Blitzed

"Sounds like the old girl needs some work," Hamish shouted over the noise, as the lorry lurched and spluttered along.

"I know," Sam yelled back, "but I'm na good wi' engines an' stuff. Him as usually fixes it is awa' fightin' so it's not bin looked at fer more'n three year now."

I should have thought before I opened my mouth, but instead I blurted out "I bet Hamish can fix it for you. He fixes Spitfires." Too late I realised that I had just told someone I had only met once before, something that could be very damaging if the wrong ears heard it. Maybe I could even be hanged for treason!

"Yer should be careful who yer tells about that." Sam's tone was reproachful, and rightly so. "Just as well we're on the same side, so I'll ferget I heard it." He was silent for a moment, then he glanced sideways at my fiance. "It would be good if yer could though. Dun like ter think 'ow much longer it's gunna last."

We stopped outside the house, and as Hamish helped Sam carry the box inside, he said "Look, if you really want I'd be glad tae tak a look at the old girl if ye can wait a couple o' weeks. Canna promise tae fix her but it'll no hurt tae tak a look."

As they deposited the box on the floor in the kitchen, I handed the flowers to Mum and introduced Sam to her and Dad, whilst my soon to be husband fetched the bikes. Dad and Sam took to each other at once, and soon they were chatting over a glass of whiskey, and sharing experiences about the Great War. It seemed that Sam had escaped being gassed by the skin of his teeth, and after the war he had left his native Northumberland, wandering aimlessly from job to job, until he had been taken on by the owner of a small poultry farm. During a brief visit to his home town he had caught up with and married his childhood sweetheart, and together they had returned to the farm, which he had later bought.

As he prepared to leave, Sam beckoned to Hamish. "If yer can fix it I'd be right pleased. Can't pay with anythin' but fowl an' eggs, but yer welcome t' all yer can take."

After some friendly banter the two came to an agreement. If he succeeded in fixing the lorry, Hamish would stop by every month or so to keep an eye on it, and in return Sam would keep us supplied with chickens and eggs. When he left he took with him our thanks for what he had just given us, in the form of a decent sized piece of bacon and two blocks of chocolate.

Doris and Wilbur arrived just after lunch, and whilst Mum prepared a plump chicken for the oven, my friend showed an unsuspected talent by making up a stunning bridal bouquet, using some of the flowers and the lace I had unpicked from the old petticoat. When it was finished, she put Hamish and Wilbur to work, helping her decorate the house with the remaining blooms, saving some for buttonholes.

Mum used some eggs, sugar, flour, and a half block of the chocolate to bake a sponge cake, and although there was no way to ice it, at least it would serve as a wedding cake of sorts.

Slowly the clock ticked around, and I started to get nervous about how I would get to the church in my wedding dress, but Dad kept reassuring me, which of course did nothing to reassure me. At a quarter to four, the bridegroom and his best man changed into their dress uniforms, and set off on the short walk to the church, giving me time to get ready.

At four fifteen on the dot, I heard a clatter of hooves outside. Dad let off telling me how beautiful I looked, and smiled with relief. There was a small two wheeled cart at the kerb, harnessed to a rather tired looking horse. It took me second and third glances to recognise the elderly driver as our local greengrocer. It was the first time I had seen him without his leather apron, and now he looked so different in a rather tight three piece suit, and a bowler hat. Seating was provided by four upturned wooden boxes arranged in the bed of the cart, covered with a threadbare sheet, and although it didn't look too neat, at least it would keep my dress clean. The driver took his familiar pipe from his mouth and apologised for not being able to find anything better, but Mum quickly provided a solution.

Fetching pillows from the beds, she set them on the boxes, and told Dad to take down the pleated draw curtains from the parlour window. Arranged over the cushioned boxes they made adequately comfortable seating, and after Mum put the chicken into the oven to roast while we were out, we set off for the church. It was only a makeshift arrangement, but perched beside Dad where everyone could see me, with Mum and Doris behind us, I felt that even the King and Queen could not have had a grander carriage.

On the stroke of four thirty Dad walked me proudly down the aisle, and soon Miss Thelma Patricia Greening, became Mrs. Thelma Patricia Browning, adoring wife of Hamish McGregor Browning.

