05

Chapter 3

The next day she arrived at ten, just in time to greet the postman as he deposited, what appeared to be, two bills through the letter box. She knew the postman; he was a sidesman at the church, a friend of her fathers and the font of much of the local gossip.

"Morning Jane. I see that Jack has received his call-up papers. Shouldn't be long before he's posted."

"Good Morning Mr. Barrowclough."

She finished the conversation abruptly and knocked on the door. Barrowclough was a nosey bugger and anything anyone said to him was sure to find its way around the town. He probably suspected that something was going on between Jack and her and she wasn't going to give him any ammunition.

She knocked on the door and waited for Jack to appear, aware that Barrowclough was watching her intently from the front gate and hoping that Jack was dressed respectably.

Jack opened the door, an ear to ear smile on his face.

"Sorry I'm late Jack. Mum asked me to do some cleaning, although I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job... for some reason I was slightly rushed."

Nothing more was said until they were undressed and in his bed. As she took her bra off she rubbed under her tits. Her bra was too tight and irritated her; but bras required clothing coupons and she had been forced to wear one she had first worn at school when, although she found it difficult to believe, her tits were even smaller than now. She looked at him and decided she had to tell him what she felt; after all, they only had two more days.

"Jack, I enjoyed yesterday but it could have been better if you'd paid more attention to me and what I was feeling. Having a big cock is all right, but it's not always the size of your weapon but how you wield it."

He didn't understand; she had come; he had come - what more did she expect?

"Jack, you've got to understand. A woman no, not a woman, me ..I ... expects her lover to pay attention to her. I don't mean just playing with her tits and cunt; I mean paying attention to what she's feeling. Different women re-act differently and you're going to have to learn how to understand their feelings and respond to them. Yesterday, for example, once you'd decided you'd played with me long enough, you just fucked me. I could tell you had no idea where I was or whether I liked what you were doing. Mostly I did; but it would have been much better if you'd thought about me, not just yourself."

Once again it was a prepared speech - but she meant it. Last night was the first time she had made love but she had talked to her friend from work about sex many times and had received clear advice. Sex was for both parties to enjoy. If she had sex and didn't enjoy it, she should either stop fucking the man or train him to do it properly. Jack needed training and she was going to make it her goal to train him.

He didn't know what to say. He could apologise; but it didn't seem she wanted him to do that. He could try to change; but he didn't understand what he had done wrong.

"Jack, I'm going to show you." He waited. "Jack, I don't mean I'm going to hold your hand or write it on the board. I want you to make love to me and when, or if, I think you're forgetting me, then I'll tell you."

To Jack, it sounded like an examination and too clinical but he wanted her and, if that meant being examined, he was prepared to put up with it.

She could see he hadn't really understood and she would have to show him. She reached for his cock, which, by now, had become flaccid and started to wank him. It took her longer than usual to make it erect.

"Relax Jack; it's all right." He was trying to relax but it wasn't easy. "You can play with me." She offered her nipple to him.

He looked at her nipple; God, it was beautiful. He bent his head and started to suck; gently at first, as he remembered her admonition, and then more aggressively, as he started to become excited. She started to respond; she could feel her cunt becoming wetter. She reached down and caressed his balls; he sucked harder.

"You'd better put something on." He reached over his bedside table, took out a johnny and handed it to Jane. She slipped it on; once again wondering whether it would fit. Once it was on she pushed him onto his back and mounted him; working her cunt slowly down onto his cock.

She started to ride him, as the G.I.'s would say, 'cowgirl fashion'. As with all their lovemaking to date, it was the first time she had done it, but it didn't take her very long to get into a rhythm. He started to move in concert with her; responding to her thrusts. She was enjoying it; dictating the pace turned her on. She grabbed her tits and started to play with them and, as she became more excited, she started to squeeze them between her fingers and palms and then to pull and twist the nipples. He was watching her and becoming excited by her assault on her tits. He wanted to do it; he wanted to inflict whatever pain she must be feeling. Then she stopped, climbed off him and lay on her back; leaving Jack to wonder what he had done wrong.

