Rounded Away
Lubrican
Rounded Away
by Robert Lubrican
Bookapy Edition
Copyright 2024 Robert Lubrican
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Table of Contents
Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven
Foreword
When I start the journey that is writing a new book or story, I have a rough plot idea in mind. The next step is coming up with characters to make the plot happen. Just as important, though, is the setting or "world" in which the plot happens. If the plot is about a mermaid who falls in love with a whale, then it would not work well to place all that in Phoenix AZ.
You have to have a setting in which the plot and characters can work to help the reader suspend disbelief. Sometimes it's easy to find a setting. Sometimes you have to take a setting and twist or tweak it a little so everything works.
This story may offend certain people in the military, but it was not my intent to do so. On the other hand, I spent 22 years in the Army, and I saw the plot of this little story play out numerous times. So, offended or not, it does happen. Of course if you are currently in the military, do not fraternize like this story will depict. You can get court martialed for it. I've seen that play out more than once, too. I have seen real settings in which this story took place. My point is this kind of story (fiction) usually contains a kernel of truth if it is going to appeal to real people.
So I'm not promoting bad things or suggesting that military personnel should break rules and regulations. This is just a story.
Bob
***************
Chapter One
It was 1100 hours when Personnel called me to tell me that they had a new clerk for my section, and to come and get her.
The first thing I thought of was, "Another her?" My office had five slots in it and I only had two of them filled, not counting me. Both of those were women, and while they did a great job, a heck of a lot of what went on in my section needed the bulk and strength of a man, sometimes. I was one cog in a huge supply system on a military installation to remain un-named. My section deals with helicopter engines and transmissions. We get them in, store them, and ship them out to be rebuilt at the depot level. We also stock and dispense all the parts that are used to do repairs at the installation level. My big boss is a bird colonel who I have seen exactly twice in the two years I've been stationed here. My immediate boss is a captain, and I see him two or three times a month (unless something goes wrong). We're in the Army, but we are hidden away in the back of a big warehouse complex and as long as we do our jobs, properly, nobody pays much attention to us.
The other two women I mentioned, Specialists Allen and Franklin, are good workers, but they are no fun to look at. I'm not trying to be mean, here. They just didn't have that something that some military women have that makes them look good in wrinkled uniforms with mud on their faces.
Why does this matter? Well, it doesn't, really. I'm thirty-eight, with eighteen and a half years in the Army. I've been deployed several times and divorced because of it. Since the vast majority of soldiers I deal with on a daily basis (including those in my own section) are between eighteen and maybe twenty-three or four, I don't run into women who might have something in common with me, in terms of spending time together. The NCO club isn't like a civilian club, where there are women on the prowl and you might get lucky. The Enlisted club is like that, but an old fart like me would stand out in that crowd like a sore thumb. Not to mention I'm a Master Sergeant, which to the lower enlisted folks is like God.
So I don't think it's odd that I might pay attention to women who work for me. If nothing else that kind of thing can make a jerk-off session a lot of fun. Of course it would be a violation of both protocol and regulations for me to actually mess around with one of them. I'm their boss and for the boss to shit in his own nest is an extra bad thing in the military.
That said, I'm normal. So I check out lots of female soldiers, including the ones who work for me.
I tell you this because the two soldiers I already had were not fodder for my fantasies.
That changed the day Private Angela Harris got assigned to my section.
When I got to personnel my eyes slid right over her, initially. Actually, I did notice her but didn't think she was mine. She had reported in wearing her class A uniform, with skirt, instead of fatigues. That uniform displayed a set of legs that went all the way to the ground, if you know what I mean. Her face was oval and she looked like a pixie who had been enlarged somehow.
You can imagine my surprise when I yelled, "Private Harris!" and she raised her hand like she was in school. She came over to me and when she saw my rank she snapped to Parade Rest, like a good little private should – if she's in basic training, or going in front of a promotion board.
"Private Harris reporting, Master Sergeant," she said in a voice that sent a shiver down my spine. Everything about this woman was sexy. I'm five-eleven and she was probably only an inch shorter.
"At ease," I said. "Do you have any gear?"
"No, Master Sergeant," she said.
