Admiral's Wives
Many who served in the navy know that the wives of ordinary officers and career servicemen show considerable curiosity about the topic of admirals' wives. It is known that this is a rather closed circle of communication for these women, not extending beyond the established boundaries for them. Therefore, few people know even in the smallest garrison how the families of high command live, who they befriend and socialize with. Everyone knows that admirals' wives have always been considered among the elite women who live by the principle; "What is due to queens is not accessible to the plebs." So the "plebs" always tried to lift this secret veil a little and condemn the masters, at least in the form of garrison gossip.
And no women's councils or other contrived forms of public activity for women in closed garrisons, invented by the leadership, were an obstacle to the declaration: "And our admiral's wife and..." — the judgment of the high command went awry and askew. Listeners willingly agreed, nodded approvingly, and during the outpouring, added their own long-nurtured, sharp epithets."Is it really true that she sleeps with the adjutant?" asked the second, seemingly distrustful person, trying to hear more substantial compromising material about her former friend.
"Oh, you! Naive soul! If only she just slept," the storyteller heated up.
"What else then?"
"Well, her lover is not only fucking her nanny, but is already making advances to her eighteen-year-old daughter."
"Get out of here! I don't believe it. My daughter has been friends with her Svetka since the third grade. And she only says good things about Svetochka..."
"And you think they're going to ring the bells about their daughter's sins? Here you go!" — the gossip showed a fig, — "suck on that."
And then an elderly woman, the wife of Midshipman Anokhin, serving in the garrison hospital, intervened in the conversation.
"There are no ideal people! We all have sins hidden away..."
"You don't want to say how your husband rubs our admiral's wife's back in the sauna, do you?" flared up the gossip, who, as they say, knows everything about everyone in our garrison...
The gossip fell silent and turned away offended...
"Well, what's wrong, Lyus? Are you offended?" asked the elderly woman.
"What's there to tell, Maria Vasilievna. You won't believe it anyway. Maybe you'll tell us how your husband, the best serviceman in the garrison, drives fresh meat from the garrison refrigerator to our admiral's wife at night?"
The admiral's wife told her husband about this miracle when he, reluctantly, was inserting his modest member, tired from meetings and reprimands, into her hot body, and she was planning to bounce on him that memorable night. She was significantly younger than his second wife, but they had no children, and the admiral's wife dreamed of a son — an heir to the admiral's traditions in their family, closed off from the whole world.
"Found a miracle? Some Sherlock Holmes we have here!" he grumbled and impaled her deeper onto himself. He knew that when his member was "There," sex was inevitable.
"And yours is standing better today than last time," the wife giggled. "Admit it, who got you all fired up in the bathhouse today?"
"The truth or what?" he slapped her palm on her firm buttock.
"Well, you're such a bitch, Lyudka! Who did you learn such fucking from at your thirty years old?"
"And you don't like it? Maybe I should lie on you like a log, my admiral?"
"What are you saying, girl! Continue like this always and everywhere..."
"And with others too?" the wife decided to tease him.
"With others? I'll find out, I'll kill you!" he always exclaimed, but she let this constant threat go in one ear and out the other, knowing that even her infidelity would go unpunished, as she was sure that another woman, especially from the plebs, was unlikely to satisfy this intelligent but already worn-out man, like his old long coat hanging in the closet, tailored back in that distant time from cloth received for sewing an overcoat when he was still a senior lieutenant. How could she know that this man, wise with life experience, would start a love affair with the new owner of the admiral's sauna, the wife of Midshipman Seliverstov and the number one gossip in the garrison. When he washed at her place, and she lay on him and, without taking his member out of herself, kept chirping new garrison information into his ear; who with whom, where and when was making love from among his inner circle. It was on her recommendation that he transferred her husband to the refrigerator, where shortages immediately stopped. And he once asked her about it:
"Tell me, Lyusya. How does your husband make ends meet at the refrigerator?"
"Eh?! Darling! You have to know how to work..."
"Still?"
