It’s his cold pillow that wakes you.
No deep breaths or soft snores echoing around the vaulted ceiling. The absurdly expensive bedding all yours to take. Your late night should keep you asleep until noon, but it feels wrong to be in bed when you don’t have your lover’s solid warmth against your skin.
You pad down the terracotta-tiled hall and take in the views of the Pacific, the only artwork needed on this side of the house. Stormy blue and glass-riddled sandy white, the picturesque view sells itself. The waves crash on the beach below, their mellow sound seeping into the Mediterranean revival from the open patio doors.
He’s sitting outside in just his sweatpants, coffee in hand, as he watches the water while flicking through a thick stack of pages. The grey at his temples is bright under the early San Diego sun. You know he’s reading something important because he has those horn-rimmed glasses on, the ones he repeatedly complains are too tight around his ears. Won’t even waste a minute to go grab his preferred wire frames.
Robert Floyd may be retired from show business, but he’s hotter than the first day he graced screens.
Eyes lifting from the pages, he catches you staring from your spot by the French doors, negligee skimming your body in the soft ocean breeze. The lids of your eyes are still a little heavy with sleep.
“You need something, baby?” He pats his broad thigh and you assume your perch, snuggling against his sun-warmed skin as you shake your head. How is he always the perfect temperature? The chill from the ocean wafts over you as he wraps his arm around your waist.
Your lips part in a contented smile. “Just checking in on you, Daddy. Missed you in bed.”
“Sorry, baby,” he coos, brushing his lips against your temple. His thick pointer taps against the stack of pages that arrived by messenger at sunrise. “Agent asked me to give this a look over, see if I’d be interested.”
You tilt your head to see the title. “Is that-”
“Yes, baby girl. They’re asking me to come back. Just a few scenes with the new regime, but get to wear that admirals uniform one more time.” Despite him saying it so matter of factly, you can detect his giddiness at wearing those pins once again. “Not sure if it’s the right move though.”
You trail your finger along his pectoral, imagining the ironed uniform underneath your touch.
Robert Floyd had made a career of Naval action films, starting out as a fresh faced Weapons Systems Officer in his debut, to gracing the screen one last time as an Admiral in the franchise’s original conclusion. He’d won over hearts with his steely blue gaze and soft smile, never one for breaking the rules. Yet always the one who celebrated the hardest when his squadron completed a mission.
For military propaganda, he made a compelling poster boy.
Your entire childhood he had been on posters in the mall, trailers on the television during commercial breaks. Those bright sapphire eyes and gleaming pins burnt into your vision, uncontrollably charmed by the strong, silent type.
And now here he was, putty under your palms as you asked if he wanted more coffee.
Without a doubt he’d take the appearance, spend a day or two on set with the next generation of Naval action stars. The next year he’d appear on every talk show and repeat his modesty over his fifteen minutes on camera. Your Bobby would balk at the attention, but glow with pride as the host played his cameo for the audience.
Watching him flip through a few pages, you could already see the shy smile he would win the crowd over as he insisted the revival’s cast members were the real stars.
“What’cha thinking about, sweet girl?” You were so lost in your daydream that you missed his attention turning to you, warm palm running over your hip under your thin robe.
You stroke his jaw, fingers curling into the regulation-cut greying hair. The cut he’s kept since he was first cast in his early twenties. “You should take the role. You look handsome as an admiral.” You peck a light kiss to his lips. “Dashing, really.”
His blush is striking against the ocean sky. As you get up to go make you both breakfast, you can feel his eyes on you; an extra sway in your hips for his enjoyment. Bob lounges back on the outdoor set and looks between the breaking waves and the now slightly rumpled script.
He’s coming back.
___________________________
The view of the ocean as you zip up I-5 is breathtaking, a gorgeous Southern California day. The early call time was less than ideal, but the energy in the car is electric. Bob’s hand wanders into the passenger seat to wrap around your bare knee, thumb tapping out an unknown rhythm as he navigates traffic.
