by Viva Fox
Or, well... It was Danny's dog, I guess, really... He'd been a shelter dog, a jack russel terrier, and I guess I'd more or less adopted him when Danny and I first moved in together. I opened the door to greet him, and a swirl of emotions, both good and bad, welled up inside me.
Bandit was a fun dog, loving and playful, and it was hard not to feel just a little bit of his joy and zest for the world seep into you whenever you were in the little firecracker's presence. Even as I stepped out into the hallway he jumped with sheer joy to see me, hopping up feet into the air and making my chest balloon just the least bit with affection.
You just couldn't help but smile at something like this, even if deep down you probably knew your pet's frantic efforts at hopping and prancing likely had a lot to do with the simple fact that they had to pee.
But, like everything else in the house anymore, there was also a sense of absence to all of this, unsettling and disturbing, filling me with a chill of nerves that nearly made me woozy as I stared sadly down at the cute little thing. This was Danny's dog... Danny wasn't here... I was just taking care of the things he'd left behind in his absence.
God, how I hated myself for these sorts of thoughts. My affection for the poor dog all but drained away, and I sighed heavily with discontent. “Come on,” I said without an ounce of enthusiasm, and I stepped over to open the sliding glass door for him.
Instantly, and quite expectedly, he went bolting out into the yard, overshooting the distance that he should have been going and flying straight out toward the road- precisely as he always did, without fail or exception.
“Bandit! Get back here!” I yelled, and he gradually circled back around in his laps, as though he'd known from the start that he wasn't supposed to be going that far, and yet he'd done so anyway, just to test my limits. I didn't really care that much, I guess.
I just sighed as he did his business, and stooped over in my bath robe to retrieve the dew covered newspaper from my front lawn. Every morning, the rolled up paper in its plastic sheath practically burned my fingers whenever I touched it, despite begin cold and wet and dripping onto the ground.
I shook it off, and slowly took out the paper, holding my breath just a bit irrationally as I did so, as though this could somehow change its contents. I struggled to contain the avalanche of glossy circulars as they spilled out into my hand, and then cautiously flipped over the front page, and peered inside the paper, fearful of just what I might find.
There was, frankly, nothing of much interest in there for me, on any level that mattered all that much. Just the same old things, politics and world events that seemed like nothing but words printed on a page, and whose effects only touched me in so far as they pushed my husband further and further away from me. I always feared, though, that one day I would see some headline about a fallen soldier, and would see Danny's face plastered across the page in black and white newsprint.
It was largely irrational, I knew. Were anything to happen to the man I loved, I would surely have been notified ahead of time, rather than left suspended and guessing, only to find out when I opened up the morning paper. But of course, it wasn't all that rational of a thought process that took over me these days, and knowing what was true didn't always stop me from having these sorts of dark, fearful fantasies.
I sighed, closed up the paper once again, and stepped inside with Bandit once again, in order to get ready for my day.
I stood in the shower for some time, letting the hot water roll along my body in a manner that felt wonderful, yet was somehow strangely chilling. I felt like I lacked the strength to tear myself away from this beautiful heat, and I stayed under the water until it began to grow cold as it fell down onto me, and at last I admitted to myself that it was time to get out and get started with my day.
I got dressed, not caring all that much what I looked like, because really what the hell did it matter, anyway? I patted Bandit one final time on the head, and then made my departure through the front door, and stepped into my car.
I needed groceries, and drove somewhat dead-eyed off to the supermarket, unenthusiastic and disliking the notion of having to be out in public. As proud as I was of my husband, I hated the inherent feeling of being a military wife, and I somehow imagined that everyone else around me felt sorry for me when they looked at me, as though they somehow knew that, just because I was at the store by myself with a wedding ring on, I was worth pitying for my present life circumstances.
But of course I knew that was ridiculous. There was no way that anyone would have that sort of insight, but like nearly everything about my life at that time, my reason did very little to mitigate the fear.
This same feeling, of not wanting people to feel sorry for me, was one of the main reason I tended to gravitate away from other military wives, the only people who could really ever know precisely what it was I was going through.
It was just so strange, really. The whole experience of it. Having as good as lost the man you loved, for an indefinite period of time, in some foreign city you've never heard of, for a cause that neither you nor even the man fighting for it fully understands.
All the way through, you sort of just have to believe whatever it is people tell you, take things at face value, and try to avoid overthinking things if you want to make it through the whole ordeal with your sanity intact.
And, I guess, really, that was probably exactly what Danny was going through himself, but to a degree that was far more palpable, and the stakes far, far higher. But, at the very least, Danny had the benefit of actually progressing through that hardship.
His ability to come home and be with me again depended wholly on tangible actions he could take every day, so that it must have seemed like he was racing toward a finish line. But meanwhile, on my end, there was really nothing I could do at all to speed up the pace of time, or to bring the man I loved back home to me a minute faster.
So in some ways, I guess I was just trying to stay afloat all that time. And, though the smart thing to do would have been to expose myself to those other military wives, and relate to someone who could sympathize so directly with my problems. I'm not really sure why I was so resistant to the notion, in fact...
