SHARED BY THE SOLDIERS
A.B. SUMMERS
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
Copyright © 2015 by A.B. Summers
All Rights Reserved by Author
www.absummers.com
If you'd like to copy, reproduce, sell, or distribute any part of this text, please obtain the explicit, written permission of the author first. Note that you should feel free to tell your spouse, lovers, friends, and coworkers how wet this book made you. Have a safe and sweaty evening.
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BOOKS BY A.B. SUMMERS
(ALL my books are written as standalone stories that can be enjoyed on their own!)
The WHILE MY HUSBAND WATCHES Cuckolding Series:
While My Husband Watches
While My Husband Watches 2
While My Husband Watches 3
While My Husband Watches 4
The WATCHING HER WITH Cuckolding Series:
Watching Her With The Neighbor
Watching Her With My Friend
Watching Her With My Boss
Watching Her With The Waiters
The MY MILF OBSESSION Series:
My Girlfriend's MILF
My Best Friend's MILF
My Housekeeper's MILF
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—A.B. Summers
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SHARED BY THE SOLDIERS
A.B. SUMMERS
1
AMY
Chris shipped out on the 14th of February last year. Valentine’s Day.
Sounds dramatic, like the beginning to a cheesy romance novel, I know. The funny thing is, before last year, Chris and I had never been big on Valentine’s Day. We used to call it V-Day, as in Vagina-Day, a day invented by some conspiracy of Hallmark Cards, teddy bear manufacturers, and all the florists and chocolatiers in the United States, a day on which anyone with a vagina wakes up terrified that this will be the year when she isn’t someone’s Valentine. If she’s single, it’s the fear that no one will send her a card or some roses. If she’s got a man, it’s the fear of what she’ll tell her friends and co-workers if her boyfriend or husband forgets to get her something.
So yes, Vagina Day always seemed to me to be a day on which the marketers of the world prey on the insecurities of those of us blessed with vaginas. It just seemed lame. Screw that.
But now, this year, as Valentine’s Day rolls around, I feel a lump in my throat, an ache in my heart, a hollowness in my soul . . . because today, this V-Day, marks the one-year anniversary of Chris’s deployment.
Chris is a soldier. A Marine, technically, but despite what you see in movies and TV shows, Chris thinks of himself as a soldier first. I know I’m not supposed to say that, because each unit of the Armed Forces indoctrinates its men and women, convinces them that their branch is better than the others, more elite, tougher, and so on. But they’re all soldiers when it gets down to it. They are trained to fight and kill.
Yes, they are trained to fight and kill, but most of all, Chris explained to me once, shortly after his bootcamp and training, they are trained to DIE. Or at least to be READY to die. Yes, that is what makes a soldier a soldier, Chris told me as we lay there together that morning after he got a few days’ leave before heading off to Parris Island for more training.
Yes, a soldier is ready to die. Die for his country, sure. But more than anything, a soldier is ready to die for his fellow soldiers. An army isn’t one man, and the only way to build an unbeatable army is if every single soldier knows that the person in uniform next to him will lay down his life for him. A soldier needs to be able to say to himself, in his darkest moment, “My brothers will die for me, and I will die for them.”
This struck me as quite profound when Chris first explained it to me that day. It had only been twelve weeks since I had last seen him, but already I could see that he was different, that something had changed in him. He even looked different. I mean, Chris has always worked out, was always an athlete, a gym-rat. His arms are huge, biceps like goddamn cannons, forearms like torpedoes, and his chest is broad and well-defined, his abs clearly visible. And his butt—oh, honey, I can’t even describe the way my Chris looks when he gets out of bed after taking me to heaven and back.
But now I lose my train of thought suddenly as that image of my Chris, my husband, bursts into my mind, that image of his lean, bronzed body all glistening with sweat, his long cock hanging down, still wet, still oozing semen. I can see his cock even from behind, through the partition between his tight thighs, and the mental image of his muscular bronze ass, the tip of his cock visible underneath and beyond it, is getting me wet now, filling me with a yearning that almost overpowers me as the desire builds up in my soft, twenty-nine-year old body that has not been touched by a man in almost a full year.
Because it is Valentine’s Day and I am alone, my husband far away in some war-torn country, and now I spread out on my bed, on OUR bed, and I pull up my nightgown and push my hand into my panties.
Oh, I am so ready to be taken deep by a man again, I think as I feel my clit start to stiffen as arousal begins to take over my body. I am breathing heavily, and the room is starting to feel hot. There is sweat building in my underarms, on my forehead, in my crotch, and I can smell myself now as I start to flick my clit with my index finger, my other hand stroking the insides of my soft white thighs, moving closer to my rapidly opening, already damp lips.
It’s been so long, I think as I touch my warm slit now, shivering as I feel my heat rise. So GODDAMN long since I had a cock in me, stretching me wide, filling me deep, bringing me to the kind of raging orgasm that only comes when I’ve got Chris’s hardness inside me.
