Satan's Playmate

If you want an immediate fuck and suck fest filled with monster cocks and udder-sized tits, this story is not for you. It is a slow developing tale of a family unknown to exist until happenstance brings them together. The usual age and character disclaimers apply. Thanks for reading.

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The deadly flak bursts spreading their inky death in the skies above Germany were now 15 minutes behind them. The four 1,200 horsepower Wright Cyclone engines hummed in unison as they powered the B-17G towards the safety of the English Channel and their base at Nuthamstead beyond. Captain Charles Gualtieri, "Goldie" to his fellow officers, called for a crew check.

Snuffy Kruger, the diminutive tail gunner, reported in. "All is fine back here."

Willie Conroy, a wisecracking Oklahoman manning the ball turret, chimed in "Roger that."

One by one the remaining crew not on the flight deck radioed their status. No problems were reported.

Satisfied that the remainder of their mission projected to be problem-free, Goldie turned to his best friend, 1st Lieutenant Hank Demere, and said "Co-Pilot's plane."

Hank replied with twinkling eyes "Yessir, Captain! Enjoy the rest of your tour Goldie."

"I'm not gonna believe that until we're back at the O Club. Should we buzz the tower?"

"I'd be embarrassed if you don't. Balls to the wall or low and slow?

Goldie looked at his friend and laughed. "What do you think?"

This mission was the end of his tour, and Goldie was going home. He smiled under his oxygen mask as he gazed at the hazy horizon ahead. He had actually made it. Twenty-five bombing missions completed. Not a single crewman injured. More than 150,000 pounds of bombs dropped on Hitler's Third Reich, many with devastating results on the Nazi war machine. A Distinguished Flying Cross earned for nursing his plane home after sustaining serious damage to two engines from the strafing by a FW-190. Good old Satan's Playmate had survived. Like he and his crew.

Satan's Playmate, indeed. His men laughed when he first suggested the name for their plane after arriving in England. Then he explained the meaning behind it: their goal for the rest of their tour was to make friends with the Devil by sending as many Kraut bastards to hell as possible. The crew roared hearing that. After agreeing to the name, they had to decide what art was going to be painted on the nose as was customary for the war. As captain and pilot, Goldie had the honor of making the final decision and chose a busty pin-up dressed in little more than devil's horns.

In describing his vision to the base artist - a mechanic responsible for ensuring that the bomber's engines ran like the Bulova A-11 watches pilots were issued - Goldie was describing Mabel Thockery, an Englishwoman who Goldie had met at a USO dance shortly after arriving at Nuthamstead. As was typical at the time, the USO regularly scheduled dances on military bases and would bus in single women from surrounding towns and villages to ensure a sufficient number of dance partners for these lonely men - many of them just boys, really - who found themselves thousands of miles from home longing for female companionship.

Goldie remembered the night they met. He was sitting at the bar wearing his dress uniform - known as pinks and greens - nursing a whiskey and listening to the band perform swing hits. As his gaze traveled across the crowded dance floor, he spotted a buxom redhead wearing an Attagirl uniform, signifying she was a member of the British Air Transport Auxiliary. She was jitterbugging with an officer who danced as if he were the Fred Astaire of the Army Air Corps. Goldie's first thought was "Wow, with a chest like hers that Attagirl won't need any oxygen when she ferries Spitfires to their new bases." Then her dance partner lifted her off the floor in a move that showed the tops of her stockings held up by garters and Goldie immediately thought of Better Grable and her gorgeous gams. Goldie was mesmerized. Then the song ended, and the woman and her partner moved to a table for two on the far side of the dance floor. "Oh well, " Goldie thought, "she seems to have found her date for the rest of the night," and he began scanning the room for another woman to cure his loneliness.

