The Colonel’s Wife · Part 1 (1/3)
Next
Miriam hated this country! Hated it worse then any she had obediently followed her husband to in his career as a military officer. Not that she had been to all that many posting really, but of those that she'd followed him to since their marriage this one was undoubtedly the worst. It was stifling hot, and its people, if you could call them that, were savages in the truest sense of the word. Why she had even seen some of them carrying spears, can you believe it, spears.
Jesus H Christ she hoped Winford wasn't going to put rifles in the hands of such beings. She knew that if he had anything at all to say about it he never would, but still she did worry. After all he didn't make policy, that was for those in authority, those with a more worldly view. As if a chill wind had blown over her she shivered at the memory of Kanchenjunga. Now there was a classic example of why those in authority should never instruct the military to arm, let alone train, locals in the use of firearms.
The massacre of a hundred and seventy Royal Marines along with several of their officers was a direct result of the betrayal of supposedly loyal native troops. What the military mind, and hers too, could not fathom was why supposedly loyal Indian troops had chosen to join the enemy.
In the end though the traitors, along with a great many of those they had been in league with, had been put down like wild animals. A fitting and just ending for such betrayal, even though it had taken almost six months and several battalions of British soldiers to quell the rebellion. In that campaign not even the much revered and loyal Sikhs were trusted or used even though there was no doubt about their allegiance.
Going to the window she looked out into the gathering dusk at the compound surrounded by its makeshift wall of pointed wood stakes. A compound that, unless you counted the soldier walking his rounds, was bare of anything but deepening shadows. The fort was but a shell of its former self because nearly every Marine posted there was with her husband.
Why in heavens name Winford had taken it into his head four days ago to personally led an expedition against some savage and his fifty or so followers was a mystery to her. He could have, should have, given the task to his second but he hadn't. Granted the savage definitely need punishing after having butchered a white trader and his household, but why not by someone else.
The biggest mystery to her though in this whole affair was why he had literally stripped this one fort of its Marines. What he should have done, at least to her way of thinking, was marshal troops from each of the other four forts. It was in his power as commanding officer to do so, yet for reasons only he knew of he had chosen otherwise. He had marched off into the hot barren wilderness leading 678 Marines and officers while leaving behind only sixty one enlisted and an Officer Cadet to protect her and the fort.
Oh well it had been Winford's decision to make and not hers. Besides nothing as terrible as what had transpired in India involving Sharia Kahn and his followers could possibly happen. There was little harm that the savage Ndebele and his few followers would attack a British military post. He didn't have the hundreds of followers that crazy fanatic in India had had. But even if he was crazy enough to try he had no modern weapons. He and his followers only had spears, and what good were spears against the new breach loading rifles and the well trained English troops that carried them.
So yes she was safe, no harm could possible happen to her, outside of heat stroke. God this heat was horrible, even worse then India she muttered. Then without conscious thought she loosened another button giving little regard to the fact that she was exposing herself to anyone who might be watching. Absently lifting her blouse away from her sweating flesh she began vigorously fanning herself.
Out of the corner of her eye she thought she detected movement. Turning she starred quizzically at the glob of darkness trying to pierce its depths. Had it been a trick of the eye, or had something indeed moved within the shadows just at the edge of her cabin. Shaking her head slightly she exhaled deeply, not realizing until she'd done so that she'd been holding her breath. God had her time in India effected her so that she was starting at shadows?
A whimsical smile touched the corners of her full pouting lips at the remembrance of her first time abroad as she gazed absently once more at the soldier walking post. After hardly a week into her marriage Winford had received his new posting, Canada. Despite her misgivings about leaving home and parents she had felt a measure of excitement. Yet that excitement had quickly turned to disappointment upon her arrival in Canada.
Instead of the large cities and masses of people that she was used to and had expected, she found instead a place of vast woodlands. It was a country where white colonist, not much more civilized then the red skinned savages that roamed the land, lived much as they did. Only the colonist living in and about the huge fort where Winford had been posted maintained a measure of civility, or so she thought.
