Riga checking

Riga Checking

Your boyfriend wants to date my small friend. Just as I did for two years. Little Riga looked lovely. She was sat down in the aircraft hangar. Nearby was her fighter plane. Her eyes closely focused on the bullets. Hundreds of machine gun bullets. Shiny like jewelry. She counted each round and checked for damage. An imperfect bullet could jam her guns. She did the same with the cannon shells. All were food for her Messerschmitt 309s guns. She trusted her armourers but liked to be sure. She got them to teach her their trade. How to disassemble each weapon after removing it from the aircraft. How to clean it. How to check each bullet and shell. A yellow ribbon tied her black hair back. Her glasses were on the table. Riga squinted at each shot. Gold and copper coloured. Pretty killing things. She slotted each one into a nylon belt. This went from the full ammo box through the gun to the empty box. Riga was only wearing green army shorts. Her legs looked desirable. The belt and shiny bullets lay across both thighs. It was a surreal pretty and deeply erotic image. Her thighs tight against the thin green fabric. Some male pilots were checking their own weapons and rounds. They glanced over to the gal when she wasn't looking. This was why she faced them checking the shots. To raise their blood pressure! She did this discreetly. Knew what buttons to push. Why her shorts were one size to small. Why she wore them. Why she wore no bra. Why she was Riga. She was good. And allowed to do this. Moral and desire increased to the sky and got results. Shot down enemy planes. Little Riga checking her bullets. Only a combat pilot yet so much more. All things to all men especially those already taken. It the way she handled herself, looked at you or flirted with you. Even if she said she didn't. Nobody was like her. No other gal checked bullets this way. Just look at her smile...