The Dominafuhrer - THE GODMOTHER

Episode 2 - Oh, What A Lovely Cock-Up

David lifted my chin with his finger and, on seeing the tears welling in my eyes, knelt down beside my chair and hugged me.

“Don’t cry, Ingrid,” he said as he stroked the back of my hand. “I’ve no intention of getting shot this time.”

That just set me off again and it was some minutes before David managed to stop my hysterical screaming and sobbing by pulling a chair up alongside mine and taking my hands in his.

“Listen to me,” he commanded. “What I am going to tell you must go no further.”

Emotion thickened his Scots accent and I had to concentrate to understand him. We had agreed a long time ago that, as his German was so execrable that, at moments like this or during love making, I would speak in German and he would stick with his mangled English.

“This operation is already one big fucking shambles. It has been in planning since the summer and the orders are still changing every day. The initial landing was supposed to be at Alexandria and now the invasion is going to be at Port Said on the Suez Canal. The British and French Governments and Service Chiefs are arguing with each other and amongst themselves. Mountbatten has tried to resign and has been told to stick it out. The whole world knows that we are on the way and the first wave of the invasion force has been hanging around the Eastern Mediterranean for weeks. Now, suddenly the Israelis have invaded Egypt because their ships were being shelled. Don’t believe what you read in the papers. It has been contrived to give us and the French an excuse to intervene and seize the Canal. The Reservists and the National Servicemen are pissed off at being called up or retained and the Regulars are sick of the whole fucking mess.”

David’s eyes flashed with anger. He felt passionately about his craft as a soldier and resented any waste of life or misuse of the army for political ends.

“Actually”, he growled. “It’s all the fault of the fucking Americans and particularly their Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles. The Egyptians nationalised the Suez Canal when he cut off their aid because they recognised Red China. He encouraged us and the French to retaliate and then backed off. Now he’s annoyed because we are going ahead when he wants the world to condemn what the Russians are doing in Hungary. Eisenhower doesn’t want to be bothered. He just wants to get re-elected. Some of the US Air Force boys from Lakenheath came to the Mess the other day and said that they are ashamed of their own country. They told us that their Sixth Fleet has been ordered to stand off the Egyptian Coast and try to disrupt our invasion. God knows what will happen if some idiot fires a shot!”

If David was trying to reassure me, he was not making a very good job of it.

“Our two Brigades of the Third Division sail tomorrow. With stops at Gibraltar and Malta we are due off Egypt on the Tenth of November. That will be either D-Day plus three or four. The initial assault should have seized a beachhead and be pushing down the Canal by then. I can’t see the Gyppos putting up much of a fight and by the time we get ashore they should be ready to pack it in. Even if we do get into a scrap I do not intend to die in a fight that I dinna believe in or for some one else’s fuck up. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

I nodded dumbly, still too choked to answer him verbally.

David lit a cigarette each for us and we sat smoking at the table in silence, our free hands clasped together.

“Dinna fass yoursel’, lassie,” he said at last. “I’m more concerned about what trouble that Spiteful wumman is going to get you into.”

“Oh David!” I gasped. “I couldn’t possibly spend that time away with you going off to war. I’m going to send a telegram to say that I will not be going.”

“Nonsense! Of course you must go,” David Insisted. “It’s just that wumman is totally dissolute and something bad seems happens to you when she is around.”

For a hard drinking Scot who had married a boy/girl dominatrix and indulged in our sex games with enthusiasm to the point that he now liked me to fuck him when I was dressed in my leathers, David took the rather Presbyterian view that anyone else with similar tastes was depraved.

When Miss Spiteful had telephoned from New York a couple of weeks before, at three in the morning as usual, inviting me to a house party on the North Norfolk Coast, David had made the likely assumption that it was going to be a Sado-Masochistic orgy of some kind. I pointed out that the host was one of Miss Spiteful’s clients who was not only a wealthy international businessman but was also an English Baronet and such goings on were unlikely. David scoffed that Miss Spiteful was unlikely to fly across the Atlantic for tea and cucumber sandwiches on the lawn and to play croquet. He then launched into a tirade against the English Aristocracy, listing some of the unnatural practices indulged by well born Officers that he had served with. This from the man who, only hours before on this very bed, had been engaged with me in soixante-neuf, as we pumped lubricated dildos into each others rectums.

David however had come around to the idea that it would make a good break for me to go and enjoy myself and it was now me who wished to withdraw. Despite the fact that my secret lover, Kelly, would be accompanying Miss Spiteful, I was fearful that something terrible would happen to David in the four or five days that I would be away from home and out of contact. David in his usual contradictory way argued that I was being foolish not to take the opportunity to meet my friends and participate in some licentious activities while still finding drawbacks in the scheme.

“I just wish that Sugar was going to be there to look out for you,” he mused. “She would get herself in the family way right now.”

“She’s married, so she’s entitled to start a family,” I retorted.

“Yes, and what a wedding that was,” David sniffed. “With all the goings on I, and that Mick American Cop of Spiteful’s, felt quite out of it. It was embarrassing.”

“Really,” it was my turn to throw a verbal barb. “As far as I could see, the two of you were having a whisky drinking contest. And, I don’t remember you being embarrassed later when you got to fuck both of the Bridesmaids.” 

David was on the defensive now. “Tom and I were discussing the merits of Scotch and Irish Whiskies. You didn’t see either of us behaving degenerately.”

“Not then, but you did later.” At that moment we both burst out laughing as we remembered the events of the previous year.  

To continue this story, click Sugar's White Wedding

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