Somehow Dad had managed to arrange for a photographer, and after posing for several pictures outside the church, we all climbed on to the cart for the return trip.

As Dad paid the greengrocer his agreed 'fee' of a packet of strong American pipe tobacco, which Mum had found amongst the cigarettes, with a small drink of whiskey for good measure, Mum put the vegetables on the stove, whilst Hamish and Wilbur replaced the curtains. Thirty minutes later we sat down to a meal fit for a king. Doris and I cleared away the dirty plates, and Mum melted the remainder of the chocolate block with some evaporated milk, sugar and water. After thickening the mixture into a sauce with flour, she finally added a dash of Dad's whiskey, and poured it over the cake.

There was just enough left in the bottle for the wedding toast, then Mum surprised Dad by producing the second bottle from the wardrobe upstairs. Thanks to the whiskey, and a bottle of sparkling wine Wilbur had brought 'for the ladies', we were all a little tipsy by the time Doris and her beau left, but certainly not enough to impair our senses. After a short time, Dad yawned ostentatiously and went upstairs with Mum. My new husband and I waited until we heard their door close then we took the stairs two at a time.

By the time he carried me over the threshold into our room and started to undress me, I could already hear the rhythmic squeaking from next door. Happy and excited that Mum and Dad were doing what I was eager to do, I lay on the bed and parted my legs as I watched Hamish undress. He had seen my tits and fanny that time behind the haystack, but this was the first time he had seen me totally naked, and he sighed as he joined me on the bed.

"Och, ye're the bonniest lassie that ever drew breath," he whispered as he kissed my lips and face. He seemed almost afraid to touch me now that I was truly his, and I took his hand and pressed it firmly to my breast. The spell broken, he lowered his mouth to my hardened nipples, a sudden urgency in his sucking. Very slowly, much too slowly, he kissed his way down my trembling body, until he was gazing adoringly between my legs.

"Och lassie, what a perrfect wee twat." I was a little shocked when he said that word. Of all the names I knew for 'it', twat was the one I liked least, even worse than the c- word, which I knew but couldn't say even to myself, but hearing my darling husband say it, somehow it wasn't nearly as distasteful as I had previously considered it. From puberty until I met Chuck I had had a fanny, then for him it had been a pussy, so if my true love wanted it to be a twat, then a twat it would be, and another word was added to my list. I was shocked again when he parted my lower lips, and his mouth descended. Then it was all excitement as he began to lick me.

As his tongue plunged deeper, his moustache brushed my burning clitoris, hastening my climax, and I made a silent vow that he would suffer dire consequences should he ever dare shave it off. With my peak rapidly approaching its zenith, my wonderful lover moved up over me, then his glorious baby maker was inside me, gliding, sliding, thrusting, lifting me closer to heaven. Except that heaven could never be as good as this. And then he was coming. And I was coming, and our essences were mingling in the dark wet depths of my slippery twat. Our slippery twat, because that night we were totally one, body and soul.

For the first of many times we fell asleep in each other's arms, with his softening cock still inside me. I must have turned over in my sleep, because I awoke in the darkness with him pressed tightly against my back, and his hard cock pushing into me. His work calloused hand was bringing indescribable sensations to my tits, and I pushed back, matching him thrust for thrust until that wonderful moment when once again he poured his come into my welcoming twat.

The morning sun was streaming in between the curtains when I awoke again, and I turned to look down on his adorable face with his puckered eyebrow, relaxed in sleep. Trying not to wake him I kissed him gently, tasting myself on his moustache and bringing back delicious memories. My kiss wasn't gentle enough, or perhaps he was already awake, because his startlingly blue eyes opened, reflecting the sunshine.

"Good morning bonnie lassie," he smiled, drawing me closer. Our lips and bodies joined again, and we made love over and over until neither had any more to give.

About two hours after breakfast on Sunday I had quite a pleasant shock when I went downstairs to make a drink. I glanced into the living room on the way to the kitchen, and Mum was sitting beside Dad on the couch. Her dress was open to the waist, and he was lovingly stroking her bare breasts as her hand slid up and down his hard dick. I watched in spellbound silence until his come spilled over her fingers, and then I crept back upstairs, drinks completely forgotten in my need to feel Hamish drive his cock into me again.

