0 comments/ 4614 views/ 0 favorites Lady of Spa By: DevisPixi High noon of the twentieth day of the month of the goddess Juno in the Roman year 701 was brightly sunny and dry under a celestial blue sky. Lisinia brought her young son, Valens, to the servant's quarters of the latifundium owned by the Solinus gens, the wealthiest patrician clan in Tivoli. Lisinia introduced the boy to Oliva, the toothless and round-bellied cook. "Obey her wishes as you would mine," she told the boy of eight years and kissed his forehead. "Here, young fellow, help me grind this millet into mash," Oliva said with feigned sternness as Lisinia exited to another stucco-walled room, barren but for a bench and a row of pegs on one wall. Lisinia paid no heed to the equestrian tending the patrician's horses just outside an open rectangular window and took off her coarse linen tunic, which was tied at the waist by a sash, and removed her crinoline undergarment. She had bathed in the public bath near the forum in Tivoli during the late morning time reserved for women. Now she needed to primp before her performance at the banquet. Lisinia gently ran a sharped novacila over her right leg, then the left, from her ivory thighs to her muscled calves, shaving any remnant of hair. After tying back her long, golden tresses with a thin leather strap, she shaved over her shoulders before lifting her arms to clean any trace of new growth. Then she inspected her arms and hands to make sure they were devoid of hairs. Finally, she held her small, square mirror in her palm and plucked a few tell-tale strands of hair sprouting above her lip. Lisinia removed her silk stola from her satchel. It was dyed red, imported from Damascus, and freshly washed in a urine rinse. She turned her sculpted arse toward the window, where the keeper of the horses enjoyed the view, and wrapped herself in the lovely gown, her most valuable possession. Lisinia carried her lyre under her arm and went to the main house, where the banquet was to be held. Barely audible, she hummed the melody she would sing and practiced touching the strings of the ox-bow-shaped instrument, as the first of the guests, all gentlemen of superior social rank, arrived. The hosts were Gaius Solinus and his wife, Iuliana, a greying, slightly withered beauty. The servants—most of whom were either Lybian or Gallic—began to lay out the plates of food. There were ostrich eggs, songbird tongues, quail and partridge, olives, grape leaves, figs, pomegranates, dates, millet mash, and lentil beans. For drink, there was an infinite stock of wine, poured from skins into silver challises. As Lisinia began to perform, striking her lyre and reciting the poems of Sappho in a haunting, floating melody, the guests, numbering ten in toto, reclined on floor cushions while dining and drinking. The only other woman present was Iuliana, the matron of the latifundium. "Your music is most delightful, young woman." The lady of the estate gave Lisinia a sincere smile, not the stiff, condescending smirks usually doled out by the high born to their inferiors. By the time, Lisinia finished her repertoire of lyric poems, the first of the guests had begun to waddle out to the vomitorium and purge themselves to make room for more food and drink. The time had come for Lisinia to give each of the gentleman a "kiss," beginning with the patron, Gaius. Gaius was over fifty and kindly, but flabby and unattractive. Still, Lisinia approached him with respectful deference, lightly touching his clean-shaven cheek with her lips as she reached underneath his toga. She handled his stout penis by squeezing it with her fingers before licking it thoroughly. Then she pushed back his foreskin to reveal his round, pale bulb. She kissed the tip before putting his phallus in her mouth. He discharged his liquid seed almost instantaneously. The next patrician was younger and taller, but bald-headed and slovenly, stains of food and drink adorned the front of his toga. His lector was lengthy and curved, and Lisinia could feel its prominently protruding vein against the roof of her mouth. Lisinia's steadily insistent sucking brought forth his bitter semen in short order. A chubby little man of foul odor insisted on laying his hands on Lisinia's breasts and buttocks. He shot forth only with great difficulty and tasted like smelted iron. The youngest gentleman at the banquet had a dark brown phallus that erupted in Lisinia's mouth with the power of Vesuvius and carried a warm salty flavor. The senior that followed was another besotted hog. His withered manhood barely grew between Lisinia's lips, but, gratefully, the sot's issue flowed in due course. The last one to receive a loving kiss from Lisinia was the mater familias, Iuliana. Lisinia showed the lady the sweetest tenderness, softly kissing her bulbous