Jean’s Wounded Warrior

Jean's Wounded Warrior Project

Chapter 1: Homecoming

I dedicate this story to the brave men and women who have served this country in uniform.

Content Warning

This fantasy includes a scene of a young wife having sex with a black American soldier while her husband watches from hiding. If stories of this type upset you, please stop reading now! I am sure you can find plenty of stories on Literotica that match your particular desires.

Some of my favorite Literotica stories motivated my modest effort: "The Seduction of My Wife" by The_Dolphin, "Frugality Comes with a Price" by J267, and "Three Days of Watching My Wife Fuck" by newbie2008.

I based this fantasy upon an actual episode in my otherwise routine life. Before my marriage, my future wife visited her older brother in Seattle. When the planned two-week stay stretched to two months, I was left confused and horny. I was eager for her return, but she announced that she was busy the first night she was back home at her mother's house. Later she told me that she had gone out with a soldier she had met on the plane. According to her, it was no big deal. She explained that she felt sorry for the soldier, and nothing happened. I found myself jealous and hurt. I have often fantasized about what happened the night she returned or, even better, what might have happened.

This story takes place in the late 1960s, during the height of the Vietnam War.

#

"Ah, ah, ah,... oh, fuck!" I groaned as I jerked off while fantasizing about running my hands over my young wife's curvaceous body. I thought about her pretty face, long legs, fantastic ass, and breasts almost too generous for her trim dancer's figure. I could hardly wait to pound my stiff cock into the moist warmth of her tight pussy. As I thought about slipping my fingers through Jean's neatly trimmed dark pubic hair, I shot my semen in streams against the wet tiles of the shower and sank to the floor.

For over two months, I had anticipated hot sex when she finally returned from what had started as a two-week trip to visit her injured brother. Robert was recovering in an Army hospital in California from severe shrapnel wounds to his head that he received while on duty in Vietnam. Today, I would pick her up at the Syracuse airport after what felt like an eternity of forced celibacy.

I had rubbed one out because I wanted our first sex in ages to last more than a few seconds. I was so eager that I even considered taking Jean to some wooded area near the airport and fucking her brains out before making the hour-long drive to our home in Ithaca, NY.

I'd gotten up early to finish some critical work before heading to the airport. Unfortunately, the data analysis was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. The professor I worked for needed the results for an international conference in Paris, and he was catching a plane in two days. If the results supported his theory, he would be guaranteed funding for his project, and I would be assured employment for another two years.

I'd made some progress in the morning before running into another roadblock. Often, I find the solution to complex problems while running, so I went for a jog in the hills around Cornell. After a bit over four miles, I figured out the answer. It would still require hours more work to wrap up the analysis, but I smiled in relief as I ran back home.

I took another shower and grabbed a bite to eat before rushing to the airport. I tend to be early for everything, and today I was so anxious about Jean's return that I was over an hour early with light traffic. I was left with a lot of time to sit at the gate and think about Jean.

I talked to my wife on the phone regularly and knew Robert's recovery from his head wound was progressing slowly. She spent most of each day in the VA hospital helping her brother with his therapy. She referred to Robert as her wounded warrior project. She only decided to return home when her mother flew to Monterey to look after her son.

Severe weather delayed Jean's arrival by two hours, and I was getting antsier by the moment. I had set aside the rest of the day to spend quality time with my wife. I planned on barbecuing some steaks and getting her buzzed with wine. I aimed to spend the latter part of the evening ravishing my young wife. If the flight were too late, my plans would be ruined. I had to get a good night's sleep before finishing my analysis in the morning. The professor wanted to review the results tomorrow afternoon. I forced myself to stop pacing and sit in an unused boarding area. After a few calming breaths, I turned my thoughts to pleasant memories of Jean.

