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The story might seem slow to build up, but hopefully the reader will be satisfied by the end. Please note that it shifts back and forward between times.
It’s a windy day in June, 1956. The clouds chase across the sky as a woman walks among the rows of crosses in the American war cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandy. Next to her is a boy, about eleven years old, waving a stick he has found. The woman is in her late thirties, clad in a light coat, her hair in a silk scarf. Her eyes scan the names on the crosses, a look of sadness on her still beautiful face. Suddenly she finds the name she’s been looking for. She cries out:
“He’s here! Oh my God, he’s here!”
The landing craft pounded the grey waves, spray soaking its occupants, as it made its way towards the beach. To either side of it, scores of other craft were scudding along, packed with young soldiers. Smoke rose from the dunes where the naval bombardment had struck, hopefully having knocked out the defenders before they could man their machineguns, mortars and cannon aimed at the approaching invasion force. Attack aircraft roared overhead, carrying death and destruction. It was the dawn of June 6th, 1944, and Lieutenant Michael Anderson stood with his platoon, thumbing the photograph of the love of his life and wondering if he would ever see her again. Next to his heart, in a small leather pouch, was a lock of her hair, her last gift to him before they parted three days earlier. He gave the photo a final look before putting it back in his wallet. The flat-nosed boat was about to hit the beach any second now. He could hear the fast, ripping sound of the German machineguns. This would be his first time in combat, and he was careful to not show any fear or apprehension. Turning to the soldiers under his command, he shouted:
“This is it! Give them hell!”
He cursed himself for using such a trite phrase, but any regrets were quickly forgotten as the coxswain reversed the craft’s engine and dropped the ramp. The soldiers surged forward, eager to get off the flimsy vessel. They waded through the surf, intent on reaching the beach. Explosions threw up sand and water, toppling soldiers like bowling pins, while bullets zipped by, occasionally finding an unlucky target. Mike looked for the bunker his platoon was to attack, but couldn’t find it. They must have landed in the wrong sector of the beach! He looked for anything that would provide shelter to his platoon, spotted a low wall in front of the dunes. He ordered the squad leaders to advance, but the noise of combat drowned out his commands; finally he got his men moving with hand signals. He raced ahead, boots pounding the sand, his hands gripping his carbine. Reaching the wall, he flung himself down. Looking back, he saw his men running towards the shelter of the wall. A few stumbled as bullets hit them, tumbling to the sand and not getting up again. Time seemed to stop.
Half a year earlier, Second Lieutenant Michael Anderson got off a passenger liner pressed into service as a troop transport. Along with 5000 other American soldiers, he had made the passage across the Atlantic, constantly fearful of enemy submarines. They had arrived to Liverpool, and were to take a train across the south of England to their troop camp in Dorset. The soldiers were happy to have firm ground under their feet again, and to be out of the cramped quarters aboard the ship. The platoon was to reinforce the 1st Infantry Division, which was fresh back from the fighting on Sicily. Mike had his platoon formed up in squads before marching off to the railway station. He turned to his right-hand man, Sergeant Salvatore Rossi.
“Well, Sal, this is it. My father fought in France in 1918, and now it’s my turn.”
“Tell you what LT, my father fought too, but in the Italian army against the Austrians”, Sal replied.
“It would help if we knew when the invasion is going to take place, but on the other hand, it’s probably good that we don’t, as then the Jerries would know, too,” Mike mused.
“Me, I want to see what English girls are like,” Sal said, waggling his dark eyebrows.
“Huh, they’re probably as drab as this country,” Mike said, eyeing the dingy warehouses and docks.
The camp turned out to be a combination of clapboard huts and tents, marring the green fields just east of Bridport in Dorset. After settling in, a daily routine of marches and weapons training was established, preparing the troops for the big day. Mike found himself busy almost every waking hour. As an officer, he didn’t share a hut with his men, but was instead billeted in a private home in Walditch, the nearby village. The owner was away to London, but an old woman looked after the house and saw to it that Mike and Tom Wilkes, a fellow second lieutenant, got settled in their quarters. Mike explored the house, and saw that it belonged to a married couple. A framed wedding photo showed a man in Royal Navy uniform and an attractive woman in a white dress. They looked czech taxi porno smilingly at the camera, but Mike thought that her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was slim and tall, young, and beautiful in a way that surpassed pretty looks. Further exploration of the house didn’t turn up any signs of children, which for some reason Mike found a little sad.
