Hero to Obey: Twenty-two Naughty Military Romance Stories

by Selena Kitt

  "Yes, sir." It sounded like a whimper. She needed him as badly as he needed her.

  "Spread your legs wider."

  "Yes, sir." She widened her stance.

  "Push your bottom out."

  She hollowed her back and arched for him.

  Perfection.

  He slid back in and took long, slow, full strokes, almost pulling out each time before he pushed all the way in.

  She whimpered. She stamped her feet. "Please?"

  "Okaaay," he said, with a you asked for it drawl. With one hand wrapped around her hip, and the other braced on the arm of the sofa, he slammed into her with enough force to make her gasp. On and on he fucked her, his stamina extended by the earlier orgasm.

  He brought Kaitlyn to the brink of orgasm three times but never let her go off, each time backing off and slowing down.

  "Please, Rob. Please, please, please?"

  He loved the way she begged. A wicked idea came into his mind. He pulled out.

  "No!" She sounded alarmed. "Wait—"

  "Go and get me some kind of oil from the kitchen, little housewife. Like olive oil, or coconut. Coconut if you have it because it smells like the beach."

  The poor girl could hardly stand. He steadied her as he lifted her from the position. The look of confused frustration on her face was priceless.

  He turned her in the direction of the kitchen and slapped her muscular ass. "Where's my yes, sir?"

  "Yes, sir!" she chirped and lurched forward.

  She returned almost instantly with the oil. "Was I getting dry?" She looked worried, as if she had been found lacking.

  He kissed her freckled nose. "Nope. But if you're going to be my 1950's wife, I need to continue your ass training."

  She went still, a wary look coming over her face. She shook her head a miniscule amount, almost as if the movement happened unconsciously.

  "You don't get to tell me no, Katie-Girl. Not unless you safeword. If you belong to me, then I get all of you. I own every part of you and if I tell you to bend back over that couch for your ass-fucking, then you'd better do it or you'll be punished."

  The wariness had not diminished, nor had she moved.

  He gripped her shoulders and slowly rotated her, giving her time to protest or safeword if she needed to. When he pushed her back over, he lowered his torso over hers and nibbled her neck. "Don't worry, Dimples. I'll make it good for you. I promise."

  Her body relaxed under his. Her trust made him feel ten feet tall.

  He opened the jar of coconut oil and scooped a generous amount. If it was her first time having anal sex, she would appreciate plenty of lube. With a dollop on the tip of his finger, he circled her little pucker, massaging the oil into the tight muscle, getting her used to the sensation of touch there. He coated his sheathed cock thoroughly with oil.

  "Reach back and hold your cheeks apart."

  She groaned.

  He wrapped his arm around the front of her hips and found her clit with his finger.

  She bucked the moment he touched it.

  With a feather-light touch, he circled it, making his movement too slow and too light to send her frustrated need level up a notch. He wanted her wanton and ready for him.

  "Good girl," he crooned as she trembled beneath him. He angled his cock at her back entrance and applied steady, light pressure. "Take me."

  The moment he issued the command, her muscles relaxed and allowed him entry.

  "Exhale, Katie-Girl."

  Again, she obeyed, blowing her breath out audibly. As she did, he eased forward, filling her.

  'Ohhh-oh!" Her moan sounded both wanton and alarmed.

  "Good girl. Now I want you to touch yourself." He guided her hand to her juicy pussy and pressed her fingers down. She immediately got busy, undulating her fingers.

  He set up a slow, easy rhythm, pumping in and out of her ass, adding another dollop of lube until he slid easily.

  "Rob," she panted. "Sergeant. Sir."

  He chuckled, loving the desperation in her tone. "You'll wait to come until I tell you, angel. Understand?"

  "Yes, sir. Yes, sir," she gasped. "Oh yesss, sssir. Oh!" She began to vocalize—not in words but in cries and hums and moans. He loved that she'd lost her mind. He wanted to keep going forever like that, but since it was her first time and he wanted her to remember it fondly, he let his orgasm build.

