The Welcome Interloper - Chapter 2 - The Arrival free porn video

This is Chapter 2 of this story. If you have not read Chapter 1, “The Blitz & Fond Recollections”, it is recommended you do so.

Set in rural England during WWII, this story traces several years in the life of Ellie, 43, a highly-sexed, retired, female army nurse.

Ellie is living alone while her husband, Phillip, 43, an army infantry officer, is fighting in South Africa. She dearly loves Phillip and misses him terribly. She cannot wait for the war to be over and for him to return home safely.

Meanwhile, Ellie's longings for Phillip and her lustful cravings for love and gratification become so intense and unrelenting they lead her into several affairs, one, in the most extraordinary way possible.

The story is historically accurate. Ellie’s journey is told in the genuine ambiance, language and jargon of the times. The use of vivid, graphic and effective vintage images further enhances what is a compelling and erotic story of how a woman fills the voids created by war, and the adjustments she makes to accommodate her needs and cravings.

Since the story is relatively long, the author has published it in chapters. So, please, check back to read subsequent chapters. The author encourages readers to comment on her story and welcomes constructive criticism.

The Welcome Interloper - Chapter 2 - The Arrival
By Scarlett O’Mara

Phillip and I were both 43. He had been in the army for 21 years and would soon make full colonel, which was his goal. He planned to retire in four years. I retired as an army nurse major at 40 after 20 years service so we could move to the country.

We lived on forty acres, most of it fallow now. I could not possibly maintain the farm as it was before Phillip left, it was just too much for me. Able-bodied help wasn't available. Most all men were in uniform. I kept just the land I needed for my own needs, small patches for wheat, vegetables and fruit, and for grazing. I had sold most of the farm stock except for two horses, and several cows, goats, pigs, chickens and turkeys.

I was able to make bread, crumpets and cakes, can jams, fruit and vegetables, collect fresh eggs and draw fresh milk and cream, and churn butter. The pigs provided bacon, sausage, roasts, chops and oil. Though rationing was in effect, whatever the farm couldn't provide was usually available at the village store 20 km down the road. I made the trip every two weeks by horse and buggy.

Though we had a nice seven-year-old Morris Minor 6 in one of the barns, I did not drive it much due to petrol rationing. I only drove it to London and back and to church on Sundays. The horse and buggy was my local, routine means of transportation.

The loud noise from the BIitz had stopped, but I was not able to fall asleep. I was still somewhat tense and anxious. Visions of Phillip, Catherine and Rebecca flashed through my mind, and all the things we did together.
My fanny was beginning to pulse and felt wet. I reached down and took off my knickers. I ran my fingers up and down my thighs and they tingled all over and I became more aroused.

I was so wet. With my right hand, I put two fingers in my fanny, then three, moving them in and out. It felt so good. With my left hand, I placed my index finger and my ring finger over my clitoris and began massaging it back and forth.

After a few minutes, I reached an erotic rhythm and continued my movements. As orgasm approached, I slowed down,
wanting to prolong the lovely sensations as long as possible. I repeated this several times until I could no longer stand it, awaiting the impending crescendo and ecstasy that was going to occur between my legs. And, then it arrived….

“Oooooohhhhhhhhhhh..!! Oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh..!! Oooooohhhhhhh..!! Aaaaahhhhhhhh…!! Aaaaaahhhhhhh..!! Ooooooohhhhhhhhh...!! Oh! God! Oh! God! Aaaaaahhhhhh..!! Aaaaaaahhhhhh…!! Ooooohhhh..!! Mmmmmm..!! Mmmmmmmm..!! Mmmmmmmmm..!!

The ecstasy was so wonderful, long, deep and satisfying. Through my blurred vision, I could see Phillip’s handsome willy moving rapidly in and out of me, spilling his hot love into my fanny, warming my insides. And, then, I saw Rebecca’s wet, slippery fanny in my mouth as I sucked on her and gave her my love. Slowly, I fell asleep.

A short time later, I was awakened and frightened by an eerie, shrill sound as though an airplane was flying overhead.

