Chapter 49

I was a student teacher, in my final year, and like always, my school marched in the Seventh of September parade. I loved it. The whole town shut down, the main street packed with people, and between steps in the march, I’d have fun checking out the cute faces on the sidewalks, the curious stares, the phones held up to snap pics. It was great for scoring some numbers, some lingering looks, and if luck was on my side, maybe even a quick makeout if someone was really flirting.

And there I was: navy blue pleated skirt, crisp white shirt sticking to my back from the heat, knee-high socks, and a short tie with the school pin. The sun beat down hard, sweat trickling down my back, but we held formation, lined up with a sense of pride. The girls next to me stepped in sync, hair tied back neat, faces just lightly made up. I tried to keep it together too, but my eyes wandered.

We were in the final stretch of the parade, and when we turned the corner off the main avenue, away from the spotlight, the crowd started thinning out. That’s where the real fun happened, in that quieter spot. It was like the backstage after the show. People kicking off shoes, girls swapping WhatsApp numbers quick, teachers loosening up.

And that’s exactly where I saw it, turning that corner.

A line of tanks — real tanks, huge, weird, camouflaged, imposing — parked along the side of the street. Soldiers coming and going, some laughing, others just watching. But out of all of them, one caught my eye.

He was leaning against one of the tanks — it was one of those with wheels but no big cannon — arms crossed, uniform camo hugging tight, beret fitted just right on his head, and that lazy gaze like he was just waiting to clock out. He was gorgeous, square face, sun-burned, the military life giving him that rugged edge.

When he spotted me, he smirked from the corner of his mouth. A crooked little grin, but polite enough. We knew they couldn’t get in trouble with us — word was, they could get arrested for it!

I kept walking with the girls, but my eyes stuck on him. Then he gave a tiny nod, calling me over. Subtle, but straight up. Like he was saying: “come here, just you.”

My heart raced right then. I laughed to myself inside. I glanced around — no one seemed to notice. And that’s when that naughty thought hit: is he really calling me? Oh God…

“Go on ahead, Tati,” I whispered to my friend. “I gotta hit the bathroom at the station real quick.”

She didn’t even question it, just nodded and kept going with the others. Me, I veered off like I knew exactly what I was doing — though inside, my heart was pounding, and the body’s heat mixed with that good chill in my gut. My skin, still damp with sweat from the parade, was sweating for a whole other reason now.

I approached him slow, but without hesitation. He stayed put, cool as hell, like he knew I’d come. His eyes dropped shamelessly down my legs, then slid up slow until they met mine. No rush, no shame. He undressed me with his eyes. This guy’s a player, I thought, biting the corner of my mouth.

“My sister went to that school,” he said, flashing a toothpaste-ad smile. He was perched on the tank, or whatever it was, looking so at ease like he’d just come back from some war zone.

“You called me over here just to tell me that?”

“No,” he replied simple, eyes locked on mine. “I thought you were hot. Wanted to chat with you.”

He stood up with a quickness that surprised me and headed to the back of the armored vehicle. Gave me a nod, almost an invite.

“You ever been in one of these?”

“Hell no. You guys never let anyone near your tanks,” I shot back, with a challenging smile.

“It’s not a tank,” he corrected, a bit proud. “It’s an armored personnel carrier.”

“Wow… fancy name for an old rust bucket without even a cannon. What’s it for?”

“For getting troops behind enemy lines on ops,” he said, puffing out his chest like he was showing off a holy relic.

“So it’s like a war Uber?” I fired off, laughing, sassy.

He glanced around, a little sheepish, like he knew what he was about to suggest wasn’t exactly by the book.

“Wanna get in?”

I arched an eyebrow, amused.

“Better not, you’re crazy? Your CO’s gonna see, you’ll get in deep shit… end up in the brig.”

“Relax… I’m in charge of this ride,” he said, voice low but firm.

“In charge?” I teased. “What are you, a corporal? Since when does a corporal call the shots?”

He smirked with that corner of his mouth that made my stomach flip.

“Since no one’s watching.”

And he held out his hand.

