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She didn't mind at all, just took every drop I had and swallowed it down."I'm sorry, I couldn't hold back...." Shhh, that's alright, Paul. That was perfect. I love the feel of a strong cock in my mouth and the taste of cum as it fills my mouth. That's just the way I wanted to have you cum for me." But you didn't....uhhhh....you know....you didn't get yours!" Oh, but I will. You have more to learn. I'm going to lie on my back with my legs hanging off the bed. I want you on your knees between them. Take my panties off for me."I did as she asked, sliding them down her long slender thighs, exposing her neat dark bush. A thin line of down trailed all the way up to her belly button. I kneeled between those thighs and savored the sight of her pussy. I didn't know exactly what a pussy was supposed to look like. It's a lot more complex than I thought. My idea was it was just a hole which roughly corresponded to the diameter and length of my cock. Imagine my surprise to find all those folds. The Admiral wore the uniform of RAF Fighter Command commander-in-chief Air Marshal Hugh Dowding, Colonel Deschenes (due to his remarkable resemblance to the man) dressed up as Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory, and Samantha wore the uniform of an anonymous WAAF officer. Flags of the Royal Air Force and of the Commonwealth countries' air forces decorated the Saloon. The White Cliffs of Dover never sounded more meaningful, even though it evoked images from a previous century on another planet, and from a very different war.The need to be ready communicated itself down to the Corps of Cadets. Never had Samantha's mother and aunt seen children so utterly serious about what was really intended as just something to keep them occupied. Every cadet platoon made it their mission to wring every drop of information from their mentors. The original plan for an hour's instruction was swiftly left in the dust. Frantically they studied the weapons and tactics, with most cadets qualifying.
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Some came back, blind or crippled. It was said in the village that the French had entered Moscow. How could such a thing be possible? It must be a lie and besides, there were more pressing problems, like to how to eat this coming winter. Her husband had gone for a soldier. She knew he was dead, had felt it the day of the great battle at Borodino. They had been married less than a year. She was already dressed in black when one of the ‘lucky’ ones had confirmed Fyodr’s death. He had meant it kindly, she knew, when he said Fyodr had died instantly, shot through the heart, but she was a true Russian and demanded the truth. She had listened impassively as the man wept and begged her not to make him tell. She knew there as something more and understood he was trying to protect her. In the end she let it lie and went away unsatisfied. Since that day she had lived the life of a Russian widow, kept herself to herself and seldom went into the village. She tended her garden, saw to her few.

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