He would not be ruled by her breasts. He was an accomplished military man of achievement, dignity, and honor. He would not become so enraptured by the womanly curves of this mysterious female lieutenant newly arrived on base. General Hunt adjusted his collar, decorated with two stars nearby on the shoulder as befitting his considerable rank. At his silvery-haired age, he shouldn't be....well he admitted being surprised at the vigor to which he'd been able to respond to the sultry little vixen strutting around in a uniform scarcely able to contain the ripe bounty of her perky, melon-like tits, much less the voluptuous span of the girls' invitingly wide hips.
Still, he hadn't felt this vigorous in months. When lieutenant Celeste presented herself to the dour and serious military men of this clandestine base, Hunt had not been the only one to be distracted by her tangible assets. In fact, that seemed to be the reason for her first visit. She reported the need for clarification of the current procedure for sexual harassment allegations. But just as Curtis Hunt was preparing to discuss the policies at length, the madness began.
Thinking back, it was....hazy....difficult to recall. Something had happened to him that morning, something seemed to be in the air. The busty officer of....(what was her M.O.S. exactly? he wasn't sure he remembered.) When Celeste riveted him with those steely-blue eyes, reflecting a cool ambition, yet radiating a volcanic passion, something primal had awakened within him. He remembered the grunting, the labored breathing, the caressing, as she thrust her fertile figure against him, allowing free exploration of her feminine flesh. Pressing against him; she allowed him free access to the lovely swell of her ass, grinding the pillowy softness of her heavy bosom against his chest, breathing hotly in his face. All hope was lost when the buttons burst, and her breasts came into view. He couldn't think, he couldn't analyze, he could only rut like a beast. Again....the memories....they were hazy, only the seething lust was clear in his mind. From that lurid encounter, the General remembered only one odd detail; He himself had become a disheveled heap of sweaty exhaustion as the 20-something slut devoured his manhood, draining every last drop of his seed into her moist, vaginal folds.
Yet that was all that was wet; their illicit session must have lasted at least 20 minutes, yet Celeste had not a drop of sweat, nor was a single hair out of place in the tight bun her blond tresses were corralled within. For 20 minutes, she busted his balls in a way his wife never could, and afterwards she remained the dignified picture of military perfection, as though she'd just done her duty. With an almost casual grace, she straddled him upon his own desk, her churning womanhood squeezed his throbbing member, devouring his maleness until he blasted her depths with seed he didn't believe his aging body could conjure up. Almost immediately afterwards, the tingling warmth began to spread through his flesh, he remembered the way his body seemed to burn with renewed, youthful vigor. But for one brief instant, nearly every curve, every inch of her flesh emblazoned in his memory as she dressed; leaving him to consider her perfection, leaving him to ponder his own renewed lust, only minutes after she'd left.
The General was finding it increasingly difficult to not think, and analyze what few relevant details he could remember about the odd, indecent lieutenant. This had to stop, no question about it. In his business, absolute attention and dedication was imperative, as he opened the door to the conference chamber. For General Hunt was a part of the secret branch, the unacknowledged shadow military that oversaw every black-budget, 'plausible-deniability' project that Washington could never admit to. His work was too important; he could not allow himself to be compromised in any capacity, there would be no more 'policy discussions' with lieutenant Celeste.
"Gentlemen, thank you all for arriving on such short notice. Now, will someone tell me what the Hell happened last week!?" Hunt demanded, taking his seat at the front of the table. As far away as possible from the blond, buxom, perfect, Celeste. Always calm perfection in her icy gaze. It was surely his imagination, but her bust seemed even larger today; thrusting forward like proud heralds of youthful fertility, and even from his distance, he could see the brass buttons straining to contain her bounty. As usual, he felt his pulse racing, almost as if her very presence activated his dormant male libido; the urge to tackle her, to tear asunder that confining uniform, and breed her as God intended required some level of effort to suppress. She seemed to quite literally exude sex appeal, and the longer he was in her presence, the longer became his-
"....to begin General?" said Colonel Kelly, who had set up a projector.
"Hmm....y- that is..." he fumbled.
"May I begin the presentation, General?" asked Kelly.
"Y-yes, get on with it!"
"What follows are the facts of the case as best we understand them, we've put together an F-0 file on the perpetrator, for those without espionage experience, basically we've monitored him until we know every detail of his life, down to the last time he relieved himself." The screen lit up. "This is the most relevant information on Gabriel Tanner...."
**********
Really, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Many years ago, back in the late 20th century, places like Area 51 had been glorified, capturing the imagination of the public. But as Gabriel Tanner returned home to his pathetically-modest dwelling, his life at that point seemed less than legendary. He had enjoyed old reruns of 'The X-files' in his youth, and had considered himself fortunate to be chosen for a facility of such critical importance.
The trouble was, while the Truth was certainly 'Out There', it was far beyond his security clearance. He had seen all sorts of crazy-ass super-science here and there, but he still didn't know exactly where any of it came from, or what it might be used for. They liked to keep the technicians isolated; each one working on tiny projects, segments of engineering problems. But no one on his team knew the whole picture; he still had no idea where the nanites came from. Reverse-engineered from something at the Roswell crash? Did it come from the lost ruins of ancient Atlantis? No telling. Well, someone knew, but they weren't telling him.
Gabe had never even seen the actual UFO, (if there was one) every project was structured under the paranoid assumption that every worker was a traitor eager to sell every secret on the street-corner. Gabe laughed, after years of abuse, mistrust, and being passed over for promotions, he had in fact decided to do just that.