After a day of field exercises, Mike was relaxing in a chair in front of the fireplace, where a few rationed lumps of coal did their best to disperse the chill. Wilkes was away to the local pub. Mike read a history of the First World War he had found in the study, but his mind was wandering. Noticing another book on the small table next to the chair. Mike picked it up. “Art in the Classical World”, the dust jacket proclaimed. Flipping it open, his gaze fell on a photo of a nude couple making love. Blushing, he checked the title page. “The Nude in Erotic Literature and Art,” it said, which was a more accurate description. Leafing through the book, he found that even that title was a bit tame compared to the actual contents. Mike blushed some more, but felt aroused at the same time. Half a dozen photo cards fell out of the book, and he bent down to pick them up. If the book was erotic, the cards were pure pornography. One showed a woman sucking a man’s dick, while another featured a blindfolded woman tied to a bed, a man having his way with her. Army life usually turned prudish boys into at least theoretically world-wise men, but this surpassed anything Mike had seen in his 22 years. In fact, he had never got beyond kissing his fiancée.
Hearing the front door open, Mike slammed the book shut and put it back on the side table. A woman dressed for travel entered the room, and despite her sunglasses he recognized her as the woman in the wedding photo. She looked startled, but quickly composed herself. He sprang to his feet, offering her his hand.
“Good evening, ma’am, I’m Lieutenant Michael Anderson. Thanks for letting me stay here!”
She shook his hand and replied with a small smile:
“My pleasure, Lieutenant Anderson. We must all do our part for the war effort.”
“Please call me Mike, ma’am. You’ve got a beautiful home, ma’am”
“How very American of you,” she smiled. “My name is Charlotte Higham, but my friends call me Kitty. You can, too, as long as you stop that ‘ma’am’ nonsense. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
They settled down in the front of the fireplace, enjoying the tea. She had removed her sunglasses, and Mike could see, behind her careful application of makeup, that she had a black eye. He didn’t comment on it, though, choosing to be tactful. Charlotte had let out her Siamese from his travel basket, a boy she called Harry. He curled up in her lap, purring contentedly.
“This is my one true friend,” she said, affectionately stroking his head.
“So… I take it your husband is at sea?” Mike ventured.
“Yes, David is in the Navy. I was to London to see him during his leave.” She looked unhappy.
“Have you been married long?” Mike asked.
“Since 1940. We married before he was deployed. We don’t see each other that often. The war, you know. What about you, Mike?”
“Well, I have my high school sweetheart back home. Bridget and I got engaged before I went overseas.”
“How sweet. You must look forward to seeing her again.”
Mike fell silent for a moment. He stared into his teacup. Should he tell her the truth? That it was weeks since her last letter? He looked up at her. The flickering flames from the fireplace lit Charlotte’s fine features, framed by lustrous dark locks. She gazed at him with her brown eyes, and he thought he detected something more than casual interest. Mike mustered the courage to ask the question that had bothered him.
“Excuse me, but what happened to your eye?”
Charlotte looked down at the cat, then met his gaze and said:
“It’s… nothing. I had an accident. I’m just a bit clumsy at times. I’m fine, thank you.”
He gathered that there was more to the story, but decided to not pursue it. The silence stretched out.
“David isn’t an easy man to live with,” she whispered. “He’s a good provider, but he has these mood swings when he gets drunk. I must learn to keep my mouth shut.”
Mike was taken aback. He knew that there were violent men who took out their anger on their wives, but this was the first time he saw the consequence.
“No true man hits his wife,” he growled.
She looked at him, nodding, a single tear running down her cheek.
They turned to more comfortable subjects. Mike told her about his Swedish ancestry and his childhood in Minnesota. Charlotte revealed that her mother had fled from the Ukraine during the Revolution, marrying an English professor teaching in Cambridge. Mike hadn’t felt this relaxed since he had joined the Army, and for a few moments they both forgot about the war. They were interrupted when Wilkes arrived defloration porno from the pub, smelling of cigarette smoke and wartime beer. They bid each other good night, Charlotte picking up the “art” book before going upstairs. Mike went to bed feeling happier than in a long time. Tomorrow there would be another field exercise, and he needed some sleep before reveille. The last thing he thought of before he fell asleep was Charlotte, vaguely superimposed on the vivid images in her book.