  His balls tightened, thighs tensed. Cum surged down the length his shaft. "Now, Kaitlyn," he growled, trying not to fuck her too hard. Fingers digging into her hips, he pounded her sweet little ass three more times, then buried his cock, balls deep, and came.

  Kaitlyn screamed, her fingers slapping her wet pussy audibly as she sobbed her own incredible release.

  He lifted her torso from the sofa and wrapped his arms around her from behind, still impaling her ass. "You took that like a good girl," he murmured, nibbling on the shell of her ear.

  He still was getting used to this warm and fuzzy side of himself, which, until he met Kaitlyn, he hadn't known existed. The more he let himself go with it, the easier it seemed. He wanted to take care of her, love her, honor her and win her submission on a daily basis.

  He kissed her jaw, her temple. After he eased out of her ass, he scooped her into his arms and headed for the shower.

  "I don't think I can even stand" Kaitlyn giggled weakly when he set her down to turn on the water.

  "I'll hold you up, baby. Come on." He untied her apron and helped her out of the high heels. With her hand in his, he guided her into the shower and under the warm spray.

  She looked beautiful, her eyes closed, her head tilted back to catch the spray. He stood there and stared at her, trying to catch up with the past twenty-four hours. Things had changed on a dime in the military, too. One day he'd be with the same guys, getting comfortable and learning each other's quirks, the next, half the unit would be dead, their position had changed, and no one knew what would happen in the next hour, much less day.

  So yeah, this wasn't that different. He'd taken huge risks in his life. This couldn't be that much harder, could it?

  Kaitlyn's eyes blinked open and she caught him staring at her. Her brows lifted with a concerned question on her face.

  He relaxed his expression and smiled. "You're beautiful. I was thinking that I took things way too fast."

  Her brow furrowed even more. "I don't think—"

  "Wanna go on a date?" he interrupted her protest. "I don't know—take a walk on the beach or something?"

  Her expression finally relaxed into her signature dimpled smile. "Yeah. A walk on the beach sounds great."

  He turned off the water and reached out for a towel, which he wrapped her up in. Running his hands up and down her terrycloth-clad body, he murmured, "Are you okay on your own for a little bit?"

  She nodded.

  "Good. I have a few things to do and then I'll come back to get you for our date."

  "When?"

  "I won't be gone longer than an hour. Okay?"

  The dimples came out again. "Sounds great." She lifted her face for a kiss.

  The gesture came so natural and easy, as did his response, to grasp her face in both his hands and kiss the ever-loving crap out of her.

  He didn't want to leave her—not even for an hour, but he had a picnic to plan. And his mom's friend to call about the hot air balloon crew position. If he was going to have a 1950's housewife, he needed a job. Otherwise, he would never get to come home to the beer and a blowjob.

  The offer still nearly made him jizz in his pants.

  His girl was amazing.

  In every way.

  Chapter Four

  One Month Later…

  Kaitlyn's stomach dropped as the hot air balloon lifted off the ground. Rob had been working for the company and he arranged for them to go on a private, "sweetheart" flight that afternoon, taking off from La Jolla.

  Rob's muscled arms circled her from behind. "Are you nervous?"

  She turned to face
him, tilting her face up, but closing her eyes. "I can't look."

  He kissed her nose. "Don't worry, Dimples. I have you."

  In that moment, she fully believed that his arms were all she needed to stay safe. In the past month, he'd become her entire world.

  He still wrestled with his demons—he woke up shouting sometimes at night, sweat glistening on his sculpted chest. When his knee or hip hurt—especially after they ran together— he got cranky. Not with her, just in general. But he usually apologized for it later. He could be gruff. He wasn't always great with communication and he still shut down at times, but she adored him, wounds and all. He was at his best in Dom mode—sensitive to her needs, exacting in his demands, and constantly pushing her boundaries. Her sexuality had bloomed under his attentions. All he had to do was lift a stern eyebrow and her tummy fluttered or her pussy clenched.

