Blitzed

It was harder and much more bitter than I remembered, but it tasted like a slice of heaven as it slowly melted on my tongue. I didn't want to swallow it because I wanted the taste to last for ever, but eventually it slid stickily down my throat. "Oh god Chuck, that was so good."

He shrugged dismissively. "Heck, it's only field rations." Mum carefully folded the remainder of the bar into its cellophane wrapper, and slid it back into the box, but Chuck shook his head. "I can get plenty more if you want so you may as well enjoy it."

It was too tempting to resist, but it was also too good to simply wolf it down. Besides, the waiting and anticipation were almost as good as the eating, so Mum Dad and myself made it last the whole evening. When it was all gone, he waved away any more thanks, and I smiled to myself. I was already planning a way of showing my appreciation that he would definitely be only too willing to accept.

When the time came for him to leave I went upstairs briefly and returned with a cardigan fastened over my thin summer dress, and linking my arm through his we set off on the short walk. My excitement grew as we neared 'our' shop doorway, and under the concealment of the unlit streets I began to unfasten my cardigan, eager for him to discover the surprise I had prepared. With my heart thudding at my daring, I moved into the doorway and slipped off my cardigan. His sharp intake of breath told me that he had discovered that the only reason I had worn it was so Mum and Dad wouldn't suspect that my dress was unbuttoned to the waist, and there was no brassiere between his hands and my breasts.

For the first time he lowered his lips to my nipples, and I pushed my chest out to make it easier for him to suck my tits. Some delightfully exciting minutes later he put his hand under my dress, and gave a muffled gasp when he found that my brassiere was not the only undergarment I had removed before leaving home. His fingers were firm and insistent as they explored my naked pussy, and then -- and to this day I am not quite sure how it happened -- I was leaning forward, grasping the shop door handle for support, and he was driving his rubber clad cock into me from behind.

The only other time I had been entered like this was under the stairs, when Dad had taken my virtue, but that paled in comparison to what I was experiencing now. Chuck's hard cock thrust far deeper than I could have believed possible, and I had the added thrill of his gentle hands grasping my tits. It was quicker than last time, but no less satisfying, with the excitement of the unfamiliar position combining with the deeper thrusts to bring me quickly to my climax.

My life could not have been more superb over the following days. This new position suited us both to perfection, and each evening saw me leaning against the shop door, writhing in ecstasy as Chuck plunged his delightful cock in and out of my insatiable pussy. As soon as he boarded the lorry back to the base, I hurried home so Dad could shag me before Mum finished work.

Unfortunately my pleasure was interrupted once again when nature paid her monthly visit, and for almost a week both men had to be content with fondling and sucking my breasts.

On the day my fanny became available again I suffered two unpleasant shocks. After lunch I was returning to work, daydreaming about being fucked when my foot slipped on a patch of grease on the factory floor. I fell heavily, jarring my wrist, and although I was shaken I pretended it was worse than it was, in the hope I would be allowed to leave early. My ploy worked better than I hoped, and thirty minutes later, steering with one hand for effect I pedalled through the factory gates.

When I reached home, I wheeled my bicycle to the rear of the house where I leaned it against the wall. Moments later I opened the back door and received the second shock. Mum was in the kitchen leaning over the sink and groaning.

My first thought was that she was being sick, and then my eyes told the whole story. Her knickers were around her knees, stretched tight by her stockinged legs, and Chuck's splayed fingers looked like pale brown spiders against the rounded whiteness of her arse cheeks as he shagged her. Afraid of being discovered, I stepped outside and pulled the door almost closed, watching through the gap in horrified fascination. Although I had felt it inside me many times I had never actually seen his cock, and I was mesmerised as it pushed in and out of Mum's fanny, wondering if it looked the same when he fucked me. There was something different that I couldn't quite place until he finished, and I saw he wasn't using a rubber. After he withdrew she remained motionless, panting as his white seed seeped out and dripped unheeded onto her tightly stretched knickers.

Too shaken to speak, I pulled the door shut behind me and fled in confusion. For a full half hour I wandered the streets, trying to sort out my thoughts and feelings. I couldn't bring myself to be angry with Mum for going behind Dad's back, because after all Dad and I had been going behind her back, and to make matters worse what we were doing was forbidden in every way imaginable. Besides, I knew only too well how persuasive Chuck could be, so I couldn't really blame her for succumbing to temptation. In the cold light of day, the only thing I could be upset about was that Chuck was going behind my back. That he was giving Mum the benefit of what I had come to regard as my cock.

