BEST VOYAGER GROUP
Title: STRAPHANGERS
Author: R Schultz ( cousindream@aol.com )
Series: Far Out Alt. Universe VOYAGER
Pairing Code: J/7/T/Others(m)
Rating: NC-17 for both sex and violence.
Summary: Long Binh Hospital complex, near Than Suhn Nhut, Saigon, north of Saigon, the night of January 31st, 1968.
Warning: some graphic violence, not to mention a li'l soft spanking sex, but no actual S/M or B/D.
Disclaimer: All things Trek belong to some rich middle-aged white guys who own Paramount and ViaBorgCom. Which is a great injustice. This story only uses similar names. My Captain Janeway is only by chance similar to the Star Trek one. Happily enough that means Paramount can go suck itself. All story rights belong to me under the Berne International Copyright laws.
Note: Originally created for the CaFF, but they went belly-up. July 2002, 11,700 words, now posted to the FFF.
This story will be archived at the FFF site, then ASCEML. May be archived elsewhere, but please notify.
Comments to: cousindream@aol.com
by R Schultz
I leaned back, letting go the day's tensions, feeling my age in my joints, as well as in my memories and dreams. I loved lying here, forgetting everything. Waiting for my sweetheart to come to me on soft feet and love.
I felt free and content, nothing on but a single flannel nightshirt. Maybe when my sweetling arrived she wouldn't be too exhausted from her duty shift. A smile-worthy thought. All these years and my young woman still liked to make love to the old Captain. I tried not to think of how much older I was.
The stars overhead were often harsh and cold, but tonight they were -- maybe not friendly -- but neutral. Just doorways to possibilities, faraway warmth, twinkles. I sighed, closing my eyes, listening to eternity, waiting for my smiling lover.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
At first I thought it was a Mike-Mike, a Mad Minute. One of those moments when some newbie, a over-tightly wound sentry, hears a weird voice in the night, and tries to shoot a fuck-you lizard.
Thus starting a fire-fight with shadows and noises instead. Naturally everyone on the green line opened up as soon as the firing began. Better start firing just in case some main force sapper was trying to plant a satchel in your bunker.
I'd heard it happen dozens of times. A gekko lizard whispers a dirty phrase in some Fucking New Guy's ear and it's fireworks time again.
I knew this time it was different as soon as the chopper pilots began zooming overhead with their dander up. Huey gunships do not engage in Mad Moments. They were popping caps in earnest and it was close by. Someone left trails of rockets in the night. Through the open window I could see red tracer lines in the sky.
What the hell. I'd already had an hour's sleep and I'm sure I read somewhere too much sleep was bad for a person.
Boots went on first, then a fast slip tie a paratrooper had taught me. Off a nearby chair I pulled on my only slightly sweaty shirt. The little fan hadn't done much good.
Over my ass pack went my nurse's greens, the ones with the extra loops for holding instruments, and hip pockets for more gear. I was glad I'd slept in pants and sweat-stinking bra. It made the transition to quickly dressed and moving out the door a lot easier. Then the lights went out.
The lights came back on, then they flickered off, and came back on just as I got through the door to my second-floor ward ODH room.
Then they went out again, flickered, and stayed out. I could hear serious incoming, towards both the golf course and the LBJail, the stockade. The windows rattled from a not so distant explosion, and I saw another bright explosion off towards the west fence and the corner of the hospital compound. Grenades? Three more explosions followed in quick succession, off towards the MP barracks south of the golf course. Those looked like large mortars to me, 120's. Something loud and large went off around the corner of the adjacent hospital building.
This was serious. So much for damned Romney and his damned light at the end of the damned tunnel.
This was Long Binh, Republic of South Vaet-Naem. Close by, the MacV HQ was over in Tan Suhn Nhut, and the giant airbase was over there as well.
As well as the air-conditioned building where they kept the big computers. Thihn's damned Negro boyfriend worked over there.
In happier times I'd been to a few meals over at the big Officer's Club there. Courtesy of some sweet young Staff Officer who was trying to perform a crawl-into-my baggy-pants operation on the Real Pussy head nurse. Western women were at a premium here, even in Saigon, and even when meaning an over-the-hill broad like me. But it takes a bit more than a thick sirloin and a Mai-Tai to bed this old officer.
Quite flattering, actually. I'm an old broad, but being a round-eye and female (and reasonably attractive) in Saigon made me a desirable commodity.
That Officer's Club was where all those fat Congressmen were shown the spiffy grounds during their very important investigative tours. They got to admire the white-washed pebble walks, and then they ate thick New York strip and thirty-year-old Scotch in the bar. Perhaps the VIP then tried on some cute three-hair whore fifteen years younger than his Scotch. Or younger, if he wished. The whore, I mean. Not the Scotch.
Gotta keep those VIP's happy.
The more ambitious Congressman might take a quick trip by chopper to some secure LZ, so they could say they'd seen the REAL Vaet-Naem. Afterwards they went back home to lie about their experiences in the war zone.
I hoped there were a few VIP's present tonight to enjoy the 120 MM mortar fire. Make for a little variation in their fairy tales.
It was really dark outside, though I could make out lights at the MP barracks. Lots of BIG explosions back towards the Race Course and downtown Saigon. One rocket trail arching down towards the MP barracks. Maybe a little sniper fire would clear out Tu Do street. That'd be something notable. Downtown Saigon and not a pimp on a motorbike to be seen.
Jeez, I had two months in on my second tour, and I was realizing that the empty feeling in my gut wasn't from a premature attack of cramps or PMS.
Charles was coming in during their own Tet festival. That was all right. I never did lay much store in any truce the Cong were party to.
The ward was in an uproar, quieting down as our new butterbar, Lt. Hansen, took her tall green-clad ass to the upright equipment locker and found the other flashlights. Five or seven of the more ambulatory were clustered around her waiting for someone to take charge. I sighed, knowing that someone was me. No hiding in my bunk tonight.
"Captain Janeway," the tall blond squeaked at me, "I'm glad you're here. What should we do now?"
If her voice was squeaking, she had cause. Not everyone gets to experience a little mortaring her first week in from the real world. Welcome to Vaet-Naem, honey. Hope like hell you don't have to grab your ass with both hands tonight, and kiss it good-bye, It's such a big cute ass.
Thihn had such a small skinny ass. Faithless bitch.
"Listen up, all you grunts," I began. "We have a FUBAR situation here, and you've all just been drafted into the most raggedy-assed Ruff-Puff defense force in South Vaet-Naem.
"Mine.
"You bic? You understand?" Being field grunts instead of Rear Echelon Muther-Fuckers, useless Straphangers, they made noises instead of giving me any strack "Yes Sir's".
God save me from Rear Echelon straphangers at a time like this.
"We've just become Indian Country tonight and you're all back in the field, and for the moment I'm the OC.
"Lt. Hansen here is my Exec, and until anyone comes along soon who wants to be in charge and knows one end of a Mattel-16 from another, that's the way it will be." More noises of agreement.