I'd fallen in love with my future wife the first time I met her. A fellow graduate student in biochemistry invited me to his Christmas party. His live-in girlfriend was a nurse in the local hospital, and she asked Jean who was a coworker. I remember the exact moment I lost my heart. Jean had overheard me talking about cross-country skiing with my friend and joined the conversation. She was an avid downhill skier and was fascinated by what was then a new sport. The small apartment was crowded with guests and became too warm. I was enthralled as I watched Jean bend over a stuffed chair to open a window. Her corduroy trousers stretched tight across the most fantastic ass I had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

I spent the rest of the evening talking to Jean. I learned that this gorgeous young woman was a townie. Her mother taught English at Ithaca High School, where Jean had been an A student and a cheerleader. Jean went on to earn her Master's Degree in psychology at Cornell. She was everything I had dreamed of in a woman. Jean was intelligent, athletic, and gregarious in an era when girls hid their intelligence, and few of them participated in sports.

Somehow, she managed to leave the party early without my getting her phone number. I called my friend and got it from his girlfriend. I invited Jean to dinner with a promise to take her cross-country skiing. I tried to kiss her on our first date, and she held me off. She explained that she was a good Christian girl and wanted to know me better before we became physical. We dated for a couple of months before she allowed me to touch her magnificent breasts. We had been together for nearly half a year before we had sex. I realized Jean was too experienced in bed to be a virgin, but I didn't care. I was far too happy to ask questions.

A year after we met, I received my doctoral degree and accepted a position as a postdoctoral fellow at Cornell. We were married soon after I started performing research for a brilliant young professor I admired. I was well on my way to achieving all my life goals. Everything was wonderful.

Thinking about meeting Jean for the first time relaxed me. I pulled out a notebook and wrote an outline for the report I needed to deliver to my boss tomorrow.

#

I was thrilled to see Jean when she finally walked off the plane. I ran up to her and gave her a big hug. I lifted her athletic body off the floor and spun her around. Her long dark French braid twirled behind her while I warmly kissed her. I was disappointed that Jean's response didn't match my enthusiasm. I had hoped the extra time away would give her the chance to heal from our recent misfortune.

When I finally set Jean down, she pushed back in my arms and spoke to a burly black man standing next to us, staring at Jean with an unsettling intensity.

"I told you he'd be all over me like a puppy left alone for the day."

Now it was my turn to look confused.

My wife stepped back from my arms and said, "Steve, I'd like you to meet Derek. We sat together on the plane. Thanks to the weather delay, he missed his bus to Fort Drum, and I offered to put him up for the night. Please say it will be all right."

I was vaguely aware that the muscular black man in army fatigues had been watching while I wildly spun my wife around. Fort Drum was an hour north of the airport, a two-hour drive from our home in Ithaca, south of Syracuse. Since I was occupied with my research, my wife would have to drive her new friend to the base. However, it was for a good cause, and I could hardly refuse even though it might interfere with my plans to ravish my wife.

I held out my hand and said, "Please to meet you, Derek. Of course, you are welcome to spend the night."

Now I'm pretty tall at just over 6 feet, but Derek was at least 6 foot 6 and powerfully built. His hand folded around mine in a firm handshake as I gazed into his sad eyes. Derek looked drained. Perhaps it was the long plane flight, but I thought something else was weighing on the soldier.

I'd always been strongly opposed to the Vietnam War that was still raging. Every night I prayed for the safety of my younger brother, who was somewhere in the jungle outside of Da Nang. I had actively protested against the stupidity that eventually killed over 58,000 Americans and perhaps a million Vietnamese. I didn't blame the soldiers as some protestors did. I laid the responsibility squarely on the idiot politicians in Washington who thought they were the best and the brightest.

After the war, I was sure that Washington would again abandon our troops just like they had done after every conflict since the Revolutionary War. The least I could do was offer this soldier what hospitality I could. Unfortunately, I would have to forgo plans for a quickie in the woods. Well, there was still tonight after I got Jean's soldier settled.

We picked up their baggage and headed to the short-term parking garage. I adjusted the front passenger seat to accommodate Derek's large frame. Jean sat behind me, and the rest of the car was stuffed with suitcases and duffle bags. I chatted with the young soldier for the next hour while I drove since Jean took the opportunity to doze. It was an enjoyable conversation aided by us both being rabid football fans. Derek gave a whistle when I turned into the driveway of our house.

I laughed and said, "This place isn't ours. There is no way that we could afford it on a postdoc's salary. Jean and I are babysitting the Dean of Biology's house while he is on sabbatical in Paris."