"Do you have a car?"
"No, Master Sergeant."
"Let's start calling me Sergeant Wilson," I said. "Come with me."
I have a Dodge Challenger, which is low to the ground, and when we got in the car her skirt slid up, showing a lot of creamy thighs encased in panty hose that were thin or something, because they were almost transparent.
"Relax," I said, looking straight ahead. "Our section is chill. I'm your boss but you don't have to address me formally. You can't call me Bob, but I won't get upset if you address me as Sarge. I'll probably call you by your first name, unless there are outsiders around. Okay?"
"I'm not used to this," she said. "I mean I just got out of advanced training but I feel like I don't know anything."
"We'll get you squared away," I said. "Give it a month and you'll be an expert. You'll remember part numbers and inventory quantities and more minutia than you can imagine. So, tell me a little about yourself," I said. "Who is Angela Harris?"
I looked at my watch. It was almost noon. The installation I'm at is big and it takes half an hour to forty-five minutes to go across it.
"Hold that thought," I said. "You hungry?"
"Yes," she said, still timid.
I went to the NCO club, where she was not entitled to enter, since she was a lowly private. She looked about fifteen, though, so when I parked I said, "Somebody may question you being in the NCO Club. So for the next hour I'm your Dad and I'm taking my daughter to lunch. Got it?"
"Yes, Father," she said.
"Father? Come on. I told you we're chill. Don't call me Father. Call me Daddy or something believable."
"Yes ... Daddy," she said.
I don't know why, but when she said that my penis just jumped to attention. It was a good thing I had on winter fatigues because the pants are thick.
Then, as opened her door and helped her out, during the process where her legs went from inside of the vehicle out, her knees spread and I got a clear shot of the evidence she wasn't wearing panties under her panty hose. She looked up at me and then tried to tug things back into place as I pretended I hadn't noticed and she pretended she didn't know I had stared.
***************
I seated us in a corner and nobody bothered us. I told her a little about me; my age, my marital status (and why I was divorced), how long I'd been in the Army, and so on. I was just trying to put her at ease. There is a place for stiff formality in the military, but it doesn't make for a happy, efficient work environment. As the boss I could take an extended lunch and I mined her brain, learning a lot.
Private Harris was different from the average private in several ways. She was married and she and her husband came from a small agricultural town founded by conservative religious folks, back in the days when the country was still welcoming the tired, poor, huddled masses. They were still conservative, to the point where, when Angela was allowed to go on dates at all, she was chaperoned by her older brother. When she and her now husband whispered to each other about getting married they knew their families wouldn't approve. If you were a man, you had to have your own house and land before you courted a woman. Parents helped with the land acquisition. Girls were expected to stay home and work there until a man wanted to take her away. It was obviously a very patriarchal group of families. They weren't Amish, she said, but they were "cousins" and borrowed a lot from those people.
The young couple's plan had been to enlist in the Army without their parents' knowledge and, once they were accepted, they could get married and be stationed together. At least that's what the recruiter had told them. They visited the office separately, of course, while in town for this or that business. Basically, they only told their parents what they had done the day before they reported to be bused to the in-processing center. At that point there wasn't anything the elders could do about it (that they knew about). He was twenty-one and she was twenty.
The getting married part happened during a four day gap while enough personnel were gathered to assemble flights in various directions. They got married in front of a judge and had a one night honeymoon before they were shipped out. In Private Angela Harris's case, she would be put on a plane that went to South Carolina. Her husband, named Peter, went to what used to be called Fort Gordon but, thanks to woke-ness and what was apparently an unforgiving populace (which lives nowhere near the fort, is not involved with the military, and never will be) is now officially called Fort Eisenhower.
Twenty-two weeks later a new hardened killer graduated from OSUT (One Station Unit Training) and boarded her second ever airplane to get to the CAB (Combat Aviation Brigade) she was now a member of. She could have gone home on leave, but did not. She said there was nothing at home she needed and no one at home she really wanted to see.