God, I loved these guys. They didn't panic and they were willing to follow me into hell, just so long as I had rank and a few balls.
In a few minutes I had three corporals and a Staff Sergeant as NCO's in my army, and no weapons. Excepting some wicked-looking scapels. In these guys hands they were good night weapons.
One hefty black each was given a flashlight, a scapel, and told to stand guard by the swinging rear and front ward doors. And brain or slice anyone suspicious who showed his head. Otherwise we conserved the batteries and put everyone on the floor that we could. A few beds were pulled on their sides and we put the non-amb's behind them.
Maybe it'd protect some of them if some sapper threw a satchel charge in here.
Faint hope.
Still, these were MY grunts and nothing was going to happen to them if I could help it.
Time to reconnoiter, and draft some armed grunts into my army if I could find any. This building's corner position was probably the most vulnerable spot in the hospital area. Closest to the Iron Triangle, from which I had a feeling Charlie had come from.
I saw and heard more explosion flashes, off by the four conex boxes outside that we were using for storage sheds. That meant someone had probably penetrated the hospital perimeter, and was already in the compound. Those were grenade flashes. I think. I hated to think what one of their Coca-Cola can grenades fill of nails and C4 would do in some ward.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That's what I had a feeling I was ear-deep in tonight.
"Come with me, Lt. Hansen. You, Sergeant Carey, you're in charge until my return. Keep the ward dark and watch out for sappers."
And then do what?, I asked myself. But an officer has always got to sound like she, or he, knows what they're doing. It's part of the fine print on the back of the commission that makes you an officer and a gentleman by act of Congress. The dyke in me liked being a gentleman.
We went down by the inside back stairs, and peeking through the window I got much more of a panoramic view of the fighting than I wanted. Lots of tracer and flashes, most of it to the north and west of me. I then heard four or six rounds hit the wall behind me, and turned to see if Annika -- Lt. Hansen -- was hit.
She was staring transfixed at the splinters of wall wood that had embedded themselves in her right hand. She could see where the rounds had hit, just an inch or so from her head. Neat little round holes, probably AK-47 rounds. Someone unfriendly was much too close to me. Mostly, though, I hoped that lovely face of Lt. Hansen's wouldn't get marred.
Jeez, and she might still be cherry.
I pulled two of the splinters out and told her to pull the rest out by herself. Get a grip, I demanded. My newbie was shaking and wide-eyed. Like I was.
I'd love to hold you tight and tell me things were going to be all right, honey, but now was not the time for romance. I settled for telling her to pull out the splinters, pull herself together, and come along. Neither of us had time for histronics.
First floor was dark and organized. I'd figured that Latina nurse had her ward operational. She was not any kind of a wilting violet. Good girl.
Lt. Torres had two clap-checkers, two orderlies, Spec.'s Paris and Kim, already at the doors. She was also shaking like a reed in a storm.
At first I thought she was scared. Then she accidentally brushed my arm with her bra-less boobs and I realized her nips were hard as Plymouth Rocks.
She was excited by all this.
If we made it through the night okay she'd lose that sharp edge of thrill. Or else she'd grab somebody and fuck the sense out of them in her excited state. Maybe both. Both would be better.
Exhaustion and long intimate contact with the war would change her. You can stay excited or mad for just so long, and then you're left feeling bored and exhausted.
Lt. Hansen and I went outside, trying to see by the distant lights and instinct. We were hoping we could find a regiment of AirCav out here to protect our vulnerable asses. In a pinch I'd settle for a few sober MP's armed with Mattels, or 45 cal sub-machine guns. Or pistols. Or night sticks. Or spears. Anything.
There was loud groaning coming from the conex boxes, and a few reassuringly English cuss words.
I waved Hansen to come with me, and realized I had Spec Paris, the orderly, right behind us. Thanks for the vote of confidence, I thought. I'm glad someone thinks I know what we're doing.
What was the source of the cussing was a tall colored man, still wearing his MP brassard. There were bodies all around him, and he was kneeling, trying to find vitals on one of them. A Negro round-eye Code Five, one of ours, lay on the ground there. The other four tag-and-bags brought every hair on my head to attention.
They were my worst nightmares come down to earth and made solid. They were four bundles of rags, shorts and tire-rubber Ho Chi Minh sandals, and wearing packs on their backs.
Satchel charges.
It was Cong sappers come to blow us all into hamburger.
When I moved, I discovered I had kicked a coke can VC grenade out of the way. If I could see clearly, I could probably find where others of its type had gone off in the immediate area. That was the source of those close-by explosions.
I crouched by the downed MP, and told the tall colored MP his bro was a goner. Waxed.
He cussed a little bit more, then answered my questions by giving me his name and rank. First Sgt. Tuvok, a city boy with a back-bay accent and a reassuringly lethal MP45, a grease gun, in his capable-looking hands.
He was calm, and I had a feeling he'd already done more in this war than busting drunks with his walnut head-rapper. He handled that grease gun with confidence, the kind you get from using it in anger a few times.
I told him to give his dead buddies M1 carbine to Spec Paris, and told the two of them to make a reconnoiter of the conex boxes and the fence.
Where had the sappers come in, and were there more of them?
Lt. Hansen and I set ourselves to stripping the Cong sappers of their weapons and ammo. Lt. Hansen didn't like souveniring the dead, but I pretended she had no choice in the matter.
She began looking for weapons under one corpse and I turned to the Kentucky Alpha closest to me. So small he seemed. My imagination had painted images of tall strong Orientals as the fearsome VC sapper, the supermen of the Commie cause.
Instead they were the size of children, and looked like something icky that Jake, my Irish Setter back home, might drag into the back yard to play with. They were nothing but toy humans, not real people at all.
This war was a children's crusade.
To my surprise the bloody Cong I put hands on, rolled over away from me, and then rolled back.
The bastid had been faking. Wounded, but not dead.
This damned Charles tried first to put a cap in me with his SKS rifle. The long rifle barrel bounced off my thick Hoosier skull and went flying away. Lucky. Otherwise I was SOL .... Shit Outta Luck,
I countered with a scalpel thrust into his hand, but all that prompted was a grunt. Hardly a scream of pain. Suddenly he was looking more and more like the superman who was going to bag my flabby ass.
He crawled on top of me, the rifle gone somewhere. His breath stunk and his body stunk of that jungle rot everyone brings back from the bush. His spittle flew in my face as he muttered something excited and angry at me. It was then I realized he was trying to pull his parachute-cord type of satchel charge igniter.
I bit that hand as damned hard as I could.
He wanted to blow me and himself and probably Lt. Hansen to small nitrate-smelling bits. I was staring into the wide Asiatic eyes of a suicide bomber who was willing to settle for me if he couldn't get into one of the wards.
I think, I hoped, he had been shot already, by the MPs. I was hoping he was weakened by his wound near onto death. Or I'd have probably already lost the struggle long ago.