Thankfully there time in Canada had been short. Fifteen months after her husbands posting there he'd received his much anticipated promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. What made it even better was that along with the promotion he had received orders to report to India. A country her father had once served in and had often talked about.
Her fathers stories of his time there had filled her head with childish hopes and dreams of one day going there. So to find upon her arrival that her father had not exaggerated or embellished his stories to appease the appetites of her or her sister had thrilled her immensely. The cities, at least the parts that she was familiar with, as well as the customs of the local populace were very much like those back home.
There was one thing she had not been prepared for though and it had shocked her proper English sensibility to its very core. She was never able to understand how sensible English women, some of them officers wife's, took up with the locals. What possible reason could a civilized white woman have in doing such a thing. How in heavens name could they even abide having those brown skin heathens touch them, let alone visit their bed. In all her time there she had never gotten used to, nor was able to accept such sordid behavior.
Well, be that as it may she supposed she would still be in Calcutta if events had been different. But they hadn't, Kanchenjunga and the uprising had seen to that. Her husbands bravery during the battle though had not only won him a promotion to full Colonel but also the Victoria Cross. Of course if the Brigadier hadn't split his corp. If he hadn't walked into a trap and gotten himself and his men killed. If Winford hadn't kept what remained of an otherwise demoralized command a cohesive fighting force. If Kanchenjunga hadn't of happened at all she'd still be in India instead of this festering shit hole.
Damn Winford, damn him to hell. What good were his promotion and shiny medal if instead of resting on his laurels in England as he should have been he, and she with him, were in this God forsaken place. Why in heavens name Winford had accepted posting to this stone age hot box instead of letting her parents intercede she'd never understand. Why, with her fathers help he very well could have gotten a billet in the war ministry, but he had refused. Why?
Was he so enthralled with battle and the possibility of further glory that he had accepted this posting in the hope of yet more acclaim. Whether or not that was true she couldn't say. All she knew for certain was that he had changed since being heralded the hero of Kanchenjunga. Never the less while they had still been in India she had tried desperately to get him to accept her parents offer.
Yet no matter how many tears she had shed, or how woefully she had pleaded with him to accept her parents offer he had refused. She had even gone so far as to remind him that he wasn't a young man anymore, that he was nearly as old as her father. Furthermore, if the rigors of another campaign didn't kill him then the enemy very well might. All that had accomplished was in making him mad. So mad that he hadn't visited her bed since then, nearly thirteen weeks now. Well she'd gotten even.
Turning slowly she moved to the bed pushing the mosquito netting aside and fell face down across its lumpy mattress. Seven weeks they'd been here and she the only officers wife in this shit hole because the wife of the First Lieutenant had gotten the vapors and had hurried back to England. Oh well, that aside it hadn't been so bad really. Still though another woman on the post would have indeed been welcomed. At least then she would of had someone to gossip with and have teas.
Rolling over she pulled her blouse from the waistband of her skirt. Without worrying about the two remaining buttons that were holding her blouse together she tugged it open sending them flying. As the slightly less humid air of the evening caressed her bare slightly larger then teacup size firm breast her eyelids drooped and she sighed softly. Being the only woman on post definitely had its advantages. She was the center of attention, not just by the officers but by the enlisted men as well, most especially the enlisted men.
Memory's of the long passage from India touched her consciousness and without being aware that she was doing so her fingers tightened on her nipples. She recalled the countless lecherous stares from the multitude of troopers as she had strolled the pitching deck. The lascivious remarks that more then a few had uttered as she had drawn neigh their lounging position. She had pretended not to hear, yet there was no denying the shivers that had tickled her shoulder blades or the dampness between her legs that such words had caused. Then later in the privacy of her cabin she had relieved her anxiety in a manner, or so she supposed, not proper for a lady of her social standing.
