Army Orders! - Lady Devreux - ebook

Barbara, a devout Christian, had never planned on cheating on her husband. Life changes and things happen, and now Barbara seeks satisfaction with random young men. Little does she know that the ad she put on the internet is going to be answered- by a sergeant who takes command of her and her son! Excerpt This is completely crazy. As I waited for my guest to arrive, I nervously stood on the balcony, watching the windows across the way. There was still nobody watching- hopefully, this was going to change by the time my visitor arrived. I took out a bottle from the hotel minibar- rarely do I drink, but if there was any time that I needed some liquid reinforcement, it was now. The door bell rang- whomever had arrived, they at least were careful enough to give me forewarning. Here goes, Barbara- there is no turning back now. Opening the door, I stood face to face with my visitor. He was about five foot ten in height, not quite tall, but not short either. His hair was cut in the easy to recognize style of the Army- shaved on the sides, and short on top- and while he was not dressed in a uniform, I could tell that the man who stood before me was both barely eighteen and a soldier. I smiled at him- his eyes were blue, his hands were large and rough, and while his hair was not my favorite shade of black, he was still not a bad looking man in the least. “Hi,” he said simply. “Hi,” I said, opening the door so he could come in. As he walked into the room, his eyes looked around his surroundings, taking in the details of this place of lodging- his face was young, but the way that he observed everything told me that the man whom stood before me was definitely an experienced soldier. He seemed to be looking for any possible threats, as if an enemy could be lurking under the antique bed or in the small bathroom. I want you, I want you to fuck me. “So,” he said simply- satisfied that the room was safe, he stood in front of the bed, and he removed his t-shirt. Underneath it, he had a very smooth chest. Maybe some women like a man with a lot of hair on their body, but I have always liked men whom had a smooth build. This young man was completely free of any chest hair, and even under his arms, just a wisp of hair was present. He had two tattoos- one on either side of his chest, one of what looked like a unit crest or shield, and the other of a faded name. As he stood before me, his hands reaching to undo his belt, he seemed as if he was unsure of where this was going to go. “On the balcony,” I said simply. I walked out to the balcony, and I suddenly was gripped by the desire to be fucked from behind. I did not know his name- and I did not want to. He may have the nicest cock in the world, a perfectly suckable cock, but right now, my pussy wanted to be filled. I placed my hands on the iron railing, and I stuck my ass out, backwards- while I was turned to him, the desire I had was as clear as the nose on his face. Pound my pussy, soldier boy! The young soldier did not need to be told twice- he may be used to following orders, but my panty clad backside was all the invitation he needed. His large hands grabbed my sides, his fingers grasping me right underneath the base of my breasts, as his face buried itself in my neck. He was kissing the soft flesh there, his lips gentle, as he rubbed his cock against my derriere. “I’m ready,” I said- no, now was not the time for foreplay.

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Chapter One

Chapter One: Confessions

I should be ashamed of my own actions, but I am not.

The old saying that it is different when the shoe is on the other foot- and the other equally tried and true saying that their are no rules in love and war- applied to my situation. Although I had divorced my first husband fifteen years ago due to his love of sleeping with waitresses on the road, nonetheless here I am a decade into my second marriage and doing the same thing that my first husband was doing.

Granted, my extra curricular activities did not involve waitresses- as pretty as other women may be, I am not into them sexually, and the furthest I have ever gone was not past the standard female behavior of noticing another woman’s physical qualities. No, I am a firm lover of men- and their cocks- and the pleasure that I derived from violating the rules of marriage was at the end of a hard penis, not on the lips or tongue of another female.

I have not always been this way- I was raised in a conservative Southern church, a religious relic almost that fit better into the society of the nineteenth century than into modern day Virginia (let alone America as a whole)- and while I did not agree with my pastor on everything, I still was the one whom got the children (and my reluctant husband) up every Sunday morning to make our way to services. I still believe in the basic moral teachings of religion, even if my own actions violate the finer points of theology.

Even when I was turning from a girl into a woman, I soon realized that I have a strong desire for sex. Not just the actual act itself, but everything around it- the foreplay, of course, and even more so, the ways that men use to get me into bed. Being seduced is more than simply the result of these actions- I enjoy everything, from the first cheesy come on line at the bar, to the final conclusion that results in me taking a man into my mouth, or my pussy or ass.

Religion, especially Southern religion, does not condemn sex per se. My mother had eight children, my grandmother fifteen and my other grandmother nine, so it was no secret that having sex was something that women were expected to do. While the clergy in our church do not get into the finer details about sex, they never condemned it. Our current pastor is only thirty, and he himself is already expecting his seventh child.