With no likely candidate making an appearance, Goldie struck up a conversation with the officer sitting next to him. It turned out that he was a P-47D pilot, one of the "Little Friends" who flew bomber support on missions into Germany. The two pilots had flown on several of the same missions and they found themselves comparing notes. As they continued to chat, the bartender made sure their drinks were topped off and their conversation became more animated. Just as the fighter pilot was demonstrating an aerobatic maneuver he used to get the jump on a Messerschmidt 109 he shot down, Goldie felt a tap on his shoulder. His annoyance at this sudden, unwanted interruption was immediately dispelled when he turned and saw the redhead smiling at him. Wearing the dual stripes of a Section Officer, her flaming tresses were enhanced by the greenest eyes he had ever seen and a smile that challenged the brightness of the searchlights he had seen light up the London skies during air raids.

Before he could react, the woman purred "Good evening, Captain. I'm Mabel. Care to dance?"

"Are you sure you want to dance with me after hoofing it up with Fred Astaire? Trust me, I'm more of a "Shuffle Off to Buffalo' sorta guy. If you wait for a foxtrot and promise to lead, I'd be happy to step on your toes for a tune or two. I'm Goldie."

Mabel cast a serious glance at him and then started laughing. "Based on what he was saying and how he was acting off the dance floor, the only women he's leaving with tonight will be 'Rosie and her four sisters.' Besides, after watching you and your buddy perform all of those aerobatic demonstrations, I'm more interested in what your hands can do than your feet. Are you ready to try a bit of mucking about on the dance floor? If you don't break me toes, we can see about a bit of snogging after the dance."

Goldie did his best to maintain a straight face. While a relative newcomer to England, he was well aware of what snogging meant and what it led to. And while he certainly was no stranger to sex, never in his twenty-four years had he met a woman who spoke so directly about it.

After a pause Goldie smiled. "If snogging is the reward for not breaking your toes, I promise to tread very, very lightly." Before she could reply, the band started playing "When the Lights Go On Again (All Over the World)," a slow song that had recently been released. The haunting lyrics spoke about the end of the war when the "boys are all home again." He looked at Mabel and asked if she had a boy who would be coming home again. She gazed at him wistfully and, shaking her head no, said only three words: "Dunkirk. Let's dance."

Goldie led her to the dance floor and she folded herself into his arms. Her bountiful bosom pressed against his chest like no other he had ever felt. Her soft hair was a scant few inches from his face and she smelled just wonderful. As she hummed along with the tune, her hips moved slightly towards his groin, having the expected results. He gathered her more firmly in her arms.

"English Channel 12:00 o'clock low." Hank Demere's announcement snapped Goldie out of his reverie. They were less than 30 minutes to landing. But before he started the landing checklist, Goldie's thoughts returned to Mabel. While they did not end up having sex the night after the dance, they become regular bedmates a few days thereafter. Mabel was a lusty and vocal lover who happily participated in all of the joys of sex. There wasn't a position she wouldn't try and particularly loved riding him so he could suck her turgid, pink nipples that capped her jiggling tits as she bounced on his hard erection. She was fascinated by his circumcised cock, as most British men were uncut. In fact, it was she who suggested that she suck him off when her period was at its peak, delighting in tonguing his frenulum and licking his mushroom head. While Goldie considered him only of average length and thickness, he had never had a woman who successfully took his cock down to the root during a blow job. She delighted in ending a blowjob by greedily swallowing his sperm as if she hadn't had a thing to drink since the war started. And after one particularly lusty night when Mabel had three mind blowing orgasms that rendered her almost unconscious, she said that there was no way that she could handle sex like that on a regular basis and suggested that a fellow Attagirl pilot might be willing to join them for a session to take some of the load off of her.

But then, without any warning, she disappeared two months after they met. Goldie tried his best to track her down, but his efforts met with no success. He was sad not only to lose the best sex partner he ever had, but he missed her smile, her laughter, her warmth.

"Oh well," he thought. "I'm heading back to the States in a few weeks and we had never talked about making it a permanent relationship. I'm sure to find someone to share the rest of my life with. If she is even half the partner Mabel was, I'll be a very happy man." Goldie's thoughts returned to the matters at hand. "OK, Hank, start the landing checklist."

"Radio call, altimeter." "Set!"

"Crew positions." "OK!"

"Altimeter." "Off!"

