by Diana Hunter
John turned back to the grill. “You need more lemon pepper on that one.”
“Who’s cooking here?”
“If you can’t season a steak right, I am.”
Will handed him the tongs. “All right. You finish them off.”
Grinning, John took the utensil, flipped the offending steak and added a liberal shake of the lemon pepper seasoning. Will just took a swig of his beer and gestured with his chin toward the two women. They sat in the shade of the RV’s awning, looking as if they’d been friends forever.
“Think she’ll want to play together?”
John glanced over his shoulder. “Someday. We haven’t done much yet. Just some simple scarves and rope ties. She likes the mind-fuck.” He grinned. “I like the mind-fuck.”
Will chuckled again and pushed John away from the grill. “Everyone likes the mind-fuck. Move. You’re going to burn them. Jill likes hers medium rare.”
John relinquished the tongs. “I don’t think we’d ever go as far as you and Jill. Or Phillip and Sarah, for that matter.”
“Don’t want her as a slave?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, a temporary slave, yes. But twenty-four/seven?” He shook his head.
“Well, you’re doing it right, introducing her to the lifestyle slowly. If she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t be here.”
“Yeah, about that.”
Will just waited and John continued. “I’m a little worried about tomorrow. When I asked her to come, we had a long talk about her PTSD and how this—”
Will set down the tongs. “She has PTSD? And you brought her here? They’re going to be shooting off nearly a hundred cannon tomorrow. Continually. Can she handle that?”
John looked over at Lauren, who was looking at Will and frowning. He raised his glass again and made a funny face at her. She smiled, but John could tell she’d overheard some of their conversation.
“Keep your voice down,” he warned Will. “Yes, I brought her here. Her doctor thinks she can take it and I think she can too.” He gestured to the steaks, bringing Will’s attention to the grill. Fat dripped from one of the pieces of meat and the flames had sprung up, hungry for more. Will picked up the bottle of water beside the grill and doused the flames. When he turned back to John, his voice was quieter.
“You know better than anyone how little things can trigger an episode, John. I’m going to tell Jill so she can keep watch.”
John nodded. “That’s why I’m telling you. I don’t think anything will happen. But if it does, I’d appreciate Jill being there to help.”
“You got it, my friend.”
Will pulled the steaks onto a waiting platter. “And remember, if you need it, I’m here.”
John smiled, but there was no mirth in his eyes. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Later, lying side by side in the zipped-together sleeping bags, Lauren snuggled close in John’s arms. “Had an interesting conversation with Jill tonight before supper,” she told him.
“Oh?”
“Seems you three guys from college all have the same…sexual tastes.”
He pulled her closer. “Never really thought about it that way, but I guess you’re right.”
“I still think it’s weird that Sarah’s my best friend and you and her husband are best friends.”
“Will’s my best friend, Phillip was my mentor.”
“There’s a difference?”
She felt him shrug in the darkness. “Not really. The three of us would talk, but it was Phillip who actually went out and learned about the lifestyle. Will went right along. It took me a little longer.”
“I’m glad you came around.” She paused. “To the lifestyle, that is.”
“Aren’t you glad I came around you?”
“Of course I am. That doesn’t even need to be said.” Lauren kissed his chest. “It’s almost like we were destined to be together.”
“Phillip and Sarah, Will and Jill…”
Lauren giggled.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Sorry. Their names give me a chuckle that’s all.”
John smiled in the darkness. “Me too.”
“John and Lauren also kind of go together. The open vowels, I mean.”
“John and Lauren go together in more ways than just open vowels.” He kissed the top of her head where it rested on his shoulder.
“I think so too.” Her hand slid down to his thigh, her touch soft and sensuous, yet with purpose behind it. John didn’t move, enjoying her explorations as her hand dipped between his legs, firmly gripping his muscles.
“Very nice,” he told her.
“I like feeling muscles move under skin and there’s beauty in the sight.”
He took the hint and moved his leg toward her, her hand firmly holding the inner muscles of his thigh.
“Mmmm…now that’s what I call sexy,” Lauren murmured as she stirred beside him.
“There’s another set of muscles down there you might want to put your hand on,” he told her, his voice deepening as desire took over.
“What? This?” She trailed her fingers up his leg to cup his balls. “These aren’t muscles,” she teased.
He growled and shifted to move his cock into contact with her skin.
“Ah, this!” Lauren’s fingers gripped him tightly. “Yes, these muscles are wonderful to feel. With my hand, with my throat, with my pussy.” She shifted and slid under him as he rolled over.
“You are a tease, Lauren Carr.”
“Yes, I am, John McAllen. Now come here where you belong.”
She spread her legs beneath him, beckoning him in. But he was in charge here and he would enter, not at her bidding, but when he was good and ready.
Problem was, his cock had a mind of its own and was ready now. Unzipping and shoving the sleeping bag off the two of them, he rolled onto his back. He held his cock upright, pointing at the tent peak like the mast of a sailing ship waiting for a sail.
“Mount.”
