Blitzed

When the sandwiches were finished, Hamish came to me again, and came into me again, and finally came inside me again. His hands and mouth on my tits and nipples, and the slow steady strokes of his beloved cock carried me to peak after heavenly peak of almost unbearable ecstasy, and when we both came, after what seemed like hours later, as it softened inside me that same cock brought me gently down, until we lay entwined in indescribable bliss.

As the sun began its descent, I fastened my brassiere and blouse, and pulled my knickers on over my satisfyingly sticky fanny, and we set off towards home. The poultry farmer waved to us over the fence as we passed, so out of politeness we stopped to chat. He stared openly at Hamish's scar, and in a broad northern accent asked bluntly how it happened. In the same offhanded manner he had had used when I first saw his bandaged head, Hamish explained about getting too close to a bomb. With an understanding nod, the farmer told us to wait, and disappeared into the shed. A few minutes later he returned and handed a sack to Hamish.

"It's not much," he said gruffly, "but we 'ave to look after our boys. I aint 'ad time ter dress 'em yet, but I've took the heads an' feet off. The white un is only a boiler, but she'll be good enough fer soup." We tried to thank him, but he shrugged dismissively. "No need for that. I only wish I could do more. I'm too old to fight. If yer ever this way again, drop in an' I'll see what I can find." I kissed his cheek impulsively, trying to ignore the smell of chicken poo - and I dreaded to think what else - on his ragged and frequently patched overalls, and after Hamish tied the sack to the seat of Dad's bike, we mounted up and rode home.

As soon as we walked into the house Mum knew. I wasn't sure if she was most pleased about the chickens or Hamish shagging me, but as we sat in the kitchen tugging the feathers out, she took my hand and looked into my eyes. "Now you understand how it was with Chuck."

I smiled. "I always understood Mum. When you love someone there's nothing you won't do for them." Even as I said it I knew I was including Dad. I didn't love him the way Mum loved him, but I did love him, or I could have found a way to stop him shagging me that first time. With Chuck it had been different. I liked him but I didn't really feel any love for him. It had simply been that hearing from Doris how Wilbur shagged her made me too aroused to resist, and Chuck had been so skilled and experienced that after the first time I had absolutely no wish to resist. I suppose I grew to love him a little more with each shag, but I didn't love him that first time, and I never really gave him my heart.

Little more than an hour after Mum and I finished plucking the fowl, the four of us were sitting down to a sumptuous meal of roast chicken, with both mashed and roast potatoes smothered with rich gravy. After we wiped our plates clean with bread, Mum made coffee, and then Hamish and I sat on the couch holding hands, whilst Mum and Dad took the armchairs. When the coffee was finished, Hamish stood up, declaring he had to catch a bus to the station, and then a train back to the aerodrome. Needless to say I offered to walk with him to the bus, and as we approached the stop I kept a lookout for a convenient shop doorway.

When we found one I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. This time we didn't make love. We fucked. Urgently and eagerly. The fact that we loved each other made it even better, but the plain truth was at that moment we were driven by raw unbridled lust. Relentlessly his hard cock rammed up into my wet fanny, and I responded by jamming down to meet every wonderful thrust. We managed to finish just as the bus arrived, and with no time to pull up my knickers, I kissed him goodbye and practically skipped home with yet another fanny full of his come.

We went to the club again the following Saturday night, and I was more than a little smug at the end of the evening, when I shocked Doris by telling her that Hamish and I were leaving so we could have a shag before he caught the bus. On Monday morning at work, she badgered me continually for what she called 'the juicy details' but other than teasing her by holding my hands about a foot apart and swearing he had a dick 'this long', I remained tight lipped. By the time I got home my thoughts had me so hot and bothered, that I could hardly wait for Mum to leave so I could take my knickers off for Dad.

A week later I was a little anxious but I said nothing. Another week passed and I became really worried. We were shagging against the wall outside the club, and not wanting to spoil it for him I waited until Hamish came in me, then I straightened my knickers and told him my monthly was overdue.

It took a moment or two to sink in, then he stepped back. "Well that's it then." My heart shattered as I told myself that his reaction meant he was going to finish with me, but he grabbed my hand. "Come on then."

He started pulling me towards home, and rather stupidly I tried to turn the other way "What about your bus?"