breasts, swollen belly, and wrinkled thighs before smothering herself in the folds of the matron's vulva. Lisinia licked and sucked Iuliana's clitoris and slid two fingers between her moist labia. Slurping and gulping the nectar of Venus, Lisisnia affectionately tended to Iuliania till her vagina undulated in pleasurable spasms. As Lisinia tried to take her leave, the elder beauty clasped her hand. "Would you lay with my husband?" Iuliana asked with an air of authority. "I am an entertainer, not a prostitute," Lisinia responded firmly. "You can do without your twelve ducats, then." "Neither am I a slave," Lisinia said, unintimidated by the aristocratic lady she had just pleasured. "Brazen wench!" Iuliana's eyes blazed and she approached Lisinia as if she were about to attack her. Instead of confronting the angry wife, Lisinia turned to the patron, Gaius. "I shall have my twelve ducats now, sir." Gaius fetched twelve gold coins from a cinch sack and handed them to the young beauty. "You are a man of gravitas," she told him. Then she spun around on her heels and faced Iuliana. "Be grateful to the gods that your husband did not fuck me. He would make me his new wife and put you in the stable with the horses." The guests laughed uproariously and Lisinia grabbed her lyre and fled the banquet room before Iuliana could cajole Gaius into taking back the money. Lisinia ran to the kitchen, whisked Valens from bed, and dragged the stumbling boy out to the darkened streets of Tivoli. The mother and boy slept on a bed of straw behind a modest wooden home in the plebeians' residential area. At sunrise, they walked past the temple of Hercules Victor and the forum, where merchants were preparing to sell their wares at market. Lisinia held Valens's hand and led him to the public latrine, a large pool of running water, accommodating twenty people. A Roman water wheel pumped clean water in and waste water out, powered by two slaves, bound by chains, turning a massive crank. Lisinia directed the frail boy to sit next to her on one of the keyhole shaped openings that served as toilets. She instructed him to take off his tunic to avoid fouling it. For herself, she lifted her linen skirt and modestly draped it across her lap. Seated alongside them was a muscular, bearded fellow in crude clothing—a leather tunic and leather strapped sandals. He was neither young nor old and had kindly blue eyes. He was taken with Lisinia's beauty, marveling at her graceful aura and elegance. He was also tantalized by the slight glimpse of her porcelain flesh. "Salutations, madam." He spoke in a crude Latin dialect, common to soldiers. "I am Titus." "Are you a legionnaire?" she asked directly. "I was a centurion," he replied, pleased at her interest. "I served under the Legatus Caesar in Gaul, Germania, and Britannia. I was pensioned off after ten years." Lisinia nodded without comment, though she had heard rumors that the Consul Pompeii was jealous of Caesar's successes and fearful of his ambitions. Valens had a bored expression on his face. "Are you trying to pee, boy?" Titus asked, surprising Lisinia with his straightforward attitude bordering on rudeness. Valens nodded. "Then stand up, youth, and direct your stream into the hole as a man." Valens happily jumped to his feet, held his petite twig, and peed into the toilet hole. Lisinia found the scene quite amusing, but bit her lip so as not to laugh. "Are you making a journey?" Lisinia asked, noticing a large sack at Titus's feet. "I am joining Caesar's army in Gaul," he said proudly. "I am done with the life of a pensioner in Rome. The city is a sewer of poverty and death. I can only live and die as a soldier." "What have you in your sack?" the boy asked. "Let me show you, my lad," answered Titus, as he reached for the heavy bag at his feet. The veteran took no pains to conceal his exposed private parts, especially his distended testicles. He pulled out first a metal shield, then the hilt of a short sword, and finally a helmet adorned with a fox's head and pelt. "The fox is the mascot of our legion," Titus explained and he handed Valens the helmet, which the youngster regarded with awe. Lisinia sat serenely and watched the crusty warrior educating and entertaining her son. Neither her facial expression nor her posture belied the natural function in which she was engaged. Her beauty and grace were antithetical to any unsightly act. "May I ask you the same?" Titus was charmingly awkward, Lisinia thought, as he inquired, "Are you making a journey?" "Do you not think I am a lady of Tivoli?" She put her elegantly prominent nose in the air. "You would not be using a public toilet or the baths if you had a house in the civitas." "How do you know I used the public bath?" Lisinia shifted her weight on the stone bench, unintentionally revealing the