I am a company commander in my National Guard unit. My full-time job is heading up an architectural design company, but once a month, I get to serve my community and nation by serving in the Guard. For the most part, it is a mundane chore, where once a month we meet at the Armory and conduct a troop inspection and then we all attend classes and try to not fall asleep as we learn the art of warfare.
I don’t attend a lot of the classes since I am the company commander and that is what I have lower-ranking soldiers for. I usually hole up in the Commander’s office and push out paperwork tied to transfers, requests for time off for the full-time soldiers and future training events. I hold meetings with platoon leaders and training personnel. I conduct inventory audits and I sign-off of the payroll.
When we go into the “field” for field training exercises, I help coordinate how we get a group of soldiers from the Armory in the small town where we conduct our weekend “drills” to an Army post and back, several hours away. Sometimes we take a bus, sometimes we get Army troop hauling trucks to pick us up and take us back and sometimes we fly by helicopters.
Our Armory has a HUMV, which is my Command vehicle. I have a driver assigned to take me wherever I want to go for meetings and to observe training activities.
I don’t usually get to choose my driver, as my First Sergeant does this for me. If I don’t like my driver, I can always ask my First Sergeant to send me a new driver.
I have always had male drivers assigned to me. Then, one weekend a while back, I got a new driver and her name was Specialist Kenza, or at least that was the name on her name tag.
“What’s your first name?” I asked as we pulled out of the Armory on our way to a training post about two hours from the Armory. The company had already left the night before and I couldn’t get away from work early enough to ride the bus, so I had the First Sergeant hold back my command vehicle and a driver.
“Maranda, sir,” she dutifully replied.
Maranda was cute. If I were to guess, I’d say she was in her early twenties. She was a nurse aid in her civilian job. I scanned her hand for a ring and not seeing one, I asked if she was married or if she had a boyfriend.
“No,” she replied, “I am single, sir.”
“You can drop the ‘sir,'” I told her. “Maybe just say it when we’re around others, because it is required, but when it is just the two of us, you don’t have to say it.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, before self-correcting to say, “OK.”
We stopped off at a convenience store about an hour into our trip. I had brought along two ice chests for soft drinks, since it was my policy to make sure we had a good time in the evening hours after the training was over. For whatever reason, I was in a very good mood that day and decided to add some beer to the coolers.
Specialist Kenza didn’t say a word as I dumped the beer into the coolers and covered it with ice. I took out two beers and slipped back into my seat, as we headed back out on to the blacktopped highway. I popped open the tab on one of the beers and took a gulp. I’m not a huge beer drinker by any means, but the refreshing taste of the ice-cold beer could not be denied. I offered a sip to Specialist Kenza.
“No thanks,” She dutifully answered.
“One beer,” I replied, “Is not going to get you drunk.”
She had both of her hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead.
“Maranda,” I said a few minutes later, after popping the top of the second can of beer, and extending it in my hand, across the center divider of the HUMV, “It’s OK. Take it.”
She looked at the can of beer in my hand, and then she briefly glanced at me.
“You’re OK,” I said. “I am the company commander.”
She took in a deep breath and then forcefully exhaled. She took the beer from my hand and took a drink. It was an ice-breaker moment.
“You can take off your cap,” I instructed.
“Top says I have to keep my hair pinned up and under the cap,” she replied, referring to our company first sergeant by his nickname, “Top.”
“Top,” I replied, “is not riding with us.”
She took in another deep breath and then forcibly exhaled.
“Fine,” she replied, pulling off her cap, her long brown hair falling downward.
“I like your hair,” I said.
“It needs a good shampooing,” she said, hand-brushing her fingers through her golden-brown locks.
Our conversation was rather light and easy-going. We chatted about her civilian job and where she thought she’d be in ten years. I asked why she had joined the National Guard and she said it was purely for the easy money, and because her dad had been in the Army for twenty-five years. One beer turned into two beers and then three as we hummed down the blacktop.
We were probably about thirty minutes from the training center when she put on the blinker and steered into a roadside park.
“I gotta pee,” she declared as we rolled to a stop. She reached into the storage compartment between us and pulled out a roll of toilet paper.
“No peeking,” she declared as she wandered off into a thicket of trees and bushes. I watched as she squatted behind a tree to relieve herself.
“Nice form,” I called out. She looked in my direction and shook her head back and forth. A moment later and she was making her way back to the HUMV.
“You’re horrible,” she announced as she walked towards the HUMV. As she slipped back into the drivers’ seat, I told her that we didn’t need to be in a hurry to get to the training post.
“That’s cool,” she replied. The beer had mellowed both of us, to a point that neither of us looked at each other in our military attire, as an enlisted soldier with me being a higher-ranking officer.
I slipped my cap on to her head, with its silver bar insignia in place.
“OK, Captain,” I said out loud, “What’s our training objective today?”
She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and giggled.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Make something up,” I replied.
“First aid,” she quickly shot back, without thinking.
“Great,” I replied. “What are the three-basic life-preserving steps?”
“The aims of first aid are to preserve life, prevent harm and promote recovery,” she replied. In first aid, ‘ABC’ stands for airway, breathing and circulation.”
I was impressed. She apparently knew her stuff.
“So, if I am a victim in a vehicle accident, show me how you would respond,” I prompted.
She reached across the center divider and grabbed my arm, shaking it and asking, “Are you ok?”
“No,” I declared, “I think my leg is broken.”
She looked down at my leg and said, “Your leg looks fine to me.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head back and forth.
“I’d apply a splint,” she replied.
“What if I weren’t breathing?” I asked.
“I’d have to start CPR,” she declared.
I popped open another beer and extending y arm and had in her direction.
