Other Men's Wives

Maude was certainly engaged in sex but it was the solo variety. She was lying across the bed with legs towards me so that I was gazing straight between her large widely splayed thighs. One hand was frantically mangling an oversized rubbery nipple while the other rammed an enormous dildo deep into her gaping twat with pre-orgasmic frenzy. I had witnessed much pornographic activity from that wardrobe with the odour of sex wafting tantalisingly to my nostrils but nothing had turned me an as much as seeing Maude taking her narcissistic pleasure. It was as if some invisible fan was blowing the strong ripe smell of her body directly to the olfactory sensors of my brain. Then, when she started to cum I nearly went crazy listening her giving vent to sounds of animal pleasure as convulsions from the self induced orgasm passed through her body. Seeing the glistening sheen of vaginal fluid coating her flying fingers sent my mind into overload. My balls were aching and my cock felt about to explode. Maude was making so much noise that I did not realise that I was moaning in unison with her - until she suddenly stopped.

I tried to choke the sound issuing from my throat but it was too late. My aunt moved round until she was looking so directly in my direction that for the moment I forgot that there was an intervening wardrobe door between us. "Why don't you come out David," she asked softly. "You can see it all so much better from this side of the door."

Nervously I fumbled the catch and emerged into the master bedroom. I had taken her words as sarcasm and expected a blast of anger once I was standing shamefacedly before her but she patted the edge of the bed encouragingly as if I was a small child. Still with trepidation, I perched myself where she had indicated, half expecting some kind of blow once she had me within reach. Her arm did stretch out but only for her hand to slip inside the gaping pyjama front and grasp my throbbing shaft. "You are quite a big boy aren't you David - I hadn't realised," she said happily.

Realising what was on offer, I was eager to climb aboard and plant my rod in a female garden for the first time but, grabbing my head between her hands; Maude insisted that oral worship at her hairy muff was a precondition to the desired carnal gratification. Now as hinted, my aunt's private parts, both in smell and taste, could only be described as strong. Had I lost my cherry to a fastidious near virgin and only come across Maude later then I would perhaps have found her distasteful but as it was the experience with her has affected my preference ever since then. I'm not saying that I cannot also appreciate a far more subtle smell and taste to a woman's intimate charms. However, on those occasions when I have met some wife or other for a first assignation only to find her cunt bathed and occasionally perfumed - it has turned me off completely.

Perhaps it was an acquired taste and if so Maude gave me much opportunity to become imprinted with that particular preference. She believed a young man's spunk to be the perfect rejuvenation fluid and consequently took every opportunity to suck mine out of me. More than once she swallowed the result of three successive ejaculations without allowing my cock to escape from her mouth and all that time my face was buried in her crotch. Some believe that near asphyxiation heightens sexual climax and Maude had her own method of making me experience this phenomenon. When she knew I was near, she simply clamped her meaty thighs on my head leaving me breathing only the rancid air contained within the foetid folds of her uterus. For those who may shudder at this picture, I can only say that never since have I reached such a pinnacle of sensation.

Unlike poor Sydney, she did let me put my prick inside her - though perhaps not as often as I might have liked. Having heard of the massive organ that she had taken with ease, it might be thought that her cunt was a cavern and that even my above average endowment might not touch the sides. This was not the case because such was her practised muscle control that at times she squeezed my cock painfully hard.

During many months of afternoons spent in her bed Maude imparted a great deal of sex lore and this knowledge has stood me in good stead throughout my life. Magazine talk is of erogenous zones and G-spots but my aunt knew of a whole alphabet of spots many of which would not obviously spring to mind, insides of elbows, backs of knees - not to mention armpits. Once after crawling groggily up her voluptuous supine body following a prolonged session tongue worshipping that voracious cunt, I was told, "For future reference young man, I have two holes down there. Now if you really wish to please a lady......"

