3 comments/ 71570 views/ 7 favorites 1995: Fucking Around in Bosnia By: gggsss1962 I landed in Bosnia just after Christmas 1995. Karin was not so happy about it, but she was perfectly aware I desperately needed a professional break from the General Staff and to feel back on the field. UNPROFOR was still in charge when I first arrived in Zagreb from Naples with the very first wave of NATO personnel. CINCSOUTH created a small G1 (Personnel Office) detachment in the Airport to manage the flow of people that was coming to replace the wavering UN people, who finally admitted their failure after the Srebrenica massacre and the following NATO air intervention. In the container I found a Norwegian Major, a British Captain and a French NCO; the Sergeant was sitting on a corner looking sad, while the two officers were working happily together. I reported in English to them, and nicely discovered that my first night in Theatre was not going to be in a field accommodation, but in a nice hotel instead... Only I had to pay for it. Fair enough. I was going to leave, when the Nordic guy asked me weather I could muster some French too. "I do," I answer, "Why?" "Well," the UK captain said, "We are here since two days now, and we could not even tell our French comrade welcome, since he doesn't speak a word of English, and we don't of French either." The WO was actually so pleased to hear two words in his own language he could almost cry. So good for the Alliance communication policy... The hotel was gorgeous. It didn't seem appropriate to me, being on my way to the most troubled spot Europe had seen since 1945, but I appreciated it anyway. The city of Zagreb was in pretty good conditions, and seemed to have recovered pretty well since the destructions of 1992. The Croats had reconquered their land to the Serbs just a couple of months before, and you could feel the pride of a population who believe they just won a war. NATO came to their help arming them and bombing their enemies, but the attitude towards us seemed a mixed feeling of curiosity and resentment, since we came so late and just in time to steal them total victory. The day after I left Zagreb with a UN flight I will never forget. It was an old, soviet-vintage Ukrainian Ilyushin, coached by a drunken Canadian crew hired on the cheapest market UN could find... Let's forget it. We toured the whole theatre: Tuzla, Sarajevo and Split. Split was the old UK logistic base for the Commonwealth contingents within UNPROFOR, and was going to be also the logistic base for the Multinational Division South-West of NATO Implementation Force (IFOR), due to arrive in the next few days. Contrary to what they told me in Zagreb, nobody was ready to receive me there: they were much too busy waiting for their own people, and I found myself on my own there, with my combat gear and two hundred kilometres from my destination. The typical Infantryman problem, since Themistocles. OK. I was considering starting marching, when I got hold of a country fellow of mine in a (rented?) UN vehicle. "Hi," he greeted me from the window, "You're the first of our people I see around here. Any idea weather the coast road is cleared up?" "Dunno for sure, but I think it's pretty safe by now. Are you heading to Ploce?" "Yep. I'm a freelance journalist, and want to be there when our guys are going to land. Supposed to be in a coupla' days, right?" "That's right. You're travelling alone?" "Yeah. Hope it's safe enough." "Let's have a deal... You informally give me a lift, and I'll informally escort you." "Deal." That's how I made it to Ploce on time. Nice trip, quite long but interesting. Not much war damage around: the Serbs never made it through the mountains to the coast, and Croat Police and National Guard managed to secure it very early during the war, since Dalmatian population was overall sympathetic to Zagreb and hostile to Belgrade. Nature was beautiful, only there was quite a lot of garbage around... I was going to see a lot of it in the coming months. Waste disposal is one of the very first things to disappear at the outbreak of a war, and one of the last to get re-organized. Ploce was a disappointment. It was a "modern" built, communist-style harbour town, planned to serve as Sarajevo port. Population was a mix of different nationalities, mostly former Party families resettled under Tito. During the early months of the war, the Croat Police managed to surprise and overwhelm the small local Yugoslav garrison and joined the young fledging republic; later on, the Yugoslav Army and the Serbs came quite close, but never reached it, and the final counter offensive pushed them both quite inland, definitely land-locking the Bosnian Serbs and creating one of the main problems settled at Dayton after NATO intervention. It was no cute Dalmatian village, rather a gloom communist-style lot of concrete buildings thought to represent workers' paradise and due to represent their hell. The French had built a logistic base there, like the Brits did in Split, to resupply their UN-committed troops, and were going to convert it into a NATO base for the Multinational Division South-East, a joint venture between them, the Germans and us. It was located inside the harbour; actually it occupied most of the port facilities area, including an area for helilanding and quite a big container city used by UN troops and due to receive incoming NATO forces. I said goodbye to the freelance journalist and prepared myself to discuss with our proud cousins. It was easier than I thought: they had my name on a list of our people scheduled to be based there, and created me no problems, being quite pleased indeed to discover I could speak some French. Otherwise despised foreigners tend to assume quite a higher status for the French if they can speak their language. Plus, they sounded quite pleased to have us in their same Division: it was their first NATO mission ever, and they were happy not to be forced into too much English business. An orderly took me directly to the Commander (a three-stripes-plus-one, which I assumed to be a Lieutenant Colonel, reasonably in charge of that Logistic Unit), who happily greeted me and called an NCO to lead me to get my inprocessing done. It came out that the person in charge there was a female, a young Captain like me called Claire, terribly busy to change all administration and records from the UN standard to NATO ones. Even Logistic files were incompatible, since UN works with Macintosh and NATO with Microsoft... I got a container all for myself, with the agreement I was going to share it with another incoming Officer of ours, then I filed in for a security ID card to freely enter the camp, and I went to the Harbour section to liaise for the arrival of our ships. It was strange to be the only one with my own uniform in the whole area; I felt proud and worried at once to be the very first of us (although there was already an Advance Party in Sarajevo) in Theatre, in the very hearth of the collapsed nation we feared for the whole Cold War and that was not anymore. The