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We’d been out in the snow for over a week. The temperature had never risen above minus twenty, and I felt I would never be warm again. It had been the same old story, my sergeant had told me. “We’ll spend a week on exercise in the middle of a Norwegian winter, and the next posting we get will be to a desert.” And so it had proved. We’d been notified that our next tour would take us to Oman, so now I had forty-eight hours to kill before we embarked for home and our new assignment.
Here I was, a twenty-six year old Captain, bored, cold and desperately in need of a drink. We were stationed at a Norwegian Army base that had probably the worst Officers Mess I’d ever encountered, so I decided to try and find a bar in the town that had grown up around it. I grabbed a lift with a couple of young Norwegian squaddies who were off on a forty-eight hour pass. The younger, Erik, suggested I try the Red Bar, which was often frequented by visiting Officers. “Very stylish” he told me.
They dropped me outside, and I stopped to gaze in through the large plate glass window. The place was packed, and I could hear – no, I could feel on my chest – the heavy thump of a sound system in overdrive. I wanted a drink, yes, but I didn’t want to go deaf at the same time. I decided to give it a miss, and passed on down the street. I found a second bar – and then a third – but each was as crowded and as noisy as the first.
I was just beginning to despair at ever getting a drink when I caught sight of a small bar in a side street. I almost missed it; the only indication that it was a bar at all was a small illuminated Pernod sign. I walked over, listening as I approached. It was quiet. Was it closed? No, the doorway, I saw, was lit, and through the glass I saw a couple of people sat at a table. This was more like it. I stepped inside, and the bell above the door tinkled.
There were five people inside; two young men sat in one corner, their table covered in empty beer bottles, an older couple, husband and wife I thought, sat at a table by the bar, deep in conversation and behind the bar a young girl was washing glasses in a small sink.
The two men watched me suspiciously as I approached the bar. I paid them no heed; I wanted a drink. The girl watched me approach, smiled, and said something in Norwegian that I didn’t understand. “Vodka, please”, I said, removing my coat.
“You are English?” she asked. “A soldier?”
“Yes” I said “A Marine, actually”.
“My brother, he is a soldier – a Corporal.”
“Really? I’m a Captain. Ben Jones, 45 commando.” I said, offering her my hand.
“I am Maria,” she said, taking it. “My father owns this bar.”
Her fingers lingered for a second, and then she turned and poured me a shot of Vodka. “This one is, how do you say it..? ‘on the house’.”
“Well, thanks” I said, taking the proffered glass and swallowing down the contents in a single swift movement. I could feel the spirit slip down my throat, its fire warming my frozen core. I heard the doorbell jingle, and turned to see the backs of the two young men in the doorway, making a hasty exit.
“Soldiers” said Maria by way of explanation. “Probably out without permission. Officers – even British ones – make them nervous.”
I took a moment to examine her; probably eighteen or nineteen, maybe five feet tall with blonde hair down to her shoulders framing a pretty, if slightly chubby face. She poured me a second drink, and then a third. I finished them both quickly and ordered a beer. I had warmed up sufficiently, I decided, and needed a long drink.
She uncapped the bottle and passed it across. As I took my first taste, the couple at the nearby table rose, took their coats, and headed off into the early evening darkness. “My last two regulars.” she said. “I usually close up at seven.” I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was already five past. “You want me to go?” I asked.
“No, no” she said. “I just didn’t want you to think you were scaring away my customers.”
I laughed, and she began to tell me about herself, the town, and the bar. Her father was a local businessman, and had owned the bar for twenty years. He also owned a nightclub, the Red Bar. Had I heard of it? I said I had past it, but hadn’t been in. “It is not so good” she said. “Always there are fights between soldiers there. The police want to close it, but my father has lots of friends. It stays open. He wanted me to work there, too, but I do not like it so he lets me run this bar instead.”
I said I liked the place, and she smiled. “I wish more people did,” she said. “Today, all day, I have had only nine customers. This is why I close early.” Kaş Escort That was a shame, I said. I would have to find somewhere else to drink.
