Love me when I'm gone
A very short story that I was inspired to write after watching some tribute to the troops videos on youtube while drunk. I don't think it turned out that badly.
The feel of her lips against his was electric. The feel of her fur, her body, her warmth, the life and heat of her, was bliss. He'd been away for so long, fought so hard, bled and hurt and prayed and cried, and now he was with her. There was nothing else in his world but her. The buttons of her blouse protested for only an instant before there came the sound of plastic ricocheting from wood. Her brassier broke easily at his strong touch, and her skirt and panties slid downward just as simply. It had been so long that they were parted, he couldn't wait to be inside of her, yet he reigned in the beast that urged him to mate her immediately, tie her, seed her, breed her. His tongue pulled from between her parted lips to lap at her throat, her collar, her chest, to sweep over the swell of her breasts, to circle her areola, his teeth closing upon her hardened nipples. Slowly downward, ever downward, tracing over the line that split her stomach to the line that divided her legs and marked her as female. He nipped at her clitoris, lips fastening upon it to suckle and tease, his tongue stroking over it with fervent passion and care until her hands held grasped at him and she pleaded for mercy even as she begged for more.
He took her on all fours, as they both preferred. His length slid into her like it belonged there, the width of it causing her to moan and whine, his tip pressing against her cervix with each thrust. He pounded her with the passion and necessity of those who have been without for far too long, driving himself to the brink far more swiftly than he would have liked, but enjoying every second of their joining. His tip pressed tight against the entrance of her womb as he unloaded his masculine essence, and she cried his name as he filled her with his seed. For a time, they lay locked and tied, resting, he atop her back, licking at her scruff, and she below, clenching around the cock inside of her. Then he slipped free and turned her, shifting her onto her back and taking her again, and again, and again throughout the night in ever position they had ever imagined an in every way they had ever dreamed. He was home after so long, the sand washed from his fur, his tidy uniform discarded piecemeal, his leave undefined, but at the least they could have this one night together.
It wasn't until morn that the spell was broken and their company was separated. His hand lingered against her hip as she rose to quell the knocking at the door. Their two-year-old daughter accompanied the female to the entrance of their domicile. She had never known her father, born as he was deployed and seeing her sire not once since, but she would once the door had been answered. That hope was dashed by the uniformed Marine that greeted the elder female, spic and span in blues with papers in hand. He was brave, the male told her. He was courageous. He was a hero. But now he is dead. She held the documents clutched to her chest as she raced back to her bed only to find it empty and cold, nary a thing out of place save those she had mussed in her own sleep. But he had been there! He had come home! She knelt and wept and moaned, comforted only by a child who knew not what she had lost, until at last she had only to thank God above for the one last touch she had been given, the last moment of warmth and love he had received, the knowledge that it might help her beloved into his afterlife. Months later, the neighbors talked behind her back and dealt curtly to her face, calling her a harlot and whore and worse, but she knew the truth. The swell of her stomach was not some ill-gotten child born of an extramarital affair whilst her mate was away fighting to save the freedoms they all held dear. No, indeed, it was his last parting gift to her, and she would cherish it as she did their daughter and remember always their last night together.