A simple command, meant to put her in her place. Or him in his place. He couldn’t see if she liked his tone or not, but she got up and stood over him, straddling one foot on either side of his hips. Coming down, she spread her pussy lips wide and his cock met her warmth.
She rested a hand on his chest as she carefully lowered herself onto him. He thought she might tease and raise and lower herself, but apparently her need had grown with his command. A smooth, warm wetness enveloped his cock from tip to base.
“Ride me.”
He reached up and found her nipples. Taking each one between his fingers, he squeezed as she began a gentle rocking motion, her knees squeezing against his rib cage before she finally knelt on the sleeping bags to get a better angle. He let go of her nipples, mauling her breasts with his big hands and listening to her quiet whimpers.
Those whimpers got to him every time. Her tempo increased and he knew their meaning. Dropping her breasts, he grabbed her ass and made her ride to his beat.
Lauren’s breasts ached for his touch. They bounced her chest every time she rose and fell, pushing her need higher. His hands on her ass wouldn’t let her go faster and she was afraid she’d plateau and the tension in her pussy would fade.
But then she realized it didn’t matter. She was here for him. Jill is a slave, she thought. So is Sarah. That means putting him before her. She moaned as she considered the implications.
Faster now. She heard him groan in the darkness. Clenching her muscles around him, she squeezed as hard as she could even as she rode him. A grunt, another and then an explosive groan as he filled her pussy. Their tempo slowing, she squeezed him again, getting another groan out of him. Could she get a third?
She waited until his movements stopped, then gave him another squeeze. Sure enough, he gasped and his body jerked upward.
“No more,” he told her, his voice still deep. “Just stay there a bit.”
She did, her hands resting on his chest and feeling his heart slowing
a little with each breath. Finally, a good strong deep breath, let out with another explosive sigh and his cock slipped from her pussy.
Quickly dismounting, she found the discarded sleeping bag and covered them both with it. Cupping his cock with her hand, she endeavored to keep him warm as he drifted off to sleep.
“You are incredible,” he whispered in the darkness.
“And so are you,” she whispered back.
“I love you.”
A thrill went though her and she placed a kiss on the muscles of his chest before whispering back, “I love you too. Good night, my love.”
He didn’t answer and Lauren smiled. She hadn’t come but she’d given pleasure. There just might be something to this Dominance and submission thing. She certainly would have fun finding out.
Chapter Seventeen
Night still filled the tent when John shook her awake. “C’mon, sleepyhead. No rest for the Union Army. Or the Confederates, for that matter.”
Blinking rapidly, Lauren took stock. Stretching her muscles showed only a little soreness from sleeping on the hard ground after the air mattress sprang a leak. John was already halfway into his uniform and Lauren watched him in the light of the small, battery-operated lantern he’d turned on. The play of his muscles never failed to fascinate her, but there was something oddly sexy about watching a man put on light wool pants then stand with his back to her as he buttoned the fly.
Dimly she remembered finally bringing in her knapsack the night before and now she rooted around until she found the small bag that held her toiletries. Throwing on her T-shirt and jeans from the day before, she quickly set out fresh clothes for the day.
“Nineteenth century today or not, I’m headed to the showers first.” Giving him a quick kiss, she headed out of the tent.
Fog had come up during the night. Or was that come down? The white wisps drifted between the trees and the campers like the ghosts of those who’d died here a hundred fifty years earlier. Shaking her head at such a thought, Lauren quickly walked to the community bathrooms, grateful for the electric light that banished both fog and ghosts.
* * * * *
John finished dressing, checking his supply of gunpowder packets before slinging the leather case over his shoulder and settling the strap across his chest. His rifle, a defarbed Springfield, lay in its protective sheath. It had cost him a pretty penny to have it restored to its original workings, but the money was secondary.
He slid it out, unwrapping it from the cloth that kept it looking like new, and inspected it in the light of the lantern. The rifle was just over four-and-a-half-feet long. The wood gleamed as if the weapon were brand-new and the metal shone brightly. The rifle was a work of deadly art and he would treasure it for both the sleek beauty of its appearance and for what it could do. This weapon deserved to be treated with respect.
A trumpet sounded somewhere and John quickly packed up the rest of what he’d need for the day. The real battle had begun at daybreak all those years ago. Today’s battle would do the same.
He stepped out of the tent, noting the fog with irony. Hadn’t that been part of the problem a hundred fifty years ago? The morning fog had been so dense soldiers could pass within ten feet of each other and not know their enemy was so close to hand.
The view coming out of this morning fog, however, held much more pleasure than concern. Fresh from her quick shower, Lauren came hurrying down the dirt path to their campsite.
“I was thinking I would miss you. The gathering call’s been put out. I have to go.”
Lauren reached up to kiss him. “I’ll look for you on the battlefield, but in this fog, I doubt I’ll be able to tell which one is you.”
“Got a token for me to wear?”
Her eyes went serious. “I should’ve thought of that earlier.” Pulling out her T-shirt, she offered it to him. “I wore it all day yesterday. Maybe I should get you something nicer.”