perfect line of her womanly buttock. "I saw you going inside the bath house yesterday," Titus confessed sheepishly. "Indeed!" Lisinia delighted Titus with a smile that displayed two rows of handsome white teeth, no rot or gaps. "I am from the town of Spa, north of Rome. I am returning there to leave my son with my mother." "Has he no father?" Titus asked as he reached for one of the sticks with a sponge on the tip. "My husband was killed in a servile revolt before I gave birth to Valens." She watched his fingers on the handle of the brush, scrubbing between his legs. "Was he a soldier?" He dipped the sponge end of the brush into the clean, incoming water and swished it about. "No, he was one of the rebels who revolted against Rome." There was a lilt of laughter in her voice as she held out her open palm. Titus passed her the sanitary tool and averted his eyes as she used it to wipe herself. "Why are you bringing the lad to Spa?" "I am a musician. I travel throughout the year. It is a difficult life for the boy." An edge of sadness colored her voice. "It must be difficult for you to care for him as well," Titus commented, surprising Lisinia with his insightful empathy. "Did you kill people when you were a soldier?" Valens asked brightly. "Don't be rude to the proletarian," she addressed him as a citizen-soldier veteran. Titus was good-natured, however. "I only fought other soldiers in battle. I worship the Persian god, Mithras. The apostates of Mithras believe that the spirit of a soldier who dies bravely fighting for a noble cause will be rewarded with eternal life in paradise." When the mother and child were ready to depart, Titus bade them farewell and accompanied them out to the streets of Tivoli. "I beseech thee to stay on the paved roads, my lady." Then he boasted, "The roads of Latium, Sabina, and Etruria were built by soldiers of the Roman Republic. We are the finest engineers in the world." Titus wanted to tell this golden woman all about his campaigns with Caesar in Gaul, where his legions defeated Vercingetorix, and Germania, where they built a bridge over the Rhine river and tore it down after burning the villages of the barbarians who waged war against the might of Rome. Alas, the lady and her young one went on their way. Titus set out on foot and came to a farming village. He took some fresh water, supped on grape leaves and lamb, and asked the contadino if there was a graveyard nearby where retired soldiers might be buried. He found the graveyard at the top of a tree-lined hill. The burial locations were indicated by piles of stones. He placed a plate with small bits of food on one of the graves, an offering to the spirits. If the spirit was happy in the afterlife, the food would be eaten by morning. At nightfall, Titus decided to make a bed of grass under the stars as he had for ten years as a soldier. After laying motionless for a long while, he gave up and set out on foot once again. After a mile's walking, Titus came to a crossroads, which Titus remembered led to the Po river. Shortly, he heard a shrill scream followed by a sharper cry, sounding like a woman and a young child in distress. Titus followed the sound, running at battle speed, into the thick woodlands. The scene became clear as Titus neared a campfire that looked to be a bandits' hideaway. Lisinia was prone on the ground, being held down by two men. One scrawny outlaw was wiggling his penis inside her mouth and a second outlaw was plunging into her mound of Venus. Titus saw Valens in the clutches of a third villain, hairy and burly, who could easily have snapped the boy's neck. Titus struck the hairy blackheart first, creeping silently and striking the top of the wrong-doer's head with his sword, splitting it in half. "Titus!" Valens shouted his name with pure joy. The veteran of Caesar's wars in Gaul went after the jackal at Lisinia's head, knocking him off of her and running him through. Titus's sword cut through bone and muscle, setting off a fountain of blood. Then he severed the evil one's head with one, clean slice. By this time, the third outlaw had withdrawn his cock from Lisinia's cunt and brandished a knife to defend himself. Titus swung his sword and opened up the swine's chest. He swung again and cut off his head, as he had done to the others. Valens and his mother swarmed in tearful gratitude around Titus. Up close, Titus saw scratches and bruises on the beautiful lady's face. "Those men came out of the woods and grabbed us," Lisinia explained breathlessly. "They stole my money, twelve ducats." "You killed them all." The boy said excitedly. "You are Hercules!" "No, I'm just a soldier," Titus responded with true modesty. Nonetheless, he felt aroused by the stark naked lady desperately embracing him. Titus took the boy and his mother to a cleaner spot in the