Aishling Morgan provides another classic erotic romp with a story full of pretty girls and masterful men in and out of uniform, stockings, suspenders, plenty of spanking and even more rude, unabashed smut.
WW2 is over, allowing Flying Officer Henry Truscott to concentrate on the far more important business of seducing the local contingent of WAAFs, indulging himself in the brothels of Cairo and distributing much-needed luxuries among the Mediterranean countries.
Unfortunately people are getting back on their feet and prices are starting to drop, but with thousands of unattached young men about there is a guaranteed market for girls and saucy pictures, especially for someone willing to cater for specialised tastes.
Henry is more than happy to oblige on both counts, but when he signs up Corporal Poppy ‘Pinks’ Pankhurst as his assistant he finds he has bitten off rather more than he can chew. Her somewhat unorthodox ideas on discipline are only the start...
‘You can keep your stockings on,’ Henry Truscott offered.
Poppy responded with a glare that suggested she was far from impressed by his generosity. Nevertheless she had stood up and was quite clearly going to go through with it, surrendering both her girdle and her knickers. That would leave her all but stark naked, with her neatly proportioned young body exposed to his gaze, and to those of their friends. The poker game had not gone well for her, a run of bad luck compounded by a risky betting strategy leaving her first penniless, then without her smart grey-blue WAAF uniform. Even then she had refused to back down, but her shoes, slip and brassiere had soon followed her uniform into the growing pile on Henry’s lap, to leave her in nothing but her cap and stockings, with her high, round breasts naked for inspection. Still she had continued to play, handling her cards awkwardly with one arm held across her chest to protect her modesty, and still her luck had failed to turn. Henry, who remained in full uniform, now owned her remaining clothes.
Her face showed pink with embarrassment even through the smoke-laden air, and grew pinker still as she unfastened one suspender clip after another. Henry watched, not troubling to hide his pleasure at her discomfort and only with difficulty resisting the temptation to adjust his rapidly swelling cock. “Ginger” Green, his navigator, was staring open-mouthed, but no more so than Poppy’s fellow WAAF, Sarah “Hills” Hennigan, whose face was almost as pink as her friend’s. Only Gorski remained placid, sipping his arrack and watching Poppy sidelong as she turned her attention to the fastenings of her girdle.
One of the catches stuck and she gave what might have been a soft curse or a gentle sob as she tugged it loose. Henry swallowed as her girdle fell away, revealing the soft contours of her midriff, her hips spreading from her trim waist, her belly a low bulge neatly pinched where the central button showed just above the waistband of her full, navy blue knickers. His cock was now rock hard, and he was very glad indeed that he had managed to get her stripped down without having to surrender any of his own clothes, especially his trousers. With her stockings now loose and nothing but her knickers to cover her modesty, Poppy hesitated. Her eyes met Henry’s in a pleading glance, while her mouth had come slightly open, with her lower lip trembling visibly.
‘By all means turn around, if it makes it easier for you,’ Henry suggested.
Poppy’s mouth went tight and the expression in her eyes changed back to the furious glare she had worn when she had begun what amounted to a slow striptease, but she did as he had suggested, turning around with an angry toss of the honey-coloured curls spilling from around her cap. Now faced with the swell of her bottom in nothing but the skin-tight navy blue knickers, Henry found himself swallowing once more, and as she pushed her thumbs into her waistband he took a hasty gulp of his arrack.
Absolute silence had fallen on the room as Poppy began to push down her knickers, even Gorski had his full attention on her and her friend was no less rapt than the men. She did it slowly, intriguingly slowly, Henry felt, making him wonder just how reluctant she really was as the taut waistband of her knickers moved down to expose the twin dimples to either side of the base of her spine, the gradual swell of her cheeks, the neat pink V at the top of her slit, and more, inch after tempting inch of pale, resilient flesh, smooth as cream and unmarked save for a few tiny freckles.
‘Right off,’ he ordered, no longer able to restrain himself when she hesitated with the knickers slightly more than halfway down over her glorious rear cheeks.
‘I know,’ she answered, her voice sharp and high but breaking to a clear sob as she pushed her knickers right down with a single, angry motion.
For one perfect instant she was bent over just far enough for the dim glow of the oil lamps to illuminate the crease between her bottom cheeks, showing off the sweetly puckered mouth of her anus and the plump swell of her sex, both densely thatched with golden hair only a shade or so darker than on her head. Then she had straightened up, to shake her knickers down her legs with a brief, petulant wriggle before kicking them off one toe and into her hand. She turned and held the discarded knickers out to Henry, showing off the thick curls of her lower belly and mound for an instant before she had covered herself with a hand. Her eyes were burning into his, full of rage and humiliation, but the condition of her sex when she had bent to remove her knickers and the strongly feminine scent in the air suggested that those were not her only emotions. He decided to risk having his face slapped.
‘Put your hands on your head,’ he instructed, ‘and then turn around, very slowly.’
‘You are an absolute beast, Henry Truscott!’ she snapped, but her hands had already gone up to rest on the smart grey-blue cap which was all that remained of her once immaculate uniform.
Henry nodded in acknowledgement, then lifted a finger to indicate that she should turn around. Poppy obeyed, stood naked in the soft, golden light, her face scarlet with embarrassment but her chin lifted in defiance as she displayed her body, or perhaps sheer pride. She was magnificent, her flesh soft and rounded but remarkably firm, so that it seemed a miracle that her breasts and more especially the cheeks of her bottom could hold their shape against gravity. Her stocking-clad legs were impressively long, especially as she was relatively petite, and as she completed her turn he saw that her nipples had popped out to make twin buds standing firmly to erection at an angle several degrees above the horizontal. Each was the size and shape of a well grown raspberry, and about the same colour.
‘Now I know why they call you “Pinks”,’ Henry remarked.
Poppy’s blush grew darker still, while it had spread down her neck and begun to colour the flash of her cleavage, but she held her position, allowing them to inspect her naked body until her friend finally broke the silence.