Her husband's twenty-two weeks was at a different installation and I would learn later that Peter fell in with the wrong people and got talked into going to every advanced infantry school in the book, including airborne training. I say the 'wrong people' because in my opinion, anybody who wants to jump out of a perfectly good airplane has a serious screw loose, and could be prone to do other stupid things. Also, anyone who goes in the direction of becoming the elite of the elite should probably avoid marriage. When you become a snake-eater, you're married to the Army. A human wife can't compete.
Meanwhile, the Army did not feel it was appropriate to station the two young, married lovers (almost) at the same place. The "needs of the Army" routinely fuck with what recruiters everywhere tell prospective recruits.
During lunch a waitress brought us a pair of beers and when I handed one to Angela she said, "Thank you, Daddy." My cock lurched again, but since I was sitting, it didn't matter. She made a face when she tasted the beer, which made me think she'd never had one before.
She was kind of fascinating for reasons other than being beautiful. She was at a relatively advanced age for a private. This meant she had more life experience and should have been more mature. But she wasn't socialized normally, which made her seem off, like a child raised by wolves. At the same time, she had dreams and plans.
Her primary complaint was that, when the two starry-eyed youngsters were planning all this out, the idea was for them to live together and have lots of sex and get her pregnant right away. Like many young women, Angela had joined (in part) so she would have medical benefits that would cover the birth of her children. She said they talked about having four. She had clung to this idea all the way through basic and advanced training, using it to get through the hard parts, only to find out it wasn't going to happen any time even close to soon, if at all. This is the point at which she said his latest email notified her that he was going to language school and then to Airborne training and that if he did well in that he was going to try to get accepted to Ranger training. That's why I said "if at all." Peter would probably be assigned at a different installation, if not in a different country, for most of their careers, especially if they only served one tour. They would be married in name only, not counting the records of the county where the union was approved. All those schools he was going to go to would give him the skills to deploy often and if he went far enough, most of his career would be classified as secret or higher. He would hop from one unit to another and she could not do that. Even if they waited until she got out and he re-upped or extended (which would be a requirement to get into certain schools), she could live as a dependent wife where he was stationed but he would only live with her twenty or thirty days out of each year, assuming he was back in the US at all during any given year.
As I learned all this I was more and more tempted to violate fraternization regs. Her marriage wasn't going to last. At some point she'd realize that the part of the plan that got her away from her restrictive family had worked. She was as free as a bird and making enough money to get by on. The Army would give her most of what she needed for free, if she was willing to live in the barracks and eat at the chow hall, and if she stuck with it, she'd get promotions and get better at being needed and she could stretch out her relationship with Uncle Sam until she was forty-one years or so old. You can start a whole new career at forty-one.
Basically, Private Angela Harris was ripe for the plucking and if I didn't "pluck her" any one of the next hundred men she met would.
Despite the taste, she had two beers and I could tell immediately she couldn't hold her liquor. Then again she probably only weighed a hundred and ten pounds, and two beers is a lot for an actual lightweight. She didn't stagger on the way out, but she meandered a bit and her military bearing went south. She had learned to be chill, even if was in the wrong setting. When she got in the car this time she showed me her pussy again and looked up at me.
"Naughty Daddy," she said, and giggled.
I didn't say anything and went around to my side.
"Thank you, for lunch, Daddy!" she sighed as I got into my side of the car.
"You're welcome, Baby Girl," I said, just for fun.
"My real dad would never call me that," she said. "My real father would also have horse-whipped me for spreading my knees like that."
"Well, you're not home anymore and nobody is going to horsewhip you for anything unless you want them to."
"Why would anybody want that?" she gasped.
"You've had a very sheltered life," I said. "As a married woman, though, you should become more educated about the world."
I commenced to tell her about some of the sexual practices I had seen around the world. She didn't believe some of it.
"Nobody would let a donkey have sex with her," she said. "I've seen lots of equine penises during breeding season. How would something like that even be possible?"
"Suffice it to say there are a lot of women out there who like to be spanked. I enjoy dating those women. The ones who want to be tied up and gagged and actually whipped aren't my style."
"I would hope not," she moaned.