“No” she said. “For you I stay open.”
“Then join me for a drink.” I said.
“Thank you. But I do not drink when I am working.”
I turned away and walked over to the door. I slid the bolt, pulled down the blind, crossed to the window and drew down the blind there, too. “Now”, I said, “you are closed. Will you join me for a drink?”
She picked up a bottle of wine and a glass, and stepped out from behind the bar. As she did, she seemed to shrink, and I noticed that there was a step back there. She was tiny – a couple of inches under five feet, I judged. She was wearing a grey rollneck sleeveless sweater and short dark skirt, and she pointed to the table the two young men had vacated. I joined her as she cleared away the detritus of their drinking, disposing of the bottles in a small storeroom adjacent the bar. We sat, and as we drank she told me more about herself.
She was eighteen, and studying part-time at a college. She hoped to go to University in a couple of years, she said, but was in no hurry. She wanted to study Business, and hoped one day to own her own chain of bars. “Not like my father, though – I want bars that are nice to drink in, not noisy and dirty” she said. She also wanted to travel, to see the world, and to find a nice boyfriend. I checked at this.
“I’d have thought that a girl who ran a bar would never be short of a boyfriend” I said, smiling.
“Oh sure” she said. “But those boys are only interested in beer. They are worse for business than the soldiers.”
“So, do you not like soldiers?” I asked.
“Ack! No, I don’t. They are – what is the word? – coarse and rude!”
“Even me?”
She frowned, then, and her face became thoughtful. For a moment she was absolutely still, and then she suddenly leaned across and kissed me on the cheek. “No, not you! You are different” she said.
“Because I’m English?”
“Because you are polite and….”
“And?” I asked
“And sexy” she said, her cheeks colouring. She giggled, her fingertip stroking the lip of her glass. “Sorry, I am being silly now” she added.
“Silly?”
“I am talking too much.”
I leaned forward and brushed my lips against hers, laying my hand upon her cheek. I could feel the heat from her blush. Her lips parted slowly, and her tongue darted out to touch mine. My hand slipped behind her head, holding her mouth against mine, and we exchanged a long, heated kiss.
She pulled away after a few minutes, her eyes shining beneath drooping eyelids. She stood for a moment, turned to face me, then brought her right leg round to sit upon my lap facing me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and looked up into my eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but I leaned down and clamped my lips to hers. We began to kiss in earnest then, her tongue wrestling with mine, exploring my mouth as mine probed hers. My hands wandered up and down her back, taking in her pert round bottom, tracing up her spine to her shoulders, pulling her to me. I let one hand fall to her knee, running it up her outer thigh, drawing the skirt up with it.
“You like me then?” she asked, disentangling her fingers from my hair. “I am not too fat?”
“Fat?” I replied. “No, I don’t think you’re fat.”
“Some boys think I have too big the thighs” she said. “What do you think?” Before I had chance to re-run the sentence through my head to sort out the grammar, he had risen to her feet, unhooked the clip on her skirt, and let it fall in a pool at her feet. She twirled around slowly, and I allowed my gaze to take in a pair of toned thighs, dimpled slightly but by no means fat, a bottom that was round as a peach, bisected by the pink fabric of her lacy briefs. She rested her hands upon her hips and gave me a coy smile. “Well?”
“Very nice” I said.
“You like?”
“Absolutely”
“And the rest?” Her hands gripped the bottom of the sweater, pulling it in a single fluid motion up and over her head, revealing two small, plump breasts with large, pink aureoles and small hard nipples, a gently curving stomach and a navel pierced with a small dolphin-shaped stud. I wrapped my hand around her waist, onto the small of her back, and pulling her to my side, took one of her nipples in my mouth, while my free hand snaked up to play with the other. She squealed briefly, and then began to murmur into my ear. I allowed my left hand to slip down onto her behind, caressing her cheeks and tugging aside the flimsy fabric to stroke along her cleft.
