G comes shortly after F. Like F, I've known G sometime, and she's pretty as can be.

Tall, G is something like 6’5” or taller, my eyes are damn near at nipple level, an exaggeration. Blonde hair that I've never seen not up in a bun. She has a full chest, but like F, I can't tell the size, as tall as she is, but they fit her frame well. She's slender, proportional to her height, flat stomach, small but round ass. Her figure is feminine, very much so. Green eyes the color of emeralds.

Remember how I mentioned that my clearance gets spot checked at least once a year? This year G is doing my spot check. And G knows F. They were roommates, and the rumor is, they were more, but who knows.

So I'm sitting there in front of G, she's asking the standard questions, and then it comes to a head.

“Have you ever cheated on your wife, A?”

How do I answer this? A gave me the pass, so it's not cheating, but she's my wife and F isn't, so sleeping with F is cheating.

“Uh… no.”

G looks over the top of her glasses, “Uh… no?” She says it in that typical feminine way, with the upper inflection. I can see her smirk. She knows. She leans in close, lowers her voice to whisper, “I talked to F the other night. She told me to make sure I got your spot check. She said you may be able to… scratch an itch… I've had… that YOU,” she points at my chest, “would have the best chance at it. She also said that once you're done, you're of no more use to me, and to send you home to A.”

“Shit. I knew that was a mistake.” At least I know she's not guessing.

“Hey, I've got more to lose than you in this. If I get caught with you, you'll be let off, but I'll be out in military prison. No one looks good in that color.”

“Sign it now, give me your address. We'll have to talk a bit first. You cook,” like D, G has a bit of a reputation with cooking, “We'll talk and I'll lay it all out.”

“Fine, go to Walmart or something like that, not the local one, go at least an hour drive. Pay cash, and get a pay as you go phone, whichever one you like best. CASH. Make sure, do not cut it on, don't even open it, just bring it with you.”

“Sign it,” I point at the paper. She scribbles her signature and puts it away, takes a sticky note, peels it off and puts it on the desk before writing her address, day, and time, and hands it to me. I put it in my pocket, and say, “I'll see you then. It was a pleasure.”

She reaches over her desk and grabs my arm hard, “Not a word to anyone, especially your wife.”

“F is the only one who's been talking so far, not me,” I pat her hand to reassure her and she releases me. I leave. That was Tuesday.

Thursday comes, I have the phone, still in the package, as I drive up the driveway. It's 6 o'clock and G cracks the door open, doesn't meet me, just cracks it open and walks away. I walk in, she's in the kitchen.

“Dinner is almost done, can you help me set the table, hun.” G is southern. Really southern. There's a roast, cornbread, baked mac and cheese…

“Jesus G, there's only two of us. There is… just us here… right?” I take in the whole spread.

G slaps my ass with an oven mit, “Get to it and set the table. Go on now, git git git.”

At this point I see what she is wearing as she turns to the stove. It's a bright yellow apron, which I have noticed. The kind that has a string around her neck and ties in the back. That's it, that's what I've just now realized, that's all she's wearing. Her ass is hanging all out there. I just thought she had on short shorts and a tank, or yoga shorts and a sports bra. It's hot in the south, after all. Her hair is in a ponytail, set high, that bounces to her dancing movements, singing to herself.

Table set and ready, G brings the last item, the roast, out and sets it down. She motions me to sit, and starts making plates.

“Tea, water, or Coke?” She asks, hands on her hips. I'm paying close attention to her hands, waiting on them to start reaching back.

“What kind of Coke?”

She half turns and gestures with her chin. “Regular, cherry, and Dr. Pepper,” that half turn was enough to show a bare ass cheek, she looks back and grins at me. “See something else that interests you, maybe?”

Her hands start motioning towards her back, pressing her chest out and spreading her tits, areola visible now.

“Oh yes, but wouldn't you rather eat first, or are you planning on letting it all get cold?” My eyes are taking in the areola, and impatiently waiting on the apron reveal.

“If you insist,” she says, fully turning and bouncing away, taking the apron off on the way. She stops, turns full onto me, and makes a show of dropping the apron and pausing to let me get a good look, before disappearing into a room.

I sit back and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Her body is shaped perfectly. Her pubic hair trimmed into a short heart. It's much darker than her head, but still blonde.

I get up and go to the fridge, she has much more Dr. Pepper than other options. I assume she's a Dr. Pepper girl and grab two cans, crack them open, and put one on her side before sitting down.

