Conference

Ilsa Kellerman rolled over lazily in the bed. The room was quiet but for the sounds of the shower in the ensuite. The hotel bed was soft, too soft for her. She’d seen too many hotel rooms lately, and she was sick of them. It was better than a grubby camp cot though. Her phone buzzed, and she reached over to check the message.

George: Hi hun, how is the course going?

Ilsa: Good, one week left :)

She fiddled with her wedding band. A pang of guilt flooded her, but she set it aside. None of this mattered anymore. She placed the phone down, and laid back in bed, avoiding the wet spot. She could see the silhouette of Michael showering through the frosted glass window into the ensuite. He didn’t know yet either. Kellerman was confused. At least the affair was simple; she and George got married to quickly, too early. Time apart, two tours in the Middle East, and applying to the space program had jammed a wedge deep into their relationship.

“Such is life in the Bundeswehr,” she said to nobody. The recruiting ads never said a thing about the profound loneliness, the fear, and the regrets. Her phone buzzed again.

George: Heard anything about Mars?

Ilsa: No

Lying to him about Mars made her feel more guilty than the affair. He was a good man, maybe even a good husband. As far as she knew, the cheating was one sided. He did his best, worked hard while Ilsa was gone, which was most of the time. She heard the shower turned off.

George: Keep me posted. Very proud of you regardless of what they say.

“George bugging you,” asked Stephen, emerging from the bathroom. Kellerman watched him towel himself off. The Dane was a big man, tall, broad shouldered, blonde, tattooed and hairy, he looked like a Viking.

“No,” she said, putting the phone down. He walked over to the bedside table and picked up his phone.

“Lort.”

“What’s wrong,” asked Kellerman, rolling over to talk to him.

“Nothing uh, family stuff. Wife invited the in-laws are from Copenhagen next month.” He gave her butt a firm squeeze while he was texting. His cock was less than a foot from her face, and she thought about reaching out, but stopped; something about doing that when he was texting his wife made her feel uncomfortable, guilty even. This doesn’t matter, she told herself. Soon, none of this will matter.

Kellerman didn’t know Stephen that well. The big medic, her counterpart in the Danish Army, was on the same trauma course she was when they met. The two shared a lot of the same experiences, the wars in the Middle East, the wounded men, and coming home to life having gone on without you. He spoke English, Danish and German, but besides that, he spoke her language.

“Now I see why you always go for your runs,” he said, smirking, his hand still squeezing her ass.

“You should come with me on the next one,” she said, smiling, knowing, there wouldn’t be a next one. Not here, not with Stephen.

“Haha, no. This is, not for me.”

Stephen went back to texting, and Kellerman picked up her phone to message to George.

Ilsa: …

She tried to type something out about the course and deleted it. Then something about her return home, then deleted it. She left the message on read and put her phone down. There was a time that communication was easy, before the wars, the trauma, the long months away. Now? What could she say that hadn’t been said or was a lie? Stephen wasn’t her first affair, and by his actions, Kellerman didn’t think she was his first either. He seemed practiced at, or at least causal about infidelity.

“Fuck,” he murmured, dumping his phone on the bedside table and sitting on the side of the bed. “She doesn’t understand anything.” Kellerman nodded along, letting him vent. “I’m losing my mind Ilsa. I can’t be everywhere at once and do everything. She’s gone as much as me,” he gestured to his bedroom, “and yet, any problems are my fault for being inflexible.”

“She’s with her parents?”

“Ja, with the kids. They decided to visit them in the one week I am actually home. Just like Lebanon all over again.” Kellerman didn’t want to hear more and hastened to change the subject.

“How was Lebanon? I missed that Hell; I was in Suez at the time.”

“It’s where I got this,” he said, standing and turning to show her a circular scar on his back, so it was shit.”

“I got this in Suez,” she said, rolling over and sitting up in the bed to show him a scar on her thigh. “Shrapnel from a mortar. Caught us in the open.” His hand slid up the curve of her thigh, his rough fingers running along the pink scar. She felt connected to him by their shared history. Even if they experienced it separately, the nightmare of the wars, the time spent in hospital recovering, time spent laying awake in bed, and the people back home not understanding a damn thing, she knew he of all people understood her. Visions of horror flashed before her. The screams, the pieces of torn flesh, the feeling of failure. All she could hear was a woman screaming. She had tried to stand, to treat her wounded comrades, but fell. She then realized she was the one screaming. She remembered looking down to see her arid Flektarn uniform turning crimson red as blood gushed from her leg.

“Ilsa!”

She snapped back to reality. Stephen was rubbing her back. He reached over to her and wiped the tear that was running down her cheek. She didn’t know she was crying until he’d done that.

“Sorry I was… far away.”

“In Suez?”

“Ja.”

The affairs had started after Suez. Once she’d recovered, the Army had her right back in training for her next deployment. She felt dead inside, and the sex made her feel alive again. The pangs of guilt bothered her, but they were eclipsed by the guilt she felt remembering her squad, dead and wounded around her, and she couldn’t do a damn thing to help them.

“I’m sorry I brought it up Ilsa. Do you need anything,” he asked, concern in his voice.

“I… no, I am fine Stephen,” she said, lying to herself as much as to him. She knew if one of the troops in her platoon was acting like she was, she’d send them to the Mental Health clinic. “A distraction perhaps.” He rubbed her leg, his big rough fingers traced over the long angry scar on her thigh. It tickled. She sat up next to him on the bed and put her arm around his shoulders.

