War

He raised his head and looked around, numbly aware of pain in almost every part of his body. He was on the bank of a small stream, and to his shock, the water was red with the blood of the fallen bodies around him. He was unsure of his wounds and was aware his life was in serious jeopardy, but was powerless to do anything to save himself. He was aware of pain, of despair, and of the light rain falling on him.

He and his fellow soldiers had come to the stream to drink and refill canteens, and to wash the grime of weeks on the march away. Instead they had met the enemy and a short, violent firefight had broken out and now his fellow soldiers were dead and he was on the way. The bodies of dozens of the enemy were mixed in with his fellow soldiers and he felt sadness alongside his despair.

He closed his eyes and began to doze, wondering before he fell asleep if he would wake again. When he awoke again it was dark and an overwhelming thirst consumed his senses. He reached for and found his light and shined it at the water. The flow had cleared the water of blood, and he managed to claw his way across the damp earth, dragging his legs behind as he plunged his head in the shallow water. He drank deeply, then flopped down to rest before drinking again. He listened, hoping to hear the sounds of humanity, but all he could hear were the sounds of the night.

The pain in his legs let him know he was not paralyzed, and with a steel will against the pain, he moved each. With more effort, he sat up and almost fainted from the effort. He ran the light over his body and assessed the damage. He had wounds on each thigh, a gash on his right hip, and a flesh wound across his left shoulder. The wounds were not bleeding badly, and he knew if he could clean himself, he might have a chance to live. He fell back, wanting to sleep once again.

When he awoke, the sun was shining and his body was warm. The pain had lessened and he just felt stiff. This time he managed to stand, and despite feeling light-headed, he stayed upright. He peeled his uniform off, peeling the fabric from his wounds and opening them in the process. He walked stiffly down the bank, wanting to get away from the bodies strewn along the bank. It took him over an hour to walk a quarter of a mile, but he did so clutching his clothes and his rucksack.

He slipped into the water and let the coolness soothe his wounds. He scrubbed himself with a bar of soap out if his ruck and sat back on the bank to assess himself with his head clear. The wound in his right thigh was the only serious one. The bullet had gone in the outer meat and came out below his buttocks. The wound on his left thigh was a furrow, but was not deep enough to cause too much concern.

The wound on his right hip was shallow as well, and was already clotted. His shoulder had bled a little, but was more of a burn than a wound. All in all, he had escaped relatively unscathed. He dressed each wound from his field pack and laid back against the bank to rest. He had washed out his uniform and it was drying in the sun. He dozed for a bit, and woke when he heard a rustling in the grass to the west of the stream. He looked for cover, but didn't have many options. He quietly slipped into the stream and pushed under an overhang which was sheltered by overhanging grass from the bank. He found a hole he could settle in and peered out as the noise grew closer. He had no idea if the person or people approaching were friends or enemies, but he wanted to be hidden until he could figure it out.

A minute later, he watched as a person came closer and knelt at the water's edge. It was a woman, and she was filling two large jugs with water from the stream. She was wearing a simple dress, and had her dark hair tied back with a strip of colorful fabric. He could see her legs, which were long and beautiful. Despite his soreness and the cool water, he felt himself growing hard.

She finished filling the jugs and washed her face and arms in the stream. She looked around and he got his first look at her face. She was beautiful, with high cheekbones, wide, dark eyes, and a lush, full mouth. She suddenly spotted his uniform and walked closer, inspecting his clothing. She looked puzzled as she spotted his rucksack. She poked through his pack and looked around again. He could not afford to lose the few supplies he had, so he tried to think of a way to reveal himself without scaring her completely.

Having no other option, he slid out from the overhang and stood in the shallow pool. It was deep enough to hide his nude lower body, but exposed him from the stomach up.

"Excuse me, miss, I mean you no harm," he said, putting his hands up in a placating gesture.

She gasped and spun around, her eyes locking on him and calculating the risks. She could see the dressing on his shoulder but no more, so he probably looked more threatening than he was capable of being.

She didn't move and didn't speak, so he gestured for his clothes. He pantomimed her throwing them to him. She shook her head, but did throw his boxers to the edge of the stream. He motioned for her to turn around and he waded to the edge and slipped them on.