Her thoughts shifted to their arrival in port. Her husbands splitting his thirty seven hundred man battalion between five forts. Her and her husbands eventual arrival to this particular fort after a nine day, almost leisurely cross country trek in the company of 740 Marines and their officers. She recalled how after less then a day after arriving at the fort she had started going without her petty coats. Well, not just her petty coats, but all the other such nonsense that women of her social standing wore beneath their dresses.
Though her decision to go without the cumbersome attire had been based largely on seeking relief from the heat, the thought had tickled her mind that she was shedding such attire to attract the troopers attention. She knew full well that doing such a thing as going without underclothing would be considered risque' by other lady's of standing. But they were all back in England, and she, well she was here alone in this oppressive shit hole called Rhodesia. Her only apprehension had been what her husband might say, but other then inquiring as to whether she had lost weight he said nothing.
The lack of voluminous attire to her person, as she had expected and secretly hoped for, had indeed attracted the enlisted mens attention. Not a few times as she'd strolled about the compound lounging soldiers had huskily whispered suggestive remarks, which just as they had on the ship, had set her heart racing and a strange yet pleasurable tingling between her legs. Eventually, as was bound to happen, one of them, she couldn't remember which, had managed to come upon her when she was alone.
It had been in the stables as she had prepared to go riding. The stable hand had gone outside under some pretext or other and as she had struggled with the horses bridle a soldier had come up behind her. She never saw his face, only felt his closeness as he'd pressed himself against her. His persistent hands as well as his hot breath on the back of her neck along with his elicit words had almost made her swoon.
Her legs had turned to jelly as the soldier, with his hands about her slim waist, had bumped and ground against her. The stable hand had found her, minutes, hours, days later breathing heavily with fingers locked in her horse mane as a means to keep her limp body from falling. Fearing she was sick he'd called the duty officer who'd see that she was put to bed. She never did go riding that day, nor was she ever certain whether what had transpired had been coincidence or whether the soldier and the stable hand had been in league.
All that was certain was that after that day hardly one went by when some soldier under the flimsiest of excuses didn't try to get her alone. More then a few had been successful. At first though they had hid, or rather protected their identity by pressing against her from behind just as the first soldier had done. Eventually though they became em-bolded, and several had gone so far as to press their lips to hers. But other then the soldiers crude wet kisses as well as his hot breath as he'd whispered scandalous things into her ear she had at first let it go no further.
She'd known it was wrong to lead the soldiers on so. In fact it was down right dangerous, for these new troopers were an even rougher lot then those in her husbands last billet. These men truly seemed to be the dregs of society that the Royal Marines were rumored to recruit. Yet despite this, or maybe because of it she was drawn to them like iron shavings to a magnet.
A soldiers hot breath on the back of her neck, his hand fondling her breast as he'd pressed against her from behind. All had sent rippling waves through her. Initially it had all been a game to her. A game fraught with the danger of discovery and once discovered the very real possibility of the ruination of her marriage. But despite the consequences, or maybe because of them she continued the flirtatious dangerous game. Admittedly, or so she had told herself the first couple of times, it had been a way of getting back at Winford.
So it was understandable that when the day finally came she both feared and longed for she neither screamed in alarm or fought the inevitable. It had happened when Corporal Riggings after pressing into her from behind had twisted her about and kissed her forcefully and passionately. Several heart thumping beats later, with the Corporal's lips still pressed against hers and his tongue exploring her mouth, she had found herself in the empty stall her horse had occupied. She couldn't remember moving yet there she was, alone with the persistent Corporal and hidden from prying eyes.
His huskily spoken words, unlike his groping hands as he released her were but vague memories now. Yet as if it had happened moments earlier the recalling of his hands releasing the fasteners of her bodice then tugging it from her shoulders flickered on the backs of her rapidly fluttering eyelids. His fondling hands, his slurping lips, his nipping teeth had brought gasp of pleasure, pain and excitement from her tight throat and then he had forced her to her knees.
She had never before thought of performing such an act as what he demanded, not with her husband, not with anyone. In truth she wouldn't have done so even then except for his insistence and the fact that his touch and his mouth had aroused her so. That he was forcing himself on her, that he was talking to her, treating her, as he would a cheap White Castle whore never once entered her mind.