And G reappears, wearing somehow less than when she had on with the apron. A high waisted string bikini thong, pink with little yellow rubber duckies, and a matching bralette, squeezing her breasts until they're popping out in every direction, so stretched out you can see through it, but her hard nipples don't leave any guessing as to where they are.

My mouth must have been hanging open, she shows a sheepish grin and… is she blushing?

“You are a lot more straight-laced when you're not at home,” I don't know her outside of work, but as one of the people doing clearance work, not many people want to hang around her. Kind of a shunned job if you have a clearance, and almost everyone here has one.

“Yeah, I have to be. We're under a microscope at work, if we can't keep the standards, we can't enforce them,” she shrugs her shoulders, handing me a loaded plate and taking one for her, and sitting down next to me at the small, round table.

“Where are your glasses? Are you wearing contacts?” For the first time, I realize she's not wearing the almost permanently affixed feature.

“They're fake. I don't need them, but it helps me when I'm not at work. You'd be surprised how many people don't recognize me without them,” she has a devious grin.

“So what's the deal? F told you I fucked her, and what? You want me to fuck you, too?” Blunt and to the point, let's get this over with.

“No, F told me HOW you fucked her. She always liked to be a bit dirtier than me, but F and I aren't all that different in our needs, and according to her, you're my best option to… hit the right spots. Say no, and we leave from here, you don't say anything, I won't say anything. Say yes, though, and we get to have fun regularly, and no one but us knows. We have time to talk later, let's eat,” she says in a bubbly manner. Here in her house, her personality isn't so different from F, I can see why they got along.

Dinner over, I'm stuffed, she's basically a granny, trying to shove more food down my throat, even when I say I'm not hungry.

“Yes or no?” She asked, still sitting, somehow able to eat even more.

“Damn, G. How many times do I have to say I'm not hungry? You sure you're not a 90 year old grandma?”

“The sex, not the food.”

“What's the catch, what's the negative? There's always a down side.” I'm waiting. I know there's a hell of a down side.

“No one can know, we can't talk outside of my house, no phone calls, no texts, no Facebook friends.”

“Not so bad, we didn't really do that before anyway. How are we supposed to set up dates?”

“Where is the phone I told you to get?”

I hand her the WalMart bag, she looks at the receipt, nods and says, “Very good boy.” I have no idea why I felt so proud at that.

G proceeds to work on the phone. Just for reference, it's a Motorola Razor. I tell her about the situation at home, and the rules. She's concentrating on the phone, but taking it all in, I can see the sadness in her eyes when she looks up from time to time.

About an hour later, she hands me the phone, now powered up, and a sticky note with usernames, passwords, and pin numbers.

“There, this will keep us off the radar. Don't ever use this for anything that's not installed on it right now, don't contact anyone else with it, and don't EVER log in to anything that's not on the sticky note.”

“Ok, is that it?”

No, keep it cut off, start it up for 5 minutes, no more than once every 90 minutes. Read messages and send replies, cut it back off.”

“Ok, got it.” This is years before the general public had an understanding of data collection and government spying, so there weren't any easy “download and go” options. As time went on, over the years, F has kept me up to date. Spoiler, we don't live near each other, she isn't in, found her “One”, is married, has 7 kids, is currently pregnant, and looks like she belongs on an Amish farm in the middle of nowhere.

“Now, are you going to fuck me, or not,” she says moving toward me, lifting her bra, rubbing her breasts.

“No, not now, my wife is expecting me before the kids bedtime,” I'm not looking away from her exposed tits, I can't.

“I don't want a marathon, just get me off, go home and dream about me tonight,’’ her hand now rubbing over her panties, right in front of my face.

Hormones are making my dick do all my thinking. I get off the chair and lean into her, she slides her panties over, and my tongue spreads her lips, easily finding her clit.

“Mmmm, that's my good boy,” she's pushing her hips into my face, forcing my head back. I run my hands up and down her thighs, scratching lightly. She tastes amazing and smells like vanilla. I breathe it all in and my tongue laps up her flowing juices.

She doesn't take too long, a little one, her knees giving a little as she braces herself on the table. She looks down and smiles, her breathing slowing to normal.

I stand, and set her onto the table, she pushes some of the dishes back, I drop my pants, rip her thong off, and line up to enter her. She's wet and ready, I slide in without any resistance, but only half way. The table is a little tall, but I go in halfway, and pull back. G moves everything enough to lay back, now I can't even get half in, she's grunting in frustration.

I hook her thighs with my arms, and pull her back until her ass is fully off the table, hanging down, now I'm bottomed out, no more to give. G is getting much louder.

I pull out slowly, watching as my cock shaft slowly appears, until the mushroom head appears, then slowly push back in, watching it disappear. Her clit is fully engorged, dark red, and visible from this angle.

