Blanket of Freedom

"I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who fucks my wife under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it." Unknown (because no one has actually ever said this).

* * *

After the day's rains, the asphalt glistened in the harsh glare of the sodium vapor lamps that were spaced with exacting precision along the roadway.

The navy Range Rover kicked up a fine mist of rain mixed with the accumulated oils of sixty-odd years of traffic. It maintained its sure footing as it arced through a bend in the road, the soft rubber tires performing their duty effortlessly. Just before the road straightened, a pair of raccoons darted from the tree line and scampered over the curb and onto the road. The driver jerked the wheel to the left to avoid knocking the rodents into oblivion but quickly brought it back to course. A moment later, pulses of blue and red flashed in the rearview mirror and filled the cool interior of the SUV with an almost psychedelic eeriness.

Private Jaret had tucked the military police sedan on a siding off one of the main thoroughfares running through Fort Bragg, hoping to read a magazine or two to relieve the boredom of his evening patrol. No sooner had the eighteen-year-old recruit doused the headlights and gotten comfortable in the worn seat than the image of the SUV slid across his windshield. His radar gun was off but he estimated the speed of the vehicle to be in excess of forty miles per hour before it appeared to depart from its lane into the oncoming one. He sat up straight, flipped his headlights back on and accelerated onto the road, illuminating the roof rack at the same time.

He caught up with the SUV a quarter of a mile later and the driver dutifully pulled to the side of the road. Private Jaret brought his sedan to within ten yards of the Range Rover before coming to a stop. He swiveled the laptop computer toward him and ran the license plates, first through the North Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles secured system and then through the army base's system. He frowned mildly at the information he received from the United States Army, shrugged, and got out of the car. He approached the idling truck on the driver's side and the driver's window slid down.

"Good evening, sir . . . uh, pardon me . . . ma'am."

"Evenin', Private." Her voice was like sugar in a mint julep. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh, I'm sorry, ma'am. Do you know why I, uh, why I've stopped you?"

She battered her eyes at him momentarily. "Why, I surely do not, Private. Do tell?"

He eased closer to the driver's door and his nose twitched almost imperceptibly. "Can I see your driver's license, ma'am, as well as the registration for this vehicle?"

"You certainly can," she began, leaning toward the glove box. "But do you mind telling me what we're doing here, Private?"

"Did you notice the posted speed limit, ma'am?"

She turned back toward him, having retrieved the SUV's insurance card and registration, and her driver's license from her large handbag, and handed them to the young man. "I confess, Private, that I did not."

Private Jaret studied the license briefly. "Well, the speed limit on base is twenty five miles per hour, Mrs. Carlock. And your speed was well in excess of that."

"I certainly am sorry, Private." Her bright smile lit up the damp night and she tilted her head coquettishly toward the enlisted man.

"Uh, ma'am, have you been drinking this evening?"

"No . . . well, I did have a few spritzers, Private. A charity dinner sponsored by a group of officers' wives at the O-club, you see."

"Uh, uh." Private Jaret took a step back from the truck. "Ma'am, would you please exit the vehicle?"

The woman jerked her head back slightly in surprise. "Why, whatever for, Private?"

"Ma'am, your driver's license identifies you as Suzanne Carlock, but this truck is registered to Colonel Hummel. And...uh...it appears that you may also be intoxicated."

She chuckled lightly. "I can explain that to your satisfaction, Private. Colonel Hummel is my husband, you see. However, I have chosen to keep my family name because it tends to open doors around these parts. That's all, Private."

"Please show me your military identification card, then, Mrs. Hummel."

Suzanne rolled her eyes in exasperation but turned away from him once again and reached into her purse, digging around. "Dammit," he heard her mutter. "I can't seem to locate it, Private."

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you again: please step out of the vehicle."

In exasperation, Suzanne pushed the heavy door open. She swung her left leg out and planted an open-toed heel on the wet pavement, her toenails bright red against the harsh lights. When her right heel joined the left, she tottered a moment before her slender fingers smoothed down the front of the silk skirt that brushed against her tanned thighs a few inches above her knees.

"Do you need assistance, Mrs. Hummel?" Private Jaret inquired, taking in the long legs and luscious thighs of the woman who stood before him.

"I most certainly do not, Private. And as I explained quite clearly, I did NOT take my husband's name. Please be so kind as to refer to me by my actual name."