The next two days were pure bliss. Except for meals and calls of nature, we rarely ventured from our room, not because we were constantly shagging, but simply because I liked to see the love in his blue eyes as he gazed at my naked body. Just as he saw the love in mine as I stared at his.

All too soon it was Monday night, and I was standing at the bus stop waving farewell as my beloved returned to duty. I had tried to make our parting memories as pleasant for him as I could by leaving my knickers and brassiere at home, and I could still feel his mouth on my nipples as his warm come trickled down my thighs.

I was terribly despondent next day, and my mood wasn't helped by thoughts of the previous two days. Mum tried to cheer me up by talking saying how beautiful I had looked in my wedding dress, but that only made things worse by reminding me of how eager Hamish had been to take it off. And how eager I had been for him to press his naked body against mine. I had been too upset at work to eat, and when I got home she practically forced some food down me, which did make me feel a little better.

Later, after she had gone to work, Dad sat beside me on the couch and put an arm around me. "Never mind love, he'll be back before you know it, you'll see. Until then I'm here for you." He patted my tummy. "It's hard to think that my little girl is going to be a Mum, even though it happened sooner than anyone expected." He started to pull the hem of my skirt up. "At least now it doesn't matter any more if I come in you."

I tried to tell myself that now that I was a married woman it would be wrong to let another man touch me, but that only made the thrill of the forbidden even more tempting. Besides, being married hadn't stopped Mum spreading her legs for Chuck, and the one thing I really needed right then was a good shagging, so I let him take my knickers off. He supported himself on his hands so he could watch his bare dick sliding in and out, and before long we were both panting contentedly as for the first time Dad shot his come into my fanny.

In the past weeks there had been a merciful lull in the bombing, but the next night they came again with greater intensity. For more than a fortnight there was little respite, and every night we spent hours cowering under the stairs. There were of course benefits to the situation, and my greatest fear was not of the bombs, but that Mum would finally cotton on to what was happening as Dad shagged me. Nonetheless, the risk seemed worth it, because as well as the added excitement, whilst his dick was inside me I could forget about the war and the bombs. Most times after he came in me he didn't bother to take it out, and if the raid went on longer than usual I would feel him becoming hard enough to shag me again.

Needless to say, when I wasn't being distracted by Dad's dick I was terribly worried about my husband, and even more so when he didn't come home on the next weekend. Mum and Dad kept reassuring me that if the worst happened to him the Air Force would let us know, but that just made things worse, because then I started dreading an awful knock on the door. When he did turn up on the following Saturday on a thirty six hour pass, I threw myself into his arms, sobbing with relief, and later we fucked as though there would be no tomorrow, which of course was a definite possibility.

Next morning we made love until almost midday, and after we had a meal we cycled to the Harper farm, so Hamish could have a look at the lorry as promised. Sam was looking gloomy when we arrived, and said it had died three days earlier. Within twenty minutes Hamish gave him the bad news. The carburettor had given up the ghost, and due to the age of the engine it was doubtful they would find a replacement any time soon. The best bet was for Hamish to take it with him, and see if he could repair it in the camp machine shop during his off duty time.

On the Friday night much to Dad's frustration, just as he was preparing push his dick into my wet fanny Hamish arrived, and after snatching a quick sandwich he led me upstairs. Minutes later I was writhing in ecstasy as his hard cock plundered my already thoroughly aroused twat. After that first frantic fuck we rested a while, then made love, slowly and tenderly far into the night. He woke me in the morning by pushing inside me again from behind, and after we both came we had breakfast and rode over to Sam's farm.

Hamish explained that, as feared, the carburettor was beyond repair, but he had managed to scrounge a similar one and make an adaptor plate, so hopefully it would fit the engine and keep it running for at least a few months. Half an hour later he had the engine running smoothly, albeit noisily. We chatted for a while then with the usual chicken tied to the seat of the bike, we hurried home to make love again.

It has often been said that one man's misfortune is another man's fortune, and the truth of this was shown one morning on the way to work. Dad and I were riding along the main road, and we saw that next door to Simmond's Motor Garage, what had yesterday been Turnbull's Furniture Store was now rubble. The proprietor, Wilfred Turnbull was wandering through the wreckage like a lost sheep, as he surveyed what had once been the largest store in the area.

Dad got off his bike and walked over to him. "Bloody lousy luck Wilf," he said gently.