world had changed so much in the last few years! I spent two days reconnoitring the area, booking the national compound area, marking the position for our logistic elements and setting my own workstation. I met my French counterpart, already in Theatre, and my British one, who arrived the day after me: two Navy guys, both of them senior to me in age and rank but quite nice... I must admit, often Navy people are more friendly than Army ones to foreign counterparts. I immediately had to start translating for them understanding each other... A Spaniard was going to join our small liaison group ASAP. I also managed to borrow a French telephone and call home to talk with Karin, who was sound and safe, working hard as a coach hostess down in Rome. I was already missing her. My mind and my hearth were already lounging for my first leave, when I could finally hold her back in my arms, and my body was already suffering for the abrupt stopping of our hectic sex life... There were a few female in the French base. Besides Claire, there were a number of NCOs and privates in the small hospital, including a specifically pretty young nurse, who was permanently surrounded by a swarm of male colleagues in pursuit. Nice to look at, but not too smart to talk to, and anyway, it was quite clear to me it was not a good idea to mess around with female junior foreign personnel. The third day a ship of ours landed the advance party of our Logistic Battalion, and I was not the only one any longer. The captain in charge was a Stefano, very nice guy with a pretty good logistic experience, who was delighted to find me already in place with all agreements already taken with the French unit. Being already accustomed to our cousins, I took charge to help with their inprocessing, settled in the French HQ and started filling in files and assigning IDs and slots in the camp. French rank insignia are quite different from all the others European (or US) ones, and due to the fact that our cousins normally don't indulge into NATO cooperation or activities, we are not working together very much; so I had no real clue about their lookouts. I assumed the Unit was a Logistic Battalion, and it made sense to me the Battalion Commander was a Lieutenant Colonel, wearing three-stripes-plus-two. I assumed that two-stripes-plus-one was a Major and so on. While I was working in the HQ, I noticed a bunch of quite elder guys also with three-stripes-plus two, only with alternated yellow-and-white colours; since our senior NCOs are like that (red-and-yellow), I marked them as such. While filling in files for our newcomers, I just grabbed one of them and tasked him to make me a few photocopies of a format. The guy looked at me quite surprised, and then trotted to the copy machine. I smiled thinking of his surprise that I could actually deliver orders in French, and then resumed my work. I raised my eyes and noticed Claire, staring at me in disbelief. "What's up?" I asked. "But... Are you guys normally talking like that to senior officers?" "What you mean?" I countered, feeling a bit unease already, "He was an NCO, wasn't he?" "Not at all!" she was really astonished, "He is the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the Administration: my boss." I flushed: "Damnit! I thought Lieutenant Colonels were three-stripes-plus-two." "That's what he wears." "In alternate colours." "In the same colours it means a full Colonel." "Oh. So, this is a Regiment..." "Of course." A very small one indeed... "But there are at least ten Lieutenant Colonels around." "Of course." "I see... But why did he obey my order so fast?" "He must think that, with your three white stars, you're a US Lieutenant General..." she smiled. I laughed, then I apologised embarrassed when the old guy came back with my copies, but he muttered something and went away. That's how I broke the ice with Claire. It had been so funny we bubbled around it for quite a while working out together the inprocessing of my people and the assignment of our compound within the port compound. Contrary to most of her (and mine) countrymen, Claire also spoke some English, so the conversation was quite easy and, if required, reserved. When we were over, she asked me whether I was ready for lunch. I nodded and we headed for the container-built common canteen. While walking, just as a little talk, we matched our seniorities, and it turned out I was senior to her of a couple of years (she was actually a captain since barely a year). We reached the canteen; I reached for the door and opened it for the lady to go in. Claire was suddenly mad. "What the hell do you think? We just saw you are senior to me... Just open and go in, otherwise I should open for you. You just demonstrated you see me just as a woman, rather than a colleague!" Gosh, I was embarrassed. We still had no women at all in the Army (they were about to join the Academy at the time, but it would take a few more years before they were around in the combat units), and got no idea about how to deal with them. I tried to explain her, while apologising. After my years with Karin I was not used anymore to Latin temper... She calmed down and we entered. While eating, I started studying her. About thirty, just a couple of centimetres shorter than me, pale-skinned, black-haired, quite a breast under the camouflaged battledress. Nothing special, but not bad either. Claire was married, and her husband was actually also in the Army. Younger than her, he was a Lieutenant, and based quite far away: New Caledonia, in the French Pacific. "Wow," I wondered, "But how often you see each other?" "It's not easy. We were both based in Provence, but he left last month, and I was sent here as a reinforcement last week. My mission is going to be six months, and then I will try to reach him finding a posting for myself there... Overseas assignments like that usually last about three years." "Too bad. My wife at least is only a couple of hours' flight away." "It doesn't help much, does it?" she asked, "You are stuck here..." "Yeah, and she is stuck in Rome. But if the situation cools down, we might get some leave in three months." "Let's hope so... Cheers!" The first proper convoy of our Navy arrived in late December. There was quite a swarm of journalists to record the landing of the 8th Bersaglieri Regiment in Former Yugoslavia: platoon after platoon, the armoured vehicles rumbled down the ships' ramps and strolled away to the parking lot in the staging area within the harbour compound. I met the Commander and I was asked to deliver a short briefing to the staff and the company commanders about the current situation in Ploce and along the road, and then went with the advance guard to recon the route to Mostar. When I was back, I had the happy surprise to see that Stefano's boys had installed telephones near our quarters to call home. From then on, I was in daily contact with Karin, and felt quite better. Our base within the harbour compound was operational even if still far from being finished, and also the Logistic Battalion was swelling