John took the T-shirt. It smelled of her perfume. “This is perfect.” He tucked it into his shirt and leaned forward to kiss her again.
“Okay, enough already, you two.”
Will came out of the fog and slapped John on the back. “We need to get into position.”
“I know. Let’s go.”
“Lauren, Jill’s packing a lunch for us. The hamper she has would hold a five-course dinner if you want to put yours and John’s lunch in with ours.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Soldiers of every rank with uniforms reflecting both sides streamed past their site on their way to the battlefield just over the ridge. The eastern sky had grown lighter as they talked and Lauren now gave John a last kiss before he turned and headed off to war.
Lauren’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the two of them fade into the fog. Closing her eyes, she remembered too many other farewells of that sort and hated herself for equating this goodbye with those. Yet it felt the same. Pretend war or not, he was still in uniform, he still carried a gun and there would still be shooting and yelling and all the other stuff that went with battle.
At least there wouldn’t be wounded. Stepping in a gopher hole couldn’t be considered a war wound. That was just clumsy. And that guy had done it after the battle was finished, so it didn’t count. Would someone trip, fall and need stitches today? Probably. People fell down in marathon runs and broke bones.
But no bullet holes, no deep gashes where shrapnel had lacerated a leg. Lauren opened her eyes with determination shining from them. She had a lunch to pack.
* * * * *
“This looks like a good spot.”
Twenty minutes after leaving John, Lauren stopped beside Jill as the latter dropped the lunch hamper and squinted down the hill. The fog had thinned and the half light of the approaching dawn made it difficult to see too far yet.
Spectators were being kept well behind the battle. Lauren wondered if that should really be the case. If they wanted to know what it was like during the war, shouldn’t they be right down there in the middle of it instead of on the hill just behind a row of cannon? She’d never been to the real battlefield just a few miles away. Today’s reenactment would be held on a field in remembrance. The actual field, according to John, was too precious a treasure to sully with the damage their reenactment would do to the national park.
They stood about thirty feet back and a little above a line of men manning the several dozen Union cannon and getting them ready to fire. Unlike the mock battle at the museum a few weeks ago, no announcer came out to narrate this battle. No civilities, no acknowledgement of the spectators as audience.
The sun hadn’t yet made an appearance, although the heralds were all there. Between tufts of lifting fog, the last few stars winked one last time and disappeared as the birds began their morning songs. A faint breeze stirred the cornstalks in the field below her, their rustle soft in the early morning light.
Off to her left, a cannon roared and Lauren jumped, her fists balling and her eyes raking the cornfield beyond. A puff of tell-tale smoke came from the center on the other side. Had the Confederates been the ones to start the action? Suddenly Lauren couldn’t remember anything she’d read about this blasted battle except that the cornfield had been a place of death and destruction. Between the multiple charges between the cornstalks and the constant cannon fire, both the men in the corn and the crop itself had been leveled by the end.
How many men had gathered to re-create this fight today? Lauren swallowed hard as voices in front of her called out commands, “Ram!” “Sight the piece!” “Clear!” The gunner’s orders mingled and Lauren wondered how they knew which voice belonged to their crew.
“Ready!” “Fire!” A cannon burst forth with noise and white smoke. And then, with no further ado, another, and another and another. The Union cannon answered the Confederate guns, volley for volley, and the battle had begun. She put her hands over her ears and Jill was beside her, not saying anything since there was nothing one could say in the face of such fury.
She could just make out a group of men picking their way between the rows of tall corn. Part of her wanted to shout, to warn them away from what she knew would happen. Clenching her fists, she watched as another cannon volley went off and scores of the foot soldiers fell to the ground.
The sun rose to her left, illuminating a scene straight from Hieronymus Bosch. As the last tendrils of fog lifted, the sun shone on a peaceful summer morning. Stray wisps ascended to the heavens, slowly disappearing into the sky. Men screamed and fell to the earth as smoke from the cannon mingled with the dissipating fog.
The cannon fired constantly. Lauren had prepared for the barrage and although her chest felt tight, no sign of panic reared its ugly head. Maybe Dr. Butters was right. PTSD wasn’t something that could be cured but it could be managed.
And still the cannon rumbled. During the actual battle, it was said the thunder of the cannon could be heard nearly fifty miles away at Harper’s Ferry. Would they hear it there today? The hills took every bellow and amplified it, turning it back on itself to echo again and again and again.
The air stung her eyes now as the breeze lifted the smoke. Others moved back but Lauren remained where she was, stubbornly refusing to give in. To move back was to let the war win.
Jill was at her elbow, shouting something in her ear. But the cannon deafened her. She shook her head, unable to understand. Jill waved her hand in a never mind manner and stood beside her.
Having John’s friend beside her made it easier to stand pat. Breathing shallowly because of the smoke, she peered through the gloom to look for John, knowing it to be futile.
Gunfire punctuated the cannon’s roar as men in the corn started aiming and firing at each other. As before, the corn stalks provided less and less cover as the men crushed them with their passing. And their falling. Lauren gazed in sadness at the number of men already down.