What the church does condemn is having sex in any but a morally acceptable way (or what they consider morally acceptable to be).

Fornication (sex before marriage) and homosexual sex were often the topics of his two hour long sermons- when he talked about the first, the pastor stared directly at the young men in the church (as if men were always the ones to blame for having sex before marriage!), and when he talked about the second, his eyes seemingly settled on the handful of people in their thirties or older that had never been married. A conservative Southern preacher must have his fair amount of fire and brimstone, of dramatic acting that would put a California drag queen to shame, and a sin in particular that he focused on.

The sin that he especially hated was adultery.

Adultery was the one valid reason for divorce according to my denomination, the only reason why a man or a woman could seek to end a marriage. Yes, there were of course plenty of people in our congregation that were divorced- morals often fall short of practice- but almost all said that the other person was the cheater. This had to be said, not just to keep their standing within our group and small town society, but also for them to justify to themselves their own actions. Rumor had it that the pastor himself had been married before his current wife, a Filipino import that said little and smiled a lot from the front pew, to a woman from up North whom he had caught cheating.

When I sat in church faithfully next to my husband and our three children whom still lived at home- my oldest son, Kenneth, the only child by my first husband had joined the Army a year ago- I did feel guilty. Nobody in church knew, especially not the man I sat next to, that adultery was my “sin of choice.” Yes, I am not perfect in other aspects of my life either, but every time that the pastor got into a sermon about the subject, I had to struggle not to somehow give myself away.

My sin of choice- as if I had a true choice in the matter!

People are all ultimately responsible for their own actions, and are the ones whom will have to pay the price for these actions in the long run. Whatever happened after we died, the results of doing things that we knew we shouldn’t be doing in our lives sometimes did cost us. In the year that I had been stepping out of marital bounds, so far I had been very fortunate not to get caught. I knew that each time I did commit adultery that I was taking the risk again, but I simply cannot help myself.

Why is that?

I don’t do drugs, I don’t drink, and I don’t even smoke, yet I can’t stop having these affairs.

When I married John, he seemed like the perfect husband (as if such a thing existed).

Yes, even then, he was not the most physically attractive of men- though he is only three years older than me, he was already essentially bald at thirty six. He was starting to develop the middle aged spread- not quite fat, and not obese, but when I met him, his gut was developing. He was missing two teeth, and he wore terrible clothes. No, the first time I met him, I was definitely not impressed by the way that he looked. He was a jolly man, a man who smiled, but John then- and John now- will never win any appearance contests.

I had married my first husband, Kenneth’s father, for two reasons.

Number one, he was tall, and he had dark hair- midnight black. I love men with black hair.

Number two, I was eighteen, and I wanted so bad to have sex. Though my parents realized I was an adult- that’s why I worked at a grocery store, in addition to going to college part time- I was still expected to follow their strict rules of discipline as long as I lived in their home. As a female, I was not allowed to be out past ten PM, I was not allowed to go to the bars, and if I wanted to go to something like a concert, I was expected to go with my sisters or my mother. This had kept me “pure” in my father’s words, but in reality, it had made me so ready to get fucked that as soon as I met Anthony, I knew I was going to marry him.

Anthony was crude, he was experienced, and he was from New York- but he was a soldier, so he had a good paying job. As he was Catholic, our religious views clashed, but once he agreed to join (or at least pretend to join) our church, then my father was ready to allow me to marry him. I had married him three months after I met him, in a simple ceremony, and as soon as we had closed the door to our cheap honeymoon suite at the Motel Eight, I was the one whom had jumped on him!

Sexual attraction makes two people physically compatible- it had with me and Anthony, and even now sometimes I idly remembered the way that man had managed to make me cum- but it cannot overcome all other difficulties. Anthony liked pasta, and he liked heavy metal. I like country music, and barbecue. These were relatively minor things, sure, but they still resulted in arguments all of the time. This was bad enough, but when we discussed anything else, then my claws really came out. His culture, the urban northeast Italianesque culture, clashed with my Virginia upbringing, and always did. He may have had the black hair and the build that I find appealing, but that was about the extent of where we saw eye to eye.

Our marriage lasted as long as it did simply because Anthony was sent overseas for four of our five years together- when he left the Army, we were divorced within six months. I had not cheated on him the whole time he was gone (even though I longed for a man’s touch), but he must have been doing something behind my back. When he returned from the middle east, I soon learned that he was putting it to one of my high school friends, and the marriage was over.