woodlands, where she dressed and they bedded down for the night while he cleaned up the villain's camp site, burying their heads, stacking their bodies, and burning them. He found Lisinia's lyre, fortunately undamaged. She was joyful at her instrument's recovery. Titus slept alongside Lisinia and Valens, happily enveloped in the odor of their bodies. In the morning, he led them to a spring, where they could bathe and tend to their private necessities. A simple man, yet Titus sensed the irony of having met them in a public sanitary system yesterday and washing outdoors today. "I found your gold coins at the villain's camp," he said, handing them to Lisinia. Titus had kept some nuts in his sack and shared them with Lisinia and Valens. "I shall accompany you to Spa," Titus spoke decisively. "I cannot leave you to face further danger." "What about joining Caesar in Gaul?" "His legions are in Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul." What Titus said meant nothing to Lisinia until he clarified by adding, "The nearest campo is just beyond the Rubicon." Then Titus surprised his lady love still more by handing her a purse with 100 gold coins. "I earned my salt after ten years," Titus told Lisinia. "Two sacks of salt was my pension. Some of us trade the salt for land or a wife, but I sold mine for 100 ducats." "Why are you giving your money to us?" When she asked him, she softly touched his hand with her fingers. "I won't need it when I rejoin Caesar's legions. In battle, we have one order: follow the red cape. Gaius Julius Caesar is always the first man into the fray." Nevertheless, Lisinia had less interest in Caesar than in the man who admired him so. For five days, the trio sojourned along the cobblestone roads, picking berries, hunting squirrels and pigeons, and bathing in a brook or pond. No outlaws dared threaten the lady, her son, and their fearsome protector. In the evening, Lisinia would hum a sweet melody and play the lyre. On the final night of their journey, Valens fell asleep as he laid on his mother's chest. Then she left him wrapped in her tunic and went to Titus's side. He felt her naked body against his and smelled her intoxicating scent. She wrapped her legs around his hips and rubbed her seething vortex against him. "I want to give you a kiss." Lisinia nuzzled her head below the battle-worn veteran's waist and lavished saliva-dripping affection on his penis, testicles, and thighs. Just before his cock spewed hot lust into her warm mouth, Lisinia pulled his hand to her garden. He fingered through her wiry pubic patch and inserted himself into her vaginal cleft. After he drank from her thick, tangy font, they cleaved with the force of an earthquake, his cobra spitting fire inside of her feminine vase. "Oh, Jupiter, fuck me!" she moaned. Titus fucked Lisinia once. "Oh, Juno, split me like an oak," she groaned." Titus fucked her twice. "Oh, Venus, make me your cock's whore." Titus fucked her thrice. At daybreak, Titus brought Lisinia and Valens to the wall of the town of Spa. "I am going to stay here with Valens and my mother," Lisinia decreed to Titus's surprise. "But why?" the scarred hero wondered. The loveliest, most intelligent woman Titus had ever known took his hand and placed it on her abdomen. "I have quickened," she said to his puzzlement. "You planted your seed in me last night and it will grow here." "By Jupiter, I'll stay with you...as your husband." Lisinia laughed at him. "No, go find Caesar and his legions. Return to me when Caesar returns to Rome. He is getting old. I suspect he must be tired." "Vini, vidi, vici," Titus recited. "'I came, I saw, I conquered.' Yes, I know he must be tired." Two years passed and Titus, promoted from Lieutenant to Captain, served under Caesar when "the die is cast" and he led his army to cross the Rubicon, invading Italy, defeating his rival, Pompeii, overthrowing the Republic, and becoming Dictator for life. Caesar generously paid his loyal troops and Titus joined his lady of Spa and their two children, son Valens and daughter Titian. They built a large estate outside of town and employed a staff of peasants and servants. Titus was elected to the Tribal Assembly, becoming a Tribune of the people. On holidays—there were fifty each year in the Roman calendar—the beautiful Lisinia would entertain a banquet hall full of guests with the poems of Sappho accompanied by the music of her lyre. S.P.Q.R. Lady of Spain If Warren Cochran had been a little more cautious, a little pickier, or a little more suspicious, he would probably not have been in the army. The name of the girl who got him there doesn't matter, since she barely comes into the story at all. The thing was that Warren spent some time with her on a blanket in the bushes off the road, and she came to him telling him that he got her pregnant. He