Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Coercion, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Historical, MaleDom, Spanking, Light Bond, Humiliation, Safe Sex, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Doctor/Nurse, Foot Fetish, Clergy, Violent, Military, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The time is 1941. The place is England. The main character is Honey Weston. A female with posh roots and base instincts. A family history of German connections and petty criminal activities. Honey is ready to take the stage with her mixture of class and crude. She wants to be good but can't help being bad.

(The Need to Know)

Honey was not the type of female that made a fuss over little details. She was level-headed and tended to keep her mouth shut when she didn't know the right answer. Unfortunately, her now deceased husband Donald was a bit of a blabbermouth and the knowledge of that weakness of character caused his early departure from earthly existence.

Honey's maiden name was Weston and she was a bit of a class-act if the truth be known. Her family had been well known in their rural locale for several generations and they had been both rich and poor depending on the vagaries of economic circumstance. Her already buried spouse Corporal Donald Peabody was more common than most and the amiable fellow was never known to have missed an opportunity to lift a pint. She worked at the War Office in the spring of 1941 and minded her own business in matters of classified importance and personal affairs. Unfortunately the Weston's had a little discussed German wing of the family and she was denied clearance beyond the Secret level already assigned to her by her title and position. It didn't help her case when her husband Donald was involved in some sort of dodgy scam involving counterfeit coupons for food supplies and petrol. His death was attributed to "suspicious" circumstances and nothing was ever begun to investigate the cause. Her inquiries at the local police station and even friends of her Brigadier Uncle were to no avail and they all advised her to keep a low profile until the whole thing died down.

Honey Weston was a bit of a looker, although she tried her best to hide her generous breasts and delectable taut buttocks under shockingly plain and concealing garments that were better suited to females in the "cow" category rather than a "hot number".

Her landlord, Mr. Diddlebum, blatantly disregarded the privacy of her recent bereavement and repeatedly attempted to chat her up in odd corners and to draw her into a private relationship of unspecified illicit description behind the closed door of her tiny apartment. Fortunately, his observant spouse put a quick halt to it even though she couldn't see what her Horace could possibly find attractive in the plainly dressed widow in black.

As fate would have it, Honey was one of those fortunate people with the ability to grasp fluent usage of more than one language. She was comfortable in both French and German in addition to her mother tongue English. Her French accent was actually imperfect to a native born French speaking person but the consensus of opinion was that she was a native German raised in that area of contention between the two countries in a place that caused no paucity of friction even in normal conversation. No hint of her English roots was evident in either language.

It was her collateral duty at the War Office to translate certain documents for the benefit of various unnamed agencies that used them for unspecified purposes. It was in that capacity that she came to the attention of Sir Harold Knightly and his little band of fellow travelers who stayed far away from any sort of notoriety or recognition by the Whitehall faithful.

The recent loss of a spouse and her difficulties in securing sufficiently high clearance for even middle management positions caused Sir Harold to approach her under the guise of "borrowing" her services for a project requiring both extensive French and German translations on short notice. They already had a team of both French and German native speakers but they were often prudently precluded from access to such classified material due to a distinct lack of trust.

Sir Harold called Honey into his private study at an office located strategically close to the War Office and questioned her at length about her attitudes and objectives in working for the government in these trying times.

"Mrs. Weston. May I call you Mrs. Weston? I see you have chosen to use your maiden name once again. My name is Knightly. Please don't use "Sir" or "Commander" it is far too formal for our close little group. Your supervisor, Captain Whitechapel has graciously loaned you to us for our study group. I do hope it is not an inconvenience to you. We will be traveling to Scotland often to visit our field group and you might be asked to stay overnight on our little excursions. Will that present any difficulties for you?"

The sly Sir Harold was reasonably certain it would not present any difficulties for the rudderless female without a male at home to demand her full attention and detract from her work performance.

"No, not in the least, Sir ... excuse me ... Mr. Knightly. I tend to not have a schedule these days and am available at odd hours when needed."

The Commander looked at the file on his desk and asked in a confidential tone of voice,

"That nasty business with your deceased spouse seems to have died down now. I expect you were vexed to the limit by all that contrived innuendo?"

A look of pain crossed Honey's eyes. She had never suspected for a minute her husband had turned to such disreputable devices. His notebook and journal informed her that most of his illegal activities were strictly to enrich a young woman called "Polly Peacock" who sold her services by the hour. The shame of having shared a life with a person who put personal illicit pleasure above proper behavior stung her pride but she was determined to put it all behind her and keep her options open for whatever opportunity arose in the future.

"In all honesty, Mr. Knightly, it saddens me to admit I am somewhat at fault for not being fully cognizant of my husband's dreadful schemes. I was surprised at his success in making money so quickly, but I just assumed it was his clever mind at work."

He surprised her by handing her a briefcase filled with various forms and credentials.

"This will be your packet. You are being promoted to special assistant to the Director. That's me. Your clearances are on the card in file Alpha. Only you and I and one other group member will have that level of clearance. His name is Dicky and he is in charge of the field group near Loch Ness. Please read the Official Secrets Act reminder and sign the yellow card for the file. I am afraid you have to go to the medical section now for a full check-up. I hope you have no problems in stripping off for the Medical Examiner. He is quite a nice chap. Must be eighty, if he's a day."