As she had knelt before him struggling to loosen his britches she had justified her actions by telling herself that taking him into her mouth wasn't the same as making love to him. Yet a part of her fervently prayed that after she pleasured him with her mouth he would lay atop her, that he would make love to her as Winford had never done. That he would make love to her as she had often times dreamt a man should make love to a woman.
Her lack of experience had been evident. Yet despite that the Corporal had found pleasure and relief in her clumsy efforts. He had not even seemed to mind, when she gagging, had spit out his ejaculation. A thick globular substance which was both foul tasting yet somehow intoxicating to her taste buds. His self assured, almost arrogant declaration while running his hand over her cheek as she had knelt before him unconsciously licking the residue of his seed from her lips, that she would do better the next time had sent a shiver through her. A shiver not of fear but of anticipation.
She had done it, she had stepped beyond the bounds a proper English wife, albeit a neglected one, should have and there was no turning back. Yet strangely neither regret nor remorse had tugged at her soul at having broken her marriage vows. A fact that at first had bothered her slightly, but then she'd recalled her husbands neglect and the feeling had vanished as easily as darkness upon the raising of the sun.
Through out the rest of the day each time she'd caught sight of him her heart had beat like a school girls at the sight of her first adolescent crush. When, when would be the next time she wondered. Her mind had been absorbed with the burning question even during the officers mess. Later as she'd made her way back to her cabin hands had reached out and pulled her into the shadows. She'd almost screamed, almost, but the thought that it might be him had stilled her cry.
Then his hand on her cheek, his voice mirthfully telling her to suck him and unhesitatingly she had dropped to her knees. There in the shadows against the outside wall of her husbands quarters and with the sentries walking post nearby she had feverishly tore at his trousers. Like a slave girl before her master she had supplicated herself shamelessly. She had fondled him, stroked him, kissed him before taking him into her mouth, and she had done better, so much better. As she had feverishly, hungrily sucked him her fingers had fondled, rolled his testicles, had pumped his hardness, and when he had finely shot his fluids into her mouth she had not spit it out.
For long minutes after he'd left she had leaned heavily against the building quivering with unrelieved tension. Then regaining her composer, and after a quick glance to make sure no sentry was close she had hurried to her cabin. Even in her dreams that night his parting words after kissing her had ran through her mind. Tomorrow sweetheart, tomorrow I'm going to fuck you. In truth though she had never in her wildest dreams foreseen the events that were to follow.
Another soft sigh hissed from her lips as her fingers, feather like moved from her lips down over her throat to circle, then tenderly squeeze her firm milk white breast. Her thoughts, instead of being focused on Winford and his long ago once a week visits to her bed were instead focused on Corporal Riggings and the others. But even those thoughts were inter spaced with other even more erotic visions. Visions such as one might attribute to the loosest of women.
The next morning, without thought of anything but of going riding, she had informed her husband she was taking her daily ride. But Winford, having just found out about the attack on the white trader and pre occupied in making preparations for his expedition against the savage responsible had dismissed her request out of hand. When she had insisted he had tried to shook her by his vivid telling of the gruesome details of the attack. When his words had fallen on deaf ears he had screamed for the duty officer.
Then slumping into his chair he'd looked up at her and softly said he was neither blind nor deaf to her shameless behavior. That he was well aware of the way she'd been flaunting herself before his command. He was also aware of the scuttlebutt concerning her amongst the enlisted and though he was certain it was just bravado talking he would have no more of it. Then raising from his chair so fast that it had fallen over he'd screamed that if she continued to act like a camp follower instead of his wife he'd —- But he'd said no more for the duty officer had arrived.
But she'd gotten a taste of what he thought before she'd gone riding. With the duty officer standing at attention he'd fixed his eyes on her and angrily hissed that if Ndebele and his f
The Colonel’s Wife · Part 1 (1/3)
Next