had done what he could to prevent that, but you never know... When he suggested paying to remove the problem, she said no, she wanted to marry him. Well, that he did not want. He was willing to pay child support, if it came to that, but he knew he did not want to face this woman every morning. He wasn't even sure why he had sex with her, except that she was there and he was horny. So he decided to join the army and at least make it difficult for her. If she went to court, she could still get child support from his pay, but it would mean making her prove that he was the father -- which he was not sure of. Between the time he joined and the time he left he heard from a friend that the woman had tried claiming pregnancy twice before, when she found someone she thought would make a good husband. And sure enough, he later heard that she never did start showing. But by then it was much too late. After basic training, Warren was shipped off to Spain. He was put under a disbursing officer, keeping books, making deposits and pay vouchers, and writing letters back to Washington on any problems. Warren wrote the letters, that is, and got the lieutenant over him to sign them (or sometimes somebody higher up, depending). That lieutenant was... well, Warren couldn't see why the army took him or how he made officer, but he could see why the lieutenant was in the army. In civilian life, the man would have been on welfare or in a home. Warren had to explain the letters to him. Almost all of them, it seemed like. Warren was at that job for a year, then an opening came up in a hospital pharmacy and somebody decided that since he had once worked in a drugstore he should go there. He didn't put in for it, but there he went. That job was a lot duller, but he stayed in better shape with all the walking and stooping and climbing he had to do. That was another year. Then they put him in a warehouse for a while, both at paperwork and at moving crates. A couple of months before he was due to be discharged, he was sent on maneuvers. Yeah, he had to put on a pack and march and sleep in a tent out in the rain and all of that. Not that Warren hadn't done it before, but this was the longest stretch of it he had gone through, as if the army decided that they had to live up to the cliche before they could let him go. But we should talk about Spain. Warren developed this theory that the reason that we have had troops stationed overseas since WWII had nothing to do with defending this country, or those countries. Warren thought it's a social program. You have a lot of young civilians who have never been out of the US, and probably wouldn't go under their own steam until they were middle-aged or older if at all. And then as tourists, so they only see hotels and museums. If the armed services send them over, they may really get an idea of what a foreign country is like, and that might influence their thinking. Even improve it in some cases, he guessed. Warren found it easier to learn Spanish than he had to learn French in high school, partly because it would do him more immediate good, partly because people around him were actually using it. Talking to the senoritas when he was on leave didn't matter all that much, since many of them knew English, or at least the ones who would talk to the soldiers did. It did help to understand the comments they made to each other about GIs, though. Though that was largely slang. The really outright prostitutes were easy to pick out (hell, they stuck out, not to mention coming at you) but a lot of the women angled for gifts before they would do anything. This was after the US started paying soldiers half-decent wages, and with the new pay and the Spanish prices, a corporal could almost afford to set up a woman in an apartment. There were a number of local people who had jobs on the base or near it, jobs that would not have existed without the US military there, either because they were dealing with the army as such or with the soldiers as individuals. So in a way, the military bases also served as a sort of foreign aid -- more efficient than the State Department kind, maybe, because it actually went to the people instead of just the politicians. Obviously bartenders, less obviously restaurant owners, launderers, and shop-keepers of different sorts, and of the people on the base secretaries, stock-clerks, whatever needed doing that there was no soldier to do at the moment -- or where the army felt it was just cheaper to hire someone. Pilar Giralt was hired as a typist at Rota. She did not completely look Spanish, or not as you think of the Spanish as being. She was una rubia, a red one, which means not what we call a redhead but a blonde. And she was not quite even that but somewhere toward the yellow end of black-haired or maybe a dark blonde. Blondes