I was also a little envious that unlike me, she had not been afraid to let him come inside her. Our circumstances were different of course. If Mum fell pregnant, Dad would unquestioningly accept the child as his own, just as no doubt many wartime husbands accepted the results of their wives' unsuspected infidelity. On the other hand, I had nobody but myself to carry the responsibility and shame of being an unmarried mother. I was under no illusions that Sergeant Charles Vickery would accept paternity of an illegitimate child, even if he was still around nine months later. After all, he hadn't exactly forced himself on me or Mum, and if he shagged us, how many others were there that we knew nothing about?

He was gone when I returned home, and she was carrying another box of tinned and packaged food up the stairs. She was no longer wearing her stockings, so I guessed that she had worn them to excite him, and maybe herself. I followed her upstairs and into the spare bedroom, where she set the box on the floor and turned the key in the door of the single wardrobe.

"Why Mum?"

Without turning she shrugged. "There's a war on in case you hadn't noticed. You do what you must to feed your family." I wanted to believe there was more to it than that, but I knew the hardships of war could easily make people act out of character. She spoke again as she opened the wardrobe. "Besides, I had nothing else I could give him to repay his kindness."

I gaped as I looked past her at the shelves loaded with foodstuffs. Tin after tin of cooked meats and evaporated milk, neatly stacked alongside packets of dried vegetables, sugar and flour. Every kind of staple I could imagine, in addition to more small boxes of chocolate bars than I could count. A cardboard carton on the floor of the wardrobe was filled with familiar packets of Lucky Strike and the less familiar packs of Camel cigarettes. Beside the carton were two ten pound bags, one each of flour and sugar, stencilled with the American stamp of a star with three horizontal stripes on each side, just like on the army lorries, and another bottle of whiskey. Hanging from the rail above were three large muslin wrapped slabs of bacon.

It was clear to me that Chuck must have been a consummate thief, because he couldn't possibly have obtained so much by honest means. It was equally clear that since I could not recall seeing him bring such quantities into the house when I was home, Mum had been 'doing what she must' for some time, whilst Dad and I were at work. Almost certainly since before I had given in and let Chuck fuck me for the first time. This realisation reminded me of something they had said the day after he had rubbed my fanny through my clothes. Not so much what they said as the words.

I hadn't really paid attention, but from memory, when I had expressed surprise to find him already there when I arrived home, Chuck had said he came minutes before I got home, rather than saying he got there just before me, and Mum had agreed, saying he just came. I suppose in hindsight I should have attached more significance to the word 'came', but in fairness to myself I was still a virgin, and fairly innocent of such matters.

Chuck returned after Dad got home from work, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to pay him much attention. I knew deep down that I had no objection to Mum being shagged, I just didn't like the thought of her being shagged by 'my' cock. When the time came for Chuck to leave he looked at me hopefully, but I was still upset at what I saw as my betrayal, so I told him I had a splitting headache, a decision I was later to regret.

As soon as he left I gave myself to Dad, brazenly and fiercely, relishing every squeeze of my tits, every suck of my nipples, crying out and rejoicing in every firm and forbidden thrust of Dad's hard incestuous dick. It was almost as though I was trying desperately to avenge myself against Chuck, but as Dad fucked me my resentment slowly seeped out of me, just like the juices of my imminent climax were seeping out of my fanny. Just for the briefest instant, as Dad reached his peak I wished he would take the rubber off so I could know how it felt to have a man come inside me. I knew it was irrational, but in some strange way I wanted to believe that no matter how often I was shagged, I would always be a virgin until that happened.

We didn't see Chuck the next day, or the next, or the day after that. I was beginning to wonder if he suspected that I had seen him shagging Mum, and was too embarrassed to return, then almost a week after I caught them in the act, I got home from work and found Mum in tears. Too upset to speak, she handed me a folded letter, and my heart fell as I read.

Dear Fred, Cora, and Thelma,

This is not the way I wanted to say goodbye. In fact I never wanted to say goodbye.