The following weeks were busy. Mike wrestled with the task of turning the platoon into an effective combat unit, and to interact with the rest of the company. He saw little of Charlotte, as she was a volunteer nurse at the nearby military hospital. One day a letter arrived from the States. It was from Bridget. He sat down before the fireplace in what had become his favorite chair.
“Dear Michael,” the letter began. Mike frowned; it was unlike Bridget to be that formal.
“I hope all is well with you,” she continued. “As for me, well, something has happened, and I know this might come at a bad time. It isn’t about you, it’s me, but I want to break off our engagement.”
Mike read on, disbelief mixed with rising annoyance that he had been right in his suspicions. She didn’t go into details, but he was certain she had met someone else. He crushed the letter into a ball and threw it at the cold fireplace, then looked in the house’s small bar, where he discovered a bottle of whisky.
When Charlotte came home, she found Mike slumped in the chair, the bottle, empty, beside him. Seeing the crumpled letter by the hearth, curiosity got the better of her, and she smoothed it out and began reading.
“Oh, Mike!” she whispered when she had finished it.
She looked at him, asleep in his chair. How different this was from her husband’s drunken rages. David had been a gentleman at first, but soon after their wedding, the abuse began. The love she had felt for him had died after the first time he had hit her, and now she was only happy when he was away. She took a blanket and covered Mike. Before she went upstairs to her room, she bent down and planted a light kiss on his cheek.
“Sleep well,” she whispered. “Dream of someone who deserves you,” feeling only slightly guilty about hoping that that someone would be her.
The war year of 1943 was drawing to a close, and New Year’s Eve arrived. The gloom was brightened by the upcoming New Year’s ball, arranged by the townspeople for the benefit of the troops. Mike had gathered the courage to ask Charlotte to be his date, knowing that local gossip could be hard on wives who went out with men other than their husbands. On the other hand, four long years of war had changed people, and any opportunity to find some joy in the midst of those terrible times was welcome. Mike donned his best uniform, his shiny new first lieutenant’s bars confirming his recent promotion. Charlotte wore her best pre-war dress and hat, and together they made a striking couple as they made their way to the ballroom. A big band was playing the latest hits from across the Atlantic, and all across the dance floor couples were dancing as if the night would never end. Almost every man was in uniform, and every woman was dressed to her teeth. The drinks and beer flowed freely, and Charlotte found she was having more fun than she had in years, even since before she met David. There were more drinks and dancing as the evening wore on.
Anticipation grew as midnight and the first day of 1944 approached. There was a mighty noise from the crowd as everyone counted down to the stroke of midnight, and when the band played “Auld Lang Syne”, hundreds of voices joined in.
“Happy new year, Kitty,” Mike said.
“Happy new year, Mike,” she replied, her husky voice betraying her desire.
He looked her deep in the eyes and kissed her. It was rather chaste, but then passion took over. Tongues playing, they kissed deeper and longer than they ever had with anyone else. The band began playing “Moonlight Serenade”, and the floor was full with couples in each others arms, Mike and Charlotte among them. She rested her head against his chest, and they let the music embrace them. Hugging closely, Mike became aware of Charlotte’s body. Her scent made something stir inside him, and her breasts pressed against him made something else stir lower down. Charlotte felt it, too, and pressed herself even closer. Mike’s mouth went dry as he got harder, Charlotte rubbing her hip against his cock. There was no question that she knew what she was doing.
“Mmm…” she purred. “I knew you are overpaid and over here, but I had yet to find evidence that you are oversexed. I’m happy to see that you are that, too.”
Mike’s heart was beating hard. It was one thing to flirt with another man’s wife, but adultery was something else entirely. On the other hand, he knew that Charlotte wasn’t happy in her marriage.
Kitty looked up at him fake agents porno with a smile. “You know, I think it’s a while since I fed my pussy,” she said. “We had probably get back to the house now.”
