The fire of our batteries, which, when we came here, was kept up with great spirit, had dwindled away to almost nothing.The work for the English troops was dreadfully hard, and killing the men. Worst of all were the covering parties - wherein large bodies of men marched down every night to the entrenchments and remained there 24 hours; ostensibly to prevent the Russians from entering the batteries and spiking the guns. It was unbearably cold, constantly raining or snowing. Our clothing was so insufficient the men were half dead with cold. Nothing like a fire could be lit, as it would immediately bring the fire of the Russian batteries. Added to this was the thick, sticky mud in the trenches. Nearly a foot deep, we were forced to lay in the muck or risk having a sniper's bullet rip though our heads.We were losing four or five men a day by what was commonly put down in the 'returns' as cholera, but was actually cramps brought on by lying those long periods in the wet and cold.It got. “I’m embarrassed to tell you my love.”I kissed her mouth again.“I don’t mind. Anything to earn my bob, miss.”Mrs Robertson appeared to have reached a decision. Removing her hand from my panties she stood over me in her heels, hands on hips. I wanted desperately to savour her cunt, to taste her, to drink her hot piss and have it gush all over my uniform, but I was to be disappointed. Mrs Robertson leaned forward and kissed me again.“Wait here a moment will you?”She went up the exposed wooden stairs. From the sofa I could see her stocking-tops and shaven cunt and lay with my legs apart and a hand in my knickers, waiting. Finally she cleared her throat.“Come up here a minute, will you?”She sounded nervous. I walked up the stairs, smoothing my uniform, wondering what it was she had in mind. At the top of the stairs I saw her at the entrance to a bathroom and walked towards her. She actually seemed sheepish, shy: so unlike the bossy MILF persona she usually presented when fucking Marnie..
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