I never thought, as a
child and asking my mum, dad, gran (known as nan) and aunts to ‘tell me a story
about the war’, that all these years later, I’d still remember those stories
and use them as the basis for a book.
I’m so glad I did.
When I first had the
idea for Bombers Moon, I just knew it would be set in Northamptonshire, where
my mum as a teen was evacuated to, with her employment.
As much as the idea of
a book set in London, in the blitz intrigued me, all mum ever said was ‘it was
scary, noisy and as your granddad worked for the railways we got out own
railway employees and families tube station to hide in’.
Then I remembered the
tales of Northamptonshire. Of being locked out, getting stuck up a wall,
although not knickerless—well I don’t think so wink. How they used charcoal or gravy browning to
put ‘stocking seams’ up their legs, and bought wooden clogs and clacked around
the draught old stone-floored manor house they lived and worked in. The older
ladies who worked with them, got so sick of the racket, they clubbed together
and bought my mum and her friend a pair of slippers each.
My aunt went out with a yank (as all American service men evidently were
called) another relative fell off her bike and was rescued by a farmer and
evidently mum did dance with the local lord of the manor.
Thus, Bombers Moon was born.
Who gets caught by the man of her dreams bare-assed and halfway up a wall? Lady Chrissie Stride, of course.
It’s just her luck that she encounters Baronet Archie Duggan. On top of that, the house her London employers requisitioned to keep its staff safe from The Blitz is locked. Climbing the wall seemed like a good idea, until Archie turns up. At least he doesn’t seem to know it's her.
Archie recognizes Chrissie almost immediately. He never expected to meet her again in deepest Northamptonshire. This time around he is determined to claim the woman he loved and lost. With the war on, priorities change, and love is too important to conform to niceties.
Will the star-crossed lovers finally find their happily ever after?
a wee tease…
Chrissie gulped. He
was big—everywhere. She looked downward, her vision drawn to his long thick
cock, which stood out proudly from its nest of hair. She averted her eyes from
the crisscross of scars on his leg and arm. Those she understood, he neither
wanted to think or talk about just then.
And that’s going to fit in my daffodil? The
euphemism used by so many of her friends seemed silly now, but there was no way
she could use the words she heard bandied about so freely in the pub or by the
older women at work.
Honey pot! That’s it. Merle’s expression came to her. My honey pot! Or Pussy. Okay I can live with
that, but…cu… She couldn’t even think the word.
She looked at his
body with frank regard. Who knew if she’d ever get a chance to see him like
this again? Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the scars on his leg and arm
were still red, angry-looking and pronounced. She bit her lips to stop her moan
escaping and held back tears. It was hard not to cry for all he and thousands
of others had been through and were still
going through. But yet again, her eyes were drawn in one direction. His massive
erection stood out stiff and proud. Chrissie gulped, her earlier fears
resurfacing. That would really fit
inside her? Oh, my.
Archie correctly read
her expression. “Not only fit, but a perfect
fit,” he assured her. “With room to move. Come and lie down here.” He walked to
the bed and rolled back the sheet and blankets before kneeling awkwardly in
front of her. “Hold on a sec, something needs doing first.”
It was on the tip of
Chrissie’s tongue to tell him she’d do it, whatever it was, when it hit her
that he didn’t want help or sympathy. He wanted to woo her. Her insides turned
to mush. How perfect.
“Think we’ll have
these off as well. Can’t ruin nylons, can we?” He rolled them down before
putting one hand behind her, unhooking her brassiere, and putting the clothing
on a chair. The pressure that moving the straps down had put on her chest
immediately lifted, as Archie ran his thumbs over the swell of her breasts, and
chuckled.
“God almighty,
Chrissie you are so bloody receptive for a virgin. It’s marvelous. I’m going to
enjoy showing you what we can do together.” He pinched each nipple in turn and
kissed the nape of her neck as he kneaded her breasts.
She could tell he’d
had plenty of practice. Her pussy clenched at the unwelcome thought of him
doing all these things with someone else.
Grow up. He’s almost thirty, and there’s a war on.
“Now, let me see.
What have we here?” Once again he kissed one nipple, then the other. “Time to
itemize I think. Two breasts perfect to fit my hands. Two nipples to suckle.”
He moved his hands to let his fingers play with her clitoris, teasing her
hairs, and her navel. “One cunt all for me.”
Chrissie blushed. Why
could he say that with such insouciance and she not even think it? It must be a
man thing. However, emboldened, Chrissie licked her lips, heard him groan and
then reached out to touch Archie’s manhood. His skin was warm and soft and he
jolted and moaned as she feathered her fingers over him. One step further than
she’d ever taken. Only once had she dared rub him through his trousers, and his
groan had her moving her hand in a hurry.
She mimicked his
movements, kissed his nipples, and then, heartened by his response, bent double
to put the tip of his penis in her mouth and taste the juices there. They were
salty and thick. Chrissie rolled them over her tongue as she remembered a leaflet
one of the girls at school found in her brother’s room and brought to class to
show them. Crudely written and badly produced, the drawings had them all
giggling and blushing for weeks. She wondered just how many of her peers had
tried what it suggested. Chrissie moved and circled Archie’s tip with her
tongue again.
I could get used to this. The more I do this, the bigger he gets. A thought
crossed her mind. Would he get too big for her? It wasn’t a question she felt
she could ask.
Archie groaned, and
she tried to pull back, scared she was doing something wrong. “Hell, Chrissie,
that’s so damned good, I’ll come,” he said in a strangled tone. “For the Lord’s
sake, get onto the bed and give me a chance to get inside you.” He moved over
her, his tip barely touching her curls.
“Archie, what if I
don’t want to, you know…” She didn’t know how to put her fears into words, and
flapped her and in the air like a demented owl flapping its wing. It was lucky
he understood her incoherent beseeching.
“No problem, darling.
I’ll come like a gentleman.” He indicated the towel laid in readiness beside
him. And moved again, nearer and nearer, and waited. “Yes?”
Chrissie held her
breath. This was it. “Oh yes.”
His cock twitched,
and without conscious thought, Chrissie opened her legs wide, ready to welcome
him. This was it. Soon she, Chrissie Stride, would no longer be sweet and
innocent but a woman of the world.
There was a loud
hammering on the farmhouse door.
“What the bloody
hell?” Archie stopped mid movement. His position looked precarious as he
kneeled half on and half off her.
A voice, gruff and
urgent, was shouting.
“Mr. Archie, Mr.
Archie. Come quick. The rick’s on fire!”
Saved by the bell, she thought hysterically as she watched
Archie scramble into his clothes, his cock being most reluctant to be treated
in such a way. Not that she’d wanted saving. In fact, she felt uncomfortable.
It wasn’t right. She’d at least climaxed. Goodness knows how Archie felt, still
unreleased so to speak.
As my mum would have said I hope it tickles your fancy,
Happy reading,
Love R x
Thank you for hosting me x
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