are rare among the Spanish, but not so much that there isn't a special name for them, and for them to be chased after. That they would have occasional fair-haired people is not surprising since Roman soldiers from all over were posted to Spain for a long time; sailors came by long before and after; and, going way back, the Beaker People traded from England to Spain, and who would be surprised at an English blond? Spanish men are more blatant about chasing women than Americans, even young American soldiers, so Warren's own slow approach might have been more appealing than what she was used to. Also there was the religious question. The picture you get of Spanish women being very protected from the world and tossed into a convent if they get too interested in men is not far from the truth. Another problem, in a way, that Pilar had was that she was not Roman Catholic. You hear of Spain as a Catholic country. Ninety per cent of it is; but that leaves four million people. Pilar had no idea when her family became Methodist, but it was at least a few generations back. This meant that most Spanish men would not want to think of marrying her unless she converted, which was not a thing she much wanted to do; and that they did not respect her because she was not Catholic, but would only look on her as a fair game conquest. Warren, however, was also raised nominally as a Methodist, and was quite willing to get to know her slowly. At first, at least, he was quite happy just to have someone to talk to. Her English was quite fluent, which was why she was hired as a typist at the base, and he was grateful after a while for the sound of a female voice in a language he could relax in. Pilar was also chased by Spanish men for what they thought was her relative immorality. She was unmarried and living alone. The pay was better at the base, but not enough to support her family also, so she moved off the farm and into an apartment house near the base. The landlady there (though the Spanish men did not take her into their account) was a widow of some years who was protective of Pilar. Warren eventually realized, though, that... But we'll get to that later. Warren first met Pilar when he took something in to the typing pool to have it done up. She was the only one not busy at the moment, and there was no backlog, so he handed it to her. She had a nice smile. That work was done faster and more accurately than usual, so he sought her out the next time. After a few more weeks, he stopped to explain to her something that took special handling, and he ended by asking her to dinner. Pilar stopped and stared at him for a few seconds, and then said yes, but she wanted to name the restaurant. The place had a few other soldiers there when they arrived, but also several friends of Pilar's, male and female, including a woman whom he did not notice but who turned out to be her landlady. That woman was there to act as a duen¤a, but she left after a while. She felt Warren would at least be harmless in public. The place had an area for dancing (with American rock records) and Pilar and he used it after dinner. He discovered that Pilar was very nice to hold close, and that the months without female companionship were affecting him. When they walked back to their table, one of Pilar's friends, Julia, said in Spanish that if Pilar didn't want him, she would be happy with a castoff. She made a comment about his polla, which was a word he did not get in his Spanish course and didn't recognize then. Pilar made a face, but didn't say anything. Warren walked with Pilar to where she lived and they talked outside, and at the end he kissed her on the cheek. She glared and slapped him, but not very hard. He caught a glimpse of the landlady in the window. A week later they went to a Mexican western in town. One theatre ran Mexican films on weekends because they often had subtitles in English, so the soldiers could either practice their Spanish or not, as they wanted. After a while in the dark, Pilar accepted his kisses without objections, and indeed got seriously into them. When he took her home, she did object to the point of trying to dodge his lips, but she did not struggle when he held her still. That, he was sure, was for the landlady's benefit. Warren began to speculate on his chances of sometime actually getting Pilar into bed and pumping between her legs. Not high, he thought, though it was worth working toward. The third time she suggested that they quit early and she invited him into her apartado. At least partly to reassure her landlady, she left the window wide open so that their voices carried. That window stayed open for some other evenings, but their voices were not always audible, because their mouths were sometimes otherwise occupied. And then one night Pilar closed the curtains. When she