Conway was already shaking his head. “We do get freighters through here, but I don’t know the name. The sutler might, however. His name is Skinflint Wilson. You could have a talk with him. He’s a civilian, of course.’’ Conway looked at the ash on the end of his cigar, then tapped it carefully into the ashtray on his desk. “Might I ask what you intend to do, once you find this person?”
“Don’t worry, Captain. I have no intention of killing the son of a bitch. I simply expect to become his father- in-law.”
“And your daughter Julie?”
“She will continue to be my daughter.”
At the precise instant that the delegate for Wyoming uttered those words about his daughter, the lady in question was lying in her bed half awake, dreaming of the night before, when she was lying on her back with her legs wrapped around First Lieutenant Matthew Kincaid, as they dissolved into an exquisite climax.
She could still feel his marvelous body lying on top of her, perspiring slightly, his hands caressing her rigid nipples, while her own fingers continued to squeeze his balls, emptying them totally.
They had arrived at this happy juncture in their lives following a late-evening promenade about the post. Matt Kincaid had been dutifully following his commanding officer’s orders—good soldier that he was—to show Miss Thatcher the salient features of Outpost Number Nine.
As the moon had risen, it seemed only to be expected that their thoughts would turn to matters other than the military, and forthwith the dutiful soldier, eager to follow his CO’s orders to the very letter, had whisked the lady into his bachelor quarters where, without the slightest
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hesitation, she had stripped off her clothes.
Following their initial consummation, they had lain on his bed, still locked in their delightful, totally relaxed embrace. Idly he had started to run his fingers along her belly, then moving up tantalizingly to her firm, full breasts, stroking each nipple in turn, and now bending down to bite them gently into a fantastic rigidity.
“If you keep that up, Lieutenant, you’ll have to pay the consequences,” she had whispered into his ear.
“My pleasure, Miss Thatcher,” he had replied. What a gentleman!
His shaft had stiffened as she continued to play with his balls, and now he was again rigid inside her.
She reached her fingers around its base and said, “I want him in my mouth this time.”
“Glad to oblige,” he said, withdrawing from her. And then she had slipped down and was licking him, running her tongue around the sensitive head of his erection. Meanwhile, he had plunged his middle finger into her as far as it would go, wiggling it, driving her into a marvelous undulation.
Now she began to suck in long, soaking strokes, as her fist also pumped him. Her sucking grew faster as her fingers returned to his balls. She had just about brought him to his climax when she slowed and, releasing him, gasped, “Please, from behind this time.”
And he was on her, driving into her from the rear, her buttocks high in the air as he rode her across the bed, and then they were on the floor.
Now, reliving the delicious scene as she lay in her own bed, Julie Thatcher put her hand down between her legs, and wished fervently that Matt Kincaid was there with her.
Meanwhile, in Captain Conway’s office, Hawes Thatcher was relighting his cigar. “I’d better be getting