Her Kaş Escort Bayan own hands were busy, now, trying to take off my shirt – a task not helped by the fact that she was pressed tightly against me. Eventually, I stood, and allowed her fingers to unbutton my top. She ran her hands across my chest, brushing down the hairs that ran the full length of my torso. She sought out my nipples, licking them gently, and I felt them harden as her tongue flicked against them. She began to kiss my chest, then crouched slowly, gradually kissing down my abdomen towards my waist. Her fingers tugged at the buckle of my belt, and then at the buttons and zip of my trousers.
“Oh my god!” she gasped as my erect penis sprang free of its constraint. She took hold of it, and I looked down at her. Her eyes were bright, her lips glistened, and my cock, held in such tiny hands, had never looked so big. “It’s huge!” she said.
In truth, fully erect it’s about seven and a half inches, which I believe is the top end of average. Hardly huge, but I had no idea how many she had seen before. “Not really,” I said, “I’m sure you’ve seen bigger.”
She tore her gaze away from it, and looked into my eyes, a little frightened, guilty expression on her face. “Actually,” she said “this is the first one I’ve ever seen for real.”
My cock twitched, a little drop of pre-cum appearing at its tip. Bloody hell, a virgin. Surely not? She must have had boyfriends before? She seemed fascinated by the little blob of liquid, and her finger wiped it off and she sucked at it. A puzzled expression crossed her face. “It tastes funny” she said.
“You don’t like it?” I asked.
“My sister said it tastes like salted sour cream” she said, adding a mental picture to my mind that I found hard to erase.
“You discuss this sort of thing with your sister?”
“Oh, she tells me all about her boyfriends. How big they are, how hard they get, how they fuck her…” My cock twitched again as she used the word, bringing forth more pre-cum. Her tongue darted out to taste it. “I thought I would like to find out for myself” she added.
“Well?”
“Not sour cream. I don’t know.” Her tiny mouth closed around the head, her tongue brushing over the slit. I wanted to grab her hair and force it all the way in, right back into her throat, but her tongue was in the way. She seemed to be savouring the taste, her head twisting from side to side. Her tongue pressed against it, her lips parted, and my cock was once again bobbing before her. “It’s nice” she said.
She was on her knees now, her fingers still wrapped around my shaft, a little smile on her lips. She opened her mouth, and suddenly she was swallowing me, taking the whole length into her. I watched it disappear, until her nose was resting against me, her hands flat on my pelvis. She stayed there for a moment, then suddenly gagged and pushed me away hurriedly. I thought that she would end it there, but instead, having caught her breath, she came back, this time taking it halfway down the shaft, and began to bob slowly back and forth, sucking gently. I rested my hands lightly upon her head, stroking her hair, encouraging her. She may never have done this before, but she seemed to have picked up tips from somewhere.
My balls began to tighten, and I knew that if she kept this up I would blow my load in fairly short order. She seemed to sense it, and her rhythm slowed to a halt. She kissed the tip, the shaft, down to my balls, then knelt back, a big smile on her face. “Did you like that?” she asked.
For answer, I put my hands on her upper arms, guided her to her feet, and sat her on the edge of the table. I put my fingers in the waistband of her lacy pink panties, and noticed a large damp stain on the crotch. She lifted her bottom slightly, and I pulled them down in one swift move, past her knees and feet, and dropped them on the floor. Her legs parted, and there, beneath a light dusting of blonde pubic curls, was her damp little pussy.
I knelt between her knees, leaned forward and ran my tongue along it. She lay back and shivered, her hand coming down to hold herself open as my tongue began questing at the edges, licking her labial lips, probing around the apex for the little button that slowly emerged from beneath its clitoral hood. As I flicked across it, her body jerked, thrusting her hips at me, her bottom slapping loudly on the table. I reached up, slipping a finger slowly inside her. Suddenly, it dawned on me; she really was a virgin. Until that moment, it hadn’t truly sunk in. Now it did, which was more than could be said for my finger. She was so tight I couldn’t Escort Kaş get more than the first joint inside her. I pressed gently, twisting and wiggling my finger, and very, very gradually she began to accept more of it, until, eventually, my whole finger had disappeared.