I guess the reason is probably a selfish one, really. I didn't want to share this experience with anyone else, as bad as it was. I wanted it to remain solely between Danny and I, confined and limited, and kept within our own private boundaries.
Having to be around the other women who were going through the same thing felt like an intrusion of some kind, a butting in that I'd never signed up for, and I preferred waiting out the days leading up to my love's return in solitude, as painful as it may have been for me on a number of levels.
Really, all throughout that time, these trips to the grocery store were about the only socializing I squeezed into my day at all, if you can really call it that. Once in a while I would call my parents or Danny's, and very rarely I would go out and have coffee or something with my best friend Julia.
But really, the only thing that got me through those long, lonely days were the video calls with my husband, holed up in some hellish, God forsaken place halfway around the world, trying for my sake to make it seem less terrible than it was, but the misery he was experiencing painfully evident on his face and in the way he spoke to me.
Recently, he'd made a request to me, to send him a rather private video of myself, and I'd been putting it off ever since, feeling that it was wrong on any number of levels. Not morally wrong, but... But, well, it just felt sad. Like it somehow emphasized just how separated the two of us had become.
And I knew, at any rate, that there was no way I could perform what he asked of me face to face, and that if I ever did manage to do it for him at all, it would have to be via a pre-recorded message that I could be in control of myself.
But today, I was beginning to feel my longing for his flesh more acutely than ever. I'm a little bit ashamed to admit it, really, but as I stepped through the aisles of the grocery s
tore, I began to feel a heated sense of lust, with every man that I passed somehow reminding me of him, making me burn for a male's touch more acutely than ever.
I was wholly faithful to the man I loved, of course. I always have been, and I always will be. But it was hard not to let my eyes wander from time to time in his absence, imagining myself taking solace in someone else's arms, being taken by someone and driven to forgetting about the distance from the only person I wanted in my life.
By the time I got up to the front register, and was checked out (in more ways than one) by a strapping young cashier, I was feeling so hot and flushed that I could feel sweat beginning to form down my neck, adding to my erotically charged discomfort.
Today, I knew, would be the day I recorded the video for my husband, and sent it to him as the sweetest of surprises.
Even upon making the decision, there was still a considerable degree of trepidation leading up to the actual unfolding of events before I managed to fully work up my nerve. I had never before produced an, ahem, erotic film, in any way shape or form, and I had to admit I was feeling nervous as hell about the prospect of doing so.
Once I was back home, I closed all the blinds in our bedroom and closed the door behind me, then went through a variety of outfits, trying to decide which bit of lingerie in my wardrobe would serve best to tempt and to tantalize him as it melted from my flesh.
Even once I had decided on something that would do the trick, I found myself looking in the mirror, and I didn't really feel pretty. I mean, I was okay. Really, I was quite a beautiful woman, and had always been told so, but my appearance just felt inadequate in my mind for the gravity of this situation, like I needed to be perfect for him if he was to derive an ounce of enjoyment whatsoever out of the performance.
But of course, I could only work with what the good Lord gave me, and I knew that no matter how long I might have spent adjusting and primping in preparation for the show, at the end of the day it was just going to come down to my own perception of myself, and there wasn't really a hell of a lot I could do to change that.
Finally, I decided it was time to bite the bullet and rush this thing head on, and after a considerable time of fiddling with my laptop's webcam to arrive at just the right angle, I took a deep breath, and clicked on the record button.
“Hey, babe... God, I'm... I'm sorry, I'm so nervous... Wow...” I paused for a moment, trying to gain my composure, and then continued, “I uh... I thought maybe I'd make that video you'd asked about a while back... You know? I'm... I'm not exactly sure what you'd like, but... Well, I just thought maybe I'd give you a little taste and see how it goes. I um... I bought this new nightie the other day, by the way... I thought you might like it... It really... Emphasizes things, if you know what I mean...”
To drive home the point of this last sentence, I brought my hands up to my breasts, and began to squeeze them beneath the lacy black fabric, my fingers digging deep into myself, as I pushed my perky perfect titties across my chest. Strangely enough, I was beginning to settle into this already, feeling at ease with this little burlesque show I was putting on for him, and getting wet as hell at the sudden notion of how turned on he would be once he saw me playing with myself on camera.
A sudden sense of invigoration began to overtake me.
“And well... I thought you might be missing these,” I teased, and I began to loop my fingers into the straps of the nighty. I playfully pushed the fabric all along, dredging it down for a flash at a time so that my naked tits were briefly exposed, but then hastily pulling the article back up to cover my modesty. I did this repeatedly, my arms never resting as I continued to push my breasts around, and my nipples peeking out repeatedly in a manner that I could imagine driving my husband wild.
Then, finally, I made the plunge, and brought both breasts out into full view, the nighty hanging down about halfway down around my abdomen. Almost immediately, I covered up my nipples with my hands, as though censoring myself. But instead of prudishness, I was beginning to make things more lascivious than ever, squeezing and pushing my breasts around even harder, giving him quite the eyeful of my flesh as I pinched and tugged on my nipples.