The noise was followed by a loud thudding, crashing sound, and clanking of metal rippling through the silence of the night. I jumped out of bed, put on my robe and slippers, rushed out the front door onto the porch.

An odor resembling kerosene or lamp oil was in the air. I looked around the immediate area and could see nothing. Then, in the distance, as a group of clouds moved past the moon, I could see the outline of an airplane in the meadow of what was a cultivated area of the farm, about 50 or 60 meters away.

I raced into the house to get a flashlight, Phillip's field glasses, and my pistol, and went back onto the porch. Using the field glasses, I could see the plane was smoldering slightly, but was not on fire.

The moonlight was now brighter and I could see more clearly. Looking through the field glasses, I saw the aircraft had German markings. The pilot was opening the cockpit hatch and trying to lift himself out. After two unsuccessful attempts, he got his feet over the rail. He, then, fell to the ground and laid there motionless.

I was frightened! I didn't know what to do! Should I help him? Would he harm me or kill me? I couldn't just leave him there, he could die! The humane thing to do was to help him, somehow get him out, tend to him, and hold him until the military arrived to take him prisoner.

All of these thoughts raced through my mind. But, who would come? Our nearest neighbor was 15 km away, and maybe didn't even hear the crash, or doesn't want to get involved. How would the military know about the crash? They were 65 km away shooting at airplanes and making sure citizens were protected from the bombings.

My instincts and training as a nurse took over! I simply could not allow myself to let the pilot lay on the cold ground and probably die. I had to help him! I would never be able to forgive myself if I went out to the plane in the morning and he was dead, knowing I could have possibly saved him!

With my flashlight in one hand and my pistol in the other, I rushed to the airplane. As I got close, the pilot was groaning, so I flashed the light on him, and, looking into the light, he said in clear English, "Please help me! I will not harm you! I am badly injured, my ribs and arms! I am a peaceful man! I will not harm you, please help me! Please do not call the soldiers, please help me!" Then, his head dropped to the side and blood began dripping from his mouth.

I told him, “I will help you, do not to move! I will be back in a few minutes with a horse and work sled!” There was no response. I went to the barn, got our plough horse, attached his harness and the sled and rode back to the plane. The pilot had regained consciousness. I told him to slowly and carefully help me lift him onto the sled.

I told him I was a nurse and was going to care for him. I would not call the soldiers. I told him I had a pistol, and if he tried to harm me I would shoot him. In a strained voice, he said, "Thank you! Thank you! I understand! I will not harm you! I will somehow re-pay you! Thank you and God bless you!" Once he was on the sled, his eyes then closed.

I stopped the horse in front of the porch and dragged him off the sled and up the two steps. Then, I dragged him into the sitting room, leaving him on the floor. I removed his holstered Luger and belt and slid it under the couch. I went and got my first aid kit, water and a large bowl. I placed one of the couch pillows under his head.

I began rinsing and cleaning his face. I put Mercurochrome on his cuts and bruises, on his cheeks, chin and neck. I opened his shirt, exposing several cuts and a gold crucifix. Moving the crucifix from side-to-side, I tended to the cuts. The sight of the crucifix was, indeed, comforting. He was definitely a Christian, probably, a Catholic.

I felt his left arm, moved it up and down and manipulated it to see if it was broken. It was not. It was, however, badly bruised and beginning to swell. The hematoma would only be larger and his arm more swollen in the morning. His right arm was also bruised, but not as bad as he left. I ran my hand up and down his rib cage and could feel an irregularity in two places, both on the right side. He definitely had at least two broken ribs.

Getting some ice and towels, I put cold compresses on both arms and fastened them in place. I lifted his shirt and taped up his rib cage. His forehead was bruised, probably hitting his head on impact. I put a cold pack on his head to soothe any pain. I opened his eyes, and, surprisingly, they appeared normal.

He began to stir, and then opened his eyes. He asked where he was and I told him he was at a farmhouse 65 km outside London. I explained his plane had crashed and that I was a retired army nurse major, and I was taking care of him. He said he remembered, and was deeply thankful for my help. I told him what I had done and asked if he had any other injuries. He said he had a terrible headache and that both of his legs hurt.