I took it, half without thinking, and climbed onto that metal beast, feeling the sun’s heat on the steel, and he guided me firm to the top, like it was something he did every day, like taking a girl inside a military vehicle was the most normal thing in the world.

“We’ll go in this way,” he said, pointing to a round hatch on top. “It’s more fun… this is where the observer sits.”

He went down first, nimble, and held out his arms from inside. The hatch looked straight out of a movie, and the heat in there was different — stuffy.

My worry right then? Him eyeing my ass as I climbed down, obviously. But… fuck it. I let him. Maybe I even took my time on purpose.

But fate didn’t care about being smooth. On the second step, my foot slipped. I lost my balance completely and tumbled in hard — only didn’t smash myself because he caught me tight in his arms, slamming me against his body with a solid thud.

“Watch it!” he laughed, his mouth right by my ear.

“Ow, how embarrassing…” I whispered, but deep down, my body was on high alert, and not from the scare. It was from his scent, the closeness, the way his hand gripped my back and waist firm.

The space was tiny. Low ceiling, smell of grease, old metal. A hot dimness wrapped everything, and my eyes took a sec to adjust. Inside, you could barely move. Thin benches on the sides and hardly any room.

He looked at me with a crooked smile, not saying a word, but I broke the silence.

“I came here to make you lose the war, soldier,” I said, staring right into his eyes, boldness dripping from my voice.

He didn’t wait for any more green lights.

He lunged like he’d gotten some internal command, pure instinct — and kissed me. It wasn’t a light kiss, nothing polite. It was the kind that grabs, squeezes, takes. His mouth hit mine hard, crashing with a taste of urgency and challenge. He pinned me against the metal side, and the sharp smack of our backs hitting the wall echoed in that cramped space.

His body was solid, muscled. I felt the rough uniform between us, but even through the fabric, there was no missing his heat, the bulge, the hardness. He held my waist with both big hands, like he was scared I’d bolt. And me… I didn’t want to run.

My whole body shook, not from fear, but excitement. An electric shiver ran from the base of my neck down behind my knees. My lips pushed back, wanting more, parting for his tongue to slide in and explore, hot, determined, like it already knew the way.

The air in there was thick, stifling, sweat running down my back, trickling between my thighs. I felt my socks slipping at the knees, the tie choking a bit more, and still… every second in that kiss had me surrendering more. No escape, no reason. Just that heat, the iron around us, the smell of oil, and him — strong, intense, impossible to resist.

My hand slid up his chest on instinct, feeling the hard muscles under the uniform, and he groaned low against my mouth, like that simple touch was fuel on the fire.

The kiss didn’t stop, just shifted rhythm. He claimed me with his mouth and I let him, dizzy from the heat and desire. That’s when I felt it: his hand sliding firm behind my thigh, up under the pleated skirt, no asking.

“Hey…” I murmured, startled, voice catching between kisses.

But he didn’t answer with words. Just looked at me with those dark, hungry eyes, and squeezed my ass hard, making my body arch against his. The touch was rough, sure, like he knew exactly what he wanted — and had no time for second-guessing.

His hand slipped further forward, between my legs, and when his fingers hit my soaked panties, he let out a rough sigh, like he’d been caught off guard.

“Fuck…” he said low, against my neck.

And then he went for it. His fingers yanked my panties aside and touched right on my hot, drenched pussy. No warmup, no sweetness — just raw intensity. Two fingers plunged in at once, crooked, clumsy, brutal. It was uncomfortable and fucking delicious at the same time. The awkward angle, the tight space, the smell of iron and sweat around us… it all made it even crazier.

“Ow…” I let out, between a moan and a laugh, trying to shift my body to the touch.

But he didn’t stop. With both hands, he held me and fingered me hungry. I felt invaded, filled, tamed right there, standing, back pressed to the metal frame. My body ground on his hand instinctively, seeking the right fit, the perfect spot. And I moaned low, trying not to make noise, but it was pointless: every wrong thrust lit me up more, gave me over more, made me hornier than hell.