Die, you sonofabitch. Instead I could feel him reaching for that big square D-ring.
Again I bit that hand as hard as I could and he screamed and slapped me REALLY hard with the uninjured hand. He had lost his rifle or he could have brained me with it.
Right now pain must not be very important to him. But I think I loosened a few teeth.
Stars in my eyes, again I grappled with the hand reaching for the detonator cord. He slipped free and got one finger on the pull cord.
Sweet Mary, full of grace, Mother of God, forgive me, for I have sinned. I heartily repent of my many transgressions....
I got that hand in my teeth again, and tried to rip something loose. He shook me free like a terrier, and tried again for the cord. One of my hands went for his, the other tried to gouge his eyes out.
There was nothing left in the world but him and me and the smell of blood and his hand almost finding that detonator handle again.
I was losing the fight.
Father, forgive me, I love you, MaMa, sweet Mary, Jesus.....
I'm going to die now.
And I've never seen Barbados.
He stopped to spit on me and I almost laughed. Spitting on me before he killed me. That's rich.
Hail Mary, full of grace.....
He spit again and again. I could taste his spit in my face. It tasted copper.
He was bleeding all over me, coughing up blood, haemorrhaging. Then he shuddered and I felt his urine warm me as he spit more blood and died.
Die you sumbitch. How DARE you try to kill me?
Obviously I now had the leisure to feel angry.
He was still moving, and he was still warm, but he didn't resist me as I pushed both of his hands away from his body. Shuddering, he died again or something. Laying on top of me. He died on top of me. I could feel the life go out of him.
I knew he'd died. I'd seen lots of our own armed children die on the table. Those terribly young soldiers of ours all seemed so close in years to toys and grade school. Children. This Cong was probably not as old as most of the grunts inside my wards. The war of the children.
Korea's straight-legs had seemed so much older. This war was different.
Korea seemed ninety years ago, right then.
The Cong sapper, his breath, his body, still stunk, and so did mine, now.
When I rolled out from under, Lt. Hansen stopped carving on his back and finally really began to stare at her handiwork.
Annika Hansen, beautiful straight girl, scalpel in hand, had just saved my overage dykey female self.
I was never so much in love in my life, as I was right then, holding that shaking blood-drenched woman in my own shaking arms. I love you, you fucking gorgeous woman, marry me, run away with me and make my life complete.
I finally let her go, and turned to the now very, very dead Cong I had been bumping bellies with.
Lt. Hansen was going to make a great ER Nurse. She had made as neat and concise a series of incisions as I'd ever seen. She'd opened up his back, and punctured his lung, a long gaping razor-straight opening into his insides. Probably nearly severed his lung in two, judging from the depth of the lateral strokes. Then she cut a deeper groove to reach the heart until she could slice into one or two of the chambers.
Explosive decompression. He probably bled out in two or three seconds.
Turning around again, I could see my perfect blonde was about to go to tiny pieces. Not now, beautiful. You go to pieces and I'll be lying on the ground and screaming right alongside you. Can't let that happen.
So I pulled her away from the sapper, slapped her and then held her close. Acting calm and in control gave me something to do so that I didn't fall on the ground and blubber in complete and total panic.
We were both soaked with a few pints of what was (probably) type A or AB blood. Vietnamese usually have A or AB blood.
Lt. Hansen and I must have looked a real sight to Paris and Tuvok when they returned. They hadn't heard a thing. Come to think of it, none of us had made any loud noises.
We probably both stank, also. Blood and shit.
Time for a few field expedients.
I drew Lt. Hansen to the side, and we both decided to peel down between the conex boxes and try to clean ourselves with a few lung bandages I had in my ass pack. Nice big bandages in nice big cloth wrappings.
Inelegant, but Lt. Hansen was happy to concentrate on something so mundane as cleaning someone else. We'd all given the grunts a helping bedpan in our time. This time we helped each other.
Not an ideal first date.
War is indeed hell.
I'm sure Paris and Tuvok both knew what we'd been doing, when we reappeared.
Paris now had an AK-47, and a Makarov pistol. I took the pistol, and gave Annika the M1 Carbine. It was a light weapon and didn't have much kick to it, so she should be able to handle it. Paris took the 45, the AK-47, and the SKS rifle inside.
They'd found another dead sapper by the fence. Paris said he'd thought it was just a small bundle of rags until Tuvok put a precaution round in him. Tuvok had his own little fall-back, a Russian revolver he had gotten on the local black market. Somewhere I had packed away my own little ChiCom Mauser pistol as my own souvenir. Never find it tonight. And I'll never go away from home without it ever again.
This Cong had one of those multi-pocket vests full of baseball grenades, and a SKS rifle with a now broken stock. Not much use to us, so Tuvok pitched it into some shadows by my two-story hospital building.
Spec. Kim followed Paris back, now carrying the 45 and the AK-47 was in the hands of Carey. My Army was growing by .... stumbles and farts?
One volunteer, an ambulatory cook, Neelix, was told to go back inside, and use the SKS to protect the building. I hoped he knew how to use the damned thing if need arose. A wounded cook was almost a contradiction in terms, but he was a Spec 6, and I presumed he at least knew where the trigger was.
I was now armed and dangerous, as the joke about the new Lieutenant goes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The stars gave just enough light so that I could sense the almost unseen but welcome form of my dearest love. First the barefoot steps, then the sweet scent of her, then the occluded stars telling me where she was.
All was ship-shape on VOYAGER and the universe was as it should be. For the Captain at least. I felt the hand of my heart's desire and all was good.
Her lips found mine as we kissed in the darkness and the faint shine of far-distant suns. I knew somehow she was as naked as I was under my nightshirt, All was indeed well on my ship. I smiled into the darkness as her knowing hand found a nipple.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Borrowing a page from the grunts, I decided the best defense was a roving patrol to constantly circle my building and a section of the fence. And incidentally keep an eye out for things beyond our immediate area of responsibility.
I had Tuvok with his grease gun, Carey, Paris and Kim with the AK-47's and the 45 cal automatic pistol. Not being too much use in the patrol, Lt. Hansen and I made a laager behind one of the conex boxes and kept an eye on the gap in the fence where the sappers had come through. We had the vest of lemon grenades and a trio of home-made Coca-Cola can VC grenades to keep us company, Hopefully no one would find the satchel charges, where we had hidden them inside one of the conex boxes.
After an hour I discovered both I and the sexy Annika had to fight to stay awake. An enemy intent on putting a cap into my aging body might appear at the fence at any time, but we were both liable to fall asleep at our post first.
So much for the thrill and alertness of danger.
To the west, I thought our side must be holding on to the golf course, and good for them. The firing continued all through the night over there, so the Cong must have been stopped. Red and green tracers all over the place.
Some officer somewhere was probably hoping the golf course greens didn't get too many holes shot in it. Can't tee off properly if a mortar round ruins all that fine Kentucky blue-grass. Rocket-created divots play hell with a General's golf games.