I gave him two aspirins and water. I removed his boots and socks and lifted his trouser legs. Both of his ankles and calves were bruised with several surface cuts. I cleaned them, put Mercurochrome on them, and bandaged them. He drank more water and said he could taste blood.

I asked him to open his mouth and discovered his cheeks were cut in three places, and were oozing blood. I mixed up some salt water and had him gargle it several times and spit the water into the bowl. I asked him to help me get him to the couch. He had to rest now. We had done the best for the time being. I got a pillow and two blankets and covered him. I placed a cold compress on his forehead. He fell asleep immediately.

He looked to be in his middle thirties, well built and quite handsome. He was an officer for sure, but I could not determine his rank. His wallet was on the floor, it must have slipped out while we were moving him to the couch. It contained his ID card with a picture, and a picture of an older man and woman, presumably his parents.

I knew a little German. The name on the ID was Karl M Kaiser and a birth date of August 11, 1902, so he had just turned 38. He had been in the service since September 20, 1925, and was a major in the Luftwaffe. I put the wallet on the table, checked to make sure he was still asleep, and went to bed.

I prayed, thanking God for giving me the courage and strength to do the right thing. I asked Him for guidance on what to do next. What would I do with him? He could not stay here for any length of time. Eventually, the soldiers would come. I could be arrested for aiding and comforting the enemy. I would never be able to explain any of this to Phillip or anyone else.

My sleep was stirred and I tossed and turned most of the night. I got up twice to see how the pilot was doing and he was sleeping soundly. I awoke at first light and he was still asleep. I prepared a pot of tea, bathed and dressed. I went into the sitting room and he was sitting up on the couch, holding his right side with his head in his left hand.

I wished him good morning and asked how he was feeling. He thanked me for my kindness and said he hurt all over, but his headache was better and he no longer tasted blood. I replied he was badly bruised in several places and had at least two broken ribs, but would begin to feel better after a few days of rest.

I gave him two aspirins for his pain and a cup of water. I served him a cup of tea and two crumpets. I sat in a chair opposite him and introduced myself, saying my name was Eleanor Russell, but he could call me Ellie. I explained I was married and my husband was a Lt Colonel in the army and was on duty outside the country.

He introduced himself as Karl Kaiser, a major in the Luftwaffe. He asked me to call him Karl. He said he was one of the escort leaders on a London bombing mission and had been hit by artillery fire. He lost consciousness when he was hit, then awoke to find his plane over dark countryside, descending at a rapid rate. He was too low to parachute out and had to belly-land the plane. He doesn't remember anything after the crash except my helping him.

I told him I would have to report the plane crash to the army base so as not to create suspicion or to be challenged later. I said they would send soldiers to investigate, inspect the aircraft, and look for him. He would have to hide under the bed or in the root cellar when they arrived. I would tell them that he ran from the plane into the woods, and I have not seen him since. He said he understood.

In Karl’s presence, I rang up the army base and was connected to the base watch commander. After introducing myself as retired nurse Major Eleanor Russell and the wife of Lt Colonel Phillip Russell, I explained what occurred. I
told him under full moonlight I saw the pilot leave the plane with a backpack over his shoulder and a sidearm, and run for the woods east of our home. I told him it looked like a Messerschmitt fighter, that it had smoldered but was otherwise intact.

I added I was armed with a pistol and a shotgun, and if he returned and tried to harm me, I would definitely shoot him. He said for me to stay inside, lock my doors, be alert and cautious, he would have a squad of men there by early afternoon.

I explained everything to Karl. I told him I had boxes of clothing and linens stored under my bed and I would pull enough of them out to create a cavity for him. After he was lying down and comfortable, I would move the boxes back under the bed, he would not be seen if they inspected the house.

I said, in his condition, it would be too risky to try to use the root cellar, even with me helping him; he could fall down the stairs. I said it was almost a kilometer to the gate of our property, we would be able to see them coming, and there would be enough time to hide him. He complimented me on my plan and thanked me.