All good things must come to an end but hopefully not as abruptly as this. One afternoon we were playing the bucking bronco game when over exuberance on Maude's part threw me clear of both her and the bed to land with a bump on the floor. I was laughingly about to arise when glancing through the slats in the wardrobe door I found my uncles tear-filled eyes staring accusingly back at me. I have to admit that I got a kick out of his pain and lost no time in climbing defiantly back into the saddle. Sadly this was the last straw that caused the worm to turn because Sidney declared that either I went or he would. It was no contest because I was no more than passing amusement to fill in her time waiting for Don.

Homeless with no qualifications, I knew that the services were my only chance of a career so, having reached the minimum age, I signed on for nine years. During my training and for most of my first posting I have little to report. Compared to the sexual feast of Maude, I endured three years of virtual famine. In any garrison town the men in search of cunt outnumber available woman by a considerable factor and the young tarts are well aware of this. Very few were willing to open their legs unless an evening's entertainment and copious amounts of alcohol had been lavished upon them and even then some reneged at the last moment. To cut down the expense some guys hunted in groups and it was not uncommon to see one female surrounded by three or four admirers who took it in turns to go to the bar. Some of these girls were happy to take on the lot but most selected just one to be her companions for the final part of the evening. I played this game doing no worse but certainly not much better than the other guys until someone wider than myself put me on the winning track.

All camps have married quarters and when a husband is transferred it can take up to a year before his wife can get accommodation at the station to which he has been posted. It has been estimated that, on any camp, twenty percent of the married quarters are occupied by women caught in this frustrating situation. Bearing this in mind I upped my hit rate considerably by hanging round the NAAFFI stores rather than the pubs in town. The big breakthrough came however came when I enrolled to do voluntary work for the British Legion helping out with welfare because this gave me the perfect excuse to call at the houses where separated wives were doing without. From then on I concentrated exclusively on married women with the benefit that they were hungry for sex and not just nominally paying off an incurred obligation.

So I screwed dozens of wives but the husbands did not qualify as cuckolds by my definition, as they knew nothing about it - and that was the whole secret. I had only one where the husband knew and she actually did not live on camp. The whole thing was rather funny and I still smile at the memory. At this particular camp one of the military police, a Cpl Ken Connor was an absolute bastard - he had made Sgt but got busted back for unnecessary brutality. This had not stopped him because anyone held in the guardroom, even overnight, could look forward to a thumping before he got released - the man seemed to have a grudge against the world. Cpl Connor was always immaculately turned out - his nickname 'Kiwi' was derived from the polish used on those boots with the invariably perfect shine. This personal pride would have caused no offence had not Cpl Ken Conner been a martinet, constantly imposing his standards on others and publicly berating those his position made it possible to intimidate. You may wonder why no-one ever caught him off duty and 'talked' some sense into him. The answer is that Cpl Connor was 6' 3", he worked out, did weights and his muscles had muscles.

One Sunday night I was on a train returning from a spot of leave. When boarding I had deliberately selected a carriage containing an attractive looking woman and this one was really special. There was an old dear knitting in one corner which made it OK to sit down without appearing to impose my presence on a lone female - as I had dared to hope, the granny got off two stations down the line. I had given the young lady the once over as a matter of course. She was well aware of this and was anything but unresponsive. We exchanged names and began to talk quite easily. As we chatted I began to think I was on to a good thing and this impression was encouraged by the heavy gold wedding band on her finger. I became so certain that the only question remaining was whether to make a date or to try for a fuck as soon as we were off the train. I was dressed in civvies so she had no idea I was in the army but on nearing our destination, when I mentioned that I was heading to the camp, her face lit up and she said happily, "My husband works there."

From the way that she said it, I assumed him to be one of the civilian outside workers so asked without real interest, "What does he do?"

"Ken works in the guardroom - he's called Connor. Do you know him."

Delectable though this girl was I just didn't want to know - the thought of getting on the wrong side of Cpl Connor scared me shitless. I mumbled admission of passing acquaintance with her husband and was considering my best line of escape when Sherry scribbled her telephone number on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. "I can't see you tonight but give me a ring tomorrow. We have a house in town and Ken is on duty all night tomorrow - it could be a lot of fun."