The small mansion was beautifully situated on the side of a cliff overlooking Cayuga Lake and the city of Ithaca. I figured we had about two hours before the sun would begin setting over the hills beyond the lake. Puffy cumulus clouds promised a spectacular sunset.

I carried Jean's luggage inside and showed Derek the guest suite.

"You can take a shower while I get started on dinner. Jean is already headed for the bathroom in the master bedroom. Don't worry about using up all the hot water. There is plenty. I'll get started on dinner. We'll eat out on the deck, so dress casually. I'll be wearing shorts and a tee-shirt. Join me when you are ready."

Luckily, I had marinaded three prime Porterhouse steaks from the Cornell butcher shop. I had planned on having leftovers to feed Jean and me for another couple of nights. I was pretty sure Derek could easily pack away a whole steak himself. I shucked a dozen ears of the first local corn of the season before assembling the potato salad. Considering how late their flight had arrived, I was happy that I had prepared most of the dinner in advance.

Derek came strolling into the kitchen wearing a tight Army-issue tee shirt and a pair of ridiculously tiny regulation NBA basketball shorts typical of the late nineteen-sixties. The red nylon shorts bore the red, white, and blue Sixers logo and Wilt Chamberlin's signature. In truth, his shorts were only a little smaller than my light cotton shorts, but his outfit emphasized his bulging muscles and did nothing to hide the scars on his massive legs.

"Thanks for the shower. I feel about as human as I expect I'll ever feel again."

I asked, "How about a beer? I have a couple of local brews, depending on your taste."

Derek laughed, "After all the swill I got in Nam, I'm happy to have whatever you've got."

I popped a couple of cold lagers and grabbed a loaf of warm garlic bread.

"Come out on the deck and get comfortable. Jean has never been one to take a quick shower."

Derek collapsed onto one of the deck chairs, and I joined him. There was a hint of a breeze blowing from the lake that provided only slight relief from the oppressive heat and humidity of the late summer day in Central New York. We ate garlic bread and swigged some beer while enjoying the magnificent view. We were well into our second beer when I heard Jean in the kitchen.

"Finally, my wife has made an appearance. Just hang tight, and I'll get her squared away."

I entered the kitchen and found Jean gathering items to set the table. She looked stunning in her favorite summer outfit consisting of a loose halter top and a lightweight ruffled cotton skirt she had made in her junior high school Home Economics class. My skillful wife had sewn the dress to comply with the school rule that the bottom had to touch the ground when a female student knelt. Even in eighth grade, she had to push the elastic waistband down a couple of inches to be legal. Of course, that was before her growth spurt. She had been forbidden to wear the cute dress when a female teacher complained that it was too short and that she could also see Jean's skinny legs through the thin fabric when the sun was behind her.

The dress spent several years in the attic before Jean found it while rummaging for clothes during summer break from college. She let out the waist and had been wearing it ever since. It was her preferred outfit during the hot and humid dog days of summer.

I've loved the flouncy dress ever since I first saw her in it. The outfit was perfect for her figure and the summer heat. The short skirt displayed her supple dancer's body to perfection. Fortunately for me, she had grown considerably since making the floral print skirt, and now it barely reached mid-thigh. The white silky halter top was an excellent companion piece. It ended just a couple of inches below her ample breasts displaying acres of my wife's firm stomach. The spaghetti straps and scoop neck left her shoulders and the tops of her generous breasts exposed for my never-ending delight.

I backed her up against the wall and kissed her passionately. Jean responded by pushing her tongue into my mouth. I slid a hand under her halter top and stopped in surprise.

"What's up? You never wear a bra with this top."

"I also never wear this top in public."

"Really? I hardly consider our secluded deck as public."

"Are you forgetting Derek?"

"Oh hell, I'm sure Derek won't be bothered by a bit of healthy bounce."

I wasn't candid with Jean. Now she wasn't blind and could look in the mirror and see her pink nipples pushing against the thin fabric if she wore the top without a bra. However, I was confident she wasn't aware of how much of her breasts were visible when she leaned over. It didn't matter if she leaned toward you or away from you. In either case, the loose-fitting top revealed nearly all those beauties dangling like ripe fruit begging to be suckled. If you were lucky enough to catch her leaning over far enough, you might even glimpse her dark areolas and puffy pink nipples.