"Jack, make love to me."

He mounted her; slipping more easily into her, by now, slick, cunt. He preferred it like this. It made him feel powerful; now he was in charge. He started to fuck her and she responded. It didn't take him long to feel the beginning of his climax and, as he did, he started to thrust harder. He was enjoying it; he could feel the spunk starting to rise in his balls.

"Jack, slow down. You aren't making love to me any more; you're just fucking me. Am I coming? Can you tell?" He thought for a moment; it looked like she was.

"I think so."

"Jack, you're wrong. I am excited but, if you keep this up, you'll come and I won't. Jack slow down; it's not a race. Kiss me; play with my nipples or my clit. I need you to pay a little more attention to me."

He leant over and kissed her nipple and then bit it ....hard. She yelped and he felt her cunt muscles tighten. He bit it again with the same result. He kissed her neck with little feathery kisses which caused her to gasp and hitch her legs around his thighs. She ground her cunt into his cock and then started to fuck him. He let her do it; enjoying the sensation. She was good at it - which surprised him since she had obviously been a virgin. It felt like her cunt was milking him; drawing the spunk out of his balls but he had to fuck her; he needed to come and while the milking was enjoyable, he needed to drive the spunk out of his balls and the only way he could do that was to fuck her and to fuck her as hard as he could.

They fucked many times after that, but the sensations they both felt from their climaxes were never repeated. As he started to come he felt the need to abuse her. He raised up from her body and pinched her nipples and slapped her tits. She gasped and gripped his shoulders. He removed his cock, flipped her over onto her stomach and slapped her repeatedly until her bum was a bright red. He mounted her doggy style. They fucked again; from time to time he stopped and slapped her again and reached under her body to pull on her nipples. The more he hit her, the more she responded, moaning and pushing back against his cock. As he came, he grabbed her hair and pulled her up until her hands were off the bed and drove as hard as he could. It was enough; he came and she came.

He let go of her hair and very gently stroked her bum. She moaned, turned her head and smiled at him. Still turned towards him, she reached back awkwardly and stroked the side of his body; using touch to tell him what she felt.

She was happy; she was pleased she had spoken to him; he had thought about her; he had taken his cue and satisfied her fantasies. He was happy; he had realised he liked hurting her; that it excited him and had intensified his climax. Her response had been his permit. He wanted to abuse her body and he had.

On the Monday evening his mother came back and brought an end to their fucking. Two weeks later on the twenty-second of May, 1941 and just over eleven months after his eighteenth birthday, he received a buff envelope containing a letter ordering him to report to an Air Crew Recruiting Centre in Staffordshire. It was here his RAF career started.

Chapter 4

The recruiting centre was a rude awakening. Everyone, from the lowest erk to those destined to be pilots, had to pass through a recruiting centre and all were treated the same. The inevitable medical; at which, in addition to being asked to cough for the third time, he was inoculated against, what appeared to be, every disease known to man was followed by the regulation haircut using clippers only and ninety seconds per man; and, finally, by kitting out. By the end of the first day, he was exhausted but pleased by the knowledge he had been passed fit for service once again.

For the next four weeks he spent two to three hours a day learning the arcane art of square-bashing followed by two hours of physical training. Why a pilot needed to be able to run six miles and learn to march in step was unfathomable. The only breaks to the monotony were evening trips to one of the local pubs and the occasional visit to the station cinema. Later, when asked about the experience by friends, he described it as having been 'mainly boring and, occasionally, degrading'; but he had passed and the next step had to include flying.

When war was declared the RAF had been ill-prepared and facing a shortage of planes, airfields and men. Expanded manufacturing both at home and abroad had started to resolve the plane shortage, while a concerted push in airfield construction had increased significantly the number of airfields. Conscription had solved part of the man-power problem but the conscripts had to be housed while they were training and, since there were few RAF facilities available, where better to house them than seaside resorts, with their numerous boarding houses and public facilities.