"To hell with the bus. This is more important."

When we got home, he took a deep breath, then pushed inside. Mum and Dad were sitting on the couch, and looked up in surprise to see him. Taking my hand he looked Dad in the eye and said bluntly. "We're 'avin' a bairn."

Dad's face darkened and he clenched his fists as he started to rise, but Mum grabbed his arm. "Don't start Fred. They only did what we used to do. And I was at least a year younger than Thelma is, or don't you remember that?"

Dad sat back down. "Maybe, but that was different" he said stubbornly. "She's my daughter."

Mum laughed. "So what? I was somebody's daughter too, but that didn't stop you."

He knew he couldn't win against Mum, so he gave up arguing. "Well at least you were man enough to face me" he told Hamish grudgingly. "What now?"

Hamish squared his shoulders. "I dinna want any bairn o' mine growin' up wi'out a father like I did, so if she'll 'ave me we'll wed. We'd like yer blessin', but she's old enough to wed wi'out it so it's up to you."

I think Dad surprised us all then by sticking out his hand for Hamish to shake, then pointed at the scar. "OK lad, but if you ever make her cry I'll make you cry. You'll wish that bloody bomb had hit you."

My new husband to be shook his head. "Dinna worry aboot that, I won't." He thought for a moment, then said "I'll 'ave tae get permission from my C.O. It might 'elp if ye can give me a note saying ye both agree."

At Mum's insistence Dad quickly scribbled a letter of consent, which my parents each signed, then I signed for good measure. Tucking it carefully into his pocket, Hamish looked at the clock. "If I run I might catch a lift to the railway station on the Yankee truck. I 'ave to report in by six in the mornin'." He shook hands with Dad again, kissed Mum on the cheek and me on the lips, and ran as fast as he could to where Chuck had always caught his lift.

I was too excited to sleep that night, and I lay staring into the darkness, picturing the moment that Hamish and I would finally lie together skin to skin as man and wife. My mind went back to the haystack, when I had sat with my legs apart as he gazed lovingly at my come filled fanny, and my hand crept between my thighs. "Hamish, oh Hamish," I sighed happily, as my fingers probed into the results of our most recent shag, and the familiar sweet burning began again. I abandoned myself to the feeling, furiously rubbing my clitoris until my come poured out on to the sheets. It was almost six in the morning before exhaustion caught up with me, and my last thoughts as I dozed off were, of course, of Hamish, and the hope that he had made it back to the aerodrome in time.

Mum and Dad let me sleep until noon on Sunday, and after lunch I went to the church to post the wedding banns, only to be told that my future husband needed to go with me, so the vicar could talk to us both together and explain about the sanctity of marriage, and to set a wedding date. I was a bit dispirited when I returned home, but Mum soon cheered me up by giving me a small velvet bag.

"This was my Grandma's" she smiled. "I've been saving it for you."

I opened the bag and tipped a gold ring into my palm, and burst into tears. It looked as old as it must have been, and showed signs of wear, but to me nothing could have been more perfect or more precious.

That wasn't the only exciting thing that happened to me that day, although the other was more outrageous. Mum was cooking tea when the lights went out, which wasn't at all unusual. I fetched a candle and set it on the bench beside the stove, and rather than waste another candle Dad and I stood in the kitchen watching. After a few minutes he moved in front of me, and I felt him slyly inch up the front of my skirt. I froze for a moment, unable to believe he could be so daring, then his finger was inside the leg of my knickers, and daring became exciting. I parted my legs a little, pushing my hips forward so he could stroke my clitoris, and he took my hand and pushed it into the pocket of his trousers. With a firm grasp on his stiff dick, I stood wanking him in the gloom while he made me come with his fingers. Despite the number of times I had been shagged, this was the first time I had actually held a dick in my hand, and I shivered with excitement, rubbing faster until the stickiness seeped through the fabric of his pocket.