Some time in the morning black, some gekko croaked a bass "Fuck you" in Annika's ear, and she screeched loudly into the night. Surprise, surprise.
Once a paratrooper from The Herd told me he carried a Louisville Slugger around in Indian country. He'd wait at his sentry post until some gekko would crawl on top of the sandbags to issue its famous welcome to the GIs.
No "Fuck you!" for this sentry, though. Just a good hard pop fly and an out-of-the-ball-park drive over the concertina and claymores and tanglefoot wire. That particular gekko would never darken his sandbag parapet again.
Better a nice obscene bug-eating gekko than one of those nasty little green snakes they called the two-step. Did snakes wander around at night? I knew the big hungry cesspool rats did.
I decided not to mention anything about snakes or rats to Lt. Hansen. Not tonight, anyways. She had enough worries.
Bored, we started talking. I told her I was from Indiana, and she said she was from Texas.
I'd spent a few years in hospitals in San Antonio and Fort Hood. A young girl who walked both sides of the road could find her dance card full all of the time, down there. There wasn't anything else to do, besides get drunk. I'd taken a few handsome young men to my busom, so to speak. But I'd never bedded anyone as top-drawer as the curvy Nurse Hansen.
Annika chatted about the Palomino she had left behind. She described her dress rider's outfit, all black and white shirt and silver attachments, from the conch's in a ring around the brim of her flat-topped hat to silver-toed black boots. Big silver belt buckle, silver all over her vest and down the side of her tight pants. She'd won a few silver plates from shows she and "Tony" had competed in. Dressage, barrel riding, hog-tying, lariat. But mostly she revealed a young girl's obsession with her male horse.
How normal she was. My heart sank realizing how wicked I would look to her if she knew me well. She very probably WAS cherry and as far out of reach to me as if she had been on Mars.
She was also deadly cute. I would have loved to play a little grab-ass with that body of hers, but this was not quite the time or place for it. Besides, she was so incredibly straight AND naive. The curse of the love that dares not speak its name was that most gals didn't know anything about it.
Personally, my opinion was that bisexuality or homosexuality was NOT a mental disease, but since the Sunday newspaper magazines said it was, it was to everyone else in America.
I could smell her sweat and cologne, hear the rustle of her new ODs and see her body next to mine. I ached to feed her lips to mine.
Kate, you numbskull, you keep falling for girls who visit Boys Town only. Wise up.
Mind you, I'd done my share of time picking up stray males, but I'd felt my nips spike the moment this blond ultimate female had waltzed into my life. My dykeness was in complete control the minute I saw her walking towards me.
You're rebounding, I told myself. Lost one girl and you want to hop into another one's bed to dull the pain. Wise up.
Annika told me about the boy back home, who wanted to marry her and get her pregnant and be a smiling PTA member and become a nurse at some local clinic instead of being in the Army.
I evaded naming any guys I presently had my sights on. What is it about us gals we immediately start talking about "our" guys as soon as we can?
She'd probably be shocked to know my "guy", or my ex-guy to be accurate, was a cute lady dink.
Thihn had taken me to a bath house down by the warehouse district, taken me inside, stripped me and threw me in a scalding bath, in a tub built like an Italian wine-vat. Afterwards we repaired to a cool-down room which had three other pairs of women doing things Billy Graham would not smile over. Then Thihn began pouring aromatic oils over both our bodies. Ever lock groins together when the both of you are slicker than a greased pig?
Thihn was one Dragon Lady whose specialty was a soothing oily bath-house massage and energetic hand-jass. That was me only a few weeks ago. Swooning over a young heavenly-looking slope woman who gave a great -- no, miraculous, steam and cream.
Faithless bitch.
Annika ooohed to hear me describe the perfect sloop I wanted to own some day. Live on it, travel the waterways and lakes of America. Visit Catibbean islands and take part in the Tampa Pirate's Festival.
I'd never seen Barbados.
I talked a little bit about Korea MASH outfits and stateside duty stations, making light of my decision to stay in the service.
I talked freely about the sweet but alcoholic male Captain-ranked war vet I was serious about for a while. This was after my Korea tour. He had made Landstuhl, Germany, an interesting place. Ever made love on a mountain ledge eight thousand feet up? Takes your breath away.
Hawaii had also been nice. Not to mention it was the scene of my one and only genuine honest to belvedere orgy.
I couldn't tell her how the high point of that tour had been the delightfully depraved Delaney sisters who shared their women, and introduced me to girl loving. All those years and I'd never had a female before.
I was a fast learner.
My Irish Setter was mentioned, and I romanticized the Indiana winters. I could have used a little snowfall right about then.
Annika wished she had the drive to become a doctor, but it was so hard finding a med school that'd take a woman.
Tuvok, Carey, Kim and Paris came by on their patrol. Tuvok said they were keeping an eye out for the other three buildings closest to mine. I said that was fine. He said no combat patrols from the Swamp Angels had arrived to relieve us. He was trying to make a joke. I loved him for the attempt.
We exchanged a nice comradely man-to-man arm pat. It was nice to be accepted as one of the guys. Annika looked towards the receding four men , and turned to me when they were out of whisper-hearing range.
"I've been told colored men are better lovers than white men. Is that true?"
For a second or two neither one of us realized what Lt. Hansen had just done. She assumed I, being an older and more experienced woman, could tell her from personal knowledge what sort of lovers colored men were.
It was dark, but I knew she was blushing. A few soft stuttering words came from her as she tried to figger out how to apologize to me. A respectable well-brought-up young lady from east Texas didn't casually tell another white woman she thought she'd bedded a Negro man.
"I've heard they are, they're not afraid to use, well, their mouths, to please a woman. That what you've heard too?" She'd find out in her own good time how hard it was to get a man to stick his tongue between a woman's legs. Jeez, maybe she WAS cherry yet.
Off the hook, she stammered a weak affirmative.
Couldn't tell her I'd had a Negro WOMAN once. Or say I hoped someone had taken this particular dyke aside since, and taught her how to give head.
Imagine if you will a bulldagger who couldn't give good lip service.....
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My sweet stripped my nightshirt off, and we lingered on each other's lips. Then she swung off the bunk and pulled my legs towards her. Caressing the insides of my thighs, sighing as she found my nipples with her tongue tip, opening my legs as she dragged my ass to the edge.
I made my own sighs as I raised my knees in the air, anticipating loving and reassurance. My busily masturbating hand told me I was already wet, puffy and opening.
Her soft mouth found my groin, my thighs, my labia, the opening of my vagina. She had such a gloriously soft mouth, such a long tongue, such intensity. Nothing existed when she ate me but my warm moist sex and her own need to pleasure me. Was ever there such a lover? Certainly not on VOYAGER. I felt so unworthy of her, so old, so needing of her touch, her loving. I would die for her. She was my universe.