His posting was to the Initial Training Wing at RAF Blackpool located in the seaside resort of the same name on the north-west coast of Lancashire and some forty-five miles from his home. Up to that time he had been in the RAF for four weeks and none of his training had been even remotely connected with flying but he could console himself with the knowledge that, if he had to join the army, while not combat trained, he was fit certainly fit enough.

If he had expected flying training at RAF Blackpool, he was to be rudely disappointed. He received aircrew training, but it was flight rather than flying training. There were academic courses, covering the principles of flight, navigation, aircraft recognition, Morse code and other, peripheral subjects such as elements of service law. He studied hard, harder than he had at school; determined at this stage not to let the opportunity to be a pilot escape him. The rest of the time was spent on further sessions of square bashing and physical training, during which he marched up and down, trained on the beach and went on route marches and cross-country runs for three to four hours every day. The only breaks in the tedium were cricket and football games against local and other armed forces teams. It was during one of these games that his RAF career suffered a severe set-back.

An accomplished wing-half who had played for his town side; Jack was playing against an army team when he had gone in for a tackle with the opposing centre forward. A former Scottish professional, the forward had gone over the ball; breaking Jack's leg in two places. He had been taken to the local hospital where the leg had been set and put into traction. After a two week stay, during which he was visited by his mother, sister and Jane, he was returned on crutches and without ceremony to the camp to complete his course.

Jack had looked forward to the end of his ITW posting, not just to escape from the physical training routine but because he knew Elementary Flying Training which was the next step would be his first real taste of flying. Breaking his leg put his pilot training into limbo; he had passed ITW but knew he would not be allowed to move on to flying training until his leg had healed.

After a two week wait, during which the RAF decided what to do with him, followed by a two week leave, he was transferred, in late September 1941, to RAF Fulnetby, a bomber command station located some ten miles east of Lincoln, as a 'spare bod'.

As a recruit with no trade, no post-secondary education and a broken leg, he proved difficult to place. In the end he was seconded to assist in the accounting section, although for the life of him he couldn't understand why as he had only just scraped a pass in his final maths exams. His accounting career lasted seven month and, by the end of his stay, he was bored stiff, had recovered from his broken leg and had finally managed to understand the difference between debits and credits, although he was still confused when applying the concepts to asset and liability accounts.

At the end May, 1942, he got the news he was waiting for; he was being transferred to air crew training but, rather than receiving it in England, he was to be posted to Canada under the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan; accompanying the posting was a seven day, embarkation-leave pass.

When he arrived home late on the Friday evening, Jane was waiting at his parent's house. As usual his mother fussed around him offering tea and food but, what he really wanted, was Jane. They sat and talked for almost two hours waiting for his mother to go to bed. When, at just after midnight, she finally said goodnight, she hadn't reached the top of the stairs before he had his hands on Jane's tits. Ten minutes later they were fucking; the first time they'd done it with a parent in the house. They tried to be quiet but, in spite of his best efforts to suppress her usual scream as she came, he was certain, unless his mother was asleep, she must have heard her. Nothing was said the next morning at breakfast, but he had had the impression his mother had heard and didn't know whether to challenge him about it.

In the final seven days they made love every time and everywhere they could and almost oblivious to the risk they would be caught.

They made love in the shed among the geraniums. He sat her on the edge of the potting bench with her skirt on but minus her knickers, knelt down before her and drank in the smell of her cunt, played with her clit, licked her to a climax and followed it by taking her; bent over, with her elbows on the bench. When they'd finished she ran to the house waving her knickers at him and laughing.

At her suggestion they made love in the conservatory. The shrubs along the north wall offered some protection from prying eyes, but he was sure they could be seen from the next-door neighbours' bedroom. When she had suggested it, he had wondered whether she had a streak of exhibitionism in her; a suspicion which was confirmed when, after they'd finished fucking, she stood up, turned and faced the neighbours' house, posed like a showgirl from the Follies Begère, with legs slightly crossed, one arm in the air and the other on her thigh and then ambled back, naked, into the kitchen.