But as I slowly tease my dark pussy lips with my fingers, spreading my wetness all over the warm space between my legs, I feel the images of my Chris start to fade away. It’s been so long, so goddamn long, since I saw my man, that suddenly my eyelids flutter and I feel panic rush through me as I wonder if I even remember what Chris looks like.
And in my fantasy now there is a strange man, strange men, TWO strange men, and they are undressing me, pinching my soft breasts that haven’t been touched by another man in months, pulling on my large nipples, drawing them up into hard little points like arrowheads.
These men are standing above me now, and in my dream they are suddenly naked, their bodies rippling with muscles, covered in tattoos, glistening with sweat that smells clean and manly. Their cocks are sticking straight out over my body, and these strangers are looking down at me with hunger in their eyes as their pull my bra off now, exposing my round breasts to the cool air.
I am gasping now, in real life and in my fantasy, and I push two fingers into myself as I lose myself in this fantasy of being taken by two strange men. Somewhere in the back of my mind I feel guilt rising up, telling me that I am a slut for fantasizing about other men, reminding me that only whores get taken by two men at once.
But this guilt is somehow adding to my arousal, and I use it, and now I feel some indignation rising up along with that guilt. Suddenly I am angry with Chris, angry for leaving me alone here, leaving me alone with my dreams and fantasies.
“Damn you, Chris,” I whisper out loud now. My eyes are closed tight and I am grimacing with ecstasy
. Now I hunch my body up as I drive my fingers harder and harder into my pink slit, and I feel a deep tremor start to build inside me as I flick at my engorged clit with wild abandon, my back still hunched over, my eyes still clamped shut tight.
Now I am back with those strange men of my dreams, and one of them is sucking on my hard nipples as I pant, and the other man has pulled off my jeans and is fingering my cunt through my panties, the same panties I have on now, these red cotton panties that are soaked and dripping with the wetness from inside me. This man is spreading my legs, inhaling the aroma of my sex, licking the tender insides of my thighs, running his thick finger up and down my hot mound, pushing that finger into me now. I gasp as I feel the friction of my panties getting shoved into my pussy along with his finger, and my underwear feels tight now, digging into the crack of my ass, riding up between my legs.
I am moaning shamelessly and loudly as I move my hips up and down, and I can see that man’s head between my legs now. I can feel his fingers pull the crotch of my panties aside, and now he is licking the sensitive bare skin under those panties, his hot tongue opening up my slit, now entering me, curling inside as his upper lip grazes my clit, sending a wave of ecstasy through me.
I am whimpering, thrashing as I feel my orgasm start to build in the distance even as I become aware of the other man pulling his mouth off my nipples and grabbing hold of my head, bringing his cock close, asking me to suck him, telling me to suck him, commanding me to suck him. I say yes, I will suck you, bring it here, bring it here, bring it here.
With a grunt he pushes his tremendous cock into my mouth, and at the same time I feel the other man push my thighs wide apart, spread me with his fingers, and then slide his dripping erection into me. Now suddenly I am filled in my mouth and my pussy, and the feeling is driving me wild, goddamn WILD!
And here in my lonely bed I arch my back and push my hips up and out. My fingers are working their way into my wet holes and creases. My eyes are closed, and those strange men are pushing HARD into me now, grunting like animals as they pound and thrust, and I am so stretched out, so goddamn filled, that I don’t know how long I can hold on even though I want to hold on forever, feel this forever.
But the cock in my mouth is starting to flex and throb, and the erection that fills my vagina is ramming its way deep inside, and now suddenly with a goddamn HOWL I come, my body flailing like a fish, and I am SCREAMING now, completely unaware of where I am, aware of only this raging orgasm that is tearing me apart right now as I almost choke on my fingers as I shove them against the back of my throat, imagining they are that strange man’s cock. My other arm is hurting from shoving my fingers into myself with so much force, the kind of force this second man in my fantasy is using as he grunts and shouts his way to a thundering orgasm even as the first man yells and curses as he unloads in my mouth.
And in my fantasy I feel hot semen force its way down my throat while the other man’s white heat explodes deep inside my pussy, flooding the corridors of my cunt, extending my orgasm, taking me to new heights, new depths, new worlds . . .
. . . and I keep going as waves of ecstasy roll through me, and I am coughing now, sputtering up drool, my eyelids fluttering, tears running down my face, and slowly my orgasm starts to wind down, and I am panting like a dog in heat as I slow down, slow down, slow down . . .
. . . and my eyes are closed tight again, and as I whimper and take my wet fingers out of my pussy and absentmindedly sniff them, I suddenly see the faces of these nameless strangers of my dream, and I realize they have short, military-style haircuts, and in this dream I somehow know they are soldiers, soldiers who are sharing me.
And I turn over to my side, bury my face into my pillow, and just start to cry like a little girl, completely confused as to why I’m crying, angry with myself for behaving like a freak on Valentine’s Day, angry with my Chris for leaving me alone for a year.