The whole office was buzzing with excitement next day when I broke the news of my betrothal, and during the breaks I was besieged with questions and congratulations. Between breaks though, I found it difficult to concentrate on my work, because all I could think about was how Dad's dick had felt in my hand. When I got home I had to force myself to eat as I watched the clock hands move with agonising slowness, until what seemed like years later Mum left for work. As soon as she was gone I tugged my knickers off and put his hand on my fanny, then I took his dick out and watched my hand slide up and down until a thick white stream of come shot up and over my curled fingers. A little later he wanted to shag me without a rubber, but I told him that despite what Hamish had said, I wasn't entirely certain that I was pregnant, so with a reluctant shrug he took the more prudent course.

We shagged again the following night, although I wanked him another couple of times that week, just to see his come spurt out.

Hamish turned up on Saturday, triumphantly waving the letter of consent, and we went directly to the church to post the banns. The vicar gave us a boring lecture about the responsibilities as well as the blessings of holy matrimony, and a whole lot of other stuff that I didn't listen to -- which we certainly didn't need to know, since we were fully aware of the path we were embarking on, we booked the church for four thirty in the afternoon three weeks' later. We went back home and told Mum and Dad the wedding date, and after tea we went to the club.

Doris and Wilbur were there as usual, and as soon as she saw us she went up to the stage and spoke to the singer. A minute later I was blushing like mad when our engagement was announced to the whole crowd. Hamish on the other hand was strutting like a peacock, with an idiotic grin on his face. For the next half hour or more, in addition to sincere congratulations he was subjected to a good natured succession of lewd suggestions from some of the men, delivered in stage whispers loud enough for me to hear, whilst to my shocked embarrassment I received some even more explicit predictions from the women of what my future held. Fortunately these were more discreetly whispered, as I felt certain that such unladylike language would make even a lady of the night hang her head in shame.

The suggestions were not without effect however, and at the end of the evening I don't know how long we stood against the wall, in the even darker shadows behind the club, as my wonderful Hamish made slow gentle love to me. I only know it was nowhere near long enough for me, and later, in the doorway near the bus stop he took off my knickers, and we fucked with a fierce passion until the bus arrived.

The next two weeks are a little indistinct in my memory as I prepared for the big day. The weekend before the wedding I was unpicking the lace from the hem of an old petticoat, thinking to sew it onto my best dress to get married in, when Mum stopped me and asked Dad to lift a battered suitcase down from the top of her wardrobe. It had been there so long, and I was so used to it being up there that any curiosity I may have had about what it may contain had disappeared with my childhood. After brushing off years of accumulated dust, he placed it on the dining table and took out a large brown paper bag.

"This is something else I've been saving for you," she said quietly. "My Mum was married in it, and so was I. It's a bit old fashioned, but I hope... well you know."

I looked at the framed photo on the wall of Mum and Dad on their wedding day. In the past I had giggled so often at the stern faces and quaint clothing in the photograph, but when Mum unwrapped her antique wedding dress nothing I had ever seen looked more beautiful. It was a little yellowed in places, but after washing it gently in the bath with just the tiniest drop of bleach, it looked as good as new.

I had already asked Doris to be my bridesmaid, and that Saturday night at the club Hamish put aside the silly resentment that existed between our boys and the 'Yankee invaders', and grudgingly invited Wilbur to be his best man. My best friend's beau was so delighted that he flatly refused to allow Hamish to put his hand in his pocket to buy a single drink all evening. As a result, both men drank a little more than was wise, and although not exactly drunk my man was so tiddly that later on behind the club, it took a little coaxing on my part to make his dick stiff enough for my much anticipated shag. Thankfully he needed no such prompting as we waited for his bus.

On the Sunday it occurred to me that the dress raised a totally unexpected problem. I had intended to walk the short distance to the church, but to drag the hem of such a magnificent gown through the streets was not only unthinkable, it would be unforgivable. I said as much to Mum, but Dad shrugged it off with his usual "We'll think of something." It worried me all day at work on Monday, but when he arrived home he calmly announced that the problem was solved. No matter how much I nagged him, he refused to tell me what he had planned, but I was so relieved that when Mum left for work I was happier than usual to shed my knickers for him. There was no doubt in my mind now that I was truly pregnant, so when he pulled his trousers down I was almost tempted to let him put his uncovered dick in me and come inside my fanny. The only thing that stopped me was until I was married I really wanted nobody but Hamish to do that.