They made love at her house, in her parent's bed. Her parents had gone out on the Sunday evening and, almost as soon as they'd left, she had disappeared upstairs. A minute later she called to him,

"Jack, come upstairs will you." He had gone up, suspecting she was planning something. "I'm in here." Her voice came from her parent's bedroom. He opened the door to see her naked lying on the bed; fondling her tits and playing with her cunt.

"Come on Jack, fuck me." It was an invitation he couldn't refuse and he fucked her. He had enjoyed it, but, from her reaction; the way she had scraped his back with her nails and screamed as she came she had obviously enjoyed it more than him; fucking in her parent's bed had excited her.

Their final fuck was bare-back. She had been apprehensive but there was no alternative. They had run out of protection and, in the end, she had finally agreed. It turned Jack on; he loved the feel of her slick cunt on his cock and, when he started to come, he felt the urge to leave it in her; to fill her with his spunk; to spray her womb. Just as he came he pulled out; spraying his spunk over the entrance to her cunt and across her bum. She hadn't come and, when she felt him pull out, she reached down, inserted two fingers into her cunt and finger-fucked herself until she came.

When they said goodbye at the railway station, they said nothing about the future. She knew he would be gone for at least six months, but had no worries. Over the previous fifteen months she had made him hers; she had taught him how to satisfy most of her fantasies and couldn't imagine anyone taking him from her. She would miss his cock - the sheer size of it most of all -- but she knew how to please herself and, if her hairbrush wasn't the size of Jack's cock, it was a reasonable short-term substitute.

He was only looking forward. He loved Jane, but Canada and flying were his future and, at this moment, Jane and sex occupied only a small part of his world.

Chapter 5

The troopship left Gourock two hours before sun-down, ensuring it was dark for most of the time it was close to Scottish Coast and, theoretically, improving its chances of avoiding the German submarines lurking off the Clyde. The S.S. Aquitania was a converted passenger liner, capable of twenty-four knots and far faster than any U-boat, either above or below the surface. She sailed alone, using her speed to avoid German torpedoes.

They were at sea five days; five days during which Jack realised why he hadn't volunteered for the navy. The sea was rough almost all of the way across and, for early summer, the weather was abysmal; starting with heavy rain, followed by cool weather as they sailed close to Iceland and, as they approached Newfoundland, by more heavy rain. The accommodation and food were terrible, even for the officers. He had shared a cabin which, in peacetime, had accommodated two people with five other, like him, very junior, RAF officers; all of them in cramped bunk beds. The food was barely edible, nowhere near as good as the food in the officer's mess at Fulnetby; which was a surprise, since the ship must have had access in Canada to supplies which were not available in Britain. Perhaps, he thought, all the best cooks had volunteered for the RAF.

The ship docked in Halifax, just as a convoy was waiting to set sail for Britain. The difference in size and the variety of the ships was amazing. Some were rust-buckets of just a few thousand tons, while others, particularly the oil tankers, were relatively large and well maintained. He knew, whatever their pedigree and ownership, they were a vital cog in the allied war machine, without which the war could not be won.

Disembarkation was a slow process. The ship held over 4,000 forces personnel which on this occasion were mainly airmen. Officers were allowed off first and directed to a NAAFI where they were fed and watered by mostly older, motherly women. Once fed, they were directed to a platform to await the arrival of the trains which were to take them to the RAF's No. 31 personnel depot in Moncton, New Brunswick; a reception centre for members of the RAF moving to and from Canada and the USA. Most were going west to the Prairies, but Jack and a few others were going to locations in Ontario and the USA.

The wait was interminable. It took four hours for his train to arrive, during which he wondered if being allowed to disembark first was an advantage. There was nothing to do on the platform; at least the men who were still on the ship could use the ship's facilities, while he was forced to stare at the walls or read a six-day old copy of the Manchester Guardian.