Shared By The Soldiers (4 page)

7

AMY

O
h, God. Oh, heavens. Oh, SHIT!

My head is spinning and I can barely see. I feel like I’m in a dream, an alternate reality, a strange new world. I can’t believe what just happened. I can’t believe that Chris just asked me what he asked me.

And I can’t believe that I said yes.

Do I mean yes?

I think I do.

And so what does that make me? A slut? A whore?

And what does that make Chris? A pimp? A pervert?

Now I start to laugh as I sit here alone in our big empty house that suddenly seems warmer and cozier than before. It occurs to me that there is no one here judging me except MYSELF! I am NOT trapped by someone else’s ideas of right and wrong, good and bad, morality and perversion. I decide. WE decide. This is OUR marriage, not anyone else’s!

And as I think this I feel a strange sense of power start to build inside me, a feeling that Chris and I are in total control of this. After all, we’re only at this point because we WANT it, right? I mean, sure, there’s doubt and uncertainly, fear and trepidation. But at the root of it all there is an overwhelming sense of excitement, anticipation, even DELIGHT! I am beginning to understand what all those hotwives out there are talking about when they swear that their marriages are stronger than ever, that they feel closer to their husbands than ever, that they are overwhelmed with love and respect for their husbands, the kind of desperate, all-consuming love that comes with knowing that your man respects you as an INDEPENDENT human being even as he claims you as his wife, as his partner in life. Those things are NOT in conflict, and it takes a REAL man to understand that, to be able to take delight in watching his wife sharing her sexual energy with another man, with other men. Because in a way she’s sharing that energy with her husband too, in fact primarily her husband! It’s about US, not the other man, whoever he is.

So here we are, I realize. Here we are. This is going to happen.

I was relieved when Chris himself suggested that our first time be with someone that neither of us knows particularly well. Someone that Chris himself chooses, someone he trusts enough to send over to our house. That’s fine with me. It’s perfect for me, in fact. I’ve read about how a lot of hotwives go out and flirt with men, pick up men and bring them home. Many hotwives have regular partners, men who are friends or colleagues or even ex-husbands or boyfriends! But that’s too much complexity too soon, I know. Although I did what Susan suggested and interacted a bit with strange men when I was out the other night with my girlfriends, I know I’m not ready to venture into that side of it just yet.

No, I WANT Chris to choose the man. It’s strangely arousing, in a way, isn’t it? To have my husband send over a beast with a huge cock to fuck his sweet wife while he watches from eight thousand miles away? If that isn’t romantic, I don’t know what is!

This last thought cracks me up, and I am just laughing hysterically now, doubling over as I sit here on the couch, my bare legs folded under me, my sundress hiked all the way up my thighs. I can feel my fantasy coming on strong now, and I sigh and stretch out, raising one leg over the back of the couch as I start to caress the tender insides of my thighs.

My fantasy is wild and detailed, this time with the addition of a flickering computer screen in the background, the digital image of Chris staring as I get taken hard, from behind, from above, in my mouth, my pussy, even my ass. I am a moaning mess as I feel my orgasm roll in, but as I start to shudder into the final stages of the climax that’s ripping through me, I cannot help but expand the fantasy to TWO men, TWO soldiers, both of them sharing my body even as my dear Chris shares the experience from afar.

Of course, that’s ridiculous, I tell myself as I feel the blood pump through my body as I finish my orgasm and lie here half naked, legs spread wide, the smell of my sex heavy in the air. Two men is ridiculous. Maybe someday, if we find our way through this first experience and decide to do it again. Yes, someday. But right now two men is ridiculous.

8

CHRIS

“I
want to send two men over there,” I tell Hale after supper.

We are outside our barracks and Hale is smoking a rolled-up cigarette. It is just the two of us, and we are standing in the open courtyard, out of earshot from the rest of the unit, some of whom are milling about near the barracks, smoking, playing cards, just chilling. The sun is long gone and there is dust in the air, but the mood is light here because many men are heading home this week, home to their lovers, their girlfriends, their wives . . . perhaps home to MY wife too.

