Fifteen months of secret duty

I still remember every detail like it was yesterday, even though it’s been over forty years. I was twenty-one back then, a brand-new bride, innocent and a little naive, living in a tiny village in Sardinia with my husband. I’ll call him Rick. He was in the services squadron, and we didn’t have a car yet, so we relied on two bikes, taxis or the base transport. Life felt simple… until Rick got orders to the mainland for a three-week school. It was the first time we’d been apart since our wedding.

A few days after he left, I came down with a nasty stomach problem with chills, the works. I took a taxi to the base clinic for help. When they released me, I realized I had no ride home. In desperation I called Rick’s supervisor. I’ll call him Chief Cole. He was a divorced senior sergeant, a little older, slightly overweight with a balding head, but he’d always been kind and quick to mentor us. He didn’t hesitate. He drove straight over, helped me into his car, and took me home like it was nothing.

The next day he showed up again, this time with a pot of chicken soup he’d made himself. “Just checking on you,” he said with a warm smile. We sat at the kitchen table and talked for over an hour. I was feeling better when he left. He was lonely and opened up freely, he admitted he hadn’t been with a woman in years. I was lonely too, missing Rick but as we spoke, there was this… chemistry. I couldn’t deny it. The way he looked at me, the gentle way he touched my hand when he passed me the soup bowl. I felt it. I think he did too. It was nice to feel that new energy, it had been years. And it was nice to feel desired by someone new.

The day after that he came back again. We opened a bottle of wine. Back then we didnt have english TV we had to rent videos for entertainment. He’d brought one and put it on. Our apartment was small with just one couch. So we sat on it together. The tension was thick. He didn’t try anything, but the air was electric. I could feel it, feel his building desire.

Then he didn’t come the next day, or the next. I was surprised how disappointed—and lonely—I felt.

On the third evening he arrived with groceries. I was actually so happy not to be alone. No one could aford a phone in Italy in the 80’s. He knocked and I opened the door happier than I expected. “Thought I’d help you make a proper dinner,” he said. We cooked together in the kitchen. We made pasta, chicken, simple stuff. I was so happy not to be alone that I took his lead and flirted. I’m embarrassed now thinking about it, but I guess I felt I owed him for his kindness. As we worked in the kitchen he’d brush against me “accidentally,” I’d laugh and tease him back. We drank more wine. After dinner we moved to the couch. He’d brought another movie, this one sexier than the last, with lots of skin and heavy breathing on screen. It got us both turned on.

We sat close. The couch was small, romantic for newly weds. Our legs touched. His hand brushed mine when we both reached for the wine bottle. Every little contact sent sparks through me. I could feel myself getting wet. I was young, this was naughty, I felt like a high school girl and my heart was racing. Before I knew it we were kissing—deep, hungry kisses. His hands were on my waist, pulling me closer. He was as old as my grandfather but stronger. His dominance felt so good… but then reality hit.

I pulled back pushing my hand on his chest, breathing hard. “We can’t,” I whispered. “I’m married. Rick—”

He looked at me, wirh his voice low and calm. “I can make your husband’s life very easy, Gwen (not my real name obvi). Good duty, good evaluations, the kind of duty that keeps a man happy and earn promitions. Or I can make it very difficult for him. You know how the military works. We Chiefs have a lot of say.” He paused, put one beefy hand on my knee. “It’s up to you.”

I understood perfectly. This wasn’t just about us. This was about protecting Rick’s career—his future, our future. My stomach twisted with guilt… but I also felt a strange, shameful thrill. I was twenty-one, alone, and this kind older man was offering me a choice that wasn’t really a choice.

I nodded slowly. Then I kissed him again, harder this time, at first I felt gross, forcing myself to sell it. I moaned into his mouth like I couldn’t get enough. I let my hands roam over his body, pressing against him so he’d feel how “eager” I was.

That night we had sex for the first time. He took me the on the couch. I was nervous at first, but I performed—moaning loudly, wrapping my legs around him, telling him how good he felt, how big he was, how I’d never been fucked like this. I rode him, sucked his cock like I was starving for it, let him fuck me from doggy while I pushed back against him and begged for more. Some of it was acting. Some of it… wasn’t. My body responded whether I wanted it to or not. What can I say? Sex does feel good. He came inside me

and I came too—real orgasms that made me feel even sluttier. I can say this about the Chief, he knew how to use his fingers while eating me.

Over the next ten days, while Rick was still away, The Chief came over almost every day. We fucked everywhere—in the kitchen against the counter, in the shower, in our marriage bed. I got better at the performance. I’d greet him at the door in something skimpy, drop to my knees and suck him off right there, looking up at him with big innocent eyes while I swallowed every drop. I’d tell him he was the best I’d ever had, that I couldn’t stop thinking about his cock. I’d let him bend me over the table and fuck me hard, crying out his name like a desperate slut. He was gentle with me in his own way, but he took what he wanted—and I gave it to him convincingly every single time. I was conflicted, I was actually starting to get some feelings even though I was essentially a sex slave.

When Rick finally came home, I thought it would stop. It didn’t.

Chief Cole started arranging things. He put Rick on mid-shifts a couple times a week. On those nights he’d show up at the door the moment Rick left. I’d let him in, drop to my knees in the living room, and give him long, sloppy blowjobs—taking him deep, moaning around his cock, until he flooded my mouth. I’d swallow, look up at him, and say, “Thank you, Sergeant,” like the good little slut I’d become. I got lost in the role.

Then he began scheduling Rick for frequent overnight work—sometimes two nights a week. On those nights he would come over after dark and stay for hours. We’d fuck in our bed, in every position. I’d ride him cowgirl, bouncing on his cock. I discovered if I told him how much better he was than my husband he came faster. He’d take me from behind, spanking my ass lightly while I pushed back and begged. Sometimes he’d just want my mouth again, and I’d kneel between his legs for as long as he wanted, using my tongue and throat like a pro. I always made sure he left satisfied, always made sure I sounded like I was completely addicted to him. My husband benefitted from my improved skills.

This went on for fifteen months. Fifteen months of secret blowjobs and all-night fucks while my husband was away on duty that Cole had arranged. He’d get up and leave and only moments later my huhusband would come home, often wanting sex. He would be so pleased at how “wet” I was for him.

I felt guilt. Tbh, the guilt was crushing sometimes, but I also felt this twisted, slutty excitement. I was protecting Rick’s career, and he had no idea. I was keeping our life stable. And somewhere along the way, I started getting off on the danger, the secrecy, the way I could be such a good wife by day and such a filthy secret slut by night. Rick did get promoted, they called it a “Step Promotion.”

Then Chief Cole got orders and was transferred off the island. Just like that, it ended.

Forty years later, I still think about it sometimes. I was so young, so scared, so willing to do whatever it took. I performed like a perfect little whore to keep my husband’s career safe and us happy. I wonder sometimes how many other women have had to perform duties like this while their man is in the military?