He looks the vision of wealth and importance sitting in the front seat of his pewter grey Porsche 911 - a sleek upgrade for his 40th from the battered truck he’d been driving since he arrived in Hollywood. The car is understated in its elegance, like its owner. You admire his graceful lines of a life well lived, the pokes of silver woven through his hair. And yet his eyes carry that intelligent, sassy energy that keeps you on your toes, ready for the next challenge he brings you.
“You’re looking at me.” His eyes don’t leave the road, but the smile on the corner of his thin lips is playful.
You fiddle with his fingers, admiring the large dexterous digits. “Just so handsome, how can I not?”
Bob lifts your hand with his, allowing the platinum and diamonds of your bracelet to catch the morning sun - nearly blinding with their sparkle. He brings your interlocked fingers to his lips, pressing a loving kiss to the skin as he finally looks at you. His eyes are the same striking blue as the ocean behind him.
“Perfect girl, what did I do to deserve you?”
You’re wondering the same when he enters the studio lot, passing through security and finding your way to the set. There’s a bustle of commotion as the two of you join the crowd, everyone immediately hushing their voices as the talent arrives. Bob’s chest swells with power as everyone immediately caters to him before noticing you.
“That must be his assistant?” Rumors spread through the crew like wildfire, watching you prance behind film legend Robert Floyd like an excitable puppy. Eyebrows shooting up when he turns back and rests a hand on the back of your bare thigh, leaning close to ask if you want anything from craft.
You slide your diamond-covered wrist around his neck and peck his cheek. Definitely not an assistant.
Since the day he’d made his name on marquees, Bob had been surrounded by women. A tall man in Navy blues with the golden touch of Hollywood? His fellow cast joked more than once that tag chasers didn’t care whether you served the country or just did it on screen. Eventually he’d done the responsible thing and tried marriage, settling down with a woman who cared more about his flashy lifestyle than the quiet man behind the lights. Divorce was swift and the introvert reverted inside his shell, his film career quiet as the next generation of aviators took the screen.
And then you entered his life, with your open face and bright smile. A coffee shop in Coronado he frequented that you happened to pass. A bump of elbows over the creamer, his amused grin when you accidentally grabbed his drink in your fluster. You were so excited to meet a real movie star, a dream come true. And he looked so much bigger than his character - those shoulders brawnier, that jaw sharper. Yet the smile he gave you was heart-melting as you handed him your own coffee cup to sign, nothing else available.
It wasn’t until that afternoon you noticed he’d written his number in neat penmanship. You had to wait until that next night to know you were falling inexplicably in love with a man who the rest of the world already adored. He was bigger than life, your everything.
And for all of your affection, he spoiled you. Dates to restaurants you couldn’t pronounce in Liberty Station, private events with tickets you couldn’t afford. Every week a new trinket left at your bedside, sparkling in the low light while he hummed in the bathroom excited for you to notice. Few things brought him joy at this stage in life, but you traipsing in with nothing on but the latest diamanté left him positively enraptured.
People could stare and point and judge all they wanted. It was love, and it was all yours.
___________________________
You’ve raided the mini bar and read through the call sheet when Bob finally comes back to his trailer. He strikes a bold figure in his Navy blacks - pins gleaming, white cap under his arm.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he greets you, swooping to kiss your cheek. But your breath is already stolen. You’d seen pictures, caught his movies at the old matinee in Balboa Park. But standing in front of you is the sexiest man you’ve ever seen. He looks so…official.
Bob was already feeling good in the wardrobe trailer, the crew he’d worked with for years stroking his ego as they put the final touches to his starched uniform. He’d be on screen for a total of eight minutes and he was going to look important every single second.
But with your eyes trained on him, pupils wide and mesmerized, it’s the only compliment he needs.
“They look good on you again,” you coo, tracing your fingertips over the sterling silver insignia pins. It’s hard to quell the rising heat as you look at him, standing tall in this uniform - his uniform - just like the posters and movie trailers of your youth.