sat again beside Warren on the couch he took her in his arms and softly grazed one breast. Her eyes stared into his, and slowly her hand went into his shirt to touch the skin there. He became bolder and opened the first button on her blouse. By the time he left that night he had bared and cupped and fondled both her breasts, and their farewell kiss was very passionate. His estimation of the odds on getting her into bed had just improved. He wondered how lively she would be. The next evening they spent together, they ate dinner and went immediately to her apartment. They did talk a lot, but the evening ended with his hand inside the loose cotton culottes she wore. Warren had caressed her flat stomach and begun to creep below the waist when she stopped him for a second to open a button there. The material relaxed, and now his palm slid easily downward. She became visibly nervous as he contacted her pubic hair, but the slow stroking calmed her. As he went lower, he lifted his hand so that there was little or no contact until he was at the very bottom of things. Warren moved his hand in then to hold her and press. Her head turned aside to give him a fervent kiss and then hold her breath. Then he moved his middle finger to the very back of her vaginal crease and lightly moved it forward. She gasped and did it again as he duplicated the action, with a little more pressure and parting her lower lips by a tiny bit. Pilar shoved his hand away and withdrew to the far end of her couch. She looked frightened as she whispered, "Yo 'stoy una virgen!" Which meant that all those Spanish men may have tried hard but did not get anywhere much. Well, Warren was not going to try to change her condition, at least tonight. And indeed by the time he left her he was barely able to convince her to come back into his arms. She had been paralyzed by the realization of how far they had gone. But Warren began to be haunted by the vision of taking the blossom of this Spanish rose, of opening her legs and opening her inside, and entering that warm wet new territory and making her shudder under him in ecstasy. Two more weeks and Warren did nothing with her that could not be done in public, at least in a dark corner. The week after that he explained to her just what he wanted to do and what limits he was placing on himself. And that night Warren removed her underwear and played around the entrance of her wet vagina, never more than a fraction of an inch in, until she reached an orgasm that made her snap her hips up and hold him against her until he almost worried about being bruised. It looked like Pilar would be quite something, and that he might have a chance to find out just how wild she was. The next week Warren did the same things, but now Pilar unzipped the front of his trousers to reach in and hold his erection and stroke him. It had been six weeks since she first touched his bare skin above the waist, but before this she had made no attempt to go beyond that. Pilar had grown up with three brothers, and had some general knowledge of male anatomy; and she said that a man in the market-town near her farm exposed himself when he was drunk also. But she was amazed at what she found inside Warren's pants. She knew that he was taller than other men she knew, but felt that this was out of proportion. Evidently she had tried to avoid considering the evidence that she had provided herself whenever they spent time together. "Su cipote..." and then she giggled without continuing. She was thinking as he was, and making up her mind whether to go all the way with him. The next Saturday they met early in the day and entered her rooms at noon. The landlady was gone off to visit a relative and would not be back until the afternoon of Sunday. While Warren prepared a lunch for the two of them, she vanished and returned wearing a dressing-gown and beneath that a pale blue piece of air and nothing whose proper place was obviously a bed. It was clear that Pilar intended to go further today that ever before, and that the distance was not geographical. Warren found it impossible while they ate to not stare at the small dark circles of her nipples as they peeped through the sheer material. He had seen them before in plain light and without covering, but this was different because the situation was different and they seemed more intriguing for being half-seen. His eyes were also drawn to the dark triangle of hair covering her chocha, though that also he had seen, and touched, and fondled until it brought her to a peak of sensation. When the food was gone, Pilar rose and took his hand and they left the plates and pot on the table. Inside her bedroom, she took each piece of his uniform from him and Warren took her into his arms to hold her warm body against his naked one. His shaft was full and hard and standing