"Okay. But give your word as an admiral that you won't punish him for it! Do you give it?"
"I give it! As long as it's not a crime..."
"The crimes were before him. And he acts strictly according to the law..."
"And how is that?"
"Do you know what meat glazing is?"
"No. What is it?"
"It's coating the meat hanging in the refrigerated hall with a thin crust of ice. So it doesn't freeze-dry, doesn't lose its moisture, otherwise it turns into a board. However, this process is described in the instructions for storing meat in refrigerated chambers and halls. So he coats them, but not with a thin crust, but a bit thicker."
"And how does he do it?"
"He has a device. Got it from the chemists. A sprayer. And before issuing it a day before, he is supposed to defrost this meat according to the instructions and issue it to the recipient without ice. But he issues it with ice, saying: 'Issuing fresh stuff. Just took it off the hook.' On the scales, the meat weighs more than thawed meat, but this is enough to cover any shortage. Within reasonable limits, of course. And everyone is happy. By the end of each week, he ends up with a cow carcass and a couple of pigs in savings, not to mention poultry."
"Your Seliverstov is a genius. And who would have thought of such a thing?!"
"You have to read the instructions. Learning is light!"
"And the ignorant are darkness!" the admiral finished and convulsed in the throes of sex.
Aza Maksimovna Lisyanskaya, a master hairdresser for women's hairstyles in the garrison barbershop, suffered especially on the eve of holidays or family celebrations. Then Sodom and Gomorrah settled into their barbershop. Many women of the garrison rushed to her with requests for a particularly fashionable modern hairstyle, emphasizing the individuality of each garrison beauty, but the female contingent from the families of the high command especially stood out with their strict demands. So the young, thirty-year-old school director, who was also the wife of the admiral-chief of staff of the combined forces, demanded a hairstyle not only on her head but also on her intimate place. Everything had to be shaved except for a hair groove right along the very "Scar," as she wisely put it.
"What do you need such chic for?" smiled Aza Maksimovna, seating the visitor in the gynecological chair she had begged from the chief doctor
of the hospital, allowing him to measure the depth of her vagina right in that chair. The doctor, who considered himself a modern man, "without complexes," gladly fucked her right in that chair to test the gift.
"I need this groove to mark the scar, so my gentleman doesn't miss and inserts it into the right hole," answered the admiral's wife, smiling shyly.
"Can there really be misses?" Aza Maksimovna smiled mysteriously, soaping the admiral's wife's perineum.
"Oh! You probably don't know our menfolk well, especially among the young officers. Our valiant husbands manage to mess with their heads so much with all sorts of stupid assignments at work that those, lying in bed with a beautiful, intelligent woman, sometimes can't figure out our holes. One tried so hard that he got me not there, but there, well, you understand, where?"
"Uh-huh!" answered Aza Maksimovna, "mine also often confused it in his youth, especially after another one of their boys' nights, and then I was told that among this cohort of officers, who often rot on autonomous missions, this is a fairly common phenomenon. They get so numb there that at night they fuck those who have messed up on duty. They say it's a very fashionable hobby among the autonomous guys now. Threw off the yoke, relaxed, and back to the favorite business. Some of them got slapped in the face by their own wives for suggesting this sex technique. But some like it."
"Lord! Well, let's not hide our sins," — Aza Mikhailovna took a razor in her hand and prepared to shave, — "mine loves it too. Says he catches an unusual thrill from this method."
"Dear Aza Maksimovna! I will be indebted to you for life if you allow me to have some fun with him in bed. After all, we are our own people. Aren't we?" — the admiral's wife looked at the hairdresser with a pleading look.
"Oh, come on, dear! What difficulties could there be. Although, lately I've been having a bit of a hard time with money..."
"How much do you need, dearest?" — the admiral's wife opened her purse.
"Well. Like this. Trifles. A rooster for a rooster," the hairdresser smiled jokingly, businesslike hiding the five-thousand-ruble bill extended to her by the admiral's wife's delicate hand.