The runway at Nuthamstead was in sight by the time the checklist was completed. Goldie hit the intercom button: "All right gents. You have been the best crew that any pilot could have asked for. We've been through hell and back and we can be proud of our accomplishments. I'm invoking one of the traditions of The 25 Mission Club: All crew regardless of rank are to report directly to the O Club immediately after debriefing. I will inform the ground crew to meet us there after landing. Pilot's plane!"

And with that Goldie brought Satan's Playmate down to the deck and buzzed the tower. All ground personnel from buck private to Colonel were waiting for them, cheering and waving flags and hats. They had made it. The war was over for Goldie; he would take a thirty day leave at his Pennsylvania home and then report to his next duty post, wherever it may be. He hoped it was somewhere sunny and warm; he had had enough of England's seemingly endless rain, fog and clouds. But he still wished he had been able to say goodbye to Mabel.

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Hank Gualtieri sat in the student band section at Beaver Stadium, watching his beloved Nittany Lions beat the stuffing out of archrival Pitt. Joe Paterno, who in 1967 was in his second season as coach, seemed to be doing a pretty good job so far. But a possible invitation to a post-season bowl game was the last thing on Hank's mind.

Hank was lucky that his parents lived close enough to allow him to go home for Thanksgiving two days earlier and still be back in time for Saturday's game. It was great seeing the extended family. His mother did her usual bang-up job with the meal. Everyone seemed in good spirits except for his father, Goldie, who was brooding over the Vietnam War and the number of young men doing whatever they could to avoid being drafted, including heading to Canada. As a medal-winning WWII pilot, his dad thought it was a moral imperative to serve in the military. Goldie's service and the men he served with were so deeply engrained that he named his son after his Co-pilot Hank Demere.

After Thanksgiving dinner was over, Hank got in his VW Beetle and drove to his girlfriend's house ten minutes away. He and Claire had started dating their senior year in high school and their relationship had survived their attending colleges 500 miles apart. He had not seen Claire since they had returned to their colleges in late August and Hank was ready to enjoy some no-holds-barred sex. Their sex life began the night after their Senior Prom when they both lost their virginities. As time passed, they became more comfortable with each other and were open to trying new things. One time, when Claire was on her period, he asked her for a hand job. Instead, she said that one of her sorority sisters had told her about tit fucking her boyfriend during her period. When Claire asked where the sperm went when her boyfriend came, the sister admitted that the cum ended up covering her face. Claire grimaced when she heard that, but her friend said, "It's actually very exciting to feel his warm spunk all over me. Just give it a try." The first time Hank slid his cock, which Claire called his "Solid Six," between her C cup breasts, he almost orgasmed after three strokes. But after gaining some control, he continued to straddle her chest and thrust until the head of his cock appeared above her tits and hit her throat. His orgasm was spectacular and Claire was careful to wipe his cum out of her eyes and then lick her fingers clean.

When Hank arrived at Claire's home, he found her sitting on the front porch. He parked, got out of his car, and, as he walked to the porch, he called out "Hi Sweetie. Happy Thanksgiving! Isn't it a bit chilly to be sitting outside?" Claire looked up and her eyes were red and swollen. When Hank bent down to kiss her, she turned her head aside, leaving Hank's lips almost on her ear. "Claire, what is wrong?" She wouldn't look him in the eye and only said "We have to talk."

Hank had always heard that those four words were uttered immediately before a relationship was ended by one of the parties. He immediately anticipated the worst but found the strength to remain calm. "What is it honey?"

She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. "The last thing in the world I want is to hurt you, but I've met a guy at school and we've started dating. I think that we have a real future together. We both want to go to law school and have talked about starting a firm together in his hometown when we're done. I know this is a lousy thing to do to you, but it's what I want. It's over between us, Hank. I will always remember our time together. I wish you a life of happiness, love and success and know you will find that."

Hank stood there stunned. He had never once considered that he and Claire would do anything other than graduate, get married and start a family. As heartbroken as he was, he refused to get angry and yell. He remembered his father telling him of the many times when things had gone wrong during a mission over Germany and that the only thing that saved him and his crew was to remain calm, assess the situation, and find a solution. So Hank remained calm. He doubted after assessing the situation that he would find an acceptable solution right then and there. But it did no one any good for him to yell and scream at Claire.