Honey was a little bit fearful but it did make sense of a sort because these were perilous times and things moved at an accelerated pace for this kind of business. She was not afraid of showing her naked body to a strange Doctor and she wondered if there would be any funny business with trick peep holes and the like just to see what she looked like underneath her formless clothing. For some strange reason, that actually made her feel good inside like she was going to a performance starring herself for an unknown audience for reasons not yet fully clear.

She stood on the platform with her legs spread wide just as the Doctor ordered. Her nipples were sticking out fully aroused but it was more from the cold air than from any arousal of a perverted nature. When the Doctor who looked closer to ninety than to eighty told her to "bend over" she hesitated but only for a fleeting moment because she suspected the Commander and other unknown parties were watching her every move and studying her reactions to the instructions.

The Doctor was doing a digital inspection of her rectal cavity and inside her feminine sexual channel looking for God knows what, albeit with a respectful and gentle nature. She even giggled at the cold touch of his glove encased fingers thinking that this was the most action she had gotten ever since her Donald staggered home from the pub the night before his unexpected demise.

Then she was told to squat and thrust her legs out with full extension to the rear for as long as she could keep it up without stopping. It was a difficult exercise, but she was in excellent condition having continued to run each and every morning for at least five kilometers around the almost deserted park just across the alley from her residence. She just let her mind go blank and before she knew it, she was up to the fifty-eighth repetition and the Doctor told her to stop at sixty. She was not quite certain if she had passed or failed that particular part of the examination. Honey could see in the mirror that her backside was sweating with the exertion now and that little drops were falling off her nicely curved buttocks right onto the paper sheet on top of the examination table.

"All right, dear, turn over onto your tummy."

The Doctor's voice cut through her musings and caused her to blush because she was certain other eyes were watching her performance. She pressed her neglected mound down into the tabletop and tried not to tremble when the Doctor checked her female equipment for strength and durability. It seemed an odd examination for a mere translator and communication person.

After the examination was complete, she was taken to the processing office in the basement and given a complete wardrobe of civilian and military clothing right down to the undies which were functional and conservative in their design. She saw that the Officer's uniform was of a Guard's unit identifying her as a Junior Lieutenant. She thought of her father who was a full Colonel in the last war and how she had been in awe of the uniforms he and his friends wore with ease and comfort. It seemed odd to her that now she, a female, would be wearing a uniform like she was pretending to be some type of soldier with hidden military skills.

The instructions from Sir Knightly were that she would wear the uniform whenever they were in a military mode on bases and in other situations, but that she really was not in the service other than her agreement to the Official Secrets contract. She could not help but think maybe she should have read the "small print" a little bit closer when she had been given the opportunity.

They all made a quick trip up to Scotland that weekend.

The Commander, Honey, and two other young men with eyeglasses and bulges at their waist that most certainly was not excess weight filled the compartment. The two young men made no attempt to engage either of them in conversation and she saw that the Commander preferred it that way. When she found it necessary to make for the comfort station, it was a shock to have the younger man follow her and check out the WC before she entered. She wondered for a moment if he would just stand there and watch her drop her knickers and piddle in front of him. She had to go so badly, that it would not have stopped her despite her normally shy nature with such things even in front of her disinterested husband.

The field section headquarters was actually a large estate expropriated by the government after failure to pay the proper taxes by the now deceased owner. It possessed several nice cottages in addition to a main building that had two distinct wings of a dozen or so bedrooms each. There was rather a full house in residence at the field section with the gender breakdown about fifty-fifty. It served to put her mind at ease with the anticipated possibility of being the only female in a male-dominated organization.

The Commander warned her to keep to herself because she would be part of the supervisory staff and should not mingle with the "team".

One of the young men totally disregarded her aloof attitude and managed to corner her in the pantry before breakfast the following morning.

"I see you are not one of us. My name is Karl and I think you are a fine looking woman. Is there any chance to taste your sweet lips in private? I will be sure to be very discreet."

Honey had to giggle because the young man came across as quite sincere and in earnest.

"Karl, I am not supposed to talk to you or any of the others, but they didn't tell me to not kiss you if you were in such a mood in private."

He closed the distance between them in a split second and his tongue was dancing across her lips like a spirited race-horse heading to the finish-line. She just opened her mouth wide and allowed him to savor her wet insides to his satisfaction and found that she quite enjoyed the entire episode. They were both a little out of breath at the end but separated knowing further action would be far too dangerous. When they sat at the breakfast table they both acted like they had no interest in each other asking only to "pass the toast".

She was introduced as "Lieutenant Weston" and that she was there merely for familiarization and monitoring purposes. That seemed to mollify most of the field "people" who were noticeably egotistical and suspicious of any outsiders.

Honey noticed that some of the others tried to shield their comments and conversation by falling into German or French and sometimes even a language that sounded suspiciously like Russian. Her Russian was only school-taught and limited to a common vocabulary. Anyway, it was obvious that her Russian language skills were rudimentary at best and she had a severe handicap because she was taught the pure school-taught language and the field people using it were using some sort of "slang" that slurred the words enough to make it entirely unintelligible. She had to be satisfied that her knowledge of German and French allowed her to understand every word spoken in those languages. The Commander had already warned her to keep her language skills a secret and that he would explain later.

It all sounded very mysterious to her but it added a sparkle to her eyes that was not in the least bit unattractive.

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