I pointed to the bathroom and said he could use it. I explained I had set out some of my husband's underwear and work clothes for him. He could change into those and I would wash his clothes. He almost fell as he tried to get up. I went to him and helped him get to the bathroom. He said he would be fine on his own and that he would be out in a short while. I replied I would be fixing his breakfast, to take his time, and to call me if he needed help.

As I prepared breakfast, I was astonished at my circumstances. My husband was fighting the Germans and Italians in North Africa. The Germans were bombing my homeland. I was giving aid and comfort to a member of the Luftwaffe, who, just the night before, was helping lead a bombing attack on London. And, I was just about ready to sit down and have breakfast with him, and I wasn't the slightest bit nervous. I was, in fact, looking forward to it!

As I was setting the table, Karl hobbled into the kitchen, slightly smiling and looking a little better. My heart skipped a beat! His appearance was startling. Though taller, he looked very much like Phillip at first, mainly, because of the clothing. I invited him to sit down and poured him a fresh cup of tea.

I asked if he was able to manage on his own in the bathroom and he replied it was difficult. He was not able to wash as well as he wanted because he couldn't move his arms very well. Everything hurt too much. I said he would get better. Meanwhile, I would help him.

I made him a full breakfast, eggs, ham, sausage, potatoes, grilled tomatoes, toast, muffins and several of my jams. He was famished, eating everything I gave him plus two extra muffins and a third cup of tea. We sat at the table for over two hours, exchanging life stories.

He said he was 38 and born in Vienna. His parents moved the family to Berlin after WW I. They became German citizens. They were Catholic and he went to Catholic schools until college then enrolled in the city's technical institute earning his bachelor's degree in aeronautical engineering with high honors. He wanted to design aircraft engines.

He was so good at the work that he was encouraged by his professors to earn a master's degree, and, again, graduated with high honors. Meanwhile, he had become a civilian pilot and was flying small planes. He decided he would rather be a military pilot and fly all the latest aircraft, so he volunteered for the Luftwaffe and completed training. He rose quickly through the ranks and became an instructor, moving to combat status as Germany prepared for war.

He explained that though he was a Luftwaffe pilot and officer, he was not a Nazi, nor was he a Nazi sympathizer. He did not agree with what Hitler was doing or his plan for the Jews. Neither did his parents. He reached for his wallet and showed me their picture. A picture of him in front of his plane fell to the table and I asked if I could see it. I looked at it and told him it was quite a nice photo. He was, indeed, a handsome young man. He smiled and thanked me.

I told him, I, too, was Catholic and had gone to Catholic schools, including nursing college. I explained I retired from the army nurse corps as a major three years ago and then we moved to this farm. He asked how long Phillip and I had been married and I replied 15 years. He said he was not married, but did have girl friends from time-to-time.

With his face showing pain, he said he was sore all over and did not think he could sit any longer. I suggested he lay down and rest a while. I escorted him to the couch, giving him two more aspirins and water. I said it was going to take some time, but that he would eventually get better. He thanked me for all I had done, and my hospitality.

Sitting on the chair opposite him, I explained he could stay here until he was well enough to travel on his own, and then he would have to leave. It would take four to five weeks for his ribs to stop hurting and six to eight weeks for them to heal. Even though I took him in on a humanitarian basis, I could not run the risk of being arrested for aiding and giving comfort to the enemy. He replied he understood and thanked me again.

I said, when he left, I would provide him with as much food and water as he could carry. We had an old bicycle in the barn that he, perhaps, could repair and use to travel to London. He could assimilate himself until he could find a way to France where he could reunite with the German military and get back to his base. He was so happy and thankful to hear all the potential plans.

I added that he had to stay in the house, he could not go outside. Though our farm was remote, I did not want to run the risk of anyone seeing him. I suggested he let his hair grow a little longer. He would blend in better that way. I said I would keep it trimmed for him. I would prepare the guest bedroom for him. It was across the hall from my room and I would be able to hear him if he needed any help at night.

On the oft chance that visitors came to the house, he would have to remain in his room or in the root cellar, depending upon the circumstances. I told him sometimes lady friends from church would come by to spend an afternoon, but they usually called beforehand. After he rested a while, I would take him on a tour of the house.

