The barracks were quiet after lights-out, the only sound the low hum of the ventilation system and the occasional creak of the old building settling. I moved through the dim hallway in silence, my boots soft on the concrete floor. Tonight's session was private—just me and Cadet Reyes, the one who'd been struggling most with focus during drills. He needed extra attention, and I was more than willing to give it.
I'd chosen the small interrogation training room at the end of the wing. It was soundproof, windowless, and equipped with the sturdy metal chair bolted to the floor—the perfect setup. Reyes was already there, seated as instructed, wrists secured behind the chair with soft restraints. He was shirtless, regulation pants low on his hips, skin still faintly damp from the showers. His chest rose and fell steadily, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes tracked me as I stepped into the light.
I'd dressed for the lesson. Black fishnet stockings hugged my thighs, the weave tight enough to leave faint diamonds on my skin. A short olive skirt barely skimmed the curve of my ass, and the thin white tank top clung to my heavy breasts, nipples already stiff against the fabric from the cool air and the anticipation. No bra. No panties. Just the stockings and the heat building between my legs.
"Evening, Cadet," I said, voice low, letting the words linger. "Ready for your resilience test?"
He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "Yes, ma'am."
I circled him slowly, heels clicking, letting him feel the weight of my gaze. The room smelled faintly of bleach and sweat, but underneath it was the warmer note of his skin, clean soap and nervous male. I stopped behind him, leaned down until my lips brushed the shell of his ear. My breasts pressed against his bare back—full, soft weight settling against hard muscle. I felt him tense, felt the small involuntary shift of his hips.
"Scenario," I murmured. "You've been captured. The enemy wants intel. They'll use every tool they have." I let my hands slide over his shoulders, nails dragging lightly. "Including their body. You need to withstand it. No matter how good it feels."
I moved around to face him, straddling his lap without touching yet—just hovering, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from me. His eyes dropped to my chest, then lower, to where the skirt had ridden up, revealing the tops of the fishnets and the smooth skin above. I watched his pupils blow wide.
I lowered myself slowly, until my ass settled on his thighs. The rough fabric of his pants scraped against my bare skin. I rolled my hips once, a lazy grind, letting him feel how soft I was, how full. A low sound escaped him—half groan, half protest.
"Good," I praised, voice husky. "Hold that control."
I leaned forward, breasts brushing his chest. The tank top was thin enough that he could feel my nipples dragging across his skin as I moved. I took my time, rocking gently, letting the friction build. Each roll pressed my ass deeper into his lap, and I felt him hardening beneath me—thick, insistent, straining against the fabric. The scent of his arousal rose, sharp and heady, mixing with the faint musk between my own thighs.
I reached down, cupped my breasts through the shirt, lifted them, squeezed until the fabric stretched tight. His breath hitched. I pinched my nipples, rolled them slowly, letting him watch the peaks stiffen further. A small wet spot appeared on the cotton where a bead of milk-white anticipation had leaked.
"Look at me," I ordered softly.
His eyes snapped to mine, dark and glassy. I smiled, shifted forward until I was straddling the ridge of his cock. The seam of his pants pressed right along my slit—hot, hard, perfect friction. I started a slow grind, back and forth, coating the fabric with my slickness. The fishnets rasped against his thighs; my ass cheeks spread with each roll, soft flesh sliding over muscle.
Minutes passed like that—slow, deliberate circles, my breath warm against his neck, his pulse hammering under my lips when I leaned in to taste his skin. Salt and heat. I dragged my tongue along his collarbone, nipped the tendon in his neck. His hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more pressure.
"Stay still," I warned, voice velvet and steel. "Or I stop."
He stilled, trembling.
I rewarded him by reaching down, unbuttoning his pants with deliberate slowness. The zipper rasped loud in the quiet room. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, a bead of pre-cum already glistening at the tip. I wrapped my fingers around him loosely, thumb swiping over the head, spreading the slickness. He groaned, head falling back.
I rose just enough to peel off my tank top. My breasts spilled free—heavy, round, nipples dark and tight. I cupped them again, offered them to his mouth without quite touching. He strained forward, lips parting, but I stayed just out of reach.
"Beg," I whispered.
"Please, ma'am… let me taste."
I lowered myself slowly, let one nipple brush his lips. He latched on instantly—hot, wet suction, tongue swirling. Pleasure shot straight to my clit. I moaned, ground down harder on his bare cock now, sliding my soaked folds along his length. The head nudged my entrance on every forward rock, teasing, never quite slipping inside.
I rode him like that—slow, filthy glides, my juices coating his shaft, dripping down over his balls. The room filled with wet sounds, the slap of skin on skin, our mingled breathing. My ass bounced softly with each movement, fishnets stretching over the curve of my cheeks.
When I felt him throbbing, dangerously close, I stopped. Rose up, turned around, presenting my back to him. I bent forward slightly, skirt flipping up to expose everything—round ass, slick pussy lips swollen and glistening, the dark lace of the fishnets framing it all.
I looked over my shoulder. "Still holding out, Cadet?"
He was panting, cock twitching against his stomach, veins standing out. "Yes, ma'am."
I smiled, lowered myself again—this time reverse, guiding his cock between my ass cheeks. Hot, slick skin on skin. I started a slow grind, sliding him through the valley, letting the head bump my entrance again and again. My breasts swayed heavily with the motion, nipples brushing my own thighs.
His restraint finally cracked. "Please… fuck… let me inside you."
I turned back, straddled him face-to-face again. Reached down, positioned him at my entrance. Sank down inch by inch—slow, burning stretch, taking every thick inch until he was buried to the hilt. We both groaned. I was dripping, clenching around him, so full I could feel him in my throat.
I started to ride—long, deep strokes, lifting until only the head remained, then slamming back down. My ass slapped against his thighs; my breasts bounced in his face. He latched onto a nipple again, sucking hard, teeth grazing. I tangled fingers in his hair, held him there, fucking him slow and relentless.
The pace built gradually—wet sounds louder, breathing ragged, sweat slicking our skin. I ground my clit against his pelvis on every downstroke, chasing my own release. When it hit, I clenched hard around him, crying out, juices flooding over his cock.
Only then did I give permission. "Come for me, Cadet. Fill me up."
He thrust up once, twice—then spilled hot inside me, pulse after pulse, groaning my rank like a prayer.
I stayed seated on him, both of us trembling, his cock still twitching deep inside. I leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth softly.
"Good boy," I whispered. "You passed. Barely."
Training complete—for tonight. There were still eleven more cadets on the roster.