I was seriously beginning to get into this, in a very enthusiastic way...
I'd begun to tilt my head back, thrusting my breasts forward toward the camera and moaning lightly as I caressed, until at last I tilted my face back down toward the camera, and smiled devilishly into what I imagined where my husband's eyes.
Then, slowly, I began to twist my body around on the bed, looking over my shoulder to make sure everything was still in frame, until at last my ass as jutting out toward him, practically popping out into his field of vision in three-dimensions.
Gradually, I began to peel down the fabric of the nighty, slipping it down along my thighs, down to my knees, slipping it down to around my ankles, until at last he was left gaping at the splayed treasures of my pussy, full and soft and round, and entirely his to ogle and pleasure himself to.
And in fact, the thought of him masturbating to this got me even hotter, and I began to follow suit myself, as though somehow this might constitute a round of mutual masturbation at some point down the road.
Looking over my shoulder at the camera, I lifted a hand and pushed the fingers into my mouth, coating them with saliva, and then drawing them back around. Slowly, I pushed them up inside myself, groaning with satisfaction as I did so, and my pussy beginning to squelch as I kneaded up the wet, hot flesh. I stroked slowly, carefully, kneading up the floral folds of my femininity with the utmost of tenderness, my legs beginning to quiver as I fingered myself so relentlessly.
It wasn't long at all before I began to realize that, all in all, this was as much about me as it was about him, and that my presentation should therefore reflect this fact accordingly. It was then that, after a few last moans and another cruel look of lust over my shoulder at him, I turned my entire body back to face the camera, my breasts heaving toward him and my legs spread wide so that he had a full, abundant view of my pussy.
I reached over into my bedside stand, and fumbled around until I retrieved the vibrating dildo that had been my only sexual companion in the months since Danny's deployment. I held it up to the screen, sliding its cold plastic shaft across my lips in a manner that put me in mind of holding a cigar.
I began to roll my tongue around the thing, imagining that it was Danny whose immensity I was savoring instead of some stiff, empty material, and then I opened my lips wide. I slowly began to push the thing down into my neck, deep-throating my own dildo, gagging just slightly, but in a manner which I knew would drive him absolutely crazy when he watched it with his own eyes.
I held steady, and slowly withdrew the wet thing after several seconds, its long pink shaft now coated with fluid, and ready to be put to good use.
I angled the laptop's camera down just a degree or two more, angling for just a slightly better view of my spread legs and wet pussy. And then, I began to slide the dildo around through the lips of my pussy, working the warm flesh around it, before pushing it inside me, swallowing it up into my body, and activating the vibrations.
And God, did I moan, tilting back my head and shivering as that grand feeling echoed through me, making my bones tense up and my knees quiver as I plunged the humming rod in and out of my body. Closing my eyes, I pushed my fingers around myself along with the dildo, stimulating my clit and giving Danny one hell of a show, all the while arching my spine further and further degrees forward, until I thought it seemed next to impossible that I could bend any further without breaking my damn back.
And as I masturbated, pushing and sliding the artificial penis in and out, in and out, in and out of me, I began to fantasize wildly, to recollect, and to call into memory the sweet, beautiful occasion of Danny and I's first time in bed together.
The memory was soft and warm and fuzzy, nostalgic and bittersweet. Prior to Danny, I had had very few sexual partners, and for his part, he said the same was true of h
im. Still, though, he'd had more experience than me I think, and though I felt a little bit clumsy and awkward in certain capacities, he managed to steer me through things very capably, to not only help me navigate our love but to reach such dizzying heights of ecstasy that I could scarcely even believe it.
We had begun to kiss on his sofa, his lips hot and wet and sweet, running along my neck and his teeth sinking gently into me, filling me up with so much unbridled desire that I began to push my entire body into him, wanting to be scooped up into his arms and held tightly there forever.
I began to kiss him even harder, pushing my tongue into him and drilling it toward the back of his mouth, gouging into his beautiful mouth and consuming him as deeply and as thoroughly as I could manage.
I could feel myself beginning to burn for him as his hands slid along my body, touching and prodding, getting a feel for me, and then sinking in, holding on for dear life as I dissolved into a liquid puddle in his grip.
In any other relationship I'd been in, I'd always been just a little bit hesitant when it came to sex. Not resistant, or unwilling, but uncertain of myself, unsure whether what I was doing was the right thing for me or my life, even when the physical act itself might have been bringing me the utmost of pleasure.
But with Danny, there was none of this doubt whatsoever anchoring me down- no feeling of speculation or second-guessing myself, no fear that this was just another guy who wanted to use me up and didn't give a damn what the extent of the relationship might have been beyond that and that alone. I wanted him, badly, perhaps even more fiercely than he himself wanted me, and it was showing in the way that I was embracing him, with the utmost passion.
Before I knew it, I was dry humping him, on top of him and pushing my body into him, and it was almost embarrassingly clear to him that I was more than ready for this to be taken to its next logical step. He lifted me into the air, sweeping me across the room with his hands on my ass for support, his touch sinking into me and affecting me more intensely than ever.