“I’m breathless,” I declared. “What do you do?”
“Clear the airway and start CPR,” she said as she took a large gulp from the beer.
“Have you ever done CPR?” I asked.
“On a real person?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“No,” she said.
“We can practice,” I proffered. It was a dangerous proposition, I know, but the beer had relaxed my inhibitions.
She looked at me and smiled.
“You are smooth,” she declared.
“Well,” I replied, “You’re cute.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head back and forth.
“No one has to know,” I said.
She took another sup from her beer, one hand holding on to the steering wheel and in her other hand she clutched the beer.
“We should probably get going,” she declared.
“We have plenty of time,” I replied. “You’re with me and no one is going to question when we show up, or even if we show up.”
“Top will,” she replied.
“Top works for me,” I said, reminding her of our military chain of command.
I casually unbuttoned my battle uniform top. It was a warm day and HUMVs are not air-conditioned. Generally, we have canvas doors on the HUMVs, but I had them removed since it was a decent fair-weather weekend.
“I’m getting a buzz,” she declared.
“That makes two of us,” I replied.
“We should probably get going,” she shot back.
"You know,” I replied, “there is a small non-name hotel right up the road a piece. We can stop there and recover.”
She used a lone finger to rub the side of her nose and then looked at me.
“Yeah,” she replied. “If we roll into camp, buzzed, Top might be a little upset.”
The hotel was about five minutes down the road. As we steered into the hotel parking lot, a 1950s like place with a flashing “vacant” sign, I instructed her to pull up by the office, saying I knew the hotel owner.
“Wait here,” I instructed as I hopped out of the HUMV and sauntered into the air-conditioned office. Full disclosure: I did not know the hotel operator.
I placed my credit card down for a room and the clerk, an older guy in his fifties, thanked me for stopping.
“If you need fresh towels,” he said, “Just call me. I’ll be here all night.”
I instructed Kanza to pull up to room 17.
“He offered us a room to chill for a bit,” I deftly noted, as my new driver looked at me suspiciously. “It’s air-conditioned.”
I grabbed several more beers out of the cooler.
The freshness of the room was fantastic. I immediately tossed myself onto the only bed in the center of the room, as my traveling partner stood just inside the room door and surveyed the layout. I patted the empty space on the bed beside me.
“Come on,” I declared, “lie down.”
She laughed and walked past the bed towards the restroom.
“You’d like that,” she said as she walked past me and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Damn. I felt completely shot down.
“Crashed and burned,” she jokingly declared from behind the restroom door.
“Yup,” I replied, matter-of-factly. “But I tried.”
“Yes, you did,” she replied from behind the restroom door. I listened as the toilet flushed. A few seconds went by and I looked towards the bathroom door area as it opened.
My driver stepped out of the restroom, completely naked. Oh my God! I damn near had a real heart attack. She was flawless from head to toe.
She stepped over to the side of the bed and peered down at me.
“What do you think”? she asked, her hands on her hips and her hairless snatch just an arm’s reach away.
“Oh! My God!” I declared, surveying her from head to toe. I was literally awestruck.
“Let’s not play games,” she said as she looked down at me where I lay prone on the bed, slightly propped up by two pillows.
Without saying anything else, she began unfastening the laces to my boots, pulling each one off. I unfasted my BDU trousers, and she helped me out of them, stripping off my socks in the process. There was no way to hide the attention she had generated in my crotch. She placed her hand on the tent that had formed in my boxer shorts and squeezed my erection.
“Mmmmm,” she hummed, as she slipped on to the bed, straddling me, her knees digging in on either side of my hips, her pussy hovering right over my cock. She settled down on to my lap, squishing my cock.
I sat up just enough to strip out of my BDU jacket and my Army tan t-shirt. She leaned forward, digging in her fingernails to my chiseled chest and slowly raking her fingertips down my body. I grabbed her hands and pulled her downward by forcing her hands over my head.
Her huge breasts pressed against my chest. Our lips met in a deeply passionate, and deep-throated kiss. Somehow, she managed to strip my boxer shorts from me.
Looking down at me, she grabbed my erection and guided it into place as she straddled me. Oh, Lord!
We fucked in every conceivable position. She was so wildly enthusiastic and uninhibited. How I managed to hold on for as long as I did, is beyond me.
We didn’t make it to the weekend drill. I called Top and told him something had come up and I told him to go ahead and pay my driver, since she had probably waited on me at the Armory.
It was a surreal weekend, full of fun and adventure. We shared a pizza delivery and ended pleasuring each other several more times over the next few hours before we fell asleep, exhausted and tired. Waking up next to an angel is really cool. We spent some time showering together and then shared a nice breakfast at a nearby greasy spoon restaurant before we headed back to the Armory.
I was in the Commander’s office when Top got back to the Armory. He asked if everything was OK and I assured him my absence was due to my civilian job demands. I’m pretty sure he believed me, but then he handed me the logbook for the Command HUMV.
“You forgot to sign off on the mileage log,” Top said, setting the HUMV Command logbook down on my desk.
“I hate Specialists that are so damn detailed and too efficient,” I noted as I signed the logbook. Top cocked his head to the side, chuckled and proffered a small grin as I handed him back the logbook.
“I’m glad you had a great drill weekend,” he said. “Do you want to keep your driver?”
I chuckled.
“Oh yeah,” I replied. “She is well worth keeping.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Top replied. He handed me a folded up piece of paper.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Your driver’s home phone number and place of residence, in case you need it one day.”
There was a reason the man was my First Sergeant. He knew how to care for the troops and the Commander. Top rendered a sloppy hand salute and headed out the door. I looked at the piece of paper, then refolded it and placed it into my breast pocket for safekeeping.
