Dear Mom

by Jefferson James

Dear Mom,

You would be so proud of me. I finally lost my virginity!

While on patrol last night, we caught one of their females. There had been a small skirmish and she got knocked down. When the rest broke and ran, she got up and tried to follow, but made a wrong turn. She ran right into another patrol. While trying to get away from us and the second patrol, she made another wrong turn.

When I caught up with her, she was backed into a corner with nowhere to run. If she had a weapon earlier, she had dropped it when she fell. Her right hand was empty and the left was holding a small wound on her right arm. She was scared, real scared. It wasn’t just from being caught, either. She must have been able to tell by the look on my face that I was starting to figure out she was female, and just what that would mean for her.

Although she was wearing men’s clothes, they were curvy and bumpy in just the right places. We took her inside the nearest empty building, and posted some guards. I had a couple of the men hold her down. One pinned her wrists. Another two grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs open. I gave her a real thorough feel in just the right spot, and there was no more doubt. She was definitely female. My making that discovery upset her a great deal, but it most definitely pleased my patrol and me.

Being second in command meant I wouldn’t get to use her first, but it did mean it was my responsibility to make sure she wasn’t hiding anything in her clothing. Using my knife, I sliced open the front of her top as my men chuckled and snickered, and our captive made an unholy racket. She screamed like I’ve never heard anyone scream before. She must have hoped her friends would come to her aid, but they didn’t. I soon had her bare-breasted, her smallish, fleshy globes jiggling with each twist and turn of her restrained body.

As I suckled alternately between them, I put my hand back where it had been, between her spread legs, continuing my touching and feeling. It agitated us both even more than before due to the fact that I was now inside of her clothing and there was nothing between her and my fingers other than a thick patch of hair. To have so much, I am thinking she was probably older than she looked. I did, however, have more difficulty probing her in depth than I would have expected with an experienced female.

It took the entire patrol to hold her and wrestle with her, but she was soon totally naked from the waist down except for her boots and that thick patch of hair. She kept on fighting and this time it took two men to hold her down and four to spread her legs. Word had been sent to the first in command. While we waited for him to get there, she was held flat on her back with her knees bent and held even further apart than her feet. He was slow in arriving, and during that time every part of her was pawed by me and the others.

My duties required my presence elsewhere. I didn’t see my superior come and go. When I returned, that thick patch of hair between her legs was wet down its middle. Thick white droplets hung from it. If she had been a virgin like me, she wasn’t any longer. The patrol was dutifully holding her as they had before, waiting for me to take my rightful turn with her. I could clearly see what I had only felt before, a pink wet hole which now had a rivulet leaking from it, forming a small puddle on the floor, a puddle I knew would grow much larger before morning.

There was also a rivulet of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth and two of tears running down the sides of her face from her eyes. Those eyes opened and looked at me as I knelt between her splayed knees. Gone was the look of hatred and apprehension. She looked at me blankly, saying nothing, not resisting at all, merely closing her eyes again as I entered her. I felt her tense a little as she was filled, and heard the faintest of sighs, but she seemed otherwise ready to accept what she surely understood to be true from seeing the smiling male faces surrounding her. It would, for her especially, be a long night.

For myself, that part of me that was in her had never before felt such a wonderfully tight, yet soft, warm wetness. A woman truly does not feel anything like a greased palm. If I had known before what I know now I may have forcibly taken the sisters of friends like many I know have done. I pushed and pulled myself within her, marveling at how good such a thing could feel. Now I know why father kept you all these years when he does not seem to care for you and your ways much of the time.

Faster and faster, I moved my hips, pushing into this girl as far and as hard as I could. Frenzied would be the best description. The way her moist wetness gripped me was driving me mad. I was gasping and dripping with sweat, shoving myself into her with all my strength. Her eyes opened and looked at me. They were filled with reluctant but accepting anxiety. It was as if she knew what was about to happen even before I did and was grudgingly preparing herself.

Deep inside her, I erupted. I felt her tense as she had when I first entered her, and her eyes closed again, squeezing out fresh tears. On and on I added to the wetness engulfing me. The rivulet leaking from between her spread legs would soon be running again and the puddle on the floor would grow to more than twice the size it was. I was certain of that. I am sure she was too, and that she was well aware of the fact that her ordeal was just starting.

I visited her three more times that night, taking her each time, and her backside as well on my last two visits as I had seen other members of the patrol do. What became of her, I do not know. The last time I saw her she was alive but unconscious and being carried from the building. Perhaps she was killed or possibly used in a prisoner exchange. Although, it is more likely that she was given to other patrols for their use. I guess you were right when you told me as a young boy that women are valued for what is between their legs. Perhaps, when I return from battle, it will be time for me to take a wife.

Your son,

R.

The End

(c) Copyright March 2007 by Jefferson James. All rights reserved. No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except for a single copy, by and for the person reading this notice, for private reading.