"I apologize, ma'am."

"Please, private. Our temporary quarters are just down the street, to the left. I'm sure that my military ID is on the counter in my kitchen." Suzanne stretched her arm behind her, indicating the direction of her house, causing the white silk blouse to stretch across her ample torso.

"Yes, ma'am. Still. . .," he insisted.

"Please, private. You are making far bigger of a deal of this than it deserves. Follow me back to my house and I will show you my identification."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, ma'am. You'll have to accompany me to the MP post."

Done reasoning, Suzanne tried to flirt her way out of this predicament, and hung her lower lip and twisted her hips back and forth like a child, setting her large, soft breasts in motion. Private Jaret's cock stirred in his pants.

"Private, if you do that, I will get in a lot of trouble with my husband." She paused, her gaze on the young man's crotch. "Come on. My house is just a minute away."

"You know that I cannot allow that. It's against post regulations."

Suzanne eased her lush body closer to the young grunt, her large breasts brushing against his right arm, and stroked her elegant fingers down the cloth covering his chest. "Please, Private? I'll be eternally grateful." Sugar still, but laced with lust.

He hesitated a moment, looking around to ensure that no one observed Colonel Hummel's wife so close to him while her flowery perfume and the faint smell of whiskey assaulted his nose. But he still did not agree to her cajoling and she stepped back, hands on her hips.

"Now. Enough with this, Private," she intoned. "I told you who I am. You are going to accompany to my home where I will show you my ID and we will be done with this charade. Is that understood, young man?"

"Ma'am," he started to protest.

She pointed an elegantly French-manicured nail at him as she eased back into the Range Rover. "Don't 'ma'am' me again, soldier." She shut the door behind her and pulled the seatbelt across her chest, further accentuating the massive mounds that lay hidden beneath the glimmering fabric. She turned her head toward him. "Well? Don't just stand there, Private. Get back in your car!"

With that, she put the big truck in gear and moved smoothly away from the curb. She watched in the rearview mirror as Private Jaret, furious at her insolence, scrambled into the sedan and accelerated hard to catch up with her, and a slight smirk creased the soft surrounds of her full, lush lips.

Forty five seconds later, she turned into her driveway and pulled into the two-car unattached garage and alighted from the truck, striding purposefully toward her home. Private Jaret pulled in a moment later and jumped from the sedan, walking quickly to catch up with her.

Suzanne reveled in the scene, having the young man follow her like a little puppy dog. She put a little extra sway in her hips, knowing that the young man's bright, innocent eyes were devouring her tight little bottom as she strode quickly toward the door, her heels clacking along the concrete sidewalk that led to her front door. 'Like lambs to the slaughter.'

She pushed the door open and moved into the interior of the house. When Private Jaret finally reached the door, he stopped on the porch and called out to her.

"Come on in, Private," he heard her yell from somewhere near the rear of the house. "I'll be just a second."

"I can't do that, Mrs. Carlock. You know that. I'll wait right here."

"'Kay."

Private Jaret looked around the small street. The homes were occupied mostly by colonels, but also by a newly flagged general. He hoped that no one saw him standing on Colonel Hummel's porch. He'd have to have an explanation for that and it would have to be a good one. He turned back toward the open door.

"Mrs. Carlock?"

"Goddammit, Private," she yelled, still from the back of the house. "Just get your lanky ass in here. I can't find it."

His tender cheeks reddened in fury. "I cannot do that, ma'am."

"Do it, Private. Do it now! Or would you prefer that I tell the Colonel that you were harassing his sweet wife tonight on some trumped up DUI charge?"

Private Jaret wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow and slowly entered the home, stopping in the living room. "Should I just wait here by the door?" he called out again.

"No, I'm back in the Colonel's office looking for my ID. Come back here."

"Is the Colonel in there with you, ma'am?" he asked, moving hesitantly toward the sound of her voice.

He could hear the annoyance in her voice. "No, Private, he's not. He hasn't been here in three months. You should know that."

Private Jaret found her in the study, bent over the desk, rifling miscellaneous odds-and-ends that had been placed there. His cock stirred again as he observed the silky skirt riding up the back of her taut thighs, her tanned flesh looking so succulent. Her calves bulged modestly as she was atop heels.

"Find it, Mrs. Carlock?"

"Not yet, hun," she responded, turning to peer at the young man over her shoulder, her bright emerald eyes smiling back at him.