He rubs his temples and grabs his wire frames from the counter, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he straightens up. “Feels good to wear them, baby. Not sure who I am if not in the ‘Navy’.” He chuckles around air quotes, morphing into a moan as you run your nails down his torso.
Even though he’s not in character, the suit transforms him.
He’s not your Bob, the man who walks around his big ol’ house in band shirts he got in the 80s and his worn shearling slippers. Squinting through his glasses while trying to read fine print for instruction manuals for more Lego sets than he needs, peppering your head with kisses as you sit between his knees. Your Bobby is always goofy and smiling when you come through the door, eager to wrap his arms around you as he patiently listens to all the friend updates from brunch. He’s warmth and safety, that side of middle age where you have to explain internet fads with a playful eye roll.
But this man…this man in front of you is stern and mighty, seizing the room with his intensity. He’s commanding in his own silent way, back straight and shoulders taught. No nonsense, just like the admiral he plays for screens around the world. His presence is intoxicating. You can’t decide if you want to dominate him or be putty in his hands.
You twist in his arms, pressing your chest to his as you smooth the lapels of his suit. It’s only natural that those big, practiced hands of his immediately slip to your legs. Two magnets drawn by the promise of touch. But once he’s inches from your pretty face, ready to ask you to help him read over lines, that gleam in your eyes has other plans.
His girl wants him.
“Babygirl, I’m in wardrobe.” His words say no, but the fervent way he’s stroking the skin under your hem says differently. He’s not immune to a tiny dress and puppy eyes. You watch his hand reach up to drag through greying roots before he remembers it’s styled, redirecting his frustration by slipping rough fingers around the nape of your neck. Holding your head still while he fights his sense of responsibility.
It doesn’t matter that you’re in a tin can trailer with no sound proofing. You lick your glossy lips and give him the most innocent smile. “Please? We can be super careful.”
He eyes you warily. The two of you together is messy.
“Please, Daddy?” You rub yourself against him, feeling the way he shivers underneath his stiff uniform. “I wanna know what it’s like to f*ck an admiral. Please?”
He’s powerless against you when you’re like this. Needy and heavy-lidded, unsatisfied until you’ve had your fair share of him and then some. It’s only when you’re a panting mess full of his spend that he can regain any control against you. The age gap is exhilarating and exhausting.
His face dips to rest against your temple, the floral scent of your perfume clouding his senses. So sweet, so soft. You feel his groan against your cheek before he straightens up to his full height, towering over you with a stern expression on his face. Those elegant, practiced fingers tuck under your chin.
“Attention.” Your spine straightens, your breath deepens. “Let’s see if you’re up to regulation, lieutenant.”
A warm gush of excitement floods your body, soaking in your flimsy excuse for underwear. You watch your big, broad, authoritative boyfriend sink down into the plush trailer sofa, knees spread. Patting his thigh with an unamused brow quirk.
Exhilaration races through your veins as you eagerly straddle his lap, sundress sliding up your thighs as you perch prettily on his thighs. The vision of youthful glow, hoping to impress.
Bob traces your heated skin with callused fingers, lips pursed, before sliding a hand firmly up your back. The world spins as he flips you over his lap, your rounded ass exposed to his eyes, modesty barely covered by a scrap of lace.
“Uniform panty inspection,” Bob huffs out, fingers ghosting over the fabric. His voice is restrained, clipped. You stay as still as possible as you hold your breath. You want to pass this inspection so bad.
The firm touch of his ring finger to your clothed sex forces a moan to slip through your clamped lips. So close to giving you what you want. But he remains diligent, stroking your puss* through the fabric until he’s satisfied with the wet patch he created. “Perfectly up to code.”
His finger wraps around the strap of the thong and yanks it down, forcing you to further immodestly part your knees as he discards the sexy - yet unnecessary - piece of fabric.
Your mind is heavy with lust as you turn your head, trying to understand. Normally he’s between your thighs teasing the fabric for longer than you can handle. Your lips are still dry. But before your eyes and brain connect with the visual, film legend Robert Floyd has a rounded cheek in each hand and his tongue plunged deep in your pretty pink puss*.