I hesitated. She was a superb piece of ass but was she worth exposing myself to the potential wrath of the psychopath from the guardroom. "I thought you looked like a man of action - you're not scared are you?" she taunted, her eyes laughing. "Ken's a pussycat and anyway he'll be safely out of the way all night."

Sherry shifted slightly on her seat giving me a further tantalising glimpse of thigh. I was weakening and on top of that it would give me a great deal of satisfaction to poke Cpl Connor's wife because I could not forget the day he had humiliated me in front of others. I still cringed at the memory of his furious face only inches from my own as he bellowed insults and jabbed me repeatedly in the chest with a stiff finger. I had seen it happen to others with the objective to provoke a retaliatory swing that would give an excuse to haul his victim back to a cell for a going over in private.

"OK - I am a bit nervous," I admitted. "From what I remember your husband is a lot bigger than me - I hate to think of him bursting in while we are getting to know each other."

"You mean while we're fucking?" she asked crudely and laughed. "That can't possibly happen because I've got an early warning system. The moment that he leaves the camp for any reason, someone will ring to let me know."

Naked she was slim and lithe with breasts that were very tasty although not over large. Every inch of her was tanned without the slightest trace of bra or bikini line, her skin that special golden colour only true blondes have. It was the only indication I had for there was not the slightest wisp of hair on her twat. I was rather shocked because I had never seen a totally denuded cunt before and for a moment I thought that the damn thing was grinning at me. Close up I decided that it was possibly the most delectably erotic sight I had ever seen with twin pink lips slightly parted and already moistened with passion dew. She was up for anything and everything but most of all she liked it in her, back or front it didn't much matter. Usually I am a master of self-control but more than once her frenetic body caused me to shoot too soon. When this happened she had a range of tricks such sticking her finger or even her tongue up my rectum, anything to get my old man back on duty in the fastest possible time. No one was allowed to rest on their laurels in Sherry's bed - not that we actually did it in bed all that much because I have never known a girl so inventive at finding different places to screw.

The girl was insatiable and eventually I had to beg for mercy asking, "Can we just lie quietly and talk for a while?"

"Can't stand the pace and I had you down as a super stud."

"You're too much for any one man - I reckon you could take on the whole camp," I said defensively.

"I am doing but only one at a time - I do it to infuriate Ken."

"You mean he knows," I asked.

"I make sure that he knows," she grinned. "I've told him that I will stop fucking around if he can catch me at it but he hasn't managed it yet - it's driving him crazy. I've heard what he gets up to on camp and I know why - he thinks that every man he sees on camp has had his cock up me. He may be correct as often as not but that's what makes him so vicious."

"You sound like you hate him."

"It's not hate - more contempt," she said thoughtfully. "I actually I rated him at one time. He was a big fit chap and I think the real reason that I married him was because we looked so good together. After the wedding he became preoccupied with himself, doing intensive training and taking steroids. It was the drugs that did it because the more he bulked the smaller his prick got until it wasn't worth talking about. I realised that Ken was a pillock when he started to spend more time looking in the mirror at himself than looking at me."

"So how many of my mess mates have you screwed?"

"That's what Ken asked me," she grinned. "One day he sat me down with a pad of paper and said that I had to write down the name of every man on the camp that I had been with. I just smiled sweetly at him and said, 'But Ken - it would be far easier to list the ones I haven't got round to yet.' He just ran upstairs and cried. I am pretty promiscuous but if I really shagged all the men that he thinks then my pussy would be permanently sore. After that he kept switching shifts and bursting in trying to catch me. Someone always rang to warn me but it was a bloody nuisance - so I managed to convince him that I only fucked other fellas on the same two nights of the week."

"How the dickens did you manage that?" I asked for something to say because she was going to tell me anyway.

