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I'm Captain Rosalind Arnold Donaldson currently assigned to a field hospital in Kuwait. But at the moment, I was dressed in a short black knit dress, way too short for a respectable widow to wear to her husband's wake.

Thank God, it was going to be a private, invitation only affair.

I was about to give up and ask to be released when Trace saw me.

He stepped up to the cross, leaned against me while taking my nipples in his powerful fingers and gave them the kind of twist that makes an ordinary woman scream and beg for mercy.

Donaldson and his wife, Lois, my aforementioned brother-in-law and his wife and Mary Ellen, my dead husband's younger sister now in her fourth year at West Point.

Look, there's snot dribbling out her nose, exclaimed my sister-in-law, Denise.Trace used to say that his family considered arms their profession and pain their hobby.How did a nice girl like me from Lowell, Massachusetts get mixed up with this group of patriotic sadists? My predilection for reaching an orgasm only after a sound flogging had brought Trace Donaldson and I together. As a result, I had a five-year commitment to patch up soldiers in whatever piss poor backwater the Army selected.A friend who was into what I later learned was termed the lifestyle' put me on to this run down club in So Ho.The place was a dilapidated dump but once a month, a crowd gathered who could usually satisfy my needs. Andrews cross when Trace and two of his army buddies arrived. I was leaving for training at Fort Campbell next week.

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