  He had instituted maintenance night, but it wasn't the only night of the week he flexed his dominance. In fact, his 1950's housewife fetish had become a real thing. He made up rules about only wearing the apron and heels on the weekends. About cooking him ribs once a week. About baking homemade pies. He pretended to do white glove tests on her cleaning and spanked her for the soap scum in the tub.

  That had been a particularly thrilling punishment.

  "Open your eyes, Katie-Girl," he murmured, and turned her back around to face out. She blinked at the view—the ocean at sunset. There was no sensation of motion, just the most serene floating. "You see? It's not scary, is it?"

  She shook her head, leaning back against his solid chest. "It's beautiful," she said in awe.

  "Most people who think they're going to be scared in a hot air balloon aren't." Rob was already an expert at all things ballooning. It turned out he loved the job. It totally suited him, as far as a civilian job for a disabled guy. He only worked four to five hours a day, he got to spend it working outdoors in the fresh air, and he got a small adrenaline rush from the liftoffs and landings. He was even considering becoming a pilot himself.

  "It's much more peaceful than I imagined," she said.

  "That's because we're floating with the air current—there's no sensation of movement or wind on your face."

  "Thanks for arranging this—it must've cost a fortune."

  He shrugged. "We worked out a deal." He cupped the back of her head and lifted it for a kiss. She loved the way he controlled her like that. He never asked permission—he always took without asking.

  "A lot of people book these sweetheart flights for wedding proposals."

  Her heart stuttered, issuing a double-pump.

  "Would it be too soon if I proposed?"

  Her mouth went dry.

  "I mean, we wouldn't have to get married soon. We could have a long engagement or something."

  She shook her head before he could go on.

  "No what? You're not ready for this conversation?" he asked.

  "No, I am. I mean, it's not too soon."

  One corner of his mouth lifted. "Good. Because I want to buy us a house. You know, somewhere I can punish my little wife without the neighbors overhearing." He lowered his voice on the word punish so the pilot wouldn't hear.

  Her pussy grew damp. She squeezed her legs together, seeking relief. "That sounds wonderful."

  "Which part? The house or the punishment? Or being my wife?"

  She leaned against him, letting her breasts press into his firm torso. "I thought I was already your naughty wife?"

  His eyes went dark and he yanked her even closer, letting her feel his erection. "That's right, little girl," he growled in her ear. "And you'd better wear my ring or there will be consequences."

  Streamers of joy fluttered through her chest. Yes, it had been fast, but she was utterly certain he was The One.

  She reached up and stroked his mottled cheek. She did it on purpose to desensitize him to it, and he had gradually allowed her to touch him without immediately pulling away. "Is that the way a Dom proposes?" she asked with a smile.

  He shook his head. "A Dom usually holds a collaring ceremony with his slave. But that's not what you are to me. You're my 1950's wife. So I guess I'd better do this properly." He dropped to one knee in the basket, grimacing a little from the pain. "Kaitlyn Ann, will you do me the honor of being my sweet wife?"

  Her vision blurred and she started to laugh. "Yes, Sergeant Gentry, I will."

  He pulled a child's plastic flower ring out of his pocket and slid it on her finger. "I didn't dare pick out a ring for you. We'll go shopping together, okay?"

  She smiled, happiness swirling. "Okay."

  He stood up, wincing. "But until then, that ring stays on your finger." He gave her a terribly stern look.

  She shrugged, grinning impishly. "You're the boss."

  The End

  Renee Rose

  You're a Rockstar!

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  About the Author

  USA TODAY BEST SELLING AUTHOR RENEE ROSE is a naughty wordsmith who writes BDSM and spanking romance novels. Named Eroticon USA's Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, she has also won The Romance Reviews Best Historical Romance, and Spanking Romance Reviews' Best Historical, Best Erotic, Best Ageplay and favorite author. She's hit #1 on Amazon in multiple categories in the U.S. and U.K., is often found on the list of Amazon's Top 100 Erotic Authors and is a regular columnist for Write Sex Right. She also pens BDSM stories under the name Darling Adams.

