Now here's a story you're going to love. Fact meets fiction...read on my friends....
Over to Raven McAllan...
I never thought, as a child and
asking my mum, dad, gran (known as nan) and aunts to ‘tell me a story about the
war’, that all these years later, I’d still remember those stories and use them
as the basis for a book.
I’m so glad I did.
When I first had the idea for Bombers
Moon, I just knew it would be set in Northamptonshire, where my mum as a teen
was evacuated to, with her employment.
As much as the idea of a book set
in London, in the blitz intrigued me, all mum ever said was ‘it was scary noisy
and as your granddad worked for the railways we got out own railway employees
and families tube station to hide in’.
Then I remembered the tales of Northamptonshire.
Of being locked out, getting stuck up a wall, although not knickerless—well I
don’t think so wink. How they
used charcoal or gravy browning to put ‘stocking seams’ up their legs, and
bought wooden clogs and clacked around the draught old stone-floored manor
house they lived and worked in. The older ladies who worked with them, got so
sick of the racket, they clubbed together and bought my mum and her friend a
pair of slippers each.
My aunt
went out with a yank (as all American service men evidently were called) another
relative fell off her bike and was rescued by a farmer and evidently mum did
dance with the local lord of the manor.
Thus,
Bombers Moon was born.
Who gets caught by the man of
her dreams bare-assed and halfway up a wall? Lady Chrissie Stride, of
course.
It’s just her luck that she encounters Baronet
Archie Duggan. On top of that, the house her London employers requisitioned to
keep its staff safe from The Blitz is locked. Climbing the wall seemed like a
good idea, until Archie turns up. At least he doesn’t seem to know it's
her.
Archie recognizes Chrissie almost immediately.
He never expected to meet her again in deepest Northamptonshire. This time
around he is determined to claim the woman he loved and lost. With the war on,
priorities change, and love is too important to conform to niceties.
Will the star-crossed lovers finally find their
happily ever after?
a wee tease…
Chrissie gulped. He was big—everywhere. She looked downward, her
vision drawn to his long thick cock, which stood out proudly from its nest of
hair. She averted her eyes from the crisscross of scars on his leg and arm.
Those she understood, he neither wanted to think or talk about just then.
And
that’s going to fit in my daffodil? The euphemism used by so many of her friends seemed silly now,
but there was no way she could use the words she heard bandied about so freely
in the pub or by the older women at work.
Honey
pot! That’s it. Merle’s expression came to her. My honey pot! Or Pussy. Okay I can live with that, but…cu… She
couldn’t even think the word.
She looked at his body with frank regard. Who knew if she’d ever
get a chance to see him like this again? Out of the corner of her eyes she saw
the scars on his leg and arm were still red, angry-looking and pronounced. She
bit her lips to stop her moan escaping and held back tears. It was hard not to
cry for all he and thousands of others had been through and were still going through. But yet again,
her eyes were drawn in one direction. His massive erection stood out stiff and
proud. Chrissie gulped, her earlier fears resurfacing. That would really fit inside her? Oh, my.
Archie correctly read her expression. “Not only fit, but a perfect fit,” he assured her. “With room
to move. Come and lie down here.” He walked to the bed and rolled back the
sheet and blankets before kneeling awkwardly in front of her. “Hold on a sec,
something needs doing first.”
It was on the tip of Chrissie’s tongue to tell him she’d do it,
whatever it was, when it hit her that he didn’t want help or sympathy. He
wanted to woo her. Her insides turned to mush. How perfect.
“Think we’ll have these off as well. Can’t ruin nylons, can we?”
He rolled them down before putting one hand behind her, unhooking her
brassiere, and putting the clothing on a chair. The pressure that moving the
straps down had put on her chest immediately lifted, as Archie ran his thumbs
over the swell of her breasts, and chuckled.
“God almighty, Chrissie you are so bloody receptive for a virgin.
It’s marvelous. I’m going to enjoy showing you what we can do together.” He
pinched each nipple in turn and kissed the nape of her neck as he kneaded her
breasts.
She could tell he’d had plenty of practice. Her pussy clenched at
the unwelcome thought of him doing all these things with someone else.
Grow up.
He’s almost thirty, and there’s a war on.
“Now, let me see. What have we here?” Once again he kissed one
nipple, then the other. “Time to itemize I think. Two breasts perfect to fit my
hands. Two nipples to suckle.” He moved his hands to let his fingers play with
her clitoris, teasing her hairs, and her navel. “One cunt all for me.”
Chrissie blushed. Why could he say that with such insouciance and
she not even think it? It must be a man thing. However, emboldened, Chrissie
licked her lips, heard him groan and then reached out to touch Archie’s
manhood. His skin was warm and soft and he jolted and moaned as she feathered
her fingers over him. One step further than she’d ever taken. Only once had she
dared rub him through his trousers, and his groan had her moving her hand in a
hurry.
She mimicked his movements, kissed his nipples, and then,
heartened by his response, bent double to put the tip of his penis in her mouth
and taste the juices there. They were salty and thick. Chrissie rolled them
over her tongue as she remembered a leaflet one of the girls at school found in
her brother’s room and brought to class to show them. Crudely written and badly
produced, the drawings had them all giggling and blushing for weeks. She
wondered just how many of her peers had tried what it suggested. Chrissie moved
and circled Archie’s tip with her tongue again.
I could
get used to this. The more I do this, the bigger he gets. A thought crossed her
mind. Would he get too big for her? It wasn’t a question she felt she could
ask.
Archie groaned, and she tried to pull back, scared she was doing
something wrong. “Hell, Chrissie, that’s so damned good, I’ll come,” he said in
a strangled tone. “For the Lord’s sake, get onto the bed and give me a chance
to get inside you.” He moved over her, his tip barely touching her curls.
“Archie, what if I don’t want to, you know…” She didn’t know how
to put her fears into words, and flapped her and in the air like a demented owl
flapping its wing. It was lucky he understood her incoherent beseeching.
“No problem, darling. I’ll come like a gentleman.” He indicated
the towel laid in readiness beside him. And moved again, nearer and nearer, and
waited. “Yes?”
Chrissie held her breath. This was it. “Oh yes.”
His cock twitched, and without conscious thought, Chrissie opened
her legs wide, ready to welcome him. This was it. Soon she, Chrissie Stride,
would no longer be sweet and innocent but a woman of the world.
There was a loud hammering on the farmhouse door.
“What the bloody hell?” Archie stopped mid movement. His position
looked precarious as he kneeled half on and half off her.
A voice, gruff and urgent, was shouting.
“Mr. Archie, Mr. Archie. Come quick. The rick’s on fire!”
Saved by
the bell, she thought hysterically as she watched Archie scramble into his
clothes, his cock being most reluctant to be treated in such a way. Not that
she’d wanted saving. In fact, she felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t right. She’d at
least climaxed. Goodness knows how Archie felt, still unreleased so to speak.
As my mum
would have said I hope it tickles your fancy,
Happy
reading,
Love R x