"All gone Fred. All those years of work, and for what?" Wilf swept a despairing arm around him, taking in the destruction. "This blasted war! Where is it going to end?" He accepted a cigarette Dad offered, and sat hopelessly on the corner of an ornately carved, debris covered double bed that had been the centrepiece of his display, his shoulders shaking as he fought back the tears.

Dad took a seat beside him. "Sad thing you know Wilf, I've had an eye on this bed since my Thelma here got married, and now look at it. Buggered."

The stricken store owner looked at me, taking in the slight swell of my stomach, then shrugged as he bounced up and down on the mattress. "It's a good strong bed. Solid oak, so it might be ok. If you want to dig it out you can take it. Sure as buggery I can't sell it." He took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders as he stood up. "Ah, damn it Fred, take anything you want. I'm finished. Done. I'm walking away from it all."

I could see Dad was as tempted as I was, but I felt uncomfortable at the thought of taking advantage of someone so obviously shocked, so I told him so, adding "Besides, if the police came we would be locked up for stealing."

He nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right. I'm not so shocked that I don't know what's what though, so you can help yourself anyway." He thought for a moment then looked at me. "Do you have any money?"

I shook my head. "Only a few shillings, why?"

"How much?" he insisted, so I looked in my purse.

"Six and elevenpence ha'penny."

He nodded again. "OK." He climbed over the rubbish to the overturned counter and returned with a battered sales book. "What's your married name?"

"Thelma Browning. My husband is Scottish. He's in the Air Force."

He scribbled for a moment, then tore out a page and handed it to me. "That will cover you for the police. Give me five bob." I handed him two florins and a shilling, and looked at the slip of paper.

'W. Turnbull and Co. Ltd.

Received from -- Mrs Thelma Browning.

The sum of Five Shillings, being payment in full for salvaged goods.

Signed, Wilfred Turnbull, Proprietor.'

Before I could find my tongue, he turned and walked away without a backward glance.

I started to clear the rubble from around the bed, but Dad stopped me. "You go and find the greengrocer. Ask him if he'll use his cart to take the bed home. Tell him I'll make it worth his while."

When I returned forty minutes later the bed was cleared, and piled high with what seemed to be the entire stock of pillows and other bedding. I stared in disbelief, and Dad shrugged. "Well he did say to take what we want. The bed's not so bad. A wardrobe fell on it and took most of the impact, and I found a cot for the baby too. It's broken but I think I can fix it up." He called over a couple of youths who were watching on with interest, and offered them two shillings each and between them they loaded the unexpected bounty onto the cart.

Mum was flabbergasted when we arrived home, and I could tell she didn't really believe us when we told her where everything came from until I showed her the sales slip. Because of my condition I was only allowed to carry the bedding, but between them the other three managed to carry and half drag everything into the parlour. Dad had intended to pay the greengrocer with a couple of tins of meat, but changed his mind when he saw the man examining the bedding. Since there was far more than we could ever need, we were even happier when he settled for a couple of pillows and a heavy blanket.

After a quick snack, Dad and I reported for work, and by the time we arrived home again Mum had sorted the bedding, and reported that apart from a couple of blankets which needed washing, everything else seemed perfectly serviceable. I wanted to start moving the furniture upstairs, but the idea was vetoed, so it remained in the parlour until Hamish came home. Instead I had to content myself with wiping the grime from the polished wood of the bed and the only slightly damaged pair of mismatched bedside drawers.

When Hamish came home the two men dismantled the massive bed and carried it up the stairs. That night I sighed with pleasure at the luxury of Hamish fucking me on a big soft mattress, that wasn't likely to divide down the middle from our exertions at the most inopportune moment.

As time passed I found I quite liked being pregnant. Until I was forced to stop working, I was the centre of attention with the girls and women at the factory, and at home I was mollycoddled. In addition to the excitement of knowing that a part of my beloved was growing inside me, there were other benefits of an equally pleasing nature. As my waistline expanded my fanny became more prominent, and my increasingly protruding clitoris became so sensitive that it needed only the merest touch to arouse me. Dad and Hamish became solicitous to the point where I was finding it slightly annoying, although I did find it rather touching the way they kissed my swollen belly, and caressed it gently when they shagged me.