pussy I'm like a fuck toy, my body feeling more like that of a rag doll. I'm drenched in sweat, in our shared cum. I'm trembling with pleasure and my body is overrun with orgasmic pleasure that's wholly unrelenting. I have almost no voice anymore. Just the moaning could have done that, but the screaming orgasms on repeat definitely had something to do with that.

  I hear him suck in a big breath, and when he exhales, Sanders stands me up in front of him. He lies against the bed and turns me to sit on top of him. "Ride me with what's left in you, princess," Sanders says.

  I shiver at those words, at the idea, and at the effort. I slide his cock into me and I start to ride him, resting my hand against his firm, defined chest. He called me princess. That's how he treats me. With lots of added fucking in between. We are so sweat and cum slicked that I'm surprised we don't both melt into the bed.

  Sanders narrows his eyes and sucks in a breath, and I know he's close again. I bring my hand to his face, cupping it in my own hands. I start with a soft kiss. His hands close over my hips and drive me down onto him. I come as I feel him spurt a thick load of his own cum inside of me. We keep kissing like that for ages, my legs shaking around us and my pussy milking everything his cock keeps shooting out. We keep kissing, and the world could fall apart around us. When I finally am laying completely against him, I hardly remember where our kisses ended and our cuddling began.

  Sanders is the only man that could fuck me like the devil was in him -- or in me and he was trying to fuck it right out of me -- and then could hold me in the most heavenly way imaginable. Never in my life had my body been so thoroughly used for pleasure. And never had I also been so treasured. The way Sanders kisses me already blows all other men out of the water, and then he licked my pussy so good I could cry just thinking about it. I nuzzle into the crook of his arm when we finally come up for air from our kissing. I shut my eyes and breathe in the scent of him. Really, in this air, I'm breathing in the scent of us. I don't know where my body ends and his begins. I didn't know where my orgasms began or finished. I am in what feels like an almost permanent state of pleasure, yet my body has floated down and I'm falling into sleep. I am so well rested I wonder if I will wake in a week from now, sticky and ready to face anything. I have never, ever, been fucked like that it my life. Every nerve in my body was devoted to that pleasure, and now I'm the kind of numb that I can only feel his skin on mine. In my sleep, that feeling fades away.

  I realize only in the morning that's because he's gone.

  7

  Sanders

  My eyes snap open.

  The room is dark and eerily calm, and for a moment, I wonder where I am. Then the realization sinks in. I'm still in Stacy's apartment, and looking over, I see that she's still sleeping; one breast is exposed and illuminated in the glow of the city lights just beyond her window. Her face is peaceful.

  I look around the room—at the personal photo's of Stacy's family perched on her dresser, and other photos of her friends, and these things reveal a side of her that I realize I don’t know anything about. Who is this woman, really?

  I feel a cold sweat creep over my body. What the fuck am I doing here?

  My stomach churns with the realization that my life is spiraling out of control.

  I'm a trained SEAL. Hasn’t my training taught me anything? Like restraining yourself and not running to your death. Until this point, I've been the epitome of control. And now here I am, in bed with a woman I hardly know.

  It's a slippery slope. It's mistakes like these th
at get men killed in combat.

  I need to get my shit together.

  Stacy…damn that was something else. I’ve never fucked like that. It's a wonder my cock's still working, but honestly, she just turns me on in a way that no other woman has ever done before. And as if my cock knows exactly what I'm thinking, I feel it twitch in my boxers. Not now. I can't allow it to lead me.

  I need to clear my head.

  I quietly slide out from beneath Stacy's bed sheets, careful not to wake her, and I walk out to her balcony. Outside, there's an unobstructed view of the city. If I'm honest, I fucking love the city—the energy, the pulse of it all—and standing outside listening to the hum of traffic and watching the lights flicker from building to building suddenly brings me clarity.

  Spending an entire night with some strange woman is a mistake. I can't stay here.

  I take a deep breath, gripping the balcony railing, and inhaling the crisp night air.

  I swallow it into my lungs as if it were a medicinal elixir. I can feel it working, and feel lifted.

  Why do I feel the need to latch onto this woman? I don't know her at all, if I'm being honest with myself. She's a fully competent adult, with her own life to live. She doesn't need me rescuing her every minute of the day … trailing after her like some lost puppy. That's not who I am.

  And then it hits me.

  I need some purpose in my own life, and I know at my core that I can't keep latching onto Stacy like I am. She's not some mission to complete. But the strange thing is, I already feel so close to her. It's a feeling that my rational brain can't comprehend.

  I listen as a car honks, and then presses on the gas, thundering down the street. I watch as a man and woman walk down the street hand in hand. She's leaning into his chest and giving him a knowing smile that reveals their contentment.

  Now, those people know each other, I think to myself.

  This thing—whatever it is between Stacy and I—isn't healthy.

  The SEAL motto plays itself over and over in my brain: "The only easy day was yesterday."

  I need to focus on today, and tomorrow. I know what I need to do.

  I walk back into Stacy's room, quietly grabbing my things. I find my jeans crumpled in the corner of the room, and pick them up, slipping into them one leg at a time. Then I hunt around the room for my other clothes.

  Fuck, they could be anywhere at this point. The room is dark and making the task difficult. I'm groping in the dark until I realize that I should grab my cell phone and press the flashlight feature, sweeping the beam of light across the floor.

  Finally, I find my shirt, shoes, and wallet. I gather all of my things.

  And just as easily as I came into Stacy's life, I walk to her front door and leave it. As I step through the threshold of her door, I feel my body hesitate. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there. I resist the urge to look back at her body silhouetted between the moonlight and her soft, white sheets.

  No, if I do that, I may never leave.

  I have to get out of here—for her sake, and mine.