Then her teeth found my hard clit.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I showed Annika how to arm one of those Cong coke can grenades. Pull the pin in the handle, and then yank it up and down to start the fuze. Or just throw it, that armed it. She commented our lemon grenades looked awfully small to be dangerous. I explained to her how when it exploded, thousands of thin razor shards filled the air. That Cong by the fence opening had been shredded to death.
She shuddered and I resisted the urge to pull her near and whisper comforting words in her ear. I wondered if she'd heard any rumors about me and girls? Previous to tonight, I'd always been careful not to make any passes at my nurses. Tonight I felt like stripping this one nurse in particular and licking her all over, right in the damned dirt.
Me and beautiful women. Katie's Kurse.
Thihn was beautiful, oh my yes.
Thihn was a Dragon Lady with a large French revolver, one of those female auxiliaries the Saigon government used for low-risk jobs that didn't need a male to accomplish.
I'd been walking towards the Y-bridge down Tu Do street, experiencing the unique noise, stench and motor-bikes driven by kamikazes.
As I turned to get a motorbike taxi to take me back to base, five Dragon Ladies came strolling past me. Their big straw hats were scarfed to their throats, their cham-song's were black and white, and their smiles said they were having fun. Every one of the five took my dykey breath away. I'd already heard a lot about how some of these Dragon-Ladies liked other women, which made them an object of curiosity to me. And in the eyes of most Saigon GIs. Remington Warriors, I should say. Rear Area Straphangers.
All that bunch of lifers and castratos were probably hiding under their bunks tonight.
At any rate, this one Dragon Lady immediately caught my eye and she made a veer to greet the western gal. She was cute as hell, but teasing round-eyes was her game. Screw with the White Devil female, have a little fun. Instead I smiled back and when she patted me on my rear, I kept the hand there. I forgot all my fears about diseases when her smile became warm and genuine.
It was lust at first fondle.
In sixty minutes we were lying on our sides, naked as sin, and licking each other into our second or third comes.
Her small room stank, her small bed stank, her food stank, and her delicious pussy had about twelve straight black hairs on it, just like everyone said about the Vietnamese women. I thought I was in heaven. The language barrier wasn't, at that point in time.
In the next week I got us a small apartment on the other end of Soul Alley, where the Negros kept their women, down near the river. Lots of lesbians lived there, being as inconspicuous as they could get during a war. When not making mad passionate love, Thihn learned English and I learned to ignore Vietnamese smells. She didn't have a trace of disease.
For a Vietnamese, Thihn now lived well. She had a round-eye footing the bills. She was my mistress, and whenever I could (which wasn't very often), I spent the night there. We had sex constantly.
I let 'accidentally slip' to everyone else that I had an enlisted rank lover, a three-rocker, and we had to get together rarely and down in Saigon. Officers weren't supposed to have "relations" with EMs.
Excepting when some officer snagged one of the doughnut dollies, Red Cross volunteers. As they were civilians that made it all right, it seemed.
Meanwhile, I tried to figure out a way to take Thihn stateside with me, but I couldn't. So I signed up for another war-zone tour back-to-back, and we had another year or two to figure out what to do.
Thihn had already figured out what to do. She wanted out of Vietnam and the only way to do that was to marry a GI. Any male American.
Faithless bitch.
He was an civilian worker in that air-conditioned Computer lab part of MacV, and he was a contractee, and he was from Detroit. He was still in the employ of Burroughs, and as soon as his contract here expired he was going back to Detroit. Guaranteed.
Burroughs knew he was a great computer man, and in the new era of racial integration, he was priceless to them. He was a Negro graduate of Michigan State. He was going to earn lots of money when he got back to the Real World.
I'd even seen him. Like everyone else working in the frigid Computer lab, he contracted pneumonia at least twice a year, and he'd been laid up in one of my wards. Not a bad sort, I thought.
Still, my faithless bitch had thrown me over for a hard-leg with a licorice stick.
The irony was that Thihn was going to go back to Michigan with him, warm his bed, be his souvenir, be his smiling wife, his bragging piece. Then after six or ten months, she was going to surprise him with divorce papers. I didn't envy him his surprise.
She'd already told me her plan, the same night she told me to go fuck myself. To make that instruction more difficult to accomplish, she kept all the vibrators.
And thanks, she said, for the nice apartment. Maurice thought it a nice place. Maurice thought Thihn was a pretty nice gal, nicely brought up, genteel, knowledgeable of English, and adoring of him.
I wish I'd a Polaroid of us in bed, her two-timing face in my cunt. Something to give to him for a wedding present. But Thihn kept all the Polaroid's too. I felt like asking Maurice, did she squeal for you like she did for me?
Yes, I was bitter.
Tonight I hoped she was safe, down there in the other end of Soul Alley. I'd hate to see her hurt. I guess I still loved the faithless bitch a little.
I silenced Annika when I thought I heard a noise by the fence. Was that movement? On a night like this you had to figure anyone creeping around was Charlle.
If I ever got through this night I was going to apply for a Combat Infantryman's Badge. And one for Annika. I'm going to put her in for a Bronze Star with V, too. If they could give some mechanic a Bronze Star for fixing a General's Japanese air conditioner, they could give one to Lt. Hansen for saving my life.
That noise again. I put a hand on Annika's lucious lips before she could talk. This time the noise was accompanied by a darker dark than the night. I could have imagined the noise, or it could have been one of those damned rats the size of a cat. But the darker blobs were too large and seemed to be moving.
Blobs. More than one. On the other side of the fence. Mister Charles was visiting. Again.
I carefully pulled the pin out of one of the lemon grenades and gave it to Annika, making sure she kept the hammer down until she wanted to throw it. I took one of the Cong grenades, hoping this one worked. They didn't always want to work.
Grenades, yeah. A pistol or M1 carbine in this darkness? We just MIGHT be able to hit the broad side of a barn.
Unfortunately the Coke can grenade made a noise when I pulled the handle back to start it's fuze going. The shapes suddenly had voices, and figures began forcing themselves through the hole in the fence.
The good news was that my aim was decent and the damned thing blew just before it landed amongst the enemy. I didn't see anyone fall down, though.
The bad news was that Annika's grenade fell short. The good news was that someone was just stepping over it when it went boom.
God, but they moved fast! One was to us immediately, and he grappled with Annika. She screamed, he grunted, and she cried in pain. My Makarov was in my hand when I stepped to her side, the pistol almost resting on her arm as I put four or five rounds into whoever she was fighting.
He went down, Annika went down, and I went down as someone almost knocked my head off my shoulders.
I fell back, galaxies in my eyes. He slammed something hard against me, and I cried out in pain. He'd hit me square in my breast, and it was more through reflex than sense that I fired every remaining round in that Makarov. He fell but he was still alive.
He slammed me again from a kneeling position, and I felt my entire shoulder had to be broken.
This time I knew I was dead.
There was an utterly blinding flash, and I waited to die of gunshot wounds. He fell on me. By now I was ready for the taste of blood.