up. Our combat units kept on arriving as for the schedule: 31st Armoured Regiment, "Cavalleggeri Guide" Cavalry Regiment, 18th Bersaglieri Regiment... I was pretty busy. Reconnaissance and liaison were quite a commitment in those early days of the mission, while NATO ground forces were pouring into the Theatre of Operations overlapping over thin, battered UN troops and deploying along the main Lines of Communication. There was no resistance from the Serbs; some attempts to slow down our deployment with passive means was deterred by a few very low overflights of NATO attack aircrafts just over the Serb troops, which sent the right message home. The trickiest event of those days was when our tanks moved north of Mostar, on their way to Sarajevo: the Neretva Bridge was long gone, and the French had built a pontoon bridge of theirs to connect the banks... Only, being the French not up to date with NATO standards and being their tanks lighter than ours, their bridge class was not high enough for Leopards. Nobody thought of that back in Rome or in Brussels. And I was responsible for the crossing... My God, I was nervous! The most senior of the Regiment NCOs jumped on the front Leopard, kicked out the crew and started moving along the bridge... Which bobbed and bounced like it was on the point of breaking, but didn't. One after the other, painfully slowly, all the tanks crossed, and I started breathing again. Good job: the first NATO armoured unit was on its way to Sarajevo, and nothing else could really stop it. I needed a drink after that, and when I was back in Ploce I asked Claire if she would join me. We were allowed to leave the compound within Croatian territory, so we just walked out in full battledress and with sidearms. We found a small Italian-style café and had a bitter, talking freely under the unfriendly look of the locals. It was so funny: we thought Croats should love us. We recognised their independence; we helped them, took losses sending peacekeepers from EU, covertly armed and trained their new Army, and finally came in with bombers and heavy troops to crush their foes... But no, this wasn't their point of view: they thought we Europeans didn't do enough (which is quite through) for too long, and then NATO did too much too late, jumping in just when the Croat Army was routing the Serbs almost everywhere, and actually steal the victory from them. Points of view, I suppose. Quite a few of French soldiers were around the streets too, and in moved a small party of them, including the pretty nurse. Claire didn't like her: too much slutty, she said. "I tried to talk to her, but she is one of those types who believe she's earning comradeship by behaving like boys: swearing, drinking, and smoking, fighting and fucking around. But all what she's getting is to be the slut of the Regiment... Are you interested?" "Er..." I muttered, "I don't know. When I meet a woman, I usually like to talk too, you know. I'm not twenty anymore, and human relationships get some importance to me, above pure sex." Claire smiled, and I realised I just scored a point. "Besides," I added, "I have the feeling there is not much talk to her." Claire smile widened: "You're quite correct. The girl hasn't the brightest head in the world." "Young boys are not concerned about that..." I smiled, pointing at her companions. "No," Claire agreed, "But they should be more concerned about her legs... They are as thick as an oak." I knew she was true: I had seen Fabienne (the young nurse) jogging in shorts, and actually she was lovely from the waist up, but got a disgraceful pair of legs. I chose that moment to sound charming: "I suppose a captain ten years older can easily have better ones, right?" Claire flushed: "You bet." Enough with flirting for the day. That night I made love with Karin by phone and reached my container. Stefano was in, cleaning his pistol: "I saw you out with our French colleague." "Yeah," I said, "She's nice company. And I swear you, she's better than any of you guys to be out with..." "I hope so. At least she's not a male. Lucky bastard, you can talk to her." "Just my dialect, it sounds pretty much like French I suppose." *** IFOR deployment continued without incidents. Stefano's unit was soon up to strength, and there was no space anymore for the incoming troops, so we started building up a transit camp in Mostar Airport, where the Multinational Division HQ was going to be, together with most of French troops. The Spaniards were south of it, the Germans a bit north, and we were far north, in Sarajevo proper, together with the Force HQ. Mostar was a disgraceful place: there was so much dust in summer as mud in winter, and an impressive number of mines scattered everywhere. It was a dangerous spot also for another reason: after repelling the Serbs together, Croats and Bosniaks had clashed against each other, fighting a bitter and bloody civil war within the civil war for over two years, cutting the city in two and properly devastating the very city centre. Since the problem was at the edges of the Dayton Agreement, the rivalry between the two otherwise allied factions was still all there, and snipers were still working along the boundary line between the two communities. Since Ploce was now assessed as a safe spot, I started working more and more in Mostar, again liaising between our troops and the local French HQ and gathering information about the surroundings and the route to Sarajevo. It was no easy job. The last day of the year I was there with my British colleague. We were actually crossing the Plaza de Espana, so called because many Spanish soldiers from UN died there during the war, when we heard a quite distinguishable crack, followed by an even more distinguishable zwwinnng, and I pushed my Navy friend to the ground. 1995: Fucking Around in Bosnia "Sniper!" I screamed. We rolled in the dirt, trying to crawl towards the nearest repair, next to the military bridge connecting West Mostar (Croatian) to East Mostar (Bosniak). David was prepared to many things, but he was no infantryman, and crawling was not his speciality; somehow we managed to reach a pile of debris next to a demolished building that offered some shelter. The jerk shoot a few more bullets at us, missing our heads but hitting the debris all around us. No point to arm my pistol: no idea where the sniper was, nor how far. I rather got hold of my radio set and called the Spanish Tactical HQ, asking for assistance. They were not new to this kind of events, like the name of the square and the small monument to the fallen soldiers witnessed. The battalion had been long in UN service there, and was now NATO, so the boys were quite experienced. We just kept our heads down, and in ten minutes a BMR armoured vehicle came to our rescue. The infantry squad jumped out providing covering fire, while we run after the open hatch of the still moving APC. David jumped in the first, the Spanish soldiers and I followed suit. One of the Spaniards was quite small, and had problems since the ramp was standing quite high, so I