I need you, Chris, I think as I lie in bed now, still sobbing gently. I need your love, but more than that, I need your touch. I need to be touched.
Oh, God, I need to be touched.
2
CHRIS
What I wouldn’t give to touch my Amy right now. Those soft pink nipples. That beautiful round ass. I wish I could smell her pussy, taste her lips, see her eyelids flutter as I climb on top of her in our soft warm bed, pushing my hard cock into her hot wet cunt, the force of my thrust turning her smile into a moan.
Has it really been a year? Just a year? It seems longer, in a way, though sometimes it seems like it was just yesterday when they shipped me out.
Don’t get me wrong, I am proud to be here, proud to be serving my country, serving the WORLD really. I feel happy and complete in a strange way, especially after those desolate, freewheeling years. Drugs in the car, fighting in the streets, fucking random women in bathrooms and against the rough walls in alleyways. I was in real danger of seriously screwing up as a kid, I realize now as I look around the mess hall and see the faces of my military brothers and sisters, my new family. The Marines saved me, I think. Saved me from myself.
But Amy was the first step to my salvation, I know. Meeting a woman like that: sweet, innocent, devastatingly beautiful in her own way. No way a woman like that falls for a guy like me, is what I thought when I first met her four years ago. And so, when it was clear we were falling in love, I married her as soon as I could afford to buy a ring. Seal the fucking deal, I told myself.
So we’ve been married three years now; known each other for four. And now it’s been one year apart. So we’ve been apart for one-third of our entire young married lives! That’s crazy!
How is she feeling? What is she doing? What does she even look like these days?
Of course, I know the answers to all these questions. I am in the military, not in a goddamn prison. I see her face every few days on my computer, and I hear her voice, see her smile, look into her eyes. She still looks like my Amy, and I love watching her smile as she tells me about her days, her weekends, what she’s been doing to pass the time.
Yes, I love watching her. In fact the other day I asked her to stand up and back away from the camera a bit so I could see her magnificent body. She was embarrassed at first, but she did it, and although I could tell that she’s put on a bit of weight around her ass and thighs, perhaps even got a small gut now, the sight turned me on in a way I haven’t experienced from my private fantasies when I jerk myself off every night under the covers of my military-issue bunk.
And ever since I saw her shyly stand up and twirl in front of the camera, show me her round ass in those tight black yoga pants she likes to wear around the house, bend over slightly and push her tits together to show me some cleavage . . . yes, ever since I saw that, my fantasies are consumed by this image of her on that computer screen. It’s strange, actually—the fantasy isn’t just my Amy, but it’s the act of WATCHING her that is getting me hard as a fucking rock when I grab my cock these days and jerk myself off whenever I get a chance.
Now I shake my head and try to focus on my surroundings again. I am in the mess hall, finishing up lunch with my brothers. The men around me have been talking loudly, making lewd jokes, throwing food around like children in the school cafeteria. The mood is good here these days. It’s not like the early days of the War on Terror. I mean, yes, there is always the sense that we can be called upon at any time, be attacked at any time even, but it’s not the same kind of stress that the soldiers before me had to go through.
I smile and join in with the banter now, laughing when someone jokes about fucking someone else’s mom, getting a blowjob from their sister. I throw a bet down when two guys start arm-wrestling. I talk about football, bitch about basketball, complain about how long the baseball season is. It is good. It is fun. We are brothers here, and it is fucking great.
Now I look down to the far end of the table, and I see my buddy Hale looking at me. He’s got a focused,
meaningful look in his eye, and I blink as I make brief eye contact with him and then look away. I know what that look is about. It’s about last week. Last week, when Hale walked in on me with my goddamn cock out, my eyes focused on my laptop screen, my mouth hanging open as I stared at a video of my Amy.
It wasn’t a live video. It was just a recording of one of our chat sessions, and not even the one in which I asked her to stand up and twirl around! No, it was just Amy sitting in front of the camera and talking, smiling, laughing, telling me she loved me, reminding me to call my mom . . . shit like that. But I had the sound turned off and I was just staring at her on that computer screen, and it was getting me hard.
So Hale saw me and slapped me on the back of my head as I covered up my cock. It was no big deal. I mean, we are all brothers here. Everyone knows that the sheets in our quarters are sticky with nights upon nights of young men jerking off to fantasies of their wives and girlfriends (maybe even boyfriends—don’t ask, don’t tell, right?).
So yeah, Hale catching me was no big deal. It would have made a good joke for a few days, and that’s about it. But the next day Hale grabbed me and pulled me aside after our morning drills, and he asked me something that has been playing on my mind ever since.
“Do you know what a hotwife is?” Hale asked me that morning.
I just looked at him like it was a trick question. “Uh, well, ALL our wives are hot, right?” I said.
Hale just laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Hotwife. One word. Look it up next time you’re online.”
That’s all he said to me that morning, and I didn’t think much of it. It was only a couple of days later, when I remembered his comment while I was online, that I looked it up, and what I found sent a shiver up and down my spine.
Shared By The Soldiers Page 1