Now I began to stroke it in and out of her. She was tight, but she was also extremely wet, and her juices glistened on my finger as it slid rapidly in and out. She was bucking wildly, my tongue savaging her clit as my finger probed her pussy. “Please” she begged “no, please….I….Oh God!”
She tensed suddenly, her whole body wracked by the climax that coursed through her. I held her down, tweaking at her nipples as she writhed upon the table before me, her pussy pressed into my face, my finger trapped inside her as she spasmed and heaved.
She sat up as the contractions subsided, wrapping her arms around my neck. There were tears on her cheek, and I kissed them away as she moaned and sobbed quietly into my neck. She hung there for a moment, limp, almost lifeless, before her hand began reaching down into my groin. He fingers grasped it gently, and she began to tug it toward herself. “Will you… will you put it… inside me?” she whispered.
I’d been thinking of little else since her orgasm had begun, and nodded slowly. “It might hurt” I said, and she bit her lip thoughtfully. “Only for a moment, though” I added, trying to reassure her. She looked at me, her grey eyes red from her tears, and said “That’s okay.”
I pushed her back down, flat upon the table, opening her legs as wide as I could. Very carefully, I inched my penis towards her, pushing it down, guiding it towards her tiny little slit. Pressing forward, I watched as her pussy slowly swallowed the tip. I pushed a little harder, but she was so tight that for a moment it would go no further. “Try to relax, Maria” I murmured “It’ll be alright.”
She nodded, and as I pressed again I began to slide further inside her. Suddenly I felt the taut barrier of her hymen before it, and gripped her thighs tightly. “Okay, baby, this is the hard part” I said, and bore down into her. I felt it tear, and she stifled a little scream as I pushed through the remains of her tattered maidenhead. I leaned over her, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Okay?” I asked her.
She nodded again, a little tear in the corner of one eye, and I slid the rest of my manhood into her. At last, the whole length was inside her, and I stopped and looked down at her. “How does that feel?”
“Wonderful” she said. “I never thought…” She was silent, then, a look of contentment on her face. I rested my hands upon her breasts, fondling her hard, erect nipples, and she squirmed beneath my touch, her hips thrusting against me. She smiled, and said something in Norwegian I didn’t understand. She looked at my puzzled expression. “It means ‘fuck me'” she said, smiling.
I needed no second bidding. I gripped her thighs again and began to thrust slowly into her, drawing back almost to the tip then driving slowly back into her. Every stroke seemed to knock the breath out of her, her face contorting as our pubic hair collided. She wrapped her legs around my back, and my thrusts became shorter and faster. She began moaning again, the noise seeming to fill the bar, drowning out the slapping sound my balls were making as they collided with her.
She was close, now, to a second orgasm, and I drove faster and faster, hoping to time my own to match hers. I was breathing heavily, grunting as my strokes went deeper into her tightening hole, feeling my cock being squeezed and milked by her muscles. Her back arched, and suddenly she was overcome by her climax, her hips thrashing wildly against me. I felt my balls tighten, and my body tensed. As the first great spurt of cum blasted inside her, her eyes grew wide, first with delight, and then with fear. She pushed me back as the second jolt fired into her, and then my cock was free, discharging its milky load over her breasts, her belly, and then onto her wet pubic mound…
Oh God, she said later, what had she been thinking? She wasn’t on the pill – hadn’t been using any form of protection, hadn’t thought I would…
Looking back on it now, I suppose I should have known better. I hadn’t even thought about contraception; you don’t, when you get that involved so quickly. But what was done, was done. Some people would say I was just unlucky; others that I was stupid. Well, whatever.
We were married a couple of months later – before the bump began to show – and almost nine months to the day later she gave birth to a bouncing baby boy we named Erik. Some of you might wonder why I married her at all. Why didn’t I do what so many soldiers do – just fuck ’em and forget ’em? And the truth is, I don’t know. But neither do I regret it. We’ve had some interesting times since that day, but they’re stories for another time – if you want to hear them?
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