Although it has been only a few short weeks, you three have taken me into your home, and, I like to believe, into your hearts, and made me feel more welcome than I have ever felt. Your warmth and kindness in allowing me to share your lives have made me feel that for the first time in my life I had a real family. A family who cared for and accepted me without reservation, and without expectation.

Now, however, my country and yours have decreed that I must go to war. I cannot of course divulge where I am being sent, even if I knew for certain. I confess that although I am a soldier, I am deathly afraid, but having known you, I hope to take courage, and I promise that I will try to make you all proud of me.

It is also my fervent hope that, should I survive, I will one day return to you.

Yours with affection and gratitude,

Charles (Chuck) Vickery.

My eyes filled as the letter fell from my nerveless fingers, and Mum and I clung to each other, sobbing uncontrollably. How I wished now that I had not been too stubborn to go with Chuck for that one last fuck, even though there was no way of knowing it was to be the last. At least I could have seen him leave without resentment.

Eventually we could find no more tears to shed, and Mum sat back with a sad smile. "I loved him you know. Not like I love your father, but I still loved him. I could never have let him shag me otherwise."

I squeezed her hand gently. "I know Mum."

It was good to know that she felt no shame, that she had not done it just for the food. She may have used the food as an excuse to let him take her knickers off, but the truth was she needed him to shag her, just as I had needed him to shag me. Although we both knew that most, if not all that he brought was almost certainly stolen, after reading his letter it was hard to think of him as a common thief. He had simply done what he thought necessary, not so we would let him shag us, but to feed us. Like Robin Hood, he had robbed the rich -- Uncle Sam - to feed the poor. Us. His 'family'. As Mum had implied, desperate times called for desperate measures, and in times of war normally accepted standards did not always apply. The sentiments expressed in the letter also told me that what had occurred to me, albeit briefly, could not have been more wrong. It told me that Mum and I had meant more to him than an easy shag, to be fucked and forgotten.

Chuck's unexpected departure left an unimaginable gap in all of our lives, but fortunately for me I had the forbidden thrill of Dad's always willing dick to console me in the hours Mum was out at work.

On a Sunday morning, a week or so after Chuck's letter, I answered the door to the last person I expected or wanted to see. "What do you want?" I demanded, as coldly as I could, trying not to stare at the ugly wide scar across his forehead. Somehow, although the scar itself was ugly, it didn't seem to make his face ugly.

The broad grin faded. "I came to see ma bonnie wee lassie."

"Did you now? Do you really think you could just leave without a word, and then just turn up again as if nothing had happened?"

His shoulders slumped as Hamish turned away. "I'm sorry, I'll no bother ye again."

Even though I wanted nothing to do with him, I was disappointed that he had given up so easily, so I called after him. "You could have at least written. I thought you got killed in the bombing."

With a shake of his head he turned back to face me. "No lassie, but if you dinna want tae see me I wish I had been."

"Why didn't you write?"

"I couldna. I knew the hoose but no the name o' the street. I had tae go away."

His downcast expression and intriguing accent were starting to soften me. "Well you've come this far, so I suppose you'd better come in and tell us about it."

Mum and Dad looked up from the table in surprise when Hamish followed me in, then without speaking Mum brought another cup and poured him a coffee. I studied his face as he told his story. Apparently the morning after I had seen him last, he had been ordered to pack his kit and issued with a travel warrant, and report to the Rolls Royce factory on the south coast. At the factory he had been extensively trained in all aspects of looking after the huge Merlin engines used in the Spitfire fighter planes. He had completed the course two days ago, then received a promotion, and ordered back to his original station to instruct the other mechanics. It had taken another day to get organised, and he had spent an uncomfortable night, trying to catch some sleep in the back of a jolting Air Force lorry loaded with spare parts.

It wasn't until he mentioned promotion that I noticed the two stripes rather inexpertly sewn on to his sleeves. Mum noticed the poor needlework at the same time, and in the no nonsense way she had, she held out her hand. "Give it here. I'll sew them properly before they fall off."

As she unpicked and restitched the stripes, Hamish started to talk enthusiastically about the ins and outs of aeroplane engines. Dad listened with interest, but most of it was beyond my comprehension, so I sat watching his animated face. One eyebrow was permanently raised from where he had the wound stitched, and after a while I decided I sort of liked him better with the scar.

