The rain was now sheeting down, the temperature had dropped like a stone and it was hell being out on such nights. I had managed to obtain some tarpaulins, and canvas sheeting, as protection for the sentinels, but it was still a cold and wet spell of duty for the men. I was pleased at how well the men had responded to the different weather and duty conditions, as it had been rather soft for them in Laverton but now it was more like soldiering on campaign. Of course many of my men had not yet had that pleasure, and it would have come as a shock, for them to be cold and wet for long periods at a time.By now my routine for the day was fixed. I would rise about nine in the morning and make my ablutions and have breakfast. After which I would catch up on any company paper work and deal with any disciplinary matters. At noon I was served a good lunch by Mine Host of the Anchor Inn, a well-made buxom woman, with a fine head of coppery red hair. I estimated her to be around forty years of. Caroline desperately wants to cum but can't. There are too many thoughts in her head; a pandemonium of contrary urges that ride the debauched carousel that rotates again and again in her mind.And now Mike is undoing his belt. His fly zip is yanked down. His cock is a Saturn 5 ready to go, needs only the okay from mission control. He kneels between her splayed legs and Caroline mechanically takes him in hand and guides him. He plunges into her like it's free-fall. How wet she is. There is no friction at all.Caroline hears her husband's voice, as if from far away but coming nearer. He's calling to her... But it isn't her, Caroline, he speaks to, it's Mike: "Mike, no! I can't watch. I thought I could, but I can't. Please stop. Fucking stop, will you! Stop it now. Stop fucking my wife. Please!"And everything does stop. It is like pause frame. Mike is motionless, his cock buried in Caroline's cunt, a sword in its scabbard to the hilt, his unseen balls dangling against her arse crack..
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