“Fuck,” she hissed, “Been too long since I’ve had this lovely thing here.”
“Feels as great as I remember, Hannah,” I replied.
Emma snuggled into me as we watched Hannah ride me. She’d sometimes watch my eyes in return. She’d sometimes close her eyes and just focus on the other senses. She changed position, only slightly, enough to change the angle. She grabbed my right hand, sucked on my thumb, then ensured I was gently rubbing her clit. When she was getting close, she rode me faster and harder than I could remember, and with what my thumb was doing, her orgasm was… epic.
Soon as it passed, she kept on riding me at the same tempo. “Fuck my arse,” she growled, resting on her hands to either side of my body. My hands found their way to her arse and I raised an eyebrow. “I said fuck me, Nate. So fuck me.” The kiss she gave me had me pounding that tight little butt immediately.
“Fuck yes,” she moaned, resting her head against my shoulder, “Just like that, Nate. Don’t stop until you cum.”
I kissed her cheek, one hand resting on her arse, stroking her back with the other. Despite the pounding I was giving her, I still noticed the smile on her face, feeling her kiss my cheek.
“Wow,” was all Emma had to say.
I have no idea how long I fucked Hannah until I came. It would have been quite a while. All she did was moan, groan and even had another orgasm. First one she ever had purely from anal. That made her quite emotional, the kisses we shared after that very intense and passionate. As soon as I came, she had to lift herself off my cock though rested on my chest still. “Going to feel that tomorrow,” she said, chuckling to herself.
“Done in or one more?” Emma asked eagerly.
“I’m not having anything in my arse again tonight, Em. Knock yourself out if you want more fun.”
Emma grabbed some wet wipes as Hannah slid off me, and Hannah enjoyed herself again for at least an hour. I did manage to orgasm again, just about, but that was it for me once I left a second load inside her. I dragged a semi-comatose Hannah to the shower with Emma and I. That woke her up a little bit before we returned to bed, no real surprise we all crashed as soon as I turned out the light.
To be honest, after two weeks where I came home to them each night, it was rather difficult to leave. They came to see me off with all the other families, and I noticed the glances from some of my men as I was kissed rather passionately by two women. I’m fairly sure they figured out who Hannah was, as I’d shared that part of my life, but they wouldn’t have known who Emma was.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” I whispered, hugging them both tightly, “I’ll email and call whenever I have the chance.”
“You’d better, otherwise I will fly there and kick your arse,” Hannah whispered back. Emma didn’t say anything. This was harder for her than last time. We were now much closer.
I received a few questions on the flight to Cyprus, as expected. They figured out that one of them was Hannah, which I confirmed. Regarding Emma, I said we shared a very close relationship too. I tried not to look too smug as I insinuated just what sort of close relationship. The only thing I didn’t tell them was the fact Emma was also my cousin. There was acceptance and understanding of Hannah. There’d been more than one conversation that led into secrets from their own lives. But I figured telling them that I was sleeping with two of my cousins might be a step too far for most.
Landing in Iraq, the first thing we felt walking off the transport plane was the heat. Going from a wet, windy UK mainland to southern Iraq was a real shock to the system. Normally, we’d have had time to acclimatise, but we’d gone in much quicker than normal. And we realised why once we were at base. The situation was completely fucked up. The insurgency was worse than ever. And while we might have been treated as liberators during the original invasion, because of all the other bullshit going on, we were now seen as invaders, oppressors, or worse…
Six months in Basra this time around pretty much sucked. There was one good point. I received my first promotion. As expected, my service record, continuous training, and commendations led to me being officially earning the rank as a Captain of the Royal Marines. I certainly let everyone at home in both the UK and Australia the good news, ensuring I sent photos with my new epaulettes.
That was the only high point. The rest of the time, it felt like a fucking debacle. The insurgency was almost out of control. Patrolling was a fucking nightmare. We just didn’t know who to trust any longer. None of them, being honest. The new Iraqi Army we were trying to train and leave in charge left a lot to be desired. There were rumours already about a timetable for the withdrawal of UK troops from the region. I knew for an absolute fact that, despite it being our jobs, none of us wanted to be there longer than strictly necessary. The place was a powder keg, or a tinder box, just watching for that one spark. Quite frankly, most of us knew that civil war loomed, and it was going to be fucking ugly.
I’d been fortunate not to lose a man under my command during my first three tours, one in Afghanistan, two in Iraq. My fourth tour was the most difficult. Three hundred Royal Marines were sent to Basra. We lost six in six months, losing another two dozen to an assortment of injuries. Three would be left with life changing injuries. Another six had injuries that would result in either a desk job or retirement. When we saw news that Four-Two in Helmand was having it even worse… we had to resist the urge to just unleash the dogs of war.
It was an exhausting time. No wonder so many ex-servicemen suffer PTSD. I knew more than one man under my command was already suffering the effects. It’s all in the eyes, what they call the ‘thousand-yard stare’. Some of the things we saw on patrol, it was the stuff of nightmares. The sort of shit you’d never be able to forget. The enemy was brutal and merciless. They hated us, but the civilians caught in the middle?
We try not to hate the enemy. We still try to see them as human beings. But when we see them blowing up markets and buildings, leaving behind broken bodies and a ground stained with blood… It’s difficult not to hate them just as much in return. We had to remain professional. Cool. Calm. Collected. Do the job, do it well. But, fucking hell, they made it difficult not to just go armed to the teeth, find one of their compounds, and just kill them all.
My outlet was receiving messages from everyone back home. It’s what kept all the men grounded. It reminded us not only why we were there, but that we had people we could go home to. Amy sent an email at least once a day, almost a diary entry of what she and the family were up to, and always ending with how much she missed and loved me. Calling Hannah and Emma was far easier, spending an hour on the phone with them once a week, though we still emailed daily.
Due to the situation on the ground, most of us were physically and psychologically exhausted. So when we received orders that we’d be doing an additional three months in Basra, even the hardest of Royal Marines nearly cracked. We continued to do what we were ordered, but it was simply the situation on the ground. Chow time each evening was quiet, most of us away with our thoughts. Every day, there were the usual patrols, but more and more operations in and around Basra. To say the enemy seemed to be everywhere wasn’t an overstatement.