We made it back to the office about 1400 hours, where the rest of the afternoon was spent on her getting acquainted with her new job. She sobered up quickly. She was intelligent and caught on quickly. Since she was still in her Class A's I stuck to paperwork. It was quite evident that we were going to enjoy working with each other. At one point she giggled and asked me if she should call me Daddy there in the shop. There was chemistry there, which I knew was dangerous. It was bad enough if I got caught fraternizing. If I was fraternizing with a married woman under my command it would be much worse.
I knew I shouldn't do anything with this girl. In my own defense, I also knew, however, that she might not see her husband for years, unless he sought her out on leave. It was quite possible he'd "forget" he was married at all, or believe that the ten minute ceremony in a dusty building wasn't actually valid. I knew for a fact that he would spend a lot of time in the presence of whores and way more liquor than any man needed. She was an adult, if only recently deflowered. She would have needs just like any other woman and just like her husband would have. He would not be here to keep his wife's no-doubt gorgeous pussy full of hard prick and hot spunk on a regular basis.
So who would take his place?
Okay, I'll nod sagely toward the crowd that feels like celibacy is admirable and builds character.
Then I'll move on and say the only thing celibacy builds that I know of is pressure in your balls. I had been celibate for quite a while, at this point, and my balls were so full that sperm cells were floating around in my bloodstream.
And, it isn't illegal for a guy to dream, is it? I would be happy to fill in for her husband in my fantasies. It would also be tempting to turn fantasy into fact, but if I was going to pursue that, I needed to proceed carefully.
At Miller Time I knew she didn't have transportation so I offered to take her home. She was assigned a room in the barracks because her husband was not present. She had spent three days in the barracks while she in-processed and mentioned how lonely it was there because she hadn't made any friends, yet. She was really down so I suggested we go to my house and have a couple of beers and she wouldn't be alone.
"Thanks, Daddy," she said, smiling wanly. "I really don't want to be alone right now."
I live off base and as I opened the car door for her to get in, she sat down with her feet outside the car and her knees firmly closed. She looked up.
"Are you going to peek at me again?" she asked.
I was actually surprised, because she had approached this particular thing with more maturity than I would have expected.
"Are you going to put on another show for me?" I asked, keeping things on an adult level.
"Before today I've never put on a show for any man," she said. "Not one I knew about, anyway."
"Not even your husband, on your wedding night?"
"He said we had to keep the lights off," she said.
"Ahh," I replied. "Well, let me just say the sight of you getting in and out of my car is delightful and will make a very nice memory for me to recall at times in the future."
"What times?" she asked.
As I said, she was a married woman and needed to have at least a basic education about men. Her family obviously hadn't, so I did.
"Sometimes men think of a particular woman and imagine having sex with her."
"If you're my daddy, that would make you a dirty old man," she said. "I have heard of those."
"I can leave you to navigate the door by yourself," I said.
"No!" she barked. I was actually startled. She said nothing else, and picked up her left foot, putting it on the floorboard of her side of the car. Her skirt was stretched to the limit as she gave me what was an obvious beaver shot. I could see compressed curls of hair through the gusset of her hose that were just as pale as her head hair, which I now knew to be naturally blond.
I had driven two blocks before she quietly said, "Thanks, Daddy."
"You're welcome, Sweet Cheeks," I said.
***************
I don't want to give the impression I was trying to get sex from this girl. It wasn't like that. But she fascinated me, because she was so fresh and innocent. She knew what innuendo was, but she didn't use it like other women in my past had used it. It's difficult to explain. Women are like bread, in some ways. When you have hot rolls fresh out of the oven they're soft and warm and yummy. I'm not talking about babies, here, just bread. But if you let them sit around for a little while they get cold and hard. The analogy is that young women who haven't been hurt and still think the world is a good place are like the rolls fresh out of the oven,. They are a joy to be with. By the time they're twenty two or three, they've had their hearts broken. They aren't as trusting anymore. They're already a little jaded ... hardened a bit. So when you happen upon one of those girls who are still fresh and warm, you're just naturally drawn to her.
That's what was going on, at the moment. There was just some initial raw attraction based on how fresh and unjaded she was.
