Many in the garrison knew that Natasha, the wife of Warrant Officer Khizhnyak, had irresistible eyes. Slightly bulging, like two large overripe cherries, they darkened with that alluring mystery that men are so drawn to. Natalya was aware of the enchanting power of her eyes, and when she cast a languid, hazy gaze upon her next victim, she was sure he was doomed.

The men chuckled at the warrant officer's nearsightedness, his failure to notice his wife's obvious infidelities.

— Probably realized the cap doesn't fit," they gossiped maliciously about the husband of the garrison beauty.

Natalya had a petite, shapely figure, childlike palms, and a "Chinese" foot, which gave reason

to assume a corresponding size of her secret feminine charms.

In short, Natasha belonged to that fortunate category of women about whom people say: "A small dog remains a puppy until old age."

The fame of Natasha's charms finally reached the ears of her husband's new commander, who had recently arrived at the garrison. And he was always one to chase after a beautiful woman.

Many guests were invited to Natasha's birthday party, including the dapper major. As the guest of honor, he was seated next to the birthday girl. He gallantly offered her various appetizers, made sure her shot glass was never empty—knowing that a drunken woman is a weak fortress—while he himself became increasingly entangled in the viscous gaze of her bewitching eyes. After the third toast, the guests began to dance. Clinging couples swayed in languid movements. The major also pressed the petite birthday girl to himself; she buried her cute, slightly upturned nose into his nipple, visible through the thin fabric of his shirt. He discreetly stroked her back, lowering his hand lower and lower until it rested on a small, soft hemisphere. She shot him a knowing glance and pressed herself even closer.

They danced in the most secluded corner, shaded by a large ficus. The major was especially amused by the elastic of her panties, which he periodically pulled and released, producing a faint snap. Natasha would flinch slightly and respond with pinches. He looked into her moistened eyes and felt a growing desire to possess this garrison wonder in a skirt. The music stopped, but they, with closed eyes, continued to sway slowly until Natasha's fidgety friend, Zoyka, tugged at her skirt. The major was about to press his lips to her white neck, but Natasha gently pulled away and, taking his hand, led him to the table. The flushed birthday girl took her seat, exposing her knees. The major glanced sideways and saw appetizing dimples on them, visible through the thin nylon. But strangely, it wasn't these that aroused him, but the clips of the garters biting into the stockings. The major carefully placed his palm on her knee and gave it a slight squeeze. She glanced at him sideways. A provocative smile touched her plump, crimson lips. Natasha pulled her skirt up even higher, trapping his hand between her knees. The major immediately tried to part them, but at that moment the tipsy warrant officer proposed a toast in his honor. The major, somewhat embarrassed by such blatant sycophancy, continued to vigorously massage the knee of his subordinate's wife under the table. She smiled blissfully, slowly shifting the gaze of her irresistible eyes from the commander to his subordinate.

After emptying their shot glasses and wine glasses, the guests rushed to dance again. Now their movements were much more explicit than in the first dance. No one particularly hid their feelings toward others' wives anymore, pressing them into themselves fully, caressing their charms and kissing wherever possible. The women squealed, pretending to fend off the sexual advances, while the husbands of the playful ones chuckled indulgently, choosing their next "victim." It seemed there were no jealous types here, but as our major later learned, showdowns did happen, usually after the parties ended. After all, it's no secret that the next day, some spouses would suddenly fall ill, and the especially bold ones skillfully masked the traces of backstage explanations on their faces.

The tipsy major finally stood up and whispered to the hostess that he was going out for a smoke. She nodded understandingly.

... The corridor was dark and cold. Snowflakes blew through cracks in the window frame. Natasha, entering, immediately located the major by the flickering star of his burning cigarette. She rushed toward him like a moth to a flame and was immediately caught in the man's tenacious embrace. Natasha found his lips and clung to them. The major felt her trembling, moist little tongue knocking against his teeth and slithering like a thin snake into his mouth. And then her mouth worked like a pump, trying to drain the moisture from the man's mouth.

— She's a master at kissing, works like an American," the major noted. At that moment, the door opened, and one of the guests appeared in the doorway.

— Pardon me, folks. Where's the water closet here?

Natasha directed the guest in the right direction and whispered to the major:

— Tomorrow morning, I'll be at your place...

— Where?

— At home.

— But I have to go to duty...

— Call in sick. Can't you be sick for once?!

— Uh-huh," the major grunted hoarsely, feeling a spasm of desire to possess this mysterious woman tightening his throat.

The next morning, the major called the unit and reported himself sick. Soon, a suspicious rustling was heard at the outer door. It seemed like a mouse was scratching in the corner. He approached and flung the door open. Natasha was in a white fur coat and felt boots on bare feet. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. He lay down in bed, and she smiled sweetly. Her cherry eyes examined the naked man with curiosity. He reached for her, and then she threw off her fur coat and kicked the felt boots aside. He involuntarily recoiled: before him stood a naked woman of extraordinary beauty. A mysterious smile froze on her lips. He took her hand and pulled her toward him. She immediately pressed down on him, toppling him onto the bed. And then he felt her carefully taking possession of him. But her closeness did not bring him the burning passion he had so impatiently dreamed of since last night. The sacred place was already so wet and spacious, something he had not at all expected from such a miniature, beautiful body. At first, he didn't even believe it. The whole process proceeded so sluggishly and mundanely, like a habitual and thoroughly boring marital duty to a wife.

— I wish it would end soon," he thought.

She had also already realized that their "calibers" were too different and worked like a prostitute, trying to finish the process as quickly as possible.

— Will we meet again?" she asked with a distrustful smirk, wiping herself with the corner of the sheet.

He nodded slightly, but it was clear there would be no more such meetings.

She left, and he cursed in his soul one of yesterday's jokers, who had drunkenly whispered to him that her "thing" was a mouse's eye. The eye turned out to be a cold, wide, and deep ice hole.

Eduard Zaitsev

Stories by this author

Ice hole