"You can turn around now," he said.

She looked over her shoulder and saw he was covered before turning around. She saw the dressings on his other wounds and her eyes widened. The worst wound on his thigh was soaked with blood as was the one on his hip. He limped forward a step and held up his hands again.

"I have no idea if you speak or understand English, but I mean you no harm. I am alone and hurt and just want to find some friendly soldiers to take me back to my base."

She shook her head, obviously not understanding. He grabbed his pack and dug through, looking for anything she might find valuable. He laid out his meager supplies and motioned to the pile. He made the motion for food and indicated the supplies.

She nodded and looked through his things. He had a pretty little necklace from his sweetheart at home that she had given him before he deployed as a good luck charm. The charm had worked until the previous day despite having received a 'Dear John' letter from her a few months after he arrived in country.

She took the necklace and looked at him. He nodded and made an eating motion again. She nodded and motioned to his clothes. He quickly stuffed his things into his ruck and dressed. He slung his pack over his shoulder and grabbed one of the jugs and motioned for her to lead the way.

She carried the second jug and walked through the grass and over a small hill. He worried he was being led to his capture or worse, but having no other options, he limped heavily behind her, barely managing to carry the water and his pack.

As she walked, he could not help but notice her figure in the dress. The dress itself was mostly shapeless, but could not conceal the curve of her hips and her round ass as she walked. The fabric followed the curves perfectly and he became hard as he walked. After 8 months with no female companionship, he was feeling the effects of being in close proximity to a beautiful woman again.

They approached a small farm house and she opened the door and motioned for him to enter. He did so cautiously, and saw a simple room with few furnishings. It was clean and bright, though, and he thankfully sank onto a wooden chair by the table.

She bustled about and brought him a plate with a coarse bread and sliced meat. He ate slowly, knowing if he gorged himself he would be sick. She brought him a glass of water and he thanked her before taking a long drink.

He could see no signs of anyone else living in the house, but still remained aware of sounds if anyone approached the house. She opened his pack and took out his first aid kit and motioned to his wounds. She looked concerned and he nodded. He took off his shirt and she peeled away his makeshift bandage. She took a pan of warm water off the stove and dipped a clean cloth in the pan and washed his wound. She applied some antibiotic ointment and dressed it better than he had been able to.

She indicated his pants and he removed those and sat back down. She peeled the hip bandage away and grimaced at his bruised and cut flesh. She bathed the wound and cleaned it much better than he had been able to do. She repeated the ointment and dressed it.

He directed her to the flesh wound on his thigh and she repeated the process. He was dreading the more serious wound and when she took the dressing off both sides, she paled. He knew it looked terrible and was probably infected, but he managed to keep a stuff upper lip as she soaked the area with a hot cloth. She shook her head, but doctored the smaller entry wound and dressed it. She led him to the couch and had him lay on his stomach. She worked on the exit wound and even though it hurt like hell, it started feeling better as she made it drain some of the infectious fluid away. She went to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of what looked like whiskey and approached.

He winced at the idea, but knew it was necessary. She said something in her language and patted his shoulder as she indicated she was going to pour the fluid over the wound. He nodded and steeled himself for the inevitable pain. It was like liquid fire, and he almost jumped from the couch as the pain seared through his leg. She handed him a dry cloth, which he placed in his mouth and bit down against the pain.

She was gentle, but the pain caused him to black out momentarily. He came back to the pain and saw her digging in a drawer. She returned with a needle and thread, which she soaked in the alcohol. She held it up with a questioning look and he nodded his consent.

The next five minutes were easily the most excruciating of his life. He could feel the needle pierce his skin and the thread dragging through his flesh as she pulled the wound closed. Finally she snipped the thread and patted his leg below the wound. He was sweating, and she cleaned his brow with a cool cloth.

She brought him a pillow and a thin blanket and covered him and he relaxed, letting his fatigue carry him into a deep sleep. When he woke, the house was dark except for a small candle on the table beside the couch. He raised his head and saw her sitting in the chair across from the couch. She smiled at him and rose, coming to him and feeling his forehead for fever. She placed her hand on his leg on the wound and checked for heat there. Satisfied, she nodded and brought him a glass of water and more bread and meat.