I live in a two bedroom house my wife and I bought when I first got stationed there. I deployed twice and she stayed in the house. One of those deployments was voluntary, in exchange for ensuring I came back to that station. Unfortunately, that was the deployment that broke our marriage up and while I came back "home" there was no wife to share it with. Her idea of divorce was to take what she wanted when she left and never see me again.
I should have sold it, but it was nice to have the room for someone to crash if they came over and partied too hard. That was an excuse to party. When we got there I looked over and asked, "Do you need help getting out?"
"Yes," she said, looking right at me.
I was half stiff when I got there and as she got out (and gave me another shot) she hammed it up. I think she was trying to make light of the situation.
"Daddy!" she chided. Are you being naughty?"
Now I knew this girl was a hell of a lot more innocent than her peers, and that she was a babe in the woods. But she wasn't afraid to exert her own influence on whatever was going on around her. Her question is an example of that. She was playing at acting a lot more worldly than she really was. Maybe she was simply spreading her wings. OSUT can build a lot of self-confidence in a girl because she has done things she thought she'd never be able to do. Fire a machine gun and go through an obstacle course are examples.
"When you have a daughter as enticing and beautiful as you, what's a daddy supposed to do?" I teased. "Daddies have urges, you know."
She held one hand to her mouth like she was telling a secret and said, "That would be incest!"
When we got inside she said she needed to use the bathroom. While she was there, I broke open a couple of cans of beer and handed her one as she came out of the bathroom.
I had also thought about the fact that she was still in her Class A uniform. I had offered to drop her off at the barracks to change clothes but she had said she'd just stay as she was if that was all right. She said she had never gotten to "dress up" before she joined the Army. I still had some of my Ex's clothes she had left behind and when I handed her the beer I took her to the spare room and showed her the clothes.
"I know you love your Class A uniform, and you look really good in it, but if you want to relax a bit and change into something more comfortable, feel free to try on any of this," I said. "If you find something you like you can even keep it. I'm going to go get out of my uniform, too."
"Thank you," she said, already looking through the hanging clothes in the closet.
"There is also all kinds of stuff in that dresser," I said, pointing. "She left a lot of crap here."
"Some of this isn't crap!" she yipped. "There's some expensive clothes in here."
"Well, she took the really expensive stuff, so all this is not worth a crap to me," I said. "Like I said, if you want it, keep it. You and she are about the same size, though she had a little less in the chest."
She looked down at her well-filled uniform blouse and said, "I hated my boobs when I was growing up. I hated them until Peter wanted to touch them and we got married."
I grinned.
"Boobs are a ton of fun for a married woman," I said. "For the husband, too."
"Not in our case," she grumped. "It hurt when he squeezed them. You sure are being nice to me. I'd say it's almost like you're my real dad, except my real dad would have whipped me raw for not wearing underwear under my pantyhose, not to mention letting you see that on purpose."
"They're called 'panty' hose," I pointed out. "The panty is built in." Her beer was gone so I got her another one. "Why did you let me look at that?" I asked. I was partly just curious, but I also needed to know where she stood. It's one thing to flirt with a woman who wants to flirt back and another to come on to a woman who is going to shut you down and might get pissed if you keep coming at her.
"I don't know," she said. Her voice was high, like that of a high school girl. "I just had an urge. Where I'm from girls don't flirt and it's kind of fun to be able to do that. You're like my drill sergeants, except you're nice. We had a class on how fraternization is bad and all that, and I know you would never break a regulation or anything. I mean you're a master sergeant! Master sergeants don't mess up. So, I guess I just trust you."
"Well that's a huge mistake," I said. "I'm divorced, with no girlfriend and you're, shall we just say attractive, so you're not safe at all around me."
"Yes I am," she said, taking another slug of her beer. "You're my daddy. You'd never do anything to hurt me."
"What if I believe candy is dandy but incest is best?" I said. She had said I could flirt all I wanted. Now all I had to do is figure out how much I could tease her physically.
"Ooooo. Daddy is being a pervert," she said. She giggled. "I like this daddy a lot more than my real one."
"Change clothes," I said. "Do you need me to be here while you do that, in case there's a boogeyman under the bed?"
She looked at me, her gaze level.
"I'm a black belt in Taekwondo," she said. "If anybody tries anything with me that I don't like, I will punish him severely."