Tuvok rolled the Cong off me, and started putting make-sure rounds into the Cong around the fence and conex boxes. He wasn't trying to save any of the four for later. He'd put a burst from his SMG into the Cong I was wrestling with. As a side effect blinding me. I wasn't complaining about that. From the shooting stars still flashing in my eyes, he probably fired absolute point-blank. Waxed the Cong and blinded me.
Paris was trying to minister to me, and I could make out Kim working on what I assumed to be Lt. Hansen.
Annika was hurt! I had to go to her!
I got to my knees, ignoring Paris trying to make me lie down. Not bloody likely, not while Annika needed me.
It was my left shoulder that felt broken, collar bone at a minimum, the nurse in me said. Paris accepted the inevitable and helped me to Annika's side.
She was already hysterical and delirious, and Kim was giving her a second syrette of morphine for the pain. Paris opened my ass pack without a by-your-leave and was quickly stuffing a clean bandage into her gaping upper abdomen wound.
Bayonet or knife.
She can't die on me. Not when I'd just now found her. She was too beautiful to die. I wouldn't let her die. Never.
I stayed erect, telling Paris and Kim in my best command tones to carry her immediately into the first floor of the hospital building. Slinging their weapons, Carey and Tuvok assisted.
She looked so helpless in the near-darkness.
We came through the swinging doors at a run, and Lt. Torres had a gurney for us instantly. Good girl.
She knew what to do next. She took scissors and scalpel to Annika's clothes, peeling her naked between nipples and groin. Torres was screaming for whole blood, reading Annika's tags by flashlight for type. She had Neelix hold the bottle of whole in the air until a rack was found. She sloshed disinfectant on the wound, and gave Annika a third syrette to blank her out.
It was my left shoulder that was broken, so with my right hand I started clamping off all the blood vessels I could find in a flashlight's glow. In seconds a dozen willing hands must have been holding flashlights, standing around the gurney.
Plasma went into the other arm, and Kim was the scrub nurse for us, dousing our hands with disinfectant whenever he could get a chance. Paris knew many of the instruments, and I patiently explained what was needed next and what it would look like. Someone ran upstairs to find more clamps and hemostats.
Tuvok returned to the outside, intent on guarding us all. He saluted us before he went.
Paris was running blood in his face, it looked like half his forehead was flapping loose. Carey calmly tied a bandage around his head, sponging the blood out of his eyes. I hadn't even known Paris was wounded.
Carey went to join Tuvok.
Nurse Torres was cleaning the cavity, sewing the major vessels closed, swabbing blood out of the cavity constantly, so we could see what we were doing. The mound of bloody sponges on the floor grew and I did not cry or moan.
Cut intestines were in our way constantly, and we repeatedly tied off one loose end and cleaned out the mess, but we constantly had to do it all over again for the next. Hail Mary, full of grace, give this innocent her life tonight. Tomorrow others will fight her infections from dirty intestines. Merciful Jesus grant me this prayer tonight. Not for myself, for her.
Not for a moment could I pause, not for a second could I dare contemplate her dying. I drove on, I worked non-stop, Torres across from me twice as busy as myself. Heavenly Father, thank you for giving me Lt. Belle Anna Torres on this night of fire. Blessed Mary, grant me strength, do not let me falter or fail this night. I cannot stop.
I couldn't. Annika needed me.
Someone put sterile gloves on me and Torres, and clean swabs were constantly put in our hands. Torres never missed a step, and I did what I could with one right hand. I now had Kim being my other hand, albeit a clumsy one, and we fell into a relentless rhythm as we worked desperately to save one of our own.
Annika was a thin edge away from life, and I could not lose her. I could not. I could not.
We needed a real doctor here, and where the hell was one? We needed light, we needed a sterile OR, we needed ...... a little luck.
The lights came on. Then the windows came in, blown in from the force of the rocket hitting outside, in the yard.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sweet Torres worked my lips, then my opening, then she came back to my clit. Never pausing, taking long loving swipes of my sex. She always rhapsodized over my taste, especially since I'd stopped smoking. That had been .... when? '74?
Never underestimate the power of love.
She licked me, ate me, loved me, sucked me, my hands roughing my own nipples, working my breasts. I sucked on my own aching nipples, enjoying the one and only positive benefit to having sagging breasts. I always ended with my knees in the air, waving in random ecstasy, strained, my voice moaning.
My magic Texas Latina talked to me, murmured as she wallowed in my cleft, sloppy noises came from where my pussy welcomed her lips and fingers.
It was a good come, built slowly to a definitive release. One of those where you knew you'd reached the top of the slope. Now you could gratefully slide down the slope to relaxation.
My nipples were large darkish knobs now, I knew. I was the only woman with large breasts that I had ever known who grew big nodules of stiff excitement like that. Belle Anna adored them. She suck them into orgasm after orgasm, when she was in the mood. Suck and nibble and finger me for hours, if I could stand it.
I was her only woman, but she accepted my statement that I was unusual. Her own nipples became large dark chocolate candies sitting proudly on her more moderate-sized breasts. I loved to return the favor of loving her breasts (and fingering her) until she was exhausted.
She was so .... perfect.
I lovingly caressed the multiple scars she bore on her muscular back, some of them deep. Scars of honor and love and devotion to duty. Earned that night of trial, back in Vaet Naem. Her back had been to the windows when they blew in. A long scar ran through my own right temple, and half my ear was gone. A reminder of how deadly flying glass could be. Dear Torres said it made me look like a Pirate.
They denied all three of us Combat Infantry Badges, but gave Carey, Kim and Paris them. Belle Anna bought us a pair from a War Surplus store in Ferndale. We placed them in our glass-topped brag boxes, even if we were never officially awarded them. Fuck the Department of the Army. The Purple Hearts and Bronze with V for both of us and the Army Commendation Medal for me were genuine.
Thanks to Belle Anna's relentless exercise program, we both could still fit into our nurse ODs and dress Greens from then. Though we'd both had to let out a few buttons as creeping age enlarged our bust size.
She didn't sag like I did, but still... She was still so beautiful. I loved how cute she looked in her glasses, like she was still the blushing girl who married me in that Berkley, California hippie church. Though she was still reluctant to wear her glasses. Fortunately, for a lot of what we did together, near-sightedness was a blessing.
In a moment of peace before I had my turn, we held each other, staring out over the raised hatch of our sloop, towards the far away stars.
This slip at Wyandotte wasn't much to talk about, but at least it put my sweetheart and the good ship VOYAGER within driving distance of her post at the VA Hospital in Allen Park. I'm officially retired from the army and now nurse at a clinic in Dearborn.
"I got a letter today," I told her. Belle Anna knew it was important from the way I mentioned it.
"It was from Annika." Loving fingers caressed me, reassuring me.