When Mum finished sewing, he looked admiringly at the neat stitching, and as he pulled his jacket back on he looked at me uncertainly. "Wid ye like tae go for a wee walk lassie?"

Before I could reply, Mum looked out of the window, and with a warning glance at Dad not to interfere, she said, rather casually I thought, "It's a nice day for a picnic, so why don't I make some sandwiches? You can take the bikes. I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up to do."

We waited patiently whilst she opened a tin of Spam and sliced some bread, still warm and fragrant from the oven. Hamish's puckered eyebrow lifted further when he saw the tin, but he made no comment. I sensed that opening the precious meat was Mum's way of telling me that she had accepted him, and that it was only fair that I give him a chance. She put the sandwiches in a shopping bag with a bottle of water, and hanging it on the handlebars we set off.

We rode for what seemed like miles, not saying much, just enjoying the sun on our backs and the wind in our hair. My legs were starting to ache from pedalling, but we were passing a poultry farm, so I kept going until we could no longer smell the chicken poo. Finally I could go no further, and we stopped beside a field. Hamish looked at me, and then at a haystack in the middle of the field, and I knew he was thinking about the last time we had been together. I didn't say anything when he opened the gate. I just followed as he wheeled the bikes across the grass and behind the haystack out of view of the road.

Leaning the bikes against the bales of hay, he looked at me again. "Ye know I love ye lassie?"

It was more a statement than a question, and I nodded. I wasn't sure if I felt the same, but then he was kissing me and I did know. He had grown a neat moustache when he was away, giving his face a cavalier look, and drawing the attention away from his scarred forehead, and it tickled when he kissed me. I kissed all over his face, and his beautiful ugly scar and then his lips, and then his hands were on my breasts. My already aching legs turned rubbery, and I was almost relieved when he lowered me on to the sweet smelling hay. The sun was warm on my tits when he opened my blouse and unfastened my brassiere, but not as warm as his eyes as he gazed at me. Nor as warm as his lips as he gently sucked my hard puckered nipples in exactly the way they needed to be sucked. In exactly the way his soft lips were meant to suck them.

When his hand moved down I froze for a moment, scared of what he would do or say when he discovered I wasn't a virgin, and then I thought that if I was his first, maybe he wouldn't know the difference. I didn't try to stop him when he took my knickers off and lifted my skirt to look at my fanny. His fingers were gentle as he parted my lower lips and stroked my clitoris, and then he was between my legs. This time there was no slamming door to interrupt us, only the slamming of my heart as he pushed his hard virgin dick into me. Too late I realised that he wasn't wearing anything, but then I told myself that if I couldn't give him my physical virginity, at least I could give him my imaginary virginity by letting him be the first man to come inside me.

It was the most glorious fuck I had ever had -- no, it wasn't a fuck -- we were making love. Pure beautiful love. I thrust my hips up to meet him, trying to force him deeper, straining to draw his love through his wonderful cock, to join with the love that was already threatening to burst my heart. When my climax started it wasn't frenzied or urgent the way it was with Dad, or demanding and overpowering like with Chuck. It was as gentle and flowing as Hamish's kisses. As gentle and flowing as my come, as it met and mingled with the hot flood of his come.

When he took his cock out he looked down at me in amazement, and I had never thought I would ever see so much love in someone's eyes as I saw in his. "Och lassie, that was grand" he whispered. "You are grand."

Unaccountably I was a little embarrassed by the compliment, and I tried to hide it by gesturing towards the shopping bag. With an apologetic smile, he unhooked the bag from the handlebars, and took out the sandwiches. As we ate I leaned against the haystack with my blouse still open and my brassiere hanging loose. My skirt was still bunched around my waist, and I parted my legs, simply because I wanted him to look at my tits and fanny, so he would know that they were his whenever he wanted, forever and a day. I of course studied him with equal interest, both pleased and impressed with how much bigger and firmer his divine dick was than Dad's. At a guess I estimated his cock to be something over eight inches, which made it a good inch and a half bigger. That is not to say that Dad had ever failed to satisfy me though. The difference was that whilst I loved Dad, and would always love him shagging me, I was not in love with him the way I was with my gentle Scotsman.