"Got it," I said. "I'll just leave you to deal with the boogeyman by yourself."
"I didn't like beer when I first tasted it, but this is good," she said, raising her beer, "but do you have anything sweeter? Like maybe a wine cooler? I had a wine cooler while I was on pass in OSUT. I liked it a lot."
"No, but I could make you a whisky sour," I said.
"Never had one," she said.
"Get dressed and you can have your first," I said.
***************
While I left her alone I went to my room and changed into running shorts and a tank top. It was probably in the high sixties outside but the house was warm. I had just finished preparing the whisky sour when she appeared. She had chosen Valerie's peasant blouse, which left her shoulders bare and made it obvious she wasn't wearing a bra, and a leather skirt even short enough I could see four inches of her legs above her knees.
"Is this too much?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" I asked in return.
"I could never wear anything like this before I left home. I saw women wearing things like this, but could never wear it myself. And since I got married I haven't had time to get clothes like this. Wearing this makes me feel ... l I don't know ... free? But do I look like a slut?"
"Private Harris," I said, putting a short hurdle up that I hoped would make her feel safe, "you are what we, in the business, call a stone fox. Now I know during your upbringing that you probably didn't hear terms like that, but what it means is –"
"I know what it means," she said, interrupting me. "Peter calls me things like that."
"Well, he's right. You're beautiful and it is going to cause you real problems in your career, if you don't handle it properly."
"How do I handle it properly?" she asked.
"It would help a lot if your husband was here," I said.
"He's not and he isn't going to be for a long time," she said. "He calls me once a week but he can't afford the minutes for a long call so I only get to talk to him for five minutes."
I knew he was feeding her a line of bullshit. Phone plans for military personnel all had unlimited calling and texting. Phone companies fell all over themselves to be number one on military installations. Soldiers have money and are a captive audience. So I knew he didn't really want to talk to her. That wasn't strange. He had no idea what he was doing when they hatched their plan to get away from the farm. The getting away part had worked out pretty well, but the marriage part had huge holes in it and I didn't think it was going to stay afloat. He may have come to the same conclusion. She had never experienced heartbreak but she had also never really fallen in love. That's how I evaluated her, anyway.
Then again, maybe they'd stick it out until they actually could get stationed together. Maybe they'd be crazy in love and have the four kids they wanted. Who was I to assume it one way or another?
Who I was, was a man who happened to be able to influence her to some degree, and who she trusted not to do anything bad to her. As long as I was that man, I could probably have some fun with the best looking woman I'd ever seen. I might even get my dick wet. And she could have some fun, too.
That wasn't a bad way for her to get going in her military career.
"If you can get some wingmen, or wingwomen, and you always stick with them, it will help," I said.
"I don't have those yet," she said.
"Find ways to stay out of sight, then," I said. "It will be difficult, but you can look a little less like a supermodel if you tone down your makeup."
"I'm not wearing any makeup."
"Okay, then, wear camo all the time," I growled.
"I can't help how I look," she moaned.
"No, but you can control how available you appear," I said.
"I'm wearing a wedding ring," she said. "Isn't that enough?"
"To most men, yes. To some, it just makes you an interesting challenge."
"How can that be?" she whined. "I'm married. That should be respected."
"If your husband was here, with you, and you were by his side, you'd be fine," I said. "But he's not here and you're all alone. Alone makes you a lamb and the wolves will circle. You probably won't get raped or anything, but some of them won't give up until they get past that wedding ring. What you need is either a cadre of female friends who will surround you, or ... well ... a boyfriend."
"I can't have a boyfriend. I'm married," she said.
"Okay. I get that. What you need to do is make it look like you have a boyfriend."
"Then people will think I'm cheating on my husband!" she wailed.
"It is either that or endure every guy you meet trying to get you to cheat on your husband."
"Can't I just say no?"
"Sure. To save your voice, though, I'd just get a bunch of T shirts that say "No!" Then you can point to that."
"Har-de-har-har," she said. She said it with a straight face. It was only then that I realized just how backward her upbringing had been. That phrase had to have gone out of style sixty years ago.