  And just like that, I'm gone.

  8

  Stacy

  "You know what I love?" Erica asks.

  Kim and I stare at her for a moment, and we both shrug.

  "I love how men are so easily amused. I mean, all they need are a pair of boobs in front of their face and their cocks are nearly ready to jump out of their pants."

  "I don't know about that," I say, shaking my head and downing another large gulp of my margarita.

  "What don't you know?" Erica asks. She leans down and carefully licks some of the salt from the rim of her margarita glass. "I'm telling you, it's true—at least with younger guys. I mean, I guess if a guy's like 80 years old or something, that may not be so true."

  "Well, tell that to the Navy SEAL I met yesterday,” I say, and both girls can detect an upset tone in my voice.

  “What?” Kim asks. "What SEAL? Was there a man in your life?”

  "The keyword there is 'was'," I say. "I thought things were great. He was like a hero straight from a big budget blockbuster movie—the ones full of high-speed car chases and explosives and maybe even monsters the size of city buildings. He rescued me in the morning and there was an undeniable chemistry."

  "And…" Kim says, "then what happened? I mean, it sounds like a fairy tale."

  "Well, we had amazing sex," I reply. "Like really mind blowing, life-changing type of sex, and then he just sort of … disappeared."

  "What do you mean disappeared?" Erica asks.

  "Like a Houdini act or something. When I woke up, he was literally just gone," I say. "He didn't even bother saying goodbye; he didn’t leave a note, or a text, or anything."

  "Who does that?" Kim shrieks, and now both of them are looking at me wide-eyed.

  "Am I really that bad in bed?" I ask both of them. I feel like crying. Tears are threatening to spill over my eyelids.

  "Oh, girl—no way!" Erica says, leaning in and rubbing my arm tenderly.

  "Yeah, that can't be it," Kim agrees. "Oh, maybe he got called away on a secret mission. That happens you know … they're called 'quiet professionals' for a reason."

  "I doubt it," I say, shrugging off the suggestion. "You're just trying to make me feel better. I really don't think Sanders was secretly called away to carry out a mission in a war-torn country."

  "You never know," Kim says, standing by her idea. "I'm just saying."

  "Kim's right," Erica says. "Aren't SEALs always sworn to secrecy? They're always off doing all kinds of crazy stuff."

  Sanders did seem to enjoy himself yesterday—we both did. I know I'm not imagining that. So, why did he leave so suddenly without bothering to tell me why? It just doesn't add up. Maybe he was called away on a mission, but if that was true, he could've at least said something … even hinted at it. But he never did, and something tells me that's not the real reason why he left.

  I'm sure it has to do with me.

  Just then, our waiter reappears. "Another round of drinks, ladies?"

  "No, I'm fine," I reply, waving my hand over my empty drink and pushing the glass away.

  "Oh come on," Kim goads. "The night's young. Have just one more."

  "No, thanks, I really shouldn't," I say, and I'm proud of myself for resisting the urge to jump into another round of drinks. I know from experience that it's never just 'one more.'

  "But you two go ahead," I say, reassuring them that if they stay I won't feel left out of something.

  "Have it your way, but you're missing out," Erica smiles. "Just think, with a couple more shots of tequila, you won't even care what Sanders is up to."

  The mention of his name makes my heart leap, and the sinking feeling in my chest returns.

  I force a smile, and decline again. I step away from the table and walk over to each one of my friends, giving them big hugs.

  "Thanks for letting me vent," I say, giving them one last squeeze. They both nod.

  "Anytime," Kim smiles. "We're here for you girl."

  As I leave the bar, I think about how I'm going to spend the rest of my night. I have to try and get Sanders out of my mind. And then it hits me… I know exactly what to do to clear my head of the man who left me in the middle of the night.

  I'm going to slide in between my warm blankets and read my Kindle.

  At least that's a place where men don't leave.

  9

  Sanders

  I'm walking around Midtown when I see her from across the street. It's Stacy.

  What are the chances? Here I am, trying to forget about this woman and I can't. Everywhere I turn, I'm reminded of her, and now here she is.

  She's dressed in a short, black skirt and blouse, and she looks fantastic. Really fucking fantastic. And as I look around, I see I'm not the only man who thinks she looks good either.

  She quickly walks underground, into the subway station, her heels tapping the ground at a quick clip.

  I feel the protective urge
to follow her, and then I stop myself. Why do I always feel the need to act as this woman's bodyguard? But once she disappears down the subway steps, I can't contain myself. I'm compelled to follow on a hunch. After all, this is Midtown, near 8th Avenue on the West Side in Far Chelsea. It's not the safest part of town.

  Quickly looking both ways for oncoming traffic, I seize the opportunity to run across the street. I don't necessarily want her to see me, so I'm careful to keep my distance and slowly descend the steps.

  Once downstairs, I scan the subway station. At first, I don't see Stacy. My eyes are darting back and forth. I see a stream of people hustling about and on their way to various locations—old, young, and everything in between. Then, the stream of people fades, and the platform grows quiet.

  The musty underground air is thick and humid. At first, it's a sound. I hear a scream that causes my pulse to race. And then something catches my eye—a scuffle—the flash of black, and silver, and shadow.

  My hunch was right.

  Standing slightly off in the distance, I see Stacy and another man. He's big and wearing a black, hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head, so it's hard for me to get a good look at his face. It's shrouded in shadow and obscured from my angle.

  "Stay away from me!" Stacy yells, swinging wildly. I can hear the panic bubbling up in her voice.

  The man firmly grips one of Stacy's arms. With her free arm, she's frantically digging into her purse. She's putting up a good fight, but she's still no match for this man. He's taller and bigger—I'm guessing he outweighs her by about a hundred pounds.

  Then I see him push her against the wall.