"Can I help?" he asked, easing closer to her, his eyes locked on the fine contours of her bottom as it jutted into the air.

"Un-uh," she muttered and swayed a bit, from the alcohol or the heels, he was not sure. The soft cheeks of her ass brushed against his hips and, emboldened by what he perceived as Mrs. Carlock's behavior, Private Jaret allowed a big hand to rest against her hips.

Suzanne stood bolt upright. "Private . . .," she stuttered, her bright eyes searching for his name patch. "Private Jaret! What in the hell do you think you're doing!?!"

"Uh . . . uh . . . I just thought . . ." he stammered, taken aback by her reaction.

"Yes? You just thought what, young man?"

"I just thought . . . ." He swallowed hard. "You know . . . that you were . . . uh . . . you were . . ."

She abruptly stopped him with a raised finger. "What kind of woman do you think I am, Private!" she nearly screamed. "Do you think that I'm so drunk that I'm going to allow a lowly private to manhandle me like that?"

"Uh . . . no . . . I mean . . . I'm not sure." His knees were visibly trembling and Suzanne thought the young man looked as though he was going to flee the house at any minute.

"If you think I'm that intoxicated, Private, why don't we just cut to the chase, huh?"

"Ma'am?"

She leaned into him and pressed her lips hard against his. After a moment, she worked her soft, wet tongue against his lips until they allowed her entry. As soon as he tried to kiss back, his young tongue working against her teeth, she stepped back.

"Taste any alcohol on my breath, Private?"

"Uh . . ."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, daring him to answer in the affirmative.

"Uh, no, ma'am. I don't."

When he didn't continue, "Are you sure about that, Private? You wanna run out to your little car and get your breathalyzer?"

"No, ma'am. That won't be necessary."

"You're damn right, it won't, Private," she drawled, moving up against him again, and her soft manicured fingers found his utility belt, making quick work of the buckle. It fell to the ground with a thud and then a crack as his sidearm hit the hardwood floor. Her hands quickly moved to the enclosure of his ACUs and slipped the buttons loose and the zipper down, before dipping into his underwear to enclose the young man's thick shaft in her warm fists. She looked up at him with fierceness in her eyes. "The only thing going in my mouth tonight, Private, is this fat . . . young . . . cock. Understood?"

"Jeeesus," the kid moaned as Suzanne allowed her knees to buckle.

"Jesus can't help you know, boy," she muttered, almost to herself, as she shoved the enlisted boy toward her husband's desk and squatted before him. She roughly pulled at the upper pockets of his ACUs, ripping them down his thighs, dragging his military issue underwear with them. The fat shaft sprang up and nearly hit her on the chin and Suzanne gasped audibly.

"My . . . Lord," she uttered in a near whisper. Her left hand rose and the slender fingers curled lightly around the thick, veiny shaft, tugging back on his foreskin. The mushroom head of his cock flared an angry purple.

"Like what you see, Mrs. Carlock?" Private Jaret breathed, his confidence returning.

"Yessssss," she hissed, her soft palm running up and back the length of him. She cocked her head to the side and brought her right hand up to the burgeoning shaft, stacking it atop her left, which was now pressed into the sparse pubic hair that sprouted at the root of his cock. The young man's cockhead and an inch, maybe two, of shaft remained unencumbered by her fists.

"A bit bigger than the Colonel?"

A sly smile crossed her lips and she rolled her emerald eyes up to meet his. "Getting a little cocky, aren't we, Private?"

The young man smiled down at her. She wasn't the first officer's wife to have partaken of his youth. Private Jaret was well aware of the burdens and strains that military command placed on a marriage. And when those strains needed an outlet, he was only too happy to lend a hand when the opportunity arose.

"That's right, MRS. Carlock," he grunted as the Colonel's wife increased the tempo of her fists gliding up and down the solid chunk of meat. "But I think . . . it's gonna be YOU . . . that gets the cocky!"

She nearly laughed at the kid's brazen behavior but instead bent her head closer to the fat cockhead. Her wet, red lips parted and her hot, soft tongue darted across them. She dropped her right hand to the young man's heavy balls and rolled them gently in her palm while the thumb of her left hand rubbed softly at the underside of his cock. Her little pink tongue shot from between her lips and was about to swipe a drop of pre-cum from the tip of his cock when the phone rang.