pushed him from behind. He jumped up, got the hanger and reached for his seat. I followed and sat in front of him. It was a she: a small, heavily equipped and tough Spanish infantrygirl, who smiled an embarrassed "Gracias, senor." The world was really changing fast. We went back to our camp in Ploce and got a well-deserved shower. Then I called home, to whish Karin a happy new year. She was going to spend midnight with my relatives, and was a bit sad, both for me (I told her the story of Mostar) and for us, since it was our first new year's eve apart. "Are you horny?" she asked with her usual frankness. "Well..." I muttered, and hot images from our previous new year's eves run in front of my mind, "I would rather be there and fuck you stupid on the car's hood at midnight sharp, but I'm afraid it's not possible, so..." "Didn't you find any chick to boone this night?" Karin knew me so well. She knew I was running short of pussy, and was understanding my mood all too well. We had an agreement. Both of us knowing each other sexual drive, we were aware it was going to be pretty difficult to remain strictly faithful to each other for over six months just by observing strict abstinence. So, we agreed that what was fundamental was mutual loyalty, rather than physical exclusivity. In other words, if one of us was feeling desperate to have sex with somebody around, he was supposed to tell the other, describe the situation and seek for approval. No betrayal, no hidden secrets, no covert extramarital relationship: just plain coupling and physical release. "Well, there is this French captain. I told you about her." "Hmmm... Is she pretty?" "I can't say I would give her a second look in the street down at home, but she is clean and nice. Quite a plain face and an OK muscled body. White-skinned and black haired." "That's what turns you on about her," Karin giggled, "She's the opposite of me." True, I didn't think of it. It was quite a while I didn't get any dark pussy. Karin was long, slender, always tanned and very, very fair-haired. "She's also a nice person," I tried to offer, "Something more than a piece of meat to unload myself into." It was an animal expression, but it was our joke. I knew she smiled: "Don't try to look human; I know you are an animal. I got my share of French cocks in the past, so you may get your French pussy, and enjoy it. Let it be my new year's eve present, my love." "And you?" "Well, I can't fuck your cousin, can I?" she actually could if she only wanted, but I would probably put my veto: it would be embarrassing if his family ever discovered... "No, not yet. I don't see anybody interesting around, by now. I'm not such an animal as you... Besides, I didn't get shot at, today." "Yes, actually this must have something to do with my hormones, I suppose." "Of course it has. Go and fuck her, long and hard. Do it for me, and with me!" It was such a sweet and at the same time such an exciting way to say it: "Thank you, sweetheart. I love you." "Happy new year, my love." *** The French had organised a nice dinner in the canteen. Nothing fancy of course, but comfortable enough. We sat by national groups, with the French in turn sitting by original units: Chasseurs, Legionnaires, Gendarmes, Mariniers, and so on. The only entertainment besides food (and not so much food actually), was songs. The French military sing all the time, and all of them seem to know the same songs. For us it is all the opposite: all units have their own different songs, and most of us know only theirs. So I had to write down an old, dirty jingle and distribute it to the others, in order to be capable to sing it when it came to us. Well, we kept our flag high enough! We didn't need fireworks at midnight: everywhere in the town, the locals started shooting with their Kalashnikov, and the effect was pretty much the same. There was also a lot of cheap Army Champagne, and we drunk our homesickness out. While everybody was exchanging greetings, hugs and good wishes, I run (casually) into Claire. She was slightly tipsy, but still quite allright. "So, Roberto," she said, "Happy New Year!" "Happy new year, Claire. To you and your family." She curled her nose, and for a moment she really looked young and pretty: "Let's forget our families for the moment, what do you think? It's too sad." "As you wish, my dear. I cheer to the prettiest officer in the base!" "Ha! I'm the only one, thank you very much!" We laughed, and I proposed to go out to see the "fireworks". "But it's cold!" she protested. "Come and see," I insisted, "You'll not regret." She didn't. It was very cold all right, but one of our landing ships in the harbour were shooting real fireworks into the night sky. Not much, but far better than nothing. "How nice!" she said, "I should have thought about it... They must have a better Commissar than I am..." "The Navy always treats its people better," I said jokingly, putting an arm around her shoulders to protect her from cold, and moving her towards the ship. She didn't resist, nor resent my discreet hug. We walked a few steps along the lane, between the dwelling containers, me holding her shaking shoulders, while the Navy fireworks died down and the Kalashnikov concert increased. Firearms shooting was not the only concert in the deserted lane. At first I couldn't get it, and then I stopped and looked at Claire. She looked back, puzzled: she heard it too. Kind of a muffled groan. Repeated, again and again. "It comes from that container," she said, pointing at it, "Over there." Without thinking, we moved towards it, and still clenched to each other, we looked into the small window. Somebody was cheering New Year's Eve with a real "bang"... Kind of a "gang" one! A threesome... Or better, a foursome as I realised a second later. Three well-muscled young studs were on top of a very pale girl, who was being taken doggie-style on an army bed, while sucking another guy in front of her. A third male was standing next to the bed, stroking himself and clearly getting ready for action... I didn't see him at first because he was out of the dim light entering from the window, and the internal light was off. It was Fabienne. The young pretty nurse was taking three of her studs at the same time to better enjoy the party... I felt Claire shiver under my arm. But she didn't move away. "What a bitch!" she hissed instead, pushing back into me, her arms crossed over her raincoated chest. "I didn't think she was capable to do this..." They couldn't see us, and even if they could, they were too busy to notice. Fabienne was clearly enjoying her blowjob, while the other guy was fucking her mercilessly from behind, holding her firmly by the hips. Her full breasts were swaying back and fro at the his fucking tempo, and the muffled groan we first heard was peaking each time the rear cock was disappearing into her belly. But the happiest one was the guy she was giving head to: he was keeping her by the hair and fucking into her throat, his head tossed behind like if he couldn't keep his pleasure any more. And couldn't he