In the days leading up to the wedding I was quite surprised that except for that Monday night, Dad didn't try to shag me again, although the familiar sounds came through the wall every night, adding to my discomfort. Before the week was out I was in an almost constant state of arousal. We were thinking of getting ready for bed on the Friday night when Hamish turned up unexpectedly, carrying his dress uniform, and announced that he had been granted a three day pass. My hopes rose when Dad enlisted his aid, and between them they moved the single bed from the spare room, and pushed it alongside mine to make a double.

Any ideas I had were quickly dashed though, when Dad looked Hamish in the eye. "I don't care what you two have been up to, but you're not doing it under my roof until the girl has a ring on her finger. You're on the couch in the parlour." It seemed a little hypocritical considering what he had been doing to me 'under his roof ', but what could I do?

"I love a lassie, a bonnie bonnie lassie." Hamish's frightfully off key voice woke me much too early on Saturday morning, and I rushed downstairs, hoping to hush him before he woke the neighbourhood. It wasn't until I barged indignantly into the parlour, that I remembered it was supposed to bring bad luck to the marriage if the bride and groom saw each other on the morning of the wedding. It certainly didn't seem to bother him though, because with a hearty "Good morning bonnie lassie," he kissed me soundly, and with one eye on the door he boldly stroked my fanny through my nightdress.

"Don't," I pushed him away hastily. "Someone might come."

He gave a dirty chuckle. "If we keep this up we both will." I punched his arm in exasperation, and he became more serious. "Get yersel' dressed. I need tae take a wee ride an' return a favour, an' maybe do a bit o' scroungin'. We'll be no more than an hour or so, so ye'll have plenty o' time tae get into yer finery."

With him leading the way on Dad's bicycle we set off, and before long I realised he was heading for the poultry farm. We were greeted cordially when we arrived, and after a brief handshake Hanish pulled a paper wrapped bundle from inside his uniform jacket. "We're bein' wed t'day an' I was thinkin' that maybe ye will take this in return fer a wee chicken. It has a bit o' a tear in the leg but a stitch'll fix it."

The farmer unwrapped an Air Force issue boiler suit, hardly worn but with one seam open from knee to ankle, and shook his head. "One thing tha needs to understand son. When Sam Harper gives his word he means it. I promised a couple o' birds so tha shall 'ave 'em." He held the overalls against him for size. "I'll take these as a gift freely given and thanks for 'em. Bit long in the leg, but they'll be right 'andy after the missus sews 'em. Come inside an' I'll fetch the fowl."

He showed us into a neat sitting room, where a rather nondescript woman of middle years sat unpicking an old jumper and rolling the wool into a ball. She smiled briefly as we entered, and continued her task as he left the room. After a moment she laid her work aside. "Yer'll be the couple as stopped by a while back." Her accent was as strange as his, and she pronounce 'couple' as cowple'. "Sam must 'ave took a shine to yer, 'cause we don't 'ave many visitors. At least not that 'e brings inside."

Hamish nodded and gestured to the overalls which had been draped on a chair. "Aye, we brought that for 'im. It needs sewing though. The lassie and me are being wed this afternoon, and I thought tae swap it for a chicken for after the weddin'. I mean it's no a real weddin' wi'out a feast."

She nodded agreement and rose from her chair. "No it ent. Not wi'out flowers either. Wait here."

I looked anxiously at the clock over the fireplace as she left the room. Our visit was taking longer than I expected, but I felt it would be impolite to try to hurry things along. After what seemed an eternity Mrs. Harper returned with a huge armful of freshly cut blooms, followed minutes later by Sam, struggling with a large wooden box.

"Picked a few veg'bles while I was at it. May as well give yer a proper dinner, this bein' a special day an' all. There be some eggs too. They never go astray."

We looked dubiously at the box and the flowers. "It's good o' ye Sir," Hamish muttered, "but we canna accept. I mean it's no that we wouldna like 'em," he added hastily, "but we canna carry that lot on our bikes."

Sam shrugged. "Well I'll just 'ave t' drive the pair o' yer."

Hamish and I both tried to protest, but it was like banging our heads against a wall, so we gave up, and Hamish helped lift the box and the bikes on to a dilapidated old lorry. We all squeezed into the cramped cabin with me on Hamish's knee buried beneath the flowers, and we set off. It would have been almost as quick to ride our bikes home, and probably more comfortable.