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  Other Contemporary Titles by Renee Rose

  The Professor's Girl

  The Don’s Daughter

  Mob Mistress

  The Bossman

  Safe in his Arms

  Saved

  Coming to Terms

  Milestones

  Yes, Doctor

  Punishing Portia

  Bound by the Captain

  By

  Kate Richards

  Chapter One

  Bering Strait

  Longitude 65.8938° N, Latitude 168.3954° W

  I can't believe I've been assigned this mission. And President Nixon's behind it. Mark held up the bottle of vodka—premium Russian vodka, clear as crystal and deadly as sin—and squinted at the level. "There's half left." Who'd have thought he'd believe in ancient Inuit fishermen tales… much less expect us to coordinate with the enemy?

  An icy wind poured over the rail, chilling his cheeks and nose. Behind him, the friendly bilingual chatter of the combined crews of the USCG polar ice breaker Northern Lights and the Soviet scientific research vessel rose above the skree of gulls circling overhead. To his knowledge, the coasties spoke no Russian and the Soviets spoke no English, but it didn't seem to matter. Nor did the Cold War their governments continued to wage. A truce existed for the moment and for this mission in 1970. Perhaps they would have a small hand in ensuring the misunderstandings and nuclear standoff did not last another fifty years. But then, it was only one joint expedition; he probably expected too much.

  Despite the alcohol warming the company, the fifty-one mile wide Bering Strait's gales could freeze a man's soul in minutes. Mark longed to return to the wheelhouse but wanted to maintain a presence on deck as long as the other crew remained on board. And the vodka.

  Charlie laughed. "Come on, Skipper. I warned you when we left port—"

  "When we encounter the Russians, and they open a bottle… it has to be finished," he chanted. "Leaving their national beverage undrunk is a high insult." No matter that the US military, including the Coast Guard, had been dry for almost a century. "And we don't want to create an international incident." What a first command. "But is the rule one bottle one man?"

  "No, most of them are
sharing, passing them around." The warrant officer lifted the bottle in his own hand and poured the clear liquid down his throat. "But I will do my best to keep up with the best of our friendly enemies. It's a small price to pay." His father's old rival had drunk his way through half the bars on the West Coast, as well as in some other countries. He'd just returned from Southeast Asia to take his place on the ship; few were aware of the active Coast Guard presence there, but men in their branch of the service faced every bit as much danger in Viet Nam as any other.

  "Do you think they are approaching the limits of their good behavior?"

  Charlie Harrigan had seen active combat in more than one war and feared nothing except disorder. Therefore, despite his jovial demeanor, Mark didn't expect him to drink more than he could handle. Some of the younger men, however…

  "Sir, would you like me to keep an eye on things? The other guys should be heading back to their ship shortly if they want to make it to shore by dark."

  "I'd rather not have to slap anyone into the brig tonight, so see what you can do." The engine troubles of the Soviet ship would hurt their pride, but Northern Lights carried no parts compatible with the aging vessel.

  "Aye, sir." A step away, Charlie hesitated. "Your father would be proud to see you here."

  Throat tight, Mark watched the warrant officer head across the deck toward the loose groups of men still enjoying their beverages. He'd know how to ensure nothing untoward happened. A word here and there should settle them down. In a time of an unpopular and heavily protested 'police action', those aboard Northern Lights appreciated their posting.

  Many facing the draft believed the myth signing up for the Guard would not land a man in Southeast Asia. Besides Charlie, his brother Paul had been over there since the previous summer and could vouch for the danger he and the other coasties faced on a daily basis. Mark would have accepted any duty, but his unique qualifications had helped land him the position of captain on the polar ice breaker Northern Lights. The Guard's duties in the polar waters included providing support for many scientific expeditions, and his doctorate in marine biology from a prestigious Southern California university led to his current post.