did. As we watched, he stiffened, arched, and cum into her mouth. I could see some droplets spurting out of the corner of her mouth while she was eagerly swallowing his seed. Clearly, Fabienne was a cum-eater, since she got it all. The empty cock was withdrawn from her front entrance, and the third guy happily replaced it in her eager throat. All the while, the other boy kept his pace into her belly, fucking her mercilessly. "Oh my God..." Claire muttered, shaking in my arm. I hugged her tighter with a smile, feeling her excitement. She didn't say anything else, but rather squeezed herself into me. "Let's go..." I hissed, pushing her over just as the back stud started cumming into Fabienne from behind. I drove her straight into her own container's door. She stopped a second looking at me, flushed in her face, her eyes sparkling. "I shouldn't..." she muttered, while fumbling with her keys. I said nothing. The door opened up, and I pushed her in. I locked the door behind us and then I focused my attention on my prey. Claire was breathing heavily, her eyes were wide open, and her breast was heaving under her camouflaged battledress. Her whole body was scenting excitement. I started caressing her pretty face, then kissed her lightly on her checks while slowly unbuttoning her blouse and unfastening her belt. She didn't react, but let me have my way. Her breath perfumed of Champagne. "I never did this before..." she hissed, while my hands were on her breasts. I didn't really care weather she did it before or not. I knew where my loyalty lied, and that was not at stake. It was pure sex, physical release while at war. Animal instinct and nothing more. I caressed her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt, and felt her bra underneath. Claire nipples were swollen. I kissed her neck, and she moaned with pleasure. Finally, I felt her hands reacting to my advances, and Claire started getting more active. She pushed her groin against my crotch, feeling my erection, while I was unbuckling her trousers belt. I pushed her jacket down her shoulders, leaving her arms bare, while she was undoing my battle belt: I heard the noise of the pistol touching the floor together with the rest of the combat gear. A minute later we were both in green tee shirt and trousers. I undid her bra from underneath the cotton shirt, and pulled it away. Her erected nipples were protruding through the thin fabric; I pinched them, and she moaned. The combat boots were a problem: it takes time to get rid of them, so I let them be. I unzipped her trousers instead, searching for her pants. They were wet. My fingers probed the soft skin of Claire's thighs and belly, and then slipped under the knickers' elastic. I immediately found a thick, moist bush, like I hadn't been touching since ages. "Hmmm..." she moaned, feeling me approaching her most intimate parts. "I want you," I hissed in her ear, while my right fingers scouted her hair searching for her opening, and my left hand cupped her breast. Another passion moan was her only answer. I found my way: my fingers sank in a warm, wet slit hidden in her thick hair, and suddenly I was finger-fucking my conquest. "Oh! Oohhh... Yes... Yes! Yeah..." Claire was gone. No resistance from her side anymore: her hands started working with my fly and belt, trying to open it. "Wait," I said, "I'll do it..." I got rid of my tee shirt and pulled her trousers down, together with her panties. In the glow light I could see her bare white skin. I went back at her neck, sucking it while I was fondling her breasts and finger-fucking her ready pussy. "Yes... Yes... Hmmm..." My right hand was so wet. This lady was leaking like a broken tub. Suddenly, with no warning, she came. A sudden stiffening of her whole body, an uncontrolled convulsion, a muffled shriek, and a warm flood between her legs: Claire orgasmed under my fingers, just like a schoolgirl. "Oh my God..." she panted afterwards, shacking. I felt her fingers finally getting hold of my erection. Her small hands were warm and dry, and moved fast. I was so stiff and hard I could not get more: I grabbed the girl by her hips and tossed her with her hands on the small service desk close to her bed, forcing her to bend over it. Now she was offering me her back, naked from waist to mid-thighs: a very vulnerable position in the face of an erected cock... I pointed my cockhead against the crack between her rounded buttocks, and pushed it against her moist bush. I immediately felt her fingers messing amongst her thick hair and guiding my erection home. Then, holding her hips firmly, I pushed forwards. "Ouch!" she grunted, "Uuhhh... Yes, fill me!" I slid inside her with no effort: suddenly my cockhead was deeply embedded inside Claire's belly and pushed into her steamy vagina, to take full possession of her. The French woman pushed back, to take as much of me as possible inside, and I fucked into her to pierce her completely. "Aahhh..." she yelled, "Oh yes! Yes... Yes, fuck me! Fuck me..." And fuck her I did. Stabilised my position, I started hammering inside her, with long, slow and determined drives, slapping her soft buttocks with my hips at every violent push. We kept that standing position, fucking each other against the desk in the semi-darkness of her container, not caring for somebody passing by and hearing us or seeing the whole squared thing moving rhythmically. "Ah! Ah! Ah! Aahhh..." Claire was moaning, while taking me into her more than willing, hungry body. I changed rhythm more than once, trying to pull back my incoming ejaculation, confident to make her cum again first. I extended a hand to grab her bouncing tit and squeezed it, making her scream, and then I pounded her faster. She exploded for the second time, this one far more powerfully than the first: "Oh my God! Oh my God... OoowwwWWW!!!" I felt her pussy contract violently, threatening to milk me inside her belly, and I had to hold on myself, resisting the temptation to blast my seed inside her. When her contractions subsided, I slid out of her, cooling down. It was time to deal with our boots. I first thought of mines, and then I pulled over hers; both our trousers followed suit, falling on the dark floor. I sat on her bed and pulled her over me, holding her tight. I got hold of her erected nipples through the cotton and bit them, making her jump and moan, and then I finally got rid of her shirt. We were both naked now, and rolling wildly in her own bed. I pushed her down and forced her legs open in the most classic of the positions, then I fingered her again to open her up and pushed my engorged cock into her. "Oh, yes!" she yelled, now totally out of control, "Yes! Fuck me, fuck me! Fuck meee..." I grabbed her ankles opening her up and started pounding at her, fucking her belly mercilessly, like I was trying to split her apart up in her stomach. Again, she got quite loud, hitting back at me and grabbing my neck to pull me inside her as much as possible. She convulsed under me and orgasmed for the third time, her tight vagina clenched around my engorged