Sometimes when little boys play with fire, they get burnt. I wasn't thinking clearly and was only interested in my pleasure. At the time, my thoughts were focused on getting Jean wined, dined, and into our bed.

Jean looked at me for a minute. before saying, "Are you sure?"

I wasn't surprised at the apprehension in her eyes, but it took me a moment to realize her fear was mixed with excitement. I could even smell her arousal when I took a deep, ragged breath. I could understand her conflicted emotions based on what I knew about my wife. On the one hand, Jean had developed late and had never wholly overcome her lack of confidence in her appearance. Her strict Christian upbringing reinforced that insecurity. On the other hand, my innocent young wife was driven by the same unconscious primeval desires that drive every fertile woman to exhibit their body to potential virile mates.

Most of you will probably say I'm a bloody idiot when I confess I get a thrill from watching men stare at my curvaceous wife with lustful eyes. It's why I bought her a red string bikini for her last birthday. The bright red suit complimented her dark hair and pale complexion. One of the unexpected benefits of the skimpy French swimsuit was that Jean had to shave her pussy right up to the edges of her labia. When she finished her manicure, she also left a small triangle of closely trimmed black pubic hair decorating the top of her slit. Guys couldn't take their eyes off her hot body when my young wife wore the minuscule suit to the graduate housing pool. I had no problem with guys ogling my wife since I knew she would go home with me at the end of the day. Despite her protests, she always came home from swimming in a highly excited state.

So, of course, I wanted to encourage my wife to remove her bra. I just had to be careful not to trigger her defense mechanisms by mentioning how sexy she would look.

"Yes, I am sure. I think you'll be more comfortable in this oppressive heat and humidity if you ditch the bra. You wouldn't want to get a heat rash."

Jean stared into my eyes a moment before nodding. She performed the classic disappearing bra trick while I watched with fascination. That's the maneuver women perform where they magically remove their bra without taking off their top. I've seen her do it dozens of times without flashing anything. I still have no idea how women do the trick. When she told me she needed to put the frilly undergarment away upstairs, I knew she had removed her bra in front of me to tease me.

Jean headed back to our bedroom, and I returned to cooking dinner. A few minutes later, Jean came back down the stairs with a sway to her hips. She was deliberately walking as provocatively as possible. Each step down the stairs made her barely concealed breasts bounce to my delight.

I pinned her to the wall again and pushed my tongue into her mouth. I only encountered a soft, warm breast when I slipped my hand beneath her top. Jean moaned into my mouth as I twisted and pinched her nipple. Jean is the most sensitive woman I have ever known. She has an easily flipped 'on' switch. Once you get her aroused, there are only two ways I know to bring her down. One is to give her an orgasm, and the other is to toss her into an icy mountain stream. I've never been dumb enough to repeat tossing her into an icy stream.

Jean giggled. "Careful, Steve. You know what will happen if you keep playing around."

"No problem. I plan on ravishing you once our guest is down for the night."

My heart sank when Jean replied, "Not going to happen."

Jean laughed when I whined like a little boy who had just had his ice cream cone eaten by a dog.

"It won't happen because I'm going to rape you first."

My heart soared as I laughed at her feisty retort.

I continued playing with her nipples while asking, "Are you off the pill now, like we discussed?"

We had been married for a little more than a year when we got Jean pregnant. We were both thrilled with the prospect of our first child. She had just been through some bad days with morning sickness when she miscarried near the end of the first trimester. The doctor said nothing prevented us from trying again but recommended staying on birth control for six months. He also suggested that she gain some weight and stop smoking.

Jean and I went through a rough patch after that, and our sex life was nonexistent. Besides wanting to help her brother, I think Jean stayed long in California to avoid the pregnancy issue. I guess her instincts were right. We had some great talks on the phone that, over time, turned into phone sex. I loved that we were laughing together again. It was a wonderful feeling, and Jean said she was willing to try again when she got back. She said she had given up smoking and even put on a few pounds. I was eager to know if she was off the pill and committed to trying again.