Mike wasn’t sure if she meant her Siamese or something else, but he took her hand and followed her lead as they departed the ballroom, heading for her home.
Wilkes was still living it up at the ball, and they were alone in the house. Charlotte did feed the cat, giving Harry the last of the breakfast kipper. Kitty led Mike upstairs without a word. Entering the bedroom, she lit a kerosene lamp and made sure the blackout curtains were in place. Charlotte stood before the bed, an expectant smile on her lips. Mike removed his uniform jacket and embraced her, kissing her passionately. His hands started unbuttoning her dress, slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Underneath was a silk slip, which soon joined the dress. Mike stepped back, taking in the sight of her clad only in bra, panties, garter belt and silk stockings.
“My turn,” she said, stepping up to Mike.
She unbuttoned his khaki shirt, then let her hand wander down to his crotch, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. He gasped. Still grabbing him, she undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He reached behind her, fumbling with the bra before finally getting it off. Her breasts were rather small, but perfectly shaped. The nipples were erect, from arousal or the cool indoor air, or both. Mike cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over the nipples. She gasped, and gave his cock a hard squeeze.
He let his hands run down her sides, resting them on her hips. She removed his vest, and they embraced, naked skin against naked skin. They kissed, their eager hands exploring their hair, necks, and backs. Tearing at each others’ underwear, they were soon naked except for Charlotte’s silk stockings. She began to stroke his cock, and he hesitantly moved his hand to the dark delta between her legs.
“There’s something I should tell you,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Still stroking his cock, she looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“You know… Bridget and I… Well…” Mike said, feeling sheepish.
“Are you telling me that you never got past kissing?” she said.
“Well, not really, no,” Mike confessed.
“Well, I’m a married woman, so just take my lead,” she said, smiling.
Holding him by his cock, she backed towards the bed. She sat down, legs apart.
“I bet she never did this to you then,” she said, and before he could react, she began licking his shaft, then letting her tongue circle the head. Mike gasped. One hand stroking him, the other fondling his balls, she then took him full in her mouth. Mike quivered, and not knowing what to do with his hands, he held her head while she sucked and licked him. It was the most intense feeling he had ever experienced, and he moaned as she pleased him.
Charlotte stopped and leaned back, licking her mouth while smiling wickedly.
“Now, it wouldn’t do if you came before I have had some fun.”
“Wha- what do you want me to do?” Mike stammered.
“Get down on your knees,” she told him.
Mike did as she said, and found himself looking at her pussy. There was a burr of curly, dark hair over her moist cleft. He touched her gingerly, but she wanted more. Taking his hand, she steered it towards her clit and showed him how to rub her. He must’ve done it right, because soon enough she was moaning and squirming. His fingers teasing her wet folds, rubbing her nub, he recalled something Sergeant Rossi had bragged about one drunken evening back Stateside. Lunging forward with his head, he gave her pussy a quick lick. Charlotte yelped, then moaned:
“More, Mike, more… please.”
He set about licking her, soon getting into the swing of things. Her juices coated his lips and chin, and she gasped and moaned as he found what made her tick. He didn’t know what to expect, but the taste of her was arousing, keeping him hard while she held on to his head. Her breathing came fast and hard, then she shuddered and cried out. Mike looked up, alarmed.
“Kitty, is something wrong?”
“Ah, Mike… Not at all…” she panted. “In fact, it’s been perfect so far.”
“Now come here,” she said, scooting up the bed, making room for Mike.
He followed, positioning himself between her legs. Her wet pussy glistened invitingly, and her flushed face was expectant.
“You know, if you hadn’t told me this was your first time, I’d have never known. You are quite the stud, aren’t you? Now fuck me!”
If Mike was shocked by her choice of words, he didn’t let it show as he tried to let his cock slide inside her waiting pussy. She guided him ever so slightly with her hand, and he rammed his engorged member home. The sensation of her wet sheath embracing his cock almost made him come then and there, but he managed to hold back. Then began the age-old ritual and Mike’s passage into manhood. Charlotte bucked as he thrusted, her hands grabbing his ass and increasing the force of each thrust. Her carefully coiffed hair had come undone, dark locks spilling over the pillow. Her usually controlled face was rapt with ecstasy as they approached the climax.
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