cock like a vice. "Don't cum inside..." she gasped, in the throe of her orgasm, "Please..." Just in time. I pulled back, and shot my load over her, flooding her belly button and reaching up to her heaving breasts. Streams of sperm drenched her chest and matted her black bush while I finally released myself over her naked body. I was exhausted. With a final gasp, I fell alongside her satisfied body, lying against her in the darkness of her room. For a few minutes we just laid there, gasping for air and slowly cuddling each other. Then I felt her hands on my body. They went for my cock, found it still deflating, and started caressing it. This was a classic manoeuvre of Karin's, and my manhood reacted accordingly: I stopped deflating, and started stiffening again. Claire gasped with surprise, and her unconvinced movements started growing in decision and strength. Soon, I was hard again, and she bent over me, to get my cock in her mouth. I joyfully laid there in the darkness, while my gracious colleague gave me head, blowing my cock with all she was worth. After a while, she decided I was ready for a ride, and she jumped astride me, pointing the cockhead at her dripping slit, and finally impaling herself with a satisfied groin. If possible, her vagina felt even hotter than before, and I had the feeling to fill her completely. I grabbed her hips in my hands and caressed her fleshy sides, forcing her to start moving over me. "No, wait," she hissed, "Let me taste it. My God, it feels so big inside me. Oh, it was so long..." I was glad she appreciated my meat, since I enjoyed hers, so I let Claire get her way. After a few more moments of stillness, she slowly started rotating and gyrating her hips, trying to feel my cock with her whole pussy, which in turn felt more and more tight around me. "Oohhh..." she moaned, "Yes, I like it... Hmmm..." I grabbed hold of her soft tits and pulled them unceremoniously, rubbing her nipples at the same time, causing her excitement to accelerate, and in a moment Claire started riding me fast and deep. Her tits were sticky with cum, that was still dripping down her chest, and we both were now sweating heavily. The bed was screeching noisily, adding the noise to Claire's moans of delight, and then it started bumping against the thin wall of the container. "Aahhh... Aahhh... Yes! Yes! Hmmm..." the French girl had lost any inhibitions by now, and was completely lost in her own lust. She suddenly yelled her climax and I squeezed and pulled her nipples mercilessly, feeling her pussy contracting viciously against my cock. Then she collapsed on me, sobbing and shacking in the afterglow of her orgasm. I felt her sticky and wet breasts rub against my chest as she breathed heavily. My cock remained as hard as a poker, and she could feel that. After just a short rest, she was on the ride again: "Oh mon Dieu! Mon Dieu, c'est fantastic! C'est fantastic... Oohhh..." Again I reached for her tits, squeezing and rubbing and pulling and twisting them, enjoying her lust and passion, and again she soon exploded on top of me, screaming loudly her orgasm. Only, this time I could not contain myself, and cum with her. I felt her pussy muscles clench powerfully at me, and in less than a second I shot my sperm into Claire's red-hot vagina. She felt my jets of cum spurting inside her cunt and jumped, but her own climax was still peaking and so didn't withdraw. I emptied myself in her convulsing pussy, arching under her body in the tension of my own release, while Claire fully enjoyed hers. Then, her orgasm slowly subsided and again she collapsed over me, panting and gasping for air. "Bastard..." she hissed in my ear. "I'm sorry, I couldn't move out..." I tried to justify myself. "Shahs!" she smiled, closing my lips with a finger, and laid there, without making any attempt to lift and empty herself of my semen. "But..." "I'm not fertile now," she smiled, "Relax." I did. We staid there for quite a while, me slowly deflating inside her, and my cum slowly trickling out of her to drench our thighs and her bed. Finally, she lifted herself on an elbow and stared at me: "My God, this was awesome! I've lost the count, but I think you made me cum more in one night than my husband does in a month!" 1995: Fucking Around in Bosnia So peace be with the cuckold, I thought cynically, my feelings of guilt for taking somebody else's wife easing away. We fell asleep in each other's arms, wet and naked, and absolutely at ease with ourselves. *** I sneaked out of Claire's container before down to avoid compromising her, and managed to reach mine without being noticed, or at least I believe so. Stefano was fast asleep and didn't wake up until morning, when it was time for breakfast... A long, black and hot coffee was desperately needed after the champagne of New Year's Eve. I saw Claire in the Canteen, but she ignored me completely. I thought it was because of all her comrades around, and thought of something else. That day the Logistic Battalion built up our own canteen, including the baking oven for bread and pizza, which was going to make our life much better. In the meantime, I was busy in the mountains. On the first of January, NATO started removing the Serbs from their positions close to the Croats and the Bosniaks, pushing them back towards their own towns and villages. There was a place, up the mountains East of Mostar, where the MUP (Serb special Police) had a roadblock only a kilometre from the airport. We went with a full mechanised company to dislodge them, and we were ready for a nasty confrontation: a flight of two US A-10s was on call, just in case the Serbs were to resist. It was not the case. The Serbs received us with big smiles, invited us for a round of cheese, Rakia (local aquavit) and bacon, and left without a complaint. They just recommended us to man the checkpoint to prevent the Croats to take it over, and went home leaving us with the most fantastic piece of bacon ever. That evening, the field kitchen prepared one of the best pasta alla carbonara of my whole life. We slowly entered into a routine. Yes, it is like that, even during military operations: you get used to them, and start mustering them as if you never did anything else. I was out on patrol almost every day, and if I wasn't, I had to go to the airport to liaise with the French there. There was not much left to do in Ploce. I was back at the port only at dusk, ready for dinner. And the fact that we were now eating at our own canteen, made my meetings with Claire far more sketchy and rare. "So: did you fuck her?" Karin asked on the phone. "Er..." I was embarrassed: that had been the first time we implemented our agreement, and I wasn't all so sure she was happy with that; "Yes, I did." "Was she a good fuck?" a quick reaction; I thought everything was OK. "She was all right. "Are you going on with her?" "Not really. It happened only last night, and I have hardly seen her since. Maybe we will do it again sooner or later, just out of hunger. But I can't see it as any sort of relationship". "Listen Roberto, don't