He thanked her and began to eat. His leg ached, but was no longer shooting with pain. He stood and looked around for a place to relieve himself, and finally walked outside. She followed him and looked at him. He made a gesture that he needed to use the restroom and she returned inside. He leaned against the side of the house and did his business.

He hobbled back inside and sank back on the couch. He fell back on the pillow and closed his eyes and soon dozed again. He woke to her stirring around and saw her in the kitchen. She had a wet cloth and was giving herself a sponge bath over a warm pan of water on the stove. He watched as she ran the cloth under her arms beneath the dress, then wrung it out. She washed each arm and started on her legs. She was doing a simple task, but it as supremely erotic for him.

Unaware of her audience, she raised her dress a little and slid her undergarments down before running the cloth between her legs. He could see nothing, but knew what she was doing and grew hard at the sight.

She finished and pulled the dress back in place and left through a door off the living area, which was presumably her bedroom. He was restless, but soon enough fell into a deep sleep, which was what his body required.

The next morning he awoke and smelled food cooking. His stomach growled with the smell and he looked over to the stove. She was standing there cooking, and he could see she was singing softly, even though he couldn't hear her. Her hips swayed softly to the time she was singing, and once again he grew excited over the woman. She had taken care of and fed him, so he felt guilty having thoughts about her, but he could not help himself.

He stood, stretching the tightness in his wounds. The thigh she had sewn felt tight, but itched with the healing going on. She turned and saw him and smiled shyly. She came over and checked his temperature on his forehead and on his leg. She was happy with the result and went back to cooking.

They had breakfast, then went for a short walk. She stayed beside him ready to support him if needed. He went and sat and she used the last of the water in her jugs to wash the dishes. She pumped the handle on her faucet futilely, then gathered up her jugs to return to the stream. After she left, he went to look at the pump for the sink. His grandparents farm had a similar system when he was a kid, and he had helped his grandfather fix it on numerous occasions. After fiddling with it, he figured out the problem. She had left a few tools on the counter from her attempts at fixing the problem, and after a few minutes, he had water pumping into the sink.

She returned and he excitedly showed her the fixed apparatus. She beamed, then threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, then separated as he felt himself grow hard against her stomach. She scurried around the kitchen, putting tools away and putting things back in order.

She showed him around the yard, and showed him the outhouse. He was still wearing just his boxers, which was a relief in the heat. The wounds itched, and it would have been unbearable if his uniform rubbed against the healing flesh.

That night, he helped her bring a large wooden tub in from the shed. She filled it halfway with water from the sink, then heated a few large pans of water to warm the entire tub. Once filled, she directed him to get in. She turned her back as he slipped off his boxers and sank into the steaming water. She produced a homemade bar of soap and he washed himself thoroughly. He soaked for a bit, then dried himself on a towel she handed him. He wrapped the towel around his waist and helped her drain the tub. He filled the tub again from the sink while she heated the water.

She had washed his boxers, so he sat in one of the wooden chairs with the towel covering him. She brought out his first aid supplies and fresh bandages. She carefully redressed the three minor wounds before moving on to the more serious leg wound. As it was higher on his leg, she had to move the towel out of the way a bit. She changed the rear exit wound as he stood, then he sat and she worked on the entry wound. She was extremely careful and had a light touch. Her lightness caused him to grow hard inches from where her hand worked on his leg, and through the thin towel, it was apparent he was in a condition. He tried to shift and hide it in the towel, but it was just too obvious.

She looked at his cock straining against the towel, then up at him. She continued to dress his leg, then slowly stood and patted his shoulder. With relief, he brought the towel to cover himself more as she moved away.

She readied her bath, and looked at him. He nodded and stepped outside on the porch. He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the wooden platform. He could hear the water splash as she stepped into the tub and his mind immediately pictured her nude form.

