The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 18zc

Copyright 2003 by Paul C.

Rubies are Red. Part 29.

Paul

I turned over in the surprisingly comfortable camp bed and looked at my wristwatch; about the only possession they allowed me to keep. It was five o'clock. I felt better for those few hours sleep although I was feeling hungry.

I looked across the tent and saw Howie, asleep in his bed and beyond him my grandfather. My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. They had provided us with water but nothing else since they had stopped us earlier.

I realised I hadn't eaten since that tin of warm beans at six that morning.

The American troops that had stopped us had what could be best described as a firm but fair attitude. If you did as you were told. They were about fifty of them as far as I could judge and the way extra tents were being erected more were expected.

Grandfather's friend was nowhere to be found and the American Commanding Officer denied all knowledge of him. We had all been interviewed collectively and singularly and our details taken down. Howie told me he had a promise from the CO that a message would be sent to notify our families that we were safe. That was something anyway.

Heather had been taken to a tent on the far side of the airfield that we were told was the first aid post. They had a medic who visited us to check on our condition and he reassured us he was well used to patching up gunshot wounds and broken arms and that she was going to be fine.

It was beginning to get dark inside the tent. I couldn't see any form of lighting. At this rate it would be pitch black in a short time.

I climbed from my bed and walked to the door. The flaps were only lightly laced so I undid them and stepped outside. My stomach gurgled again. A visit to the toilet was called for. I looked around. There were surprisingly few troops on view that I could see. But then I can't have been able to see very well for I didn't notice the man who was standing behind me until I turned my head in his direction.

"Good evening Sir." He said. "The Major would like to see you."

"I was looking for the toilets."

"We will pass the heads on the way."

The soldier held his weapon cradled across the front of his body. He indicated the way with a movement of the barrel. I headed in that direction.

After a short stop to relive myself we arrived at one of a number of permanent brick and wood buildings. They had all seen better days and were in need of repairs. As I mounted the steps at one end of the building I glanced to my right. There, parked under a corrugated iron roof was an aeroplane. I recognised it as one of the amphibious boats used to rescue downed pilots and sailors in the Second World War. A Catalina I thought they were called.

We walked along the short veranda and entered the building. There was a corridor that led to the rear with a number of doors on either side. The soldier knocked on the first door on the left.

"Come." A voice answered.

I was ushered inside. The Major sat behind a table on which the small briefcase I had brought from London lay open. I hadn't realised we had brought it with us from the hotel. Although, thinking about it Howie had been carrying it out of the hotel.

He had the four envelopes open and the blank sheets of paper in a pile on one side. Beside it was a much smaller pile of bearer bonds. Open in front of him was one of the document folders.

"Sit down. Mr Wagstaffe. Tell me what you know about this."

"About what?" I replied sitting in a folding, wooden chair opposite him.

He pulled open a drawer and, after a seconds rummaging, produced my passport.

"It states here you have the status of a diplomat."

"If it says that." I replied slowly.

"And you know what the contents of these files are?"

"No." I confessed. "My reading Spanish isn't that good and besides I never really had the time to look at them."

"Why were they in your possession?"

"I was asked to bring them over for somebody. Look, what is this all about?"

"These are geological reports indicating the presence of large untapped deposits of oil and gas off the coast. They need further investigation but there could be more than there is in some middle-eastern countries."

"That would be very good for the people of this country."

"Certainly for the people who are in charge." He agreed.

"Where is the Interior Minister?" He asked after a few seconds silence.

"The last I saw of him he was lying half in and half out of a bath in our hotel."

"You mean he's dead?"

"I think so. I never checked his pulse."

There was another pause while he looked me up and down. I looked over his shoulder at an old photograph in a frame on the wall behind him. Three people standing beside an old bi-plane and one man sitting in the pilots seat. It was yellow with age and there were dark spots of mildew on it.

The CO's eyes followed mine.

"What are you looking at?"

"Just the photo. We have a copy at home."

He stood up and took it down. Retaking his seat he studied it closely for a few seconds.

"Who are they?" He asked.

He handed me the picture and I turned it to face him.

"Those are my grandparents." I said, pointing to my grandfather in the cockpit of the De Haviland aeroplane. "And that is Roddrego and his sister."

"And where are the ladies now?" He asked, taking back the picture and studying it closely again.

"My grandmother died three years ago in a car crash." A car crash meant for me I might have added. "Roddrego's sister. I'm sorry, I don't remember her name, was raped and killed during the revolution."

I should have remembered her name. She probably didn't rate much more than a footnote in the history of an insignificant little country but I should have known her name. How many others would remember her, Roddrego and grandfather, yes. But who else would? It was over fifty years ago now. Perhaps some wizened old man would tell his cronies when he had had too much wine how he had been one of the men who had raped the daughter of a President. Perhaps that was the only way she was remembered now.