He asked about his Luger pistol. I replied I had put it away and he would get it back when he left. He agreed that was reasonable under the circumstances. He asked if I would go to his plane and get his knapsack and camera. He said the knapsack contained personal articles and I could inspect it if I wished. I did as he asked. The knapsack contained a camera, film, nuts, candy, crackers, cookies, canned sausage, chewing gum, toothbrush, tooth powder, comb and other toiletries. His camera looked near-new and expensive.

He said other than aircraft, photography and woodworking were his other main interests. He loved to carve and whittle and made artistic wooden objects for family and friends. He said he did his own film developing and processing when at home. I replied what a coincidence, my husband and I were avid photographers and had a dark room downstairs adjacent to the root cellar. I said I would show it to him when he was able to safely manage the stairs. He asked if he could use it, and I said he could.

A little after noon time, we heard a low flying airplane. Karl shouted there was an autogyro overhead. I told him to stay where he was. I rushed out to the porch and an army autogyro was circling the woods east of the house.

I looked down the road that leads from our gate to the house and an army car and truck were coming! I got Karl into my room and helped him to the floor. I pulled out a few boxes and he inched himself into the niche. Once positioned, I slid the boxes back under the bed and he was completely hidden.

By the time I got back to the porch, the car and truck were near the plane and soldiers were circling and inspecting it. One of the soldiers was inside the
cockpit. There were two officers issuing instructions to the soldiers and pointing to different parts of the plane. Both officers and two soldiers then got into the car and drove toward the house.

I greeted them on the porch and they introduced themselves. One was a colonel, the other the captain I had spoken with on the phone.

The colonel said he knew Phillip, and, in fact, had briefly spoken to him three days earlier. He said Phillip was doing fine, and his troops along with other reinforcements had routed out many of the Italians and were now fighting the Germans. He added that Phillip’s people had sustained some casualties, but Phillip, himself, was in good health and spirits. Tearing up slightly, I thanked him for the news.

I confirmed the story I had originally told the captain. We went back on the porch and I pointed in the direction of the woods. The autogiro was no longer visible. It had probably flown further east. They asked me a number of questions and I was able to answer them. They asked permission to inspect the house and I showed them around including the root cellar and dark room. They didn’t look under any of the beds and only looked in my closet, none of the others.

I escorted them to the barns and other outbuildings and they inspected them. The colonel thanked me and said he and his driver were going back to the base, but the captain and soldiers would remain to strip the plane of its guns, all its instruments and other important electrical equipment. If they could not finish before dark, they would be back the next day.

I went back to my room and briefed Karl. I said he would have to remain as comfortable as he could make himself, he could not come out until the soldiers had left for the day. I told him I would bring him lunch and tea, then, perhaps, he could take a nap. I would look in on him and keep him posted, he need not worry.

I kept my eye on the soldiers as they removed gear from the plane and loaded it on the truck. A little before sunset, they got in the truck and headed toward the house. I went outside and met the truck at the walkway. From the front passenger’s seat, the captain said they had removed all of the important equipment, and there was no need to return tomorrow. He said as soon as it could be arranged, a salvage crew would be dispatched to dismantle the plane and move it to the base for further evaluation. The base would contact me.

Once the truck was out of sight, I went to Karl and helped him get on his feet and into the sitting room. He thanked me and complimented me on how masterfully I had handled it all. He said thanks to my plan and the way I handled it, there is no reason for the army to think he was now anywhere near the crash site. They would be looking for him to the east and elsewhere. We both smiled.

Over the next two days, it became apparent Karl was having more difficulty bathing than he was willing to admit. His pain increased as did his bruising, all of which was normal. Due to his broken ribs, he was not able to move his right arm very well. He was not able to use his left one very well, either. He asked if I would help him bathe. I said I would, but only if he followed my explicit instructions.

I poured his bath and helped him into the bathroom. I helped him undress, leaving him only in his knickers. I asked him to sit on the edge of the tub and I would help him into the water. I would wash him as best I could, then leave him to wash his privates. Once he was finished and had his knickers back on, he was to call me and I would help him get out of the tub and dry off.