"She's doing well, she says. Her oldest boy, Peter, is now in Junior High School, and her daughters are both in High School track. She says she's happy neither one inherited her bust size. It lets them do a multitude of sports.
"They're both dating already, and Chakotay grumbled quite a bit before he allowed the oldest one to date. Annika is waiting before telling him Monica already has a steady boy."
Silence while Belle Anna digested what wasn't said.
"You still love her, don't you?"
More silence while I pondered what to reply. "It's okay," Belle said. "She left you for a man, and it's her choice. I'm just the fortunate recipient of your love and life afterwards.
"What was that saying? I can't be your first love, but I can be the last."
Not to tell Belle Anna how I could smell a faint hint of perfume on that letter. Estee Lauder, just like Annika used to wear before we made love.
We were the scandal of Long Binh, Lt. Hansen and I, once we both recovered from our wounds. We visited the Saigon bath house that catered to ladies, and I introduced her to waaaaay too much massage oil and rubbing groins together. She was a fast learner, just like me.
She must have bought a dozen nightgowns from Frederick's of Hollywood, all of them frilly and all of them transparent.
We'd repair to our new love-nook down at Soul Alley, once it got too controversial for her to sleep over in my Head Nurse's billet on the ward.
She was a virgin when I bedded her, and her first man had "Made In Hong Kong" stamped into the base. At the time I couldn't believe my luck. At first I wasn't sure if it was bad luck or good. I was scared to touch her, I wouldn't touch her for a week, and I was sure I was an unspeakably nasty old dyke pervert for seducing a virgin.
She made me watch while she herself removed that little obstruction. She hurt, she cried and I held her and kissed her as never before. After that she was insatiable. Nice word that. It meant she wore me out.
I used my first strap-on in that apartment, and I used it on a grateful Annika.
It was too bad she returned to Boys Town. Just another faithless bitch. Insatiable or not.
She DID love for me to lick her long belly scar. It was a mark of bond between us, more permanent than a gold ring.
She got the Bronze Star with V, though I put her in for the Congressional Medal of Honor.
She thought we could remain good friends after she left me. I was so goddamned in love with her, I swallowed all of my pride and anger and pretended we still were.
I kept my resolve not to be angry, and as a reward I was the first one she told when one of the Doctor's proposed to her. Mixed blessings, I guess.
Sucking on a lovely nipple, I asked Belle Anna how long had she loved me? It was a game between us, for we know the questions and answers both.
"I'd often wondered why I didn't seem to be able to get into the boy games all the other girls did. I toned down my tomboy ways, but I still went through my few boyfriends out of a sense of duty more than anything else.
"I was going to marry a maybe nice guy some day and maybe have a few kids and I would maybe get used to "it" eventually. That was what all girls did. Whether they cared much for some male grunting and straining on top of them or not.
"Everyone said you got used to it." Her thumb kept rubbing a nipple, her face a dark warmth next to my ear.
"Then we were all in the same ward after the Tet, and I had a front-row seat to your seduction of Annika. Two naked women, you and Annika, both beautiful, both breaking the rules, both loving each other.
"Sweet Jesus, you were two damned hot bitches.
"Some nights I lay next to you as you two masturbated each other, and all I could think of was how much I wanted to join the two of you. In the meantime I grew accustomed to doing myself, thinking of your lips, your breasts, your hand in my groin. I did myself constantly those weeks we lay in beds next to each other.
"You're sure you never noticed?", Belle asked.
I ran a finger down to her belly button, enjoying the wince she made. I knew she had a sly grin on her lovely face.
"I was too busy obsessing on Annika, dove. True, I was having constant sex, and if it was frequently with myself, yet all I could see was Annika's sculpted blond face. I cried sometimes, lying alone in bed, remembering her beautiful .... everything"
Belle Anna asked; "And when I took you aside that night when we were back on the wards, and kissed you?"
"I wanted to strip those greens off you and fuck you until you were permanently retarded."
"Even though you were in love with Annika?"
"Even then. What can I say? I'm a slut, a tramp, an easy lay. Put me next to a pretty gal and my brains are co-opted by my glands."
"Just like a man?"
"Not exactly. I haven't got a stiff cock, so I can't let my little head do all the thinking for my big head."
"Speaking of which...." Belle Anna added, squirming in my arms.
Out of nowhere she added; "Teacher said I was a naughty girl today. You don't believe I was a naughty girl, do you, Daddy?"
I smiled at that. We had our little games and our little code words to match. The miracle was that lesbian Bed Death had evidently passed us by.
"Just give me a minute," I said, crawling out of our bunk. It wasn't all that big a bunk. even on a sloop supposedly able to sleep five, but we were both small women so it worked out great.
One bunk drawer was mine, and the other Belle Anna's. As I rummaged in mine for my favorite strap-on, I began interrogating Belle Anna.
First off, years back, we each bought an identical strap-on from "On Our Backs". Now each one of us owned a special leather dildo holder we bought from "Stormy Leather". This model held one silicone dick inside me and another where one would expect to find a real prick. The one I had in the outside cock-ring was a nice big long chocolate-and-white-swirl-colored one. It already wore one of my tickler rings, forced down to the base of the outside faux dick. I'm glad I'm not the only slut on this sloop who mail-shops at "Good Vibrations" or "Stormy Leather".
"Have you been a bad girl or a good girl in school today?", I asked Belle Anna. "I've heard you were a very bad girl, I heard it from the teachers. Is that true, Belle Anna?"
"Oh, no, no, no, Daddy. I was a good girl all day, honest, cross my heart and hope to die."
"Don't lie to me, little woman. I got a phone call from your teacher today and she said you were a verrrry bad girl today."
"Oh, Daddy, I wouldn't...."
"Shut up, young lady, and stop lying. You were a very bad girl and you're a very bad girl now for lying to your Daddy. Come on, your woman, er, your Daddy has to punish you for being a very bad girl.
"Now get up, get on your hands and knees and scoot that big fat ass over here. I've got to punish you, and I'm going to make you squeal, you hear me? I'm going to spank you. Bad little girls have to be spanked.
"I'm going to have to spank you hard, young lady, and teach you a lesson. You've got to be a good girl in school or you have to bear the consequences." I hefted my leather paddle, practicing my stroke.
I looked up at the stars, reflecting how well sound oft times carried over water. But then everyone in this dock probably already knew the gals aboard VOYAGER were perverts and dykes. And exciting.
The couple next to us, she beat on her husband every time she caught him with binoculars in hand and drool running down his chin.
We had these really small bikinis, you see.....
Eat your heart out, buddy. I got the prettiest woman in the marina warming my bunk. And all you got is Phyllis Diller.
Smack! Smack! Smack! The leather paddle made such an exact sound on Belle Anna's asscheeks. Again, again, and again! Even in the dark I could imagine them starting to glow from the heat.
"Such a bad girl you are, Belle Anna Torres, you deserve to be spanked, yes you do, young woman. And I'm just the man to give you a good paddling. You deserve a good paddling. Spare the paddle and turn the girl rotten, that's my motto."