"With what magicians call 'misdirection' using an invention of my own - I think of it as counterfeit cum. It's made mainly with egg white, a bit of cornflower and a tiny drop of washing up liquid. I put some into condoms and leave them in different places for him to find, floating in the toilet, under his pillow, down the bed where his feet will go and in waste paper baskets, particularly the one in the bedroom. Sometimes I use the stuff by itself to make a slimy mess where he lies in bed or in the dining room, on the carpet or settee. Other times I use the simulated semen to soak the crotch of my pants and then stuff them in the places that you would in a hurry. You ought to see him, he dashes into the house find all the evidence but no man and then trembles all over with frustration - it really is hilarious."

By now I was smiling broadly and this encouraged her to continue. "Living in a terrace house is the secret because he can only watch either front or back and can easily believe how my lovers have escaped. The real joke about all this condom rubbish is that I always fuck other men bareback."

After that I went with Sherry quite a few times because she was such a good lay. The girl really enjoyed her sex but that became part of the trouble because after a while I got the feeling that it was her fucking me. Apart from that I decided that I enjoyed the conquest more than the actual sex,

After demobilisation I was unemployed for a couple of months but then, with the help of influence and forged qualifications, I got a job as trainee farm inspector for the Ministry of Health. After three months of 'back to school' instruction, for a short probationary period, I had to accompany an experienced man on his visits of inspection. Our first call was at a neat little farm and in my ignorance could see very little wrong with it. I was mistaken for my companion managed to find fault with everything, digging deep into the small print to find regulations that had been infringed in some way. I assumed that the Ministry must operate a policy of zero tolerance.

The next day we visited a much larger concern. Immediately on arrival I was left standing alone in the farmyard while my supervisor wandered out of sight with the farmer. Looking round I was pleased that my three months training had allowed me to spot several things that needed rectification but when the man in charge returned he said briskly, "Let's be off." I pointed out that we had not looked round to which he replied that with experience you got to know by instinct when there was a likelihood of finding anything wrong. Then faced with my continuing puzzlement he added, "This place is OK and besides which, the pub in the village serves gourmet food and some really excellent beer." We spent the whole afternoon indulging and were not presented with a bill when we left. I was starting to get the idea.

On my first day working solo I set out resolved to behave in a far more honourable manner but throughout life my principles have tended to crumble very easily. My first farm was generally satisfactory but the dairy equipment failed current regulations on several points and in addition was badly in need of maintenance. The only realistic option was complete replacement at significant capital cost. Composing a full list of faults, I lifted the lid to the milk processor expecting it to be still coated with residue from the last process. To my amazement the interior shone like new and lying on the bottom was a crisp £50 note. I did a quick check for watchers or hidden cameras and then the cash disappeared into my pocket. The farm was passed as being satisfactory but I did stipulate that all the dairy equipment needed to be cleaned to the standard of the separator before my next visit.

The following week, on a filthy day, I spent the afternoon quaffing several wee drams of rare Scotch whiskey (the one with the peat smoke taste). I left with a full bottle of the stuff clutched in my grubby hand after signing the establishment off with a clean bill of health. The pattern was set. I was never as punitive as my teacher but the fact remains that if some are let off 'on consideration', to maintain the required tally of culprits caught, others must be made to fill up the numbers. As anyone who has been in the services knows, if required, the simple act of breathing can be made into an offence.

Despite good intentions I was 'bent' right from the start so I am not sure whether the incident that follows was corruption or simply a red blooded reaction. The tiny farm or smallholding might have been lifted unchanged straight from the middle-ages. Not merely unhygienic it was down right squalid - and yet I could believe that the produce tasted like old people say food used to taste. Unusually the farmhouse was up a flight of stone steps with stables occupying the ground floor. A most disturbing woman in her late thirties opened the door to my knock. With long uncombed fair hair she could not be considered beautiful by any criteria but her face was strikingly sensual. I immediately realised that she was not wearing a bra as her large breasts and prominent nipples could be seen moving unfettered beneath the thin loose material of her dress. Her brown eyes met mine knowingly and with a small smile on her lips she shimmied her upper torso for my benefit. Having been inside the room for less than a minute, my prick was already displaying embarrassing signs of stiffness.