“Whoa,” says Hale, chuckling a bit and coughing as he looks at his cigarette accusingly and then shakes his head. “Take it slow, Cowboy. Learn to walk before you can run. I mean, I know you said your girl can get pretty wild when the lights go down. But two men? Hell, it took months to get Susan comfortable with that!”

My eyes are wide now as I stare at Hale. Now I realize what it sounded like, and I just blink hard and start to rub my buzzed hair furiously as I shake my head like a dog at the beach.

“Oh, FUCK no, man!” I shout, backing away from Hale and half-laughing. “Hell, no! Nah, I was thinking I’d send another guy to maybe stand outside the house, you know? Maybe stay on the porch or in the study or something. Someone that can step in if things get too crazy, in case she wants to stop. You know what I mean? Just so Amy feels comfortable, you know?”

Hale takes a deep breath now, looking at his cigarette again before tossing it into the red dirt of the courtyard. He nods slowly, frowning a bit. “Who do you have in mind?”

Now I take a deep breath and blink as I break eye contact. Truth is, I have no fucking clue who I can ask. “I don’t know,” I say softly, my eyes narrowing as I feel that burn of conflict rise up now. Am I really having this conversation? Am I really having a civil discussion about who’s going to be the first guy to fuck my wife, my Amy?

Hale nods, but he stays quiet. He looks at the still-burning cigarette in the dirt by his feet, and then he nods again. “You want it to be someone you don’t know particularly well, but still someone you think you can trust.” He pauses again, looks me in the eye, and then looks away. “Someone who you think will be discreet, someone who won’t tell the entire fucking world about it. Someone who will see this as a gift, a boon, a fucking present from the heavens.”

I nod slowly now. I have thought about this, and Hale’s hit it right on the head. For a moment I feel deeply appreciative of Hale’s support on this, and I briefly smile as I nod again.

Now Hale looks me in the eye. His look is focused, meaningful, filled with respect, brotherhood, compassion. But there is something else I see in his dark brown eyes. Yes, something else. Jealousy, maybe? Envy? Why?

As if he can read my mind, Hale breaks into a smile and pounds me on the shoulder. “You know, it gets better and better as you get bolder and more secure in this lifestyle. But there’s still something about that first time, the first time you see another man undress your wife, touch her breasts, pinch her nipples, push his cock into her mouth, fuck her until she screams. You only get one first time, and so I’m almost jealous, man! It’s going to be great. I promise you, Chris. You have no idea. You have NO fucking idea.”

9

AMY

M
y heart almost stopped when Chris told me he’s going to send two men over next Sunday evening. Thank God I was too stunned to say anything at first, because Chris quickly explained that he wanted the other guy to stay in a different room, sort of as a backup, someone to keep watch in case things got too crazy. It makes total sense, of course. Chris has always been my protector, my savior, my watchdog. Sure, he wouldn’t send anyone he didn’t trust in the first place; but Chris has had his wild days, and I know he understands that when it gets to pussy, you can never trust a guy one-hundred percent.

So thank God I didn’t say anything when he brought up two men. I mean, what if I had blurted out an agreement, said something like, “I don’t know if I can handle it, Chris. But I’m willing to try. One from above and one from below, right? One from in front and one from behind, yes?”

And I am laughing again now, feeling strange, weird, different. Who am I, suddenly? What am I turning into? One from in front and one from behind? Ewww!

But I don’t really feel disgust at the thought of a man taking me from behind (yes, THAT behind!). I can’t deny that over the past few weeks I’ve been pushing my own boundaries as I pleasure myself. On Tuesday I fingered my asshole as I came, circling my tight puckered rim with a lubed up finger as I flicked my clit and fingered my cunt with my other hand. It was strangely erotic, the sensation, and the next day I pushed the tip of my finger inside as I masturbated.

On Friday I pushed my entire finger up my asshole and simply held it there as I brought myself to orgasm with a vibrator, and the feeling was sublime, my ecstasy heightened as I imagined myself filled by two cocks. It felt so wrong, so filthy, so dirty, but I can’t deny what it did to my body, what it brought out in me.