My hands, on reflex, went for him. Touched his chest, slid down his hard abs under the uniform. My fingers shook, but they knew where to go. To the belt, unbuckling it with impatient speed, pulling the zipper slow, feeling the throbbing bulge behind the military pants.

When I slipped my hand inside, he groaned low and buried his fingers deeper in me.

He panted against my ear, fingers still deep inside, like he couldn’t decide between keeping at it or just taking me outright. But then he growled in my ear, rough, low, like a whispered order that shot through my whole body.

“Suck it for me… please.”

That didn’t sound like begging. It sounded like need. Like urgency.

I pulled my hand from his chest and tugged his pants waist down, struggling. It was tight in there, no room to kneel proper. I squatted as best I could between the benches and the iron wall, feeling my knee scrape metal and my skirt bunch up all the way.

His bulge sprang out hard from the dark briefs. A thick cock, heavy, rock-hard with lust, head already wet and glistening. The skin was tan, the scent strong — a mix of sweat, uniform, pent-up desire. And I’d never been this hungry.

I gripped the base firm and licked from bottom to top, tasting him, hot and salty, pulsing on my tongue. He groaned loud, hand going straight to my hair, trying to hold himself together. I smiled inside.

I took him in slow, letting the head fill my mouth completely, wet warmth wrapping him until I heard it: the muffled groan, the held breath. I started sucking for real, rhythmic, intense, deeper each time, feeling him tense and grip my shoulder to keep from collapsing.

“Fuck… like that and I’m gonna come, shit…” he whispered, body shaking, barely room to move. With every suck, he pushed more, fighting the urge to fuck my mouth hard.

My chin bumped the open zipper of his pants, and the heat inside the vehicle was unbearable. But I was wetter than ever, and it just cranked my arousal higher. My mouth slid, saliva dripping, I felt his cock throbbing between my lips, veins pulsing with how close he was.

He could barely hold out.

The second I felt his cock pulse harder in my mouth, breath hitching like he was about to blow, he yanked me up urgent. His hands grabbed my arm and shoulder, hauling me with a rough tenderness — the kind that makes your body buzz with shock and heat at once.

“Turn around. Now.” he ordered through gritted teeth, voice hoarse, almost feral.

I spun without thinking, legs shaky, whole body throbbing. I braced my hands on the cold wall of the armored carrier, feeling the chill metal contrast my hot, damp, goosebumped skin. He yanked my panties brutal, snapping the elastic with a sharp rip. The skirt stayed hiked up, bunched between us, and he lined up no fuss.

His cock slammed in all at once, thick, hard, filling me full force. My muffled scream got lost in the stuffy metal — not from pain, but shock. It was deep. Urgent. His body slapping mine with wet smacks, no room, no time, just drive.

“Holy shit, you’re tight…” he groaned, pounding into me with an animal rhythm.

With every thrust, my body jolted forward, sandwiched between the iron wall and his hot flesh driving through me from behind. His hands clamped my waist like it was his, hips slamming hard, determined, fucking without break, without mercy, like he wanted to brand the shape of him inside me.

I wasn’t even human anymore.

My knees buckled, orgasm building in waves, and I moaned loud now, no fear of who heard — no one did, just him, and he loved it. He slid a hand down to my clit and rubbed hard, making my body buckle. I ground back against him, begging wordless for more of every thrust, every finger, every drop of sweat pouring off us.

“Come for me,” he growled, and my body obeyed in a heartbeat.

I came hard, with long spasms, clinging to the cold iron, feeling my pussy pulse around him, clenching, milking. He groaned, bit my shoulder, and followed right after. Hard. Deep. Dumping everything inside me, bodies glued, his chest heaving on my back, both of us shaking.

We stayed there, panting, stuck together, in the middle of the stuffy armored carrier, sweaty, wrecked… and alive.
After that battle, pulling ourselves together, we had to sneak out like guilty rats — fixing clothes, faking composure, trying to hide the sex smell hanging in the air.

No one saw.
Or they pretended not to.

And me, skirt all wrinkled and legs wobbly, could only think one thing:
next Seventh of September… I’d march again.