"He bent over her head and said, "You need to be a little bigger, just a little bit. Hold still", and she did it. He had to admit the passivity of her...turned him on, and he used the lubricated and almost slimy fingers of his left hand to stroke his cock. He worked a third finger next to the other two, and she shoved back and grunted, pushing until the tip of that finger was also inside, soaking and slick. He positioned his cock to take their place. When she rocked forward slightly, he quickly. He seemed like a distant memory, now. Three others had been killed and several had been wounded. She wondered when it was going to be her turn.The Gun Sergeant was still with them. He'd recovered from his bout of concussion and had sought out his old crew. Regretfully, he told them, the young lad, de Castries son, hadn't made it. He'd died that evening. Father and son together, this was a filthy war, Benin thought.She wondered every night about John Greenhaugh. Had he been shot down? Or maybe. More

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