Blunt nails dig into the soft skin of your ass as he re-acquaints himself with your taste. Sliding his thick muscle along the velveteen walls of your c*nt, lapping up the addicting taste of your lust. Your head is empty as he forces you to take it, to enjoy the way he worships the very core of your being.
Saliva and arousal mix on his clean shaven face as he presses deeper, moaning as he feels you clench around him. His own pride growing as you wail with only his tongue f*cking you. It’s wet and dirty, the heat along your skin eating you alive as you succumb to your pleasure.
These are the benefits of dating a man with experience.
His tongue retreats, laving over your folds with practiced precision. You bury your head in the rough sofa fabric, muffling the depraved sounds crossing your lips. Your fingers reach up and wrap around his thick wrist, needing a tether to reality. His free hand travels to his belt, loosening the leather and freeing his erection to the humid trailer.
He knows you and your tells. Dragging that wicked tongue back, he corners your little neglected cl*t. Sucks it into his mouth like an after dinner mint, savoring the tangy sweetness of you. Your hips thrust back at him, desperate for more as you begin your hedonistic descent.
Time and space lose all meaning as Bob goes in for the kill, switching between the heavy pulls on your cl*t and the slippery licks along your core. Blowing cool air where you’re most sensitive before sweeping in with his burning tongue. The combination of his stiff muscle f*cked into your depths and his thumb bumping your swollen cl*t finally send you over the edge, a white light overtaking your body as you scream into the plush cushion below.
Film legend Robert Floyd cleans your juices from your shaking thighs thoroughly.
Begrudgingly, your limbs are jelly as you bring yourself to his level. Bob’s hands continue their ministrations to the globes of your ass, squeezing and groping the soft skin. When you finally find yourself sitting upright, his thick co*ck nestled between the soft lips of your c*nt, he gives into his desires and draws his hand up, only to bring it down with a slap! The sound rings through the room and his cheeks tinge pink with arousal and embarrassment.
“Admiral!” you giggle as he repeats the harsh slap on the other cheek.
While you have the devastatingly sexy view of a sweaty admiral beneath you, his eyes are glued to the mirror across the trailer that captures the dark red handprint he wishes he could tattoo on your perfect ass.
Lips descend upon his and the trailer is filled with the slick sounds of tongues and moans, four hands grasping with the need to touch. But where to touch? His burning skin? The cool pins of his jacket? It’s almost too easy a choice to wrap your fingers around the bulbous head of his co*ck while he swallows your desperate little tongue.
“That’s it, feel how hard Daddy is for you.”
He finally pulls himself from your kiss-bitten lips as his hands tug down the neckline of your filmy dress, exposing your heaving breasts to the room. Lips dipping down to wrap around your hardened nipple, leaving teeth marks and wet kisses on tender flesh. Your moans egging him on to bite deeper, suck harder.
The world knows the reserved man who waits to speak, level-headed in the most dire situations. And yet here he is, the remnants of your org*sm staining his chin as he closes his eyes to better enjoy the peaked bud he’s devouring.
He’s delicious and all yours.
Your fingers tangle at the nape of his neck, grasping the short strands with all your might as you pull him off your chest with an audible pop. Those impossibly blue eyes look at you reverently, letting you call the shots so he can continue to enjoy your body as it deserves. You drag your shared gaze to where your bodies meet and a grunt involuntarily leaves him. Finally.
The first touch is a puzzle piece falling into place. The thick head of him asking for entrance, slick with your desire.
Those unbelievably large hands hold themselves delicately at your waist, assisting your descent. His eyes flicker between yours and the welcoming entrance of your c*nt. Your commanding admiral - your sweet Bobby - grasps you securely as you try to sink further on his swollen co*ck.
“Daddy, it’s too big.” Your voice is pained, teary eyes struggling to hold his gaze just as he likes. His size splitting you open like his own personal co*ck sleeve.