be worried for me. I'm OK with it, really. I just want you back safe and sound, and I think that if you have sex enough, you will be less frustrated and react better. Better, I want you healthy, and I don't want you to go with local whores, God knows what they can have inside. I suppose a French officer is far more advisable." Her logic was disarming: "I love you, Karin. And you know I will be as much understanding about you. Take care." "You too. I love you." I was so lucky to have her. Karin was a dream wife for any soldier... I met Claire again two days later, during an official meeting: the French Commander briefed us about the enhanced security of the camp. She barely said hello, and minded her own business. So did I. Then our forces started evicting the Serbs from Sarajevo suburbs, and the Serb population set fire on them as a reprisal, to prevent Bosniaks to occupy the houses they were leaving. It was hell. At the same time, we reached Pale, the Serbs capital, and we surrounded their Parliament and Mr. Karadzic home. It was a hard time. I was out on a long-range recon for a few days, all along the Serbian Herzegovina, from Goradze down to the immediate mountainous surroundings of Dubrovnik. I checked out the Serbs attitude towards NATO, and again I got the funny sensation that they somehow liked us. They had kind of a sport attitude towards war: they felt they had beaten their foes, and then NATO had beaten them... But since they fought the game to the end, it was no humiliation having been beaten by the strongest team in the World. They felt war was like football. Hundreds of thousands died during their tournament, and millions were displaced. In those days I met a journalist, who asked me what I thought about all those children around, with no parents left; I answered they were the criminals of the next war. He didn't publish it; he must have thought I was a real bastard of a soldier... In those days I met the only victim of war I really felt sorry for. It was a sweet, young little dog; he lost his right rear paw over a mine, and nevertheless was still jolly and friendly to all humans who cared to caress him. On my way back I went along the coast, assessing war damage there and checking out possible smugglers routes. Instead of smugglers, I found an old fisherman who was breeding lobsters and oysters in the most wonderful rocky shallow waters: the guy was selling them for almost nothing. I don't really like seafood, but I bought a lot of it, just to carry it to the camp and have it cooked by our military chef. It was another gourmet dinner, even better then the carbonara of the week before. The perfume of the grilled lobsters spread all over the camp, and our comrades started gathering out of our small compound. In the end, even the French Commander came to see Stefano's commander, with the most improbable of the excuses, and forced his invitation to dinner, for himself and for a bunch of his officers. Including Claire. It was quite funny: she was suddenly all smiles, managed to sit next to me and started bubbling happily. She marvelled I wasn't eating the fish, and laughed when I told her I was the one who find it, but I did simply not like seafood. "Too bad. You don't know what you miss..." "I know it. Everybody tells me. Life is tough." "Life is a bitch," she corrected me; then she added, "And then you get married..." I didn't get the point. She smiled and stood, asking me to follow her outside the tent. Then, in the very low light behind the field canteen, she pulled a naughty smile and then showed me something. It was a confection of birth-control pills. "Now we can have fun, any now and then ..." she grinned. We went to her container the following evening. She offered me a glass of wine to break the ice, and while we were sipping it, something rang. "Fuck it!" Claire was upset and turned to something lying on the desk. With surprise, I recognised an expansive satellite telephone the type lone sailors use on their boats. "Hello?" she said, answering the call, "Comment ca va, mon chou?" It was her husband, calling from Noumea. "Mais oui. I am just back from the canteen... Oh my love, it's just so sad to have dinner without you..." It was odd. I was there, standing in front a married woman, ready to fuck the shit out of her, and she was joyfully talking to her cuckold husband, telling him how much she missed him and loved him... I let her talk a few minutes, thinking that was really breaking the moment, then hoping it was not going to last long. Then I started wondering how expansive the call was going to be. And finally, I just got pissed to wait. I came to her and started caressing her shoulders. She turned her head while talking fast, and smiled. I kissed her neck, the way I knew was turning her on. Claire shivered, and offered more of her neck to me to kiss and nibble. This was going to be an exciting game, I thought. I slowly started to unbutton her jacket and unfasten her belt... "Oui. The canteen is just as bad, but this evening we had dinner at our cousins... They prepared the best grilled lobster of my life..." I quickly got rid of my top gear, staying bare-chested behind her, and resumed kissing her neck. "...pa du tous! Of course they need to learn a lot, my love! But they are not so bad, I tell you. Anyway, tell me about you..." I lifted her tee shirt and got rid of her bra, and then I started playing with her fleshy, warm tits. Her nipples were thick and hard with excitement. "Hmmm... Oh, yes! Yes... My love, you are so sweet. I whish I was with you: that island must be so romantic! What time is it, over there?" I suckled at her neck, while rubbing her nipples from behind. I felt her shiver and curl under my fingers. "Mais non! It's so strange; it's pitch dark here... And so cold..." My cock was bulging out of my trousers, pushing against Claire's bottom. I started opening her trousers, and then mine, while still playing with her breasts. "No, there is no moon this night: it's overcast. I would love to see it, and think it's the same moon you will see over there in a few hours..." I pulled her trousers and panties down to the knees, and bended to kiss her bare buttocks. They were so perfectly white: they looked like two perfect, full moons. "Yes my love. Look at the moon this evening, and hopefully I will see it tomorrow, and think of you..." I pushed my tongue in the crack of her bottom, and then I headed down, until I reached her thick black bush. I started licking, while opening her buttocks with the hands. "Hmmm... Yes... Yes... Oh, my love... I love it! I mean, I would love it... Yes, more... Hmmm... I love you!" Her slit opened under my tongue, and I inhaled her strong female essence. She was ready. "Yes, please... Don't stop talking my love... Hmmm... I love the feeling of your mouth! You are so good with it... You make me feel so good..." I left a mouthful of saliva in her pussy, and then I stood behind her and aimed my weapon to her wound. Claire bended over the desk, her legs as opened as her rolled trousers allowed, and got