"Listen, this is the worst possible news I could have gotten from you. It sounds like you have made your mind up on this before giving me the opportunity to let you know how I feel. All I ask is to give me a few days to think and then we can talk. As you know, tomorrow I have to head back to school for band practice before Saturday's game. I'll give you a call next week."

Claire nodded her head. "I understand Hank. Take all the time you need. I'll talk to you whenever you want -- I owe you that much. But I don't think that anything you might say will change my mind."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Say hello to your family and wish them a Happy Thanksgiving for me. I'll call you next week."

---

As she predicted, nothing Hank said would change Claire's mind when they spoke the following week. The only consolation he received was her insistence that he had done nothing wrong, but that the heart goes where it goes. She repeated that he was a wonderful man who deserved someone who saw him as the perfect life mate.

Hank returned to his classes and prepped for finals. As was anticipated, Penn State received an invitation to the Gator Bowl, where it would face Florida State on December 30th in Jacksonville. Hank was excited that he would be attending with the Nittany Lions band, flying down on a separate plane from the team. That took a little bit of the sting from the breakup with Claire.

The band was bussed to Philadelphia International Airport two days before the Gator Bowl. While waiting in the lounge by the gate, Hank noticed an attractive brunette with a clipboard. He had never seen her before and wondered what her relationship to the team was. But he thought that striking up a conversation with her was too soon after the breakup and he went back to reading the Inquirer sports pages.

The Gator Bowl was exciting and ended in a 17-17 tie. The band partied that night in the hotel. Hank saw the brunette talking with some of the administrative staff who had traveled to the game and thought that there was no reason to believe that she would be interested in meeting a junior accounting major who played trumpet in the marching band.

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The first warm days of Spring had arrived on campus. Hank was looking forward to the end of his Junior year and was excited about his summer job. He had interviewed with a major accounting firm that had recently opened a satellite office in nearby Phillipsburg, and he was awarded an internship starting after Memorial Day. Although the internship didn't pay much, he was told that if he impressed the senior accountants, he would be offered a full-time position after he graduated.

Hank's parents were happy to learn of the opportunity. His dad said that he would help Hank with his living expenses during the summer. But Hank had learned that Penn State offered free housing to rising seniors who found summer employment near the campus and Phillipsburg was only 20 minutes away from State College. With no cost housing and the stipend from the accounting firm, he was confident that he could handle all of his living expenses. Plus, he liked the idea of living on his own for a few months. He dearly loved his parents but, like most guys on the verge of adulthood, he wanted to enjoy the freedom of experiencing life on his own.

The number of housing openings was limited, and Hank wanted to ensure that he arrived early to be one of the first students to sign up. While the doors opened at 8:00 am, he thought that he would arrive at 6:30 and beat the crowds. Armed with a Thermos full of coffee, a couple of PBJs, and the still relatively new Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, he made his way to the Housing Office. But his spirits sunk when he saw that at least 100 students were already lined up.

Remembering his father's advice, Hank thought "Stay calm. Don't freak out. Get in line and see how things go." He got in line and started the wait.

A few minutes later he turned to see how long the line was. He was startled that right behind him was the attractive brunette he had seen when he attended the Gator Bowl. "What the hell is an administrator doing looking for student housing?" She looked up from the paper she was reading and said with a bit of a frown "Hi. I guess we're both surprised to see how long the queue is. Let's hope there are still a few units left when we get to the front." Her foreign accent was clearly noticeable, but Hank couldn't quite figure it out.

"You got that right. I'm Hank. I went to the Gator Bowl and saw you a couple of times with other administrators. If you don't mind me prying, why are you looking for summer housing?"

The brunette laughed, flashing a radiant smile. "You don't look like a footballer to me. I didn't realize that students were allowed on the university aeroplanes." Hank grinned and flexed his bicep in the classic Charles Atlas manner. "Whaddya mean, I don't look like a footballer? Look at these muscles!" They both snickered. "Well, I guess you caught me. I play trumpet in the marching band. I found a summer internship in Phillipsburg and need a place to live. What's your story?"