“You’re very beautiful Ilsa,” he said, admiring her. She sat as tall as he did on the bed, she stood over 6’, tall and lithe. “Is this another scar?” His hand found the little pink scar above her left clavicle. She nodded.

“It punched through my armour at the same time as that one,” she said. She lifted her hand to his and held it in hers for a moment against her chest, before sliding it down to her left breast.

“So sexy,” he grunted, tweaking her nipple.

“Not too small,” she asked, feeling herself getting aroused to his touch.

“God, no,” he said, “they’re perfect,” he whispered as he leaned over her and sucked her right nipple into his mouth, making a pleasure filled sigh escape her lips.

“Tell me more,” she whispered into his ear.

“Your body is perfect,” he said, holding her shoulders and guiding her to lay down in the bed. He leaned over her and kissed her deeply. As their tongues intertwined, she reached under the towel wrapped around his waist. His cock was hard under it, and she rubbed his shaft softly while he kissed her.

“Ready for round two already,” she purred.

“How can I not be,” he said hoarsely, kissing his way down her collarbone. Your tits, they’re perfect,” he said as he slid down to her chest, licking and sucking each nipple in turn. His five-o’clock shadow on her areolas tickled, and she sighed with lust. “Your body is so slim, and fit, and strong,” he said, kissing his way down her muscular abdomen.

“Mhmmm,” she sighed, “what else?” He kissed his way down to her pussy, kissing around it and down her thigh.

“Your legs are smooth, and so sexy,” he purred. He arrived at her scar and kissed ever so gently around it. “Your scars aren’t flaws Ilsa,” he continued, kissing is way back up her inner thigh, opening her legs with his attentions, “they’re you, they’re your history, your life, and they make you the beautiful woman you are.” Kellerman’s heart was racing in her chest. She wasn’t thinking about anything but his touch, and where she wanted him to go.

“Your pussy is smooth, and wet, and tight,” he whispered. She shivered with anticipation feeling his breath on her. “And tasty.” He started licking her slowly, tracing the outside of her lips with his tongue, his tongue teasing her clit a little, before going back around her. “You’re already so nice at wet for me,” he whispered, while he slid his index finger around her pussy. He slid it slowly inside her, making her moan loudly when he found her G-spot. “Sooo tight,” he whispered huskily before putting his head down and starting to lick her clit.

“Ohhh shit, ohh fuck,” she gasped, her hands running through his blonde hair. She started to gyrate her hips against his licking, moaning softly. His licks were slow and rhythmic, using the flat of his tongue to lick from her entrance up to her clit, lingering for a moment, then back down, all the while his finger slid slowly in and out of her.

“That’s it right there, ooooh,” she gasped, feeling an orgasm building. He picked up the pace, reacting to her moans. “You’re going to, ahhh, make m-me cum Stephen.” Ramona tilted her head back as she screamed with pleasure, and her back lifted off the bed. Stephen’s licking never stopped or even slowed as she held his face on her pussy, and she felt herself gush on his eager face. He didn’t stop until she’d cum twice in quick succession. When he finally did stop, he sat up on his knees, licking his lips.

“You taste so good baby,” he gasped, as Kellerman sat up, got on her hands and knees and took his cock in straight into her mouth, “ooohhh fuck yes.” His cock was hard and hot in her mouth. She bobbed on him, taking his shaft deep each time, then almost out with a sultry slurp. Each time she took him deep, he groaned with pleasure. She could taste his excitement, the salty taste of his pre-cum. He moaned, thrusting a little into her throat, and she thought about finishing him like that, thinking about the taste and feeling of his hot load sliding down her throat. Not yet, she thought, and slowly withdrew his throbbing cock from her mouth. A trail of saliva hung off his thick cock. She turned around on her hands and knees, presenting her ass to him.

“Fuck me baby,” she moaned, “fuck me Stephen, fuck meee.” He grabbed her hips roughly, giving her ass a smack, then, with his hand on her hip, she could feel that he was guiding his cock to her entrance with the other. “Aaa fuck,” she screamed as he slid deep inside her and started ramming himself into her fast and hard. His balls slapped against her clit and she let out a pleasureful “aaahh” with each rough thrust.

“Fuckfuck AAAaaaa,” she screamed, cumming hard and gushing all over the cock buried inside her. He pounded her relentlessly, his hands dug in hard to her hips.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna cum baby, I’m gonna cum,” gasped Stephen, slowing momentarily.

“Cum on my tits baby, cover me!” Stephen pulled out and she rolled over and laid on the bed, squeezing her tits together. Stephen knelt next to her, stroking his cock.

“Ughhh fuuuuck,” he half roared, half groaned. Spurt after spurt of cum shot all over and between her tits.

“Yesyesyes,” she cried out, rubbing her clit feverishly, relishing the feeling of Stephen’s hot load hitting her. He knelt there, stroking the last of his cum out onto her tits while she came again with her fingers.

“That was so fucking good,” gasped Stephen as he collapsed into the bed, gasping. They laid in the contented silence of afterglow, their chests heaving. Ribbons of cum dripped down Ramona’s breasts, belly and all over the sheets. Her legs were soaked with her pleasure.

“I’m going to Mars,” Kellerman blurted out.