I talked at her, threatening more and more dire paddling, my hands busy caressing her beautiful butt when I wasn't paddling her. I dipped my hands, rubbing her sex cleft, enjoying the wetness already coating her fragrant pussy.
More words, more threats, more begging from my darling. A nasty little game? Maybe it was, but she wanted it this way. Once in a while. She needed to be .... whatever this was, spanking and abuse and a good dildo fuck gave her what she wanted. She had even taught me, if not to love it, to enjoy it. Games. Pretense. She liked to spank using only her hands. Both of them. Anything my Baby wanted, including giving me a sore butt.
I slipped into the strap-on, working AstroGlide onto the surface of the dildo that nuzzled at the entrance of my own vagina .... and I gasped and grimaced and sighed as I pulled up the harness, filling myself with the this one shorter dildo. My orange-colored wonder, with silicone teeth at the base, and ridges of warts around the head.
So cold! So big, so wonderfully big it felt as my cuntmouth accepted it's shocking length.
In seconds it had warmed, within seconds I could open my eyes and let out my breath. In seconds I felt the teeth at it's base grappling with the muscles of my entrance, my sensitive hole.
It was inside, and I discovered my loving woman had turned to hold my hand, to comfort me as I was penetrated. I kissed that hand, then gave her a series of obligatory whacks on the nearest buttcheek with my hand.
What a lovely flawless ass she had. No sag there! I caressed it before paddling her again.
Then I paused to firmly seat the harness about my ass and hips, cinching tight the D-rings. I was now a male with an eight-inch love tool, a tool with a flared head and large teeth circling it's base.
"Spanking is too good for you, young lady," I cried. "You need something really hurting, you need it so you'll always remember to be a good girl from now on. Do you hear me, young woman?"
One hand laved Astro-Glide into the crack of her ass, my hand spreading it into her cleft, and inside her vagina. She cried out as the cold lubricant entered her, wetting her, making our inevitable sex a painless delight.
More went on the long dildo she was about to take within herself. It felt so .... powerful, so male, so exciting to work my long dick, jacking it, making obscene sucking noises as I prepped my hardness for dear Torres. And with each motion of my hand I felt my own pussy squirm to the hard invader moving slightly back and forth within myself.
I pulled on my dick, gasping as the motion pulled and pushed that wonderful hard orange silicone dildo inside my own eager pulsating ring of muscles.
Oh, the pleasure we could both have with this thing! Each and every fucking motion in Torres produced a lesser but no less real fucking motion inside my own welcoming and greedy pussy. With this I could literally go fuck myself.
When Belle Anna wore hers to fuck me, she usually came before I did. Delightful greedy little pig!
The designers at Stormy Leather deserved to be nominated for Sainthood.
Some gals in the magazines said the double-dildo arrangement was disappointing. Different strokes for different folks.
I used my hand now to spank Belle Anna, the smacks less loud, the pain less, but her cries of pain half-way now to being cries of anticipation.
Finally I felt ready.
"You deserve to be punished, bad girl, you're such a bad girl. And Daddy has just the thing to punish you with. Do you think you should be punished, young lady? I think you should be punished real hard.
"Daddy is going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget, little woman. Daddy is going to fill that tight little virgin pussy of your with his big hard cock and you're going to squeal really hard, you're going to hurt and you'd better not ever ever ever be bad again. Do you hear me, young woman?"
"Please Daddy, oh please, please, please don't! I'll be really really good and I'll never be bad again, not ever again, honest!"
"It's too late for promises, little girl, far too late. Stay bent over like that, for Daddy is now going to fill that sinful little pussy of yours with his really big long hard cock.!"
Jeez, the dialogue! It'd be hilarious if it wasn't so exciting.
I poked her with my silicone penis, and I felt her hand reach back and guide me into her ready vagina. I rammed it forward once I knew it was entering her. I slid all the way in, and she let out a wail that rang all the registers of sound she was capable of.
She immediately went into a frenzy, one hand still guiding the dildo inside herself, making sure it didn't bend over or come out.
For my part I tried to keep the strokes smooth. Long even strokes, standing on one foot or the other, pumping it into her from side to side, fucking her like I was a machine. Her wails came back and began to build as I screwed her faster and faster.
Oh, how beautiful she sounded! I lived to hear Belle Anna coming for me like this.
I had to pick up the pace, because I could feel myself building and climbing as I fucked Belle Anna.
Fuck, fuck, I had to pick up the pace, it felt too good inside me as my orange wonder filled me and irritated me and became hotter and it didn't matter if I was getting tighter and tighter and my lips so puffy they hurt a little inside my harness. Hurt so good!
I stayed deep inside sweet Belle now, making short strokes and slapping her clit with that tickler ring and filling her and hurting the entrance of her hole with those fierce teeth at the base. She didn't bother guiding my cock inside her, not any more. It was in her to the hilt and the pitch of her squealing was varying and getting higher.
"I'm going to come," she whispered into the darkness. "Oh, Daddy, you fuck me so good, you fuck me so damned good, oh Daddy, oh Daddy, you...
"I'm going to come Daddy. Please don't stop fucking your little girl, Daddy, please don't, don't, don't stop, don't ever stop, please...."
A pause. "I'm going to come too little lady...." I quivered over her back. I couldn't stop caressing her back, I was bent over her, buried deep inside her, roughing and caressing her miraculously hard mounds of nipples. So big! So Hard! I love them, I love the silken feel of her soft breasts, I love the way her belly jerks as I reach underneath to touch her clit.
We come together. Oh God, we come together! Cries and wails into the night, explosions inside us. I love her so!
Our neighbors must hear us now. I don't try to stifle my cries of joy these days. It feels too good to cry out as my beautiful Latina cries out. Enjoy the soundtrack, neighbors dear.
I am draped over Belle Anna's back and ass, feebly caressing, enjoying her shaking hand caressing my hand. She loves me. All is well on the good sloop VOYAGER. I feel so warm inside, where my filled pussy continues to hum with satisfaction. Belle shivers in apres' sex for several minutes, her muscled body easily carrying my weight.
Vive La exercise program! Vive La Belle Anna Torres. My dearest and only wife.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was quieting on our sloop, the marina wavelets rocking us peaceful. Before we both went to sleep, we'd put on flannel nightdresses to fight any chill. Belle bit me gently on the neck.
"Why did you bite me?" I lightly chided.
"I had this dream....," she murmured. "I was a person who proclaimed she was in love by biting her lover...." In revenge I gently bit (or more accurately nuzzled) her neck.
"Tell me," I commanded my (sometimes) obedient wife.
"It was the damnedest dream, or vision, or whatever. I had this really astonishing bulging forehead with ridges on it, and we were on a StarShip out half-way across the Galaxy. I wore a simple black uniform and it had these icky yellow shoulders on it, and you wore one just like it, only your shoulders were a sad sort of red...."
END