***************
Private Harris liked Whisky Sours. She wanted more of them than she should have drunk and I told her so. She was a big girl, though, so I let her drink them. Valerie didn't leave any underwear behind and Angela had taken the pantyhose off, so it wasn't long before her new leather skirt was not being "policed" and was not covering her pussy adequately. I sat across from her and her pussy looked like the mouth of a Muppet, opening and closing as her legs opened and closed. I was hard as rock in my shorts and it showed, but she was too far gone to notice.
I confess, I was a bad boy. At one point I reached over and tugged the shoulders of the peasant blouse down and her breasts popped free. They were beauties, the size of grapefruits with shockingly pink nipples set on darker, strawberry colored areolas. She looked down at her boobs and then up at me.
"Daddy!" she squealed. "Bad! Bad Daddy! You're being a prevert." She blinked. "I mean a porvort." She shook her head. "You're trying to get into my panties!"
"You're not wearing panties," I said, flipping her skirt up to let her pussy shine.
She covered her puss with one hand and tugged at the shoulder of the blouse.
"You are such a bad Daddy," she mumbled. "I'm s'posed be safe with you."
Her head lolled and her eyes got glassy. One breast was still uncovered and her skirt was still up around her waist.
It was tempting. She'd probably never know the difference. But I saw the charges stacking up. Fraternization. Adultery on top of that. And if she was unconscious, the UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice) called that rape. That gorgeous pussy looked like twenty years in Leavenworth to the part of my brain that was still sober, so I picked her up and took her to the spare bedroom, where I put her to bed. I left her clothed. It was Friday night so neither of us had to go anywhere the next morning and I did not want to try to get her back into her uniform and take her to the barracks.
But I confess I licked that pussy long enough to determine she tasted luscious.
Then I covered her up and went to my bedroom, where I jerked out a very sweet load. I didn't do it while I looked at her, because I wasn't sure if that constituted some kind of criminal offense or not. I knew licking her was probably a felony of some kind and that was bad enough.
Chapter Two
"Angie, as I called her after that (in private), woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. I had my traditional treatment ready and she choked it down. She sat on the couch and wasn't modest about it.
"Would you please keep your knees closer together," I groaned.
"Why? You looked up my skirt half of last night."
"Yes, and it was frustrating," I said. "Come on, Angie. Give an old geezer a break, here."
"Angie?"
"My new nickname for you. I'm betting you don't want people calling you Angel."
"You'd win that bet. My mother called me her angel my whole life. I'm pretty sure she thought the only way she'd get to heaven was if I died, became an angel, and came to get her."
"That's kind of grisly," I said.
"Her life was grisly," said Angela. "Mine would have been just as grisly if I'd stayed there."
"If it makes you mad or uncomfortable I'll call you Angela or Private Harris. I'm just trying to be chill."
"You're the first NCO I've met since I joined the Army who didn't treat me like I had the plague," she said. "I'm pretty sure you can call me anything you want and I won't get mad about it."
"What if I called you skank, or ho?" I asked.
"You wouldn't," she said, firmly. "I've only known you one day but I already know that."
"Okay, you're right," I sighed. "Shucks. I was so looking forward to astounding you."
"You've already astounded me," she said.
"How so?" I asked.
"I may have only had sex twice, but I remember what I felt like inside afterwards. When I woke up this morning I didn't feel that way. And when I got up I realized you could have done anything you wanted to with me last night. My mother always told me all men would want to soil me; all men. One time, when she'd been sipping the cooking sherry, she whispered that included my father and brother. And I know how men look at me. I know how you looked at me. But you didn't take advantage of me. You didn't soil me, and I'm astonished."
"Don't be," I said. "I know at least two dozen guys who would have accorded you the same privacy and safety. We're not all slavering satyrs, Angie."
"So you didn't want to have sex with me last night?"
"Oh, trust me. I wanted to a lot. On a scale of one to ten I wanted to have sex with you like an twelve or thirteen. But I knew it wouldn't work. Yeah, sure it would be nice in the very short term, but as soon as you woke up it would be the end of my career and I only have a year and a half left before I can retire. So I just jerked off, instead."