“You can take it, baby, just breathe.” His heart threatens to beat out of his chest as your impossibly tight c*nt squeezes around him. “There’s my good girl, gonna fit all of Daddy, aren’t you?”
Hesitantly lifting your hips, muscle memory takes over as you adjust. The ease of taking his thick co*ck coming back to you as your breasts bounce with your fervent movement. The lapel of his jacket wrinkles as you hold it, lip between your teeth as he grazes that spongy spot only he can reach.
He guides you in your pursuit of pleasure, admiring the way you thrust you chest out as you clench around him. One hand on his lapel, the other grasping his knee. Truly using his body to get yourself off. So unbelievably sexy.
Your admiral’s thumb finds your cl*t, rubbing persistent slow circles over the sensitive, swollen bud. Times a hard press with when you are completely full of him, your senses overwhelmed. Bob. Bob. Bob. His balls ache with the need to claim you as his.
Impatient, knowing call time is mere moments away, Bob lifts his hips to yours. Pumping his erection deep, all the way to the hilt as his balls brush your ass. He’s so deep, so perfectly deep. A guttural moan leaves your spit-slicked lips, begging for your org*sm.
“Are you going to cum for your admiral?” His deep voice rings through your ears as you chase your high, the world clouding as only his co*ck becomes your reality. Your fingers card through his hair, silver and golden brown weaving together to keep you grounded in your pleasure. “I said, are you going to cum for your admiral?”
“Yes!” The next lot over could probably hear you shout to the heavens, plunging yourself down on Bob’s thick co*ck as your org*sm plunges you over the cliff. Sweet relief flooding your senses as your puss* pulses around him as a thank you.
Your lips find his neck as you nuzzle in, hips still sunk low on his throbbing erection. You need to be filled with Daddy’s cum.
The stiff fabric of his uniform jacket rubs your bare skin as he holds you close, pressing your nipples to his insignia pins as he strongly thrusts those last few times. Grunting into your cooing mouth as he finally lets go, co*ck pulsing as thick white jets of his cum coat your walls.
“Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper in his ear when you carefully pull off, barely enough energy to keep your thighs closed for the sake of his uniform. He gently guides you onto your back, ever the gentleman.
You stretch your sore limbs and relax into the plushness of his trailer sofa, hands wrapping behind your head as you smile, satiated, while Bob’s creamy cum runs past your thighs to pool on the fabric. Your graying lover gives you a wry smile as he regains his breath against the back the couch, uniform crumpled and bearing a stain a little too close to his zipper.
Always so messy. But so worth it.
There’s a rap at the door, three quick knocks that shake you both from your org*smic haze. Bob rushes to cover your modesty, fiddling with the hems of your dress with clumsy fingers. Wishing you were home so he could wrap you in his robe and run a bath before watching the ocean from the terrace instead of praying there’s wipes in this shoddy trailer.
“Mr. Floyd? We’re ready for you,” comes through the door. The PA who whispered you were an assistant, now only steps away from your bare breasts and dirty thighs.
You wiggle your eyebrows at Bob as you fix your own appearance, amused as the bigger than life Robert Floyd shuffles around the room, tucking in his button up and wiping sweat from his collar. Blush in full force as he hands you the thong resting on the kitchenette. He shakes his head at you, mirth softening the edges of his hard gaze. There’s another knock at the door.
Uniform fully back in place, Bob takes a moment to admire you before an afternoon in front of cameras. Enjoying this last moment before he gets into character. Hands on your soft hips, sated cerulean eyes appreciating the curves of your mischievous lips. “Be a good girl for me today and Daddy will give you a reward later. Deal?”
You bite your lip and nod with a smirk, opening the door of the trailer so he’s not later than he already is. Today you get to watch him do the thing he loves, that in itself is already a reward. The crowd outside the trailer watches you turn back and leave one last kiss to his lips.
“Yes…Admiral.”
Bob can’t wait to surprise you with the South Sea pearl and diamond earrings he’s saved for this day. It’s his baby girl’s first day on set, only the best to commemorate the occasion.