ready. "Yes! Now, I want you now! Here and now... Why are you so far away? I want you so bad... Owww! Hmmm..." I took her by the hips and stabbed her, causing her to jump and yell for the pleasant surprise, before she could get hold of her breath and control herself. "What? Oh... Oh my God! No... No, really. Everything's fine, my love. It's just that I miss you so much! Hmmm... Yes, make me listen more to your voice, please... Please..." I impaled her mercilessly. The pure idea that the slut was talking sweeties to her cuckold hubbie on the phone while I screwed her from behind like the bitch she was, was intoxicating. I started fucking her cunt with long, fast strokes, aiming straight at her unfaithful hart. "Oh my God... Oh my God... Yes, more! Tell me more... More..." Claire held herself at the desk with one hand, while still holding the headphone with the other, while I fucked her hard in that awkward standing position. I reached with a hand for her wobbling breast, and rubbed it strong. "Aahhh... Oh my love, why are you so far away? I feel you so close, so deep inside me... Hmmm..." I was holding her tight by both her breasts now, fucking her deep and strong, almost without withdrawing at all from her hungry hole. "Oh! Oh, Antoine... I can't talk longer to you. I feel so weak on my legs! I must have drunk too much wine with the lobsters... I whish you good night. Yes, of course I love you too... Yes... Au revoir, mon amour..." She hung up, and I pulled viciously at her nipples, while impaling her to the hilt at the same time. "Aaghhh!" Claire finally screamed out loud, arching and aching while tossing her head to me: "You bastard! Fucking me while at the phone with my husband... Hmmm... Yes, fuck me, don't ever stop, please! Give me more... More... Oohhh..." I felt her muscles contract and stiff while she convulsed: I had hit straight into her G-spot. I grabbed her tits and squeezed them, while pushing forward and nailing her at the desk. "Aaaahhhhh... Aaaahhhhh... Yes! Yesssssss... I'm cumming... Aaaahhhhh!!!" Claire convulsed uncontrollably, shacking in orgasm and stiffening like an animal stabbed to death. I stilled, deep into her. Then, I slowly pulled out of her satisfied cunt. Claire stayed still just a mere second, before turning to me and falling on her knees, just in front of my raging erection. It took a second, and the woman took me into her mouth, starting sucking like if there was no tomorrow. I grabbed her hair and started fucking her face, pushing hard into her throat. Claire almost gagged, but didn't pull back: she kept on giving me head and taking me down her throat, sucking like a pro. I didn't want to cum in her mouth. I pulled out. "Get rid of your boots," I ordered, "I want to fuck you naked in your bed." Claire smiled lasciviously, and let go of me, bending at her boots as I was doing with mine. A moment later we were both naked and wrestling on her bed. I pushed her down and nailed her body at the mattress with one single stroke. "Oh, yesssssss!" she groaned, "Take me, fuck me bad!" I did. I started pounding her, strong and hard. She was so wet inside, and leaking juices like if I cum inside her already... But I didn't! Claire climaxed again: I felt her cunt clenching at me violently, and a rough sound came out from her abused throat. I felt I was going to cum myself, so I pulled out. "What are you doing?" she protested, "You don't need to come out. I'm on the pill now..." I rolled her over until she was on her knees, offering me her rear cheeks. Again I grabbed her hips and pushed deep into her sloppy pussy, taking her doggie-style. "Uh... Uuhhh!" she screamed, "Yes, fuck me! Fuck me more... Aaaahhhhh!" I reached for a bouncing breast and pulled it hard, causing her to scream louder. Claire sank her mouth in the pillow to muffle her own yells. I pushed her down, and she collapsed on her ankles, with me on top of her. I fucked her a few more seconds in that position, with both of us lying in a heap on top of each other. Then I pulled out again: that position inspired me something different. Sitting on her naked thighs, I opened her buttocks with my hands and admired her wrinkled smaller hole. I spat on it, and tickled it with my fingers, lubricating it with her pussy juice. "Oohhh... What are you doing? Hmmm..." I pointed my rock-hard cockhead at Claire's anal rim, and pushed it in with a brutal thrust. Claire jumped: "Aahhh! No, not like that... Please, don't! Not there, I never did it... Please..." I didn't listen to her whims. After the telephone story, I was far too horny, and wanted to pop her anal cherry. I felt her muscled rim clenched the base of my glans, and knew I was inside her. So I drove in, sinking completely into her bowels. "Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!" she yelled arching and pushing back at me: "You bastard, you split me open! You're killing me... Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" Ass cherry busted. I was into her rectum now, fucking the shit out of her. "You tear me apart!" she cried, "Oh God, I'll bleed to death... Aaaaahhhhhhhh..." Her asshole filled and stuffed with male meat, Claire grabbed the pillow and started crying into it. I knew I was hurting her badly, but I didn't care: I just wanted to mark her as mine for good. The cuckold would have to put up with it... And with his wife's broken asshole. I butt-fucked Claire for at least twenty minutes, until my mind and groin exploded, and I unlashed a stream of sperm deep into her insides. "Oh my Gaaawwwdd-d-d!!!" We lay there, in a sweaty heap of satisfied flesh, while my sperm trickled slowly out of her abused asshole and down along her bare legs, staining the bed. "Bastard... You're a bastard," she sobbed: "I'm spoiled for good." "You bet. But you liked it." "Fuck I loved it! And I swear you; I want more of it... But not now, please!" I had mercy of her, and spared her abused body... For a while. We fell asleep in that position, with me still deeply embedded into her burning rectum. I woke up a few hours later, with my cock rock hard against her wet, naked ass. Without thinking, I started slowly rubbing myself against her sleeping body, and soon she started reacting. My cockhead was at her hole: it felt hot, wet and sticky... And still loose: her abused and stretched tissues didn't close back yet. One single thrust, and I was back into her. Claire jumped and woke up: "Oh my God, are you never satisfied? Do you really want to fuck me again...? And there?" "You said it, bitch! Now shut up and enjoy the ride!" I fucked her ass for at least half an hour, and this time she came too, just before I stuffed more sperm into her rectum, which by now was stretched out for good. Then I was satiated. "Oh my!" Claire panted, lying naked next to me: "Why didn't I meet you earlier?" "You were on the wrong side of the Alps, I suppose." I jokingly answered. She sobbed: "I really don't know how I will be capable to live with my husband after this. I get more orgasms with you in one single night than in six months with him..." I liked that.