She carefully shaved the woman's pubic area, and when finished, stuck a finger right into her hole and made several back-and-forth movements. The admiral's wife involuntarily clenched her legs and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
"What, dear, does it hurt?"
"What are you saying, darling? I'm burning with pleasure..."
"Continue?"
"Of course, darling..."
"This will cost you dearly..."
"How much?"
"One piece..."
The admiral's wife quickly opened her purse and immediately handed the hairdresser a thousand rubles. Then, putting a rubber medical glove on her right hand, she performed such masturbation on her shaved "pussy" that the admiral's wife bit her lips until they bled to keep from screaming from an excess of feelings.
When the admiral's wife, staggering, got up from the chair and headed for the door, Aza Maksimovna handed this last offering of a thousand rubles to the young apprentice hairdresser and quietly said; "Run to the store. Tell Stepanovna that I ask for a bottle of vodka."
"Which one?" — the girl winked questioningly.
"Run! She knows. Say; 'As always.'"
When the girl ran off, Aza Maksimovna said:
"Look how she's hopping, the dragonfly! I envy the young. They still have everything ahead. They just have to spread their legs, and the male 'Pepper' is right there, right here. It's only us who already have to drag them into bed with the help of a bottle..."
"Oh! Aza Maksimovna! Don't play poor!" said the hairdresser Zoya, "Look at you, you're still such a catch, you can drag any man into bed, but for us, whatever God provides..."
"It's not very great with men for me. But everything can be organized from start to finish. If only there was a bottle, but better two..." — Aza laughed, showing captivating dimples on her pink cheeks.
"So what more do you need?" asked Zoya.
"Well, feeling up a tender girl in bed and sucking her holes is quite another matter..."
"If you want it so much, then I'm ready!" proudly tossed her mane of black hair, the beauty Zoya.
"You're not joking?"
"What jokes are there. I need money too..."
"For two pieces, you'll lie down?"
"Two and a half and I'm yours all night, dear Aza Maksimovna."
"You — that's an option. I wanted the admiral's wife."
"And I'll bring her too."
"At what time?"
"By 20:00, expect us. We'll be at your place..."
"What if her husband doesn't let her?"
"We'll say that you became free and agreed to a hairstyle at home..."
"Excellent. That's exactly two and a half. Yours will be," promised Aza.
Zoya rushed to kiss her, but Aza dodged:
"Don't waste the depth of feelings for nothing... We have a whole night ahead..."
In the evening, in Aza Maksimovna's apartment, "the smoke stood like a yoke." Our girls had a girls' night. The table was groaning with snacks, in a basket, on ice, a bottle of champagne was cooling. Vodka of the "Prime" brand, 0.7 liters, next to a bottle of wine, were ready for the "death sentence." And so, when the fun was in full swing, her husband unexpectedly came home from duty, having been relieved of it for covering up an AWOL sailor, young sailor Petrov, who regularly lay in bed with the admiral's daughter, precisely that quiet girl who worked as a nurse in the garrison hospital. Nothing happened to the sailor. The girl's mother, smiling sweetly, said; come again, as she knew that her noble girl would never allow sex without a condom, which is hard to even call sex: they just rubbed against each other, experienced an orgasm, and thank you for that. After all, the dear daughter needs to demagnetize at least once a week to avoid nervous breakdowns. Otherwise, every other word is immediately a scream. And for the sailor, it's paradise. Where would he find such an educated and polite girl who even after sex addresses him formally as "you." Well, and the fact that she is regularly fucked by young doctors at work doesn't count: that's the job. Medics. And there's no bad without good: let the girl master this wise science now, because when she gets married it will be too late; her husband will lord it over her, considering her unskilled, and will start running to another queen of sex at night.
And Aza had love with two women at once that night: the admiral's wife and her sex-friend, the hairdresser Zoya. Aza Maksimovna's dream of sucking four holes simultaneously came true. Having drunk, they swore faithful female friendship until the grave.
That's how we live in a closed garrison and, believe me, everything is O, K!