As I slowly continue to fuck her, I watch her face. I get to a certain point and her eyes squeeze shut, chin drops, and mouth opens in a wide O before relaxing and opening her eyes to stare into mine. Pulling out, same spot, same reaction. She goes completely quiet during this, her soft moan going deathly silent, and then returning.

I push back in and stop right at that spot. Same reaction as before, holding there G starts convulsing, legs hanging over my forearms kicking in all directions before finally she jars me through that spot, her spasms getting strong enough to move me. Her eyes open, tears streaming down her face, mascara running.

“Holy shit! Don't do that, I can't take it,” she begs.

I get a devilish grin as I pull out, watching her face for the reaction… there it is. I look down at my half inserted cock. It's covered in a thick, white substance. It looks like my cum. Her convulsions finally throw me out.

“I can't take that. Don't stay in that one spot.”

“You didn't say please,” as I move slowly back in and find the spot. Her reaction seems to get stronger, her convulsions weaker. I watch her eyes the entire time. Rolled so far back, only white is visible, her moaning and breathing stopped, her entire torso flexed hard, showing her soft six pack I didn't realize she had.

“Her spasms pull me all the way in. My dick is tingling, her pussy constricting hard, I'm close.

“Please… please… PLEASE, don't…” I pull out, almost all the way, “stay…” I slam it in as hard and fast as I can, “there,” I pull out, she leans up, now most of her weight is on my forearms, through her thighs, her ass hanging between me and the table, and she's holding the rest with her hands behind her on the table. Our foreheads and noses touching, her nipples pressed hard against my chest, eyes deeply staring into each other's.

“Don't cum in me, cum on me,” she says. She knows I'm close. Two more hard pumps. Her moans are grunts now.

“Where? Where do you want me to cum?” Two more pumps, my breath is short, I'm grunting, and not from effort.

“On my tits, cum on my tits,” two more pumps, she lets out a loud cry of ecstasy, one more pump, her pussy so tight I can feel the blood flow restricting to my dick.

My cock head is so sensitive, I almost cum trying to pull out. I grab the base as hard as I can, cock switching, trying to release. G is on the floor, on her knees, “Cum, cum for me, be my good boy and cover my tits with all your cum!”

I release my cock. Cum shoots out a hundred miles an hour. It hits her chin hard and splatters, the stream hitting her long before it's finished coming out of me. She jerks back, surprised by the power, cum running down her throat and between her tits, she looks down to catch it and rub it in.

Second stream, not as long, but just as powerful as the first, hits her cheek just below her eye. It splats into her eye. Her eye squeezes shut.

Third, fourth, fifth, and sixth streams are all much less powerful and progressively less voluminous. All on her tits, both hands catching and rubbing it in, all down to her navel and on her face, too.

“You've been a very good boy,” leaning in, taking the whole cock down her throat, swallowing as she sucks hard and pulls back, pulling every drop out. “Good boys get their cocks drained all the way, Mmmm.”

Cum has made its way all down her and found itself dripping into my underwear still around my ankles.

“Step out of those. You're going home without them.”

I step out and separate them from my pants, wet with cum, but not pooled. G takes the underwear, licks the cum out of them, and puts them on, rubbing the wet spot into her pussy. She reaches down and picks up her thong and shoves it in my face.

“Be a good boy and clean those for me,” her panties smell like sex and vanilla. Her pussy juices leaving a big wet spot. I do as I'm told, and she smiles. “There, you're soft, I can't use that, get out.”

It's 8 now, I'll be home before 8:30. “Same time next Thursday?”

“Who says I want to wait that long? How about Saturday, maybe Sunday, too?” G says this as if we haven't talked about the rules already.

“Pick one, morning, it'll be early. I can't spend my whole weekend away from the family. We talked about this.”

G has turned from the slightly feminine dominatrix, back into the girly southern girl she was when I walked in before dinner.

“Sorry, you're right. Which would you prefer? If we do it Sunday, we can ask forgiveness right after,” saying this with a little joking lilt to her tone.

“Sunday is best, kids wake up early on Saturdays for cartoons, and Saturday is the day I make waffles. Sunday is A's day to make pancakes.

And this is how our relationship went for almost two years, until I transferred away. G got out after that tour.

Sunday mornings, I got G's breakfast, then sex, home before 10, usually 9. Thursdays was dinner, home before 10, usually 9. Once a month, there was a second dinner and a lunchtime rendezvous.

G was also a good wingman. She found and invited everyone else with us. It was wild. Guess she got all the wild out with me.