I washed his hair, face, back, chest, shoulders, legs and feet. He was built very much like Phillip, strong, muscular and well toned. For a moment, I drifted off into a fantasy believing he WAS Phillip! I did my best not to look at his knickers. However, an inadvertent glance showed a long, thick underwater outline of his willy inside his knickers. I quickly looked away, saying I was finished and was leaving, he could finish up.

A few minutes later, Karl called and I returned to the bathroom with a fresh pair of Phillip's knickers, an undershirt, and socks. I helped him onto the edge of the tub and got him turned around. I dried his hair, face and upper body, then his legs and feet.

His wet knickers were staring me in the face and I couldn't help seeing his long, thick willy clinging to the underside of his knickers. It was difficult keeping my eyes off of it. Looking away, I put on his socks, handed him the fresh underwear and said he could finish up. He thanked me and said he would be able to put on his clothes by himself. A few minutes later, he called and I helped him by to the couch.

Over the next two weeks, Karl mostly rested, read and listened to the radio broadcasts about the war. That gave me the opportunity to feed the livestock, do my chores, cook, can, and take care of the house. Every two days, I bathed him as before, his willy dominating my consciousness each time. I couldn't keep my eyes off of it. Once, I think he saw me staring at it and I became flushed and embarrassed.

A week later, Karl was moving better so I showed him the root cellar. He liked the way I had all the vegetables and grains stored. He, especially, liked the dark room and the equipment. He hoped he would be able to use it soon. I told him I would help him when he was ready. He said he had to take some pictures first.

One afternoon, while harvesting vegetables, I began to feel warm and flushing and realized I was randy, I was likely ovulating. As I was washing the vegetables, there was an especially long, thick squash that caught my attention. It very much resembled the outline under Karl's knickers. I took it to my bedroom and put it under my pillow. I couldn't wait to use it.

As the day wore on, I became more randy and all I could think about was Karl's knickers and the squash under my pillow. That night, after I escorted Karl to his room, I hurriedly undressed and got into bed. I massaged my breasts, moistening my fingers with saliva and circling them around and around my nipples as they became erect, longing for a pair of lips and suction.

My fanny was quivering and pulsating, my fingers easily slipping in. After massaging myself for a few minutes, my fanny was wet and open. I reached for the squash and moistened it with oil from the bottle I kept in my night table, and slowly slipped it in. Oh! God! It was so wonderful, so big and filling. My wanton fanny wanted to absorb all of it.

For the next fifteen minutes, or so, with my legs spread wide, I slowly moved it in and out, languishing on the sensations, sliding it across the roof of my fanny over and over, that always felt the best. As the sensations began to intensify, I began massaging my clitoris with the fingers of my left hand, soon reaching an erotic rhythm.

My fanny was getting wetter and wetter and seemed to be more open, the majority of the squash now in, easily sliding in and out, in and out. My clitoris was now fully engorged and ready to explode between my fingers, all slippery as I glided back and forth.

Then it began…that wonderful climb to ecstasy…”Oooohhhh! Oooohhh! Aaaahhh! Aaaahhh! Oh! God! Ohhhh! Ohhhh! Oh! God! Aaaahhh! Ohhhhhhhhh! Ohhh! Heh! Heh! Aaahh! Ohh! Ohhhhhh! Ahhhh! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm……aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!”

As the final sensations began to fade, whimpering, I squeezed my legs around my hands, shivering as the last spark left my body. Inhaling deeply, I wiped the saliva from my cheek as my breathing returned to a normal rhythm. This was the longest, deepest orgasm I have ever had jilling myself in some time, so lovely and gratifying, I will never forget it. I hoped the squash would last a while. I, definitely, wanted to use it again.

**************Continued In Chapter 3 - Coveting Karl & Reminiscing Gerald - Please look for it soon.***************

Copyright ©2019. Scarlett O’Mara. All rights reserved. This story is the property of the author and may not be copied, reproduced, duplicated or circulated in any manner or form without the prior, express, written consent of the author. Any violation of this copyright will be adjudicated to the fullest extent of the copyright laws of the United States of America.