"And you are saying that you did not know the importance of these papers?"

I shook myself to pay attention to what he was saying. "I didn't."

I wasn't one hundred percent certain I did now.

"Very well."

"Can you tell me what's going on?" I asked.

"Not everything. No. Just let us say that we are here if we are required to help any American nationals that might still be in the country. I hope that we shall be able to take you away from here tonight or at the latest tomorrow night. The Government is meeting with the Rebels. We will be waiting here until we know the outcome. The bad weather last night has put us behind schedule slightly."

"Must we stay in our tents?" I asked. "They are getting very dark. And can we have some food?"

"The kitchens will be firing up now. We could not cook during the day. The smoke would be seen for miles."

And why no planes or helicopters would be landing.

There was only a dirt runway. It wouldn't be suitable for modern jets but there was room enough for a dozen or more helicopters.

"We will have the mess tent open shortly. You can all sit in there. It will be light and warm. I will have to ask that you remain in there or in your tents. Corporal."

He barked the last word and the soldier who had brought me here came back into the room.

"Take Mr Wagstaffe back to his tent. Make sure they have lanterns. Then take them all to the mess tent."

"Can I have my wallet and passport back?" I asked.

"Why. Where are you planning on going?"

"Nowhere. I just feel better with them."

"I don't see why not. Here. We will keep the ones belonging to our citizens."

"My grandfather has the right to live in your country." I told him as I placed my passport into the breast pocket of my shirt. "One of your President's gave it to him."

"Really."

He didn't sound impressed.

"Perhaps I had better keep his as well then."

+++++++++++++

Jenny

I opened my eyes and looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was after ten o'clock. Ron wife must be getting worried about him.

Ron moved beside me.

"Ron wake up." I said, pushing him.

He turned to face me. His prick pressing into my thigh.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's after ten."

"Oh."

He didn't seem surprised.

"What about your wife?"

"Women's Institute outing to the theatre in Bristol. She won't be back until after midnight. The baby-sitter is sleeping over."

He pushed his pick against my leg. I reached down and wrapped my fingers around it. It was growing. I pulled his foreskin back and let it slide forward to re-cover his prick's head. He nuzzled my hair.

His fingers closed about one of my breasts and he began feeling it. I stroked his prick faster. His hips were starting to buck so I slowed. His hand left my breast and ran down across my stomach and over my pubic mound. I opened my thighs as his finger probed between the lips of my slit for the entrance. I gasped out loud as he pushed it inside me.

"Are you all right?" He asked, working his finger in and out like a small prick.

"It's okay. You just took me by surprise a little."

"My wife doesn't care for this."

"Perhaps you are not doing it right. Do you ever rub her clitoris?"

His silence told me a lot.

"Here." I placed my hand on his and pulled his finger from my hole. "I'll show you."

I covered the back of his hand with mine and folded close all of his fingers except for the longest one in the middle. Then I guided his finger back to my slit. His first action was to try and push his finger back inside me but I stopped him with a.

"Steady. Not yet. It is nice to have that sometimes but not at the moment. We're looking for a hard little pea."

I moaned as his finger touched it.

"That's it." I gasped. "Not too hard now. Nice and gently."

I rubbed one side of my cit with his fingertip then showed him how to move it from side to side. He was a little rough at first but soon settled into a nice pace.

I released his hand.

"Just keep doing that."

I closed my eyes and smiled, conscious of his eyes upon my face.

"You're doing fine."

He was. He had a very light touch. I lifted my hips from the bed slightly to increase the pressure but he moved his finger with me.

"Do it harder." I panted. "And faster."

He was a good pupil.

I threw my head to one side then back again. I lifted my hips.

"Harder." I gasped.

I was feeling so hot inside. I wrapped my fingers around his prick and stroked it furiously.

I heard him gasp.

"Take me." I told him, pulling him on top of me by his prick.

Two thrusts and he was inside me. Two more and I came. He kept moving. In and out faster. I was coming again.

I could feel his prick jerking inside me. He stopped moving and looked down at me. He was smiling. I smiled back.

"Thank you." I said lifting my head to kiss his chin. "That was wonderful."

His smile broadened if possible and he slowly pulled his prick from me.

"I should be getting back, really." He said, laying on his side and throwing back the bedclothes to look down on my naked body.

"So should I. I have to drive back to Bristol."

He ran his fingertips around one of my nipples. I closed my eyes. His touch was getting better.

He pushed his prick against my thigh. It felt wet and sticky. I placed my hand upon it. It was growing. I stroked it back to full hardness.

His fingers were looking for my clit. I jumped when they touched it.

"Are you all right?" He asked, concern in his voice.

"Just getting a little sore."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's a nice sore."

He pushed his prick against my thigh.

"Does that mean we can't?"

He looked disappointed.

"I'm not that sore." I said, guiding him on top of me and bending my knees to take him.

But I was going to be.