straight up as it was pressed into her belly, and her small hand slipped down to touch and caress it. And to slip over it a government-issue condom, which she had purchased at the post exchange. Warren lifted her in his arms and lay her squarely in the middle of her bed, and lay beside her. Her eyes went wide as his tongue entered her mouth and her arms went around his back to draw him in. Slowly Warren raised her gown until the front of it was gathered at her neck, so that he could touch her breasts with more freedom than they had enjoyed before, and then to taste the tips, which excited her a great deal. Then Warren lay pressing down on her breasts, their hips deliberately not lined up, to kiss her again. That other contact would come soon, and be the better for a little more delay. Warren rolled onto his back, taking Pilar with him so that his erection could lie along the line of her crease and slide back and forth, not entering but doing everything else and giving her a little more anticipation. Then he returned, to lie above her between her legs with his aching pole still on the outside of her belly and kiss her again. Her legs were spread and wrapped around him and she was as ready as it was possible for her to be. A little fear returned to her eyes as Warren touched the head of his penis to her opening. "Su rabo es gigante!" He entered her barely enough to count as entry, and then he withdrew. Then a little more, and a little more. Since the head is a little larger than the first part of the shaft and there is something like a barb there, that sensation of going back and forth just at the entrance began to stimulate her and make Pilar ache for him to be deeper in. And of course he had not yet touched her maidenhead. After a minute of that very shallow penetration, now up to perhaps an inch and a half or two inches, Pilar was becoming very agitated. "Mas! Mas de su falo!" she cried, and so he gave her more. Warren slid into her well-lubricated tunnel until he met the barrier that no one had ever passed, and he stretched and broke it. He went deep into her, forcing the walls to expand to accomodate him, and gave her a powerful orgasm as he did. Her long-stored passion came to the surface now and expressed itself several more times before Warren joined her and pumped the little sack full of hot semen. Her status as a civilian employee meant that she was eligible for subsidized medication, including the birth-control pills that Warren suggested to her. So on later afternoons, and then nights after it became plain to the landlady what was going on, Pilar found out directly what his passion felt like as it gushed into her. The landlady, once it became obvious to her that Pilar's innocence had been surrendered, and happily surrendered, turned now to seeing that no one else knew. She knew that it was necessary to get a commanding officer's permission to marry, and this was often difficult to obtain. But easily given if a soldier was transferred out or sent home. She felt that this was the reason they had not legalized their relations. Pilar knew that Warren was not inclined to marry her, that he was only carrying on a relationship until his time in Spain was up. Or so at least he had told her over and over at every step, and for a long time he thought she had accepted that. She was far from her family and the village nearby, and no one (unless she spoke of it) knew that they had done anything beyond what could be seen on any street corner. She would be free to find another man and marry him once he was gone (or before, for that matter, if she wished) and there was no one who had any reason to tell of any relationship before that. She would be far from the first woman to mysteriously become inexperienced again. For now, she could have her cake and eat it. But somewhere along the way, her emotions or her hopes overwhelmed her memory of what she had agreed to. Just before Warren was sent on maneuvers, he visited Pilar and told her he would not be back for at least a while, and would not see much more of her when he did. He had heard that the field exercises would last several weeks, and he knew that he would be sent back home not long after that. Warren was trying to give her gentle advance warning, but she was outraged. Outraged even that he would be gone for some weeks, let alone that he was not taking her with him when he left for good. She began screaming at him in words he did not know that she knew in English, throwing things, and as he fled the landlady downstairs chased him with a broom. For all the warnings he had given, his conscience still bothered him, so Warren wrote his old sergeant six months later to find out how Pilar was doing. The man scribbled back a note that he had better find another girl, because that one was getting married soon.