"Fuck!" she moaned, all the tension that had been building in her taut body evaporating in an instant. Private Jaret nearly collapsed against the desk as the phone rang again.

"It's him," she explained. "My once-a-week call from 'somewhere.'" Suzanne leaned across the hard body of the young military boy whose luck in life came in the form of pulling her over, this evening of all evenings, when she had taken a few too many drinks and hadn't had her sweet little cunt filled in nearly a week.

Her fingers found the telephone receiver and she lifted it to her ear, still on her knees before her young, very well hung toy.

"Hello?" she answered, the French-manicured fingers of her left hand again attempting to encircle the robust shaft of Private Jaret.

"Hey, sweetie," she responded to the Colonel's introduction, her bright green eyes glued to the dollop of fluid that was about to drip from the young man's shaft to the Persian rug that adorned her husband's office's floor.

"Everything's fine here, hun," she said, her tongue slithering out to rest just beneath the private's cockhead. His pre-cum oozed onto her tongue and she withdrew it, smearing his fluids across her lush lips, penetrating eyes smiling up at him as he stood aghast at the Colonel's wife's audacity.

While her husband talked at her ear, Suzanne leaned toward Private Jaret. Her eyes locked onto his and she released his quivering shaft from her tight grip. With purposeful exaggeration, she let her jaw drop wide open, tilted her head back and extended her slippery tongue. She tapped Private Jaret's cock with a manicured finger and then pointed toward her gaping mouth.

He was not a stupid boy. His hands bracing himself against Colonel Hummel's desk, Private Jaret arched his hips, sending his inflamed cockhead crashing towards Suzanne's salivating mouth. As the engorged cockhead passed over her ripe lips and slid across her slick tongue, Suzanne clamped down hard against his superhot flesh and nearly gagged as he bumped into the back of her throat.

"Mm-hm," she grunted, then quickly pulled back, expelling the foreign object from her traitorous mouth but wrapping her small fist around it. "I'm glad to hear it, sweetie. You just KNOW how I worry when I don't even know where you are, much less what you're doing."

The words were rote, her attention elsewhere. On the thick shaft hovering just inches from her face, the fat mushroom-like head swollen so the flesh was taut, shiny. She tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear, freeing both hands, one gently tugging the kid's nut sac, the other replacing her adulterous lips, stroking the heavy slab of meat while her husband prattled on. The diamond of her engagement ring flashed beneath her eyes, and his too, for she felt the effects of ever more blood pumping through the veiny shaft, its girth increasing.

"Open up," he mouthed, careful to not make a sound.

Mrs. Carlock released her grip on the boy's shaft and balls and her soft, shiny red lips parted slightly, allowing him to rest the overheated head of his cock against her lower lip. Her bright green eyes floated to his, bemused at the game he was playing - with a Special Forces colonel's wife, no less.

Private Jaret flexed his hips subtly and his shaft inched into the older woman's mouth, her lip gloss smearing along the underside of him. He smiled down at her and raised his eyebrows, daring her to allow him to go further.

She pulled her head back momentarily. "I'm sorry to hear that, hun," she added to what was basically a monologue, before replacing the young man's heavy cockhead back on her wet, slippery tongue.

Encouraged, Private Jaret leaned forward a bit and gathered up the golden tresses that flowed across Mrs. Carlock's shoulders, wrapping them around his thick fists. Her eyes widened but before she could object or stop what was happening, the young man arched his hips harshly against her face, his cockhead a locomotive headed straight for the back of her slender throat.

The fiery bullet-like cap slammed into her gullet and Mrs. Carlock gagged and coughed, her own saliva and his pre-cum pouring from her mouth, down her chin, to stain the silk blouse that still hid her most charming of charms. She fought desperately to catch her breath and, when she did, balled up a fist and punched the young man in the thigh.

"Nothing, sweetie," she gasped. "Just moving some things around . . . uh-huh . . . no, I understand . . . I love you, too."

The grunt sneered as the room's cool air washed over his cock, and he yanked harshly on Suzanne's blonde locks, pulling her soft lips back toward the veiny slab of cockmeat slick in her saliva. Her mouth fell open as if to respond to something further her husband had said, but instead she dropped the phone to the floor, accepting the enlisted boy's thick cock into her soft, warm mouth. His grip on the back of her head held her firm, and he felt her throat relax and her agile tongue begin to swirl about his glans.