Chris and I haven’t had much anal play in our time. For all his wildness, Chris has always been a gentleman with me, and although I’ve felt his fingers down there over the years, he never brought his cock close to my asshole. Maybe he thought it was filthy too? Or maybe he was waiting for me to suggest it.

Still, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I think as I walk over to my computer to check my email. I scroll through my new messages—junk, junk, junk . . . and then I see a message from Chris.

Chris doesn’t email me that much. He’s not much of a writer, and we talk on the phone several times a week, get on Skype at least once or twice a week, so that’s enough. Once in a while he’ll send me a forwarded joke or something, sometimes a short note in case he wasn’t able to call. But today I feel some excitement as I click on the email.

There is no subject line, and when I open it there’s not even a note in there. No, there’s just a link. A link to a Facebook page.

I click it and take a deep breath when I see that it is the profile of a man.

A soldier.

A Marine.

His name is Parker Stiles.

Parker Stiles, I think as I feverishly click through to the public photos attached to his profile and immediately feel my heat rise up as I stare shamelessly at the images of this stranger that my husband is sending over to fuck me next Sunday.

But he’s not a stranger, I tell myself as I sit down on the swivel chair and pull my panties down, the cool leather of the seat on my smooth buttocks making me shiver for a moment. No, he’s not a stranger because he has a name.

Parker Stiles.

10

CHRIS

P
arker Stiles. The name is ringing in my head as I try to sleep. Parker Stiles. Parker Stiles. Parker Stiles. So this is going to be the guy. Well, this IS the guy, considering I’ve already sent Amy a link to his Facebook page.

Hale introduced me to him a couple of days ago. He’s not in our unit, but he’s a Marine, a brother, one of us. He’s maybe a couple of years younger than me—about twenty-seven or so. Built like a fucking tank, with tattoos both old and new all over his thick arms, arms that I can now picture holding my Amy, pulling her close, spreading her wide . . .

I smile in the darkness of the barracks. I can hear snoring all around me, someone coughing in the distance, the faint sound of music from someone’s headphones. The night is hot, but the desert air is dry and I am very comfortable, relaxed even. I am strangely at peace with what I know is going to happen. Well, I’d BETTER fucking be at peace—it was my goddamn idea!

I smile wider now, almost laughing at myself. I feel a lightness in my chest, like a great weight has been lifted off me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit nervous about putting a real man, a name, a face to my fantasy of watching Amy get fucked. I wasn’t sure how I’d react—would I burn with jealousy and anger the moment I saw him? Would I suddenly decide that there’s no way I could go through with this? No way I could allow this to happen? And what then? What would I tell Amy? Where would that leave us, especially now that we’ve gone this far in admitting that both of us want it? How could Amy and I look at each other again the same way?

Thankfully I didn’t have to deal with any of that. Part of it was because of Hale. He knows this guy Parker, and Parker knows Hale. Parker also knows Susan, it turns out, and so there was no need to explain anything to the guy. He understood. He understands.

Yeah, he understands, I tell myself as I think back to that meeting with Parker. We are the same rank, but I am a couple of years older with a few months seniority, and he showed me respect when we shook hands. Hale had already briefed him, and our meeting was just a formality, to make sure I was okay with it. Not quite an “interview,” but something like it. I mean, sure, I was evaluating him from the moment I saw him. Is he good enough for my Amy? Good looking enough? I mean, like I said, I got NO fucking insecurity in me when it comes to my girl, my wife, my Amy, and so if we’re going to do this, I want to send over a man who’s in the same league as her. It’s a sign of respect, love, appreciation . . . that’s the way I see it, yes?

And Parker seemed to fit the description. I asked around a bit, and everything I heard about the man reassured me that he is what Hale tells me he is: a Marine of high character, a brother that any Marine would give his life for. That’s good enough for me, and it’ll be good enough for Amy.

So now, as the night gets darker and quieter, I slide my hands down and grasp my thick cock as I close my eyes and drift off into a fantasy so real that it shakes me as I come with silent urgency under the covers, my hot semen flowing down my hand in the darkness as I try to control my breathing.

Parker Stiles, I think as I turn over on my side, the smell of my cum heavy in the air around my bunk. Parker Stiles.

Make me proud, Parker, I think. Make me proud.