He sat still for a long time, then carefully stood in order to minimize the boards squeaking. He moved quietly to the side if the house and peered through the kitchen window. He had a clear view of the tub, and could see her from the waist up. Her breasts were full and were capped with erect nipples. The puckered areola were dark against her pale skin, and he wanted to feel the heft of her breasts in each hand. He wanted to tease and caress her nipples as he did so, just to touch and feel her womanly curves. He was so lost in thought it took him a moment to realize she had stood. She ran the soapy cloth down each leg, then straightened to wash her thighs. His eyes followed her smooth legs up her firm thighs and settled on the little thatch of curly dark hair between her legs. She washed across her mounds, then spread her legs and washed her most intimate parts. As she did, he could see a hint of her lips through the wet hair. His cock grew even harder as she turned slightly and ran the cloth over each rounded cheek of her ass. Her ass was full, proud and high, with a wonderful softness as she washed. She ran the cloth between her cheeks and returned to a sitting position.

Unable to control himself anymore, he reached beneath the towel and grabbed his cock and began to stroke it hard and fast while looking at her naked breasts. He watched them rise and fall as she washed her hair and before she could even finish rinsing, he erupted, sending splash after splash of come all over the ground outside the window. His groans as he reached his climax almost gave him away as she turned at the noise. He crouched as he finished stroking, then used an edge if the towel to wipe his cock clean. He brushed dirt over the evidence of his depravity, then returned to the porch to wait.

She came out a little later with damp hair and a clean dress. This one fit much better and showed off all of her curves. Her cleavage as on display as she bent to help him up. She handed him his dry boxers and turned away as he slipped them on. She took his towel, and he hoped she would not notice his come dried on the edge.

Over the next couple of days they slipped into a routine. He would help her around the farm as much as he could, and managed to repair a list of broken things. She cooked each meal and nursed his wounds each night after his bath. When she bathed, he would watch from the window and stroke himself. One day they were finished eating and he helped her wash the dishes. She seemed shocked he would help her, but he didn't mind. He asked her if she was married and pantomimed his meaning. A strange look crossed her face as she understood his question.

She went and retrieved a picture and brought it back. It was of a young, stern looking man in a military photo. She reached out and touched the wound on his shoulder, then placed that hand over his heart. She shook her head and he realized her husband had been killed. He wordlessly expressed his sorrow and she nodded.

That night she stayed in the room as he bathed and even washed his back. When it was time for hers, he started for the door, but she put a hand on his shoulder and indicated the chair by the table. He sat and she turned her back and lowered the straps on her dress and dropped it down her back. The fabric rested on the curve of her ass and she pushed it down, exposing her ass to him. When she bent to step out of it, he could see her nether lips parted through her pubic hair.

She turned and looked at him, and he saw a hunger in her eyes. He held his place and watched as she bathed in front of him, using the washcloth in a way he wished was his hands.

When she was finished, she stood in the shallow tub and faced him. Her nipples were erect and she stood with her shoulders back alternately begging and demanding he look at her. He grabbed her towel and walked to her, wrapping her up and lifting her from the water. He set her down and used to the towel to slowly dry her entire body. As he dried her breasts, she gasped a little, and when he dried between her legs, she moaned and pressed against the towel.

He used the towel to dry her ass, and squeezed the perfect mounds as he did so. This elicited more moans. He ran the towel between the crevice between her cheeks and pressed gently on her opening there, which caused a gasp of surprise followed by a moan of pleasure.

He led her to her room, into which he had never ventured. He fell to the bed with her and kissed her, to which she responded with passion. Their tongues danced and communicated in a language easily read by the other. He kissed his way down her neck and across her upper chest, before following the slopes of her breast, he nuzzled the sensitive undersides, then licked and nibbled his way to her tips. He sucked each erect nipple into his mouth and cupped her mounds in his hands. She cried out as he teased her, and reached down to stroke his hardness through his boxers. He pushed her hand away, preferring to give her pleasure first. When her nipples were hard and taut and well-sucked, he kissed his way across her stomach and dipped his tongue into her belly button. She gripped his hair as he worked lower and gave him a questioning glance. He did not know if she had ever experienced oral sex, but he moved between her legs and parted her hair to find her wet, with a swollen clit. He tasted her, and she moaned low and long as his tongue flicked across her hard nub. He tasted her deeply and listened to the changes in her breathing as he drove his tongue deep inside her. When he sucked her clit, she cried out and grabbed his head, pulling his face into her moistness. She cried out in her native tongue, releasing a snort torrent of words as he licked and kissed her intimate areas.