Characters: Polly, Mal, Clogston.
Pairing: implied existing Polly/Mal, but this is Polly/Mal/Clogston
Rating: E

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.
Summary: Polly shares a rather interesting evening in a tent. Not alone.

On Sharing Tents With Senior Officers
by Ali

Polly found that, in general, it was assumed that officers would share tents in the field. This was not a problem, per se, because the officer she was sharing with was her Lieutenant (Polly herself having happily evaded promotion the past three years running and gleefully remained a sergeant). The lieutenant in question usually went by the name of Mal, and Mal found that there were happy advantages to sharing a tent with Polly. Happy, wet, sticky sorts of advantages.[1]

So both Mal and Polly had been rather put-out when they learned that on this particular expedition from HQ—a scouting mission that was also serving as training for the new group of girls who had joined up (joined up as girls, notably)—they would be accompanied by ‘some Major,’ as the secretary had helpfully told them. ‘Some Major’ had turned out to be Major Clogston. Polly was inclined to be quite pleased with this—if a Major had to go with them, at least Clogston was pleasant and also a woman—until Mal reminded her that all officers shared tents. They might—might—get a bigger tent this trip, but Clogston would be sleeping in it with them. Having lots of sex, even very quiet sex[2], with a superior officer in the tent was simply Not Appropriate.

And so Polly also found herself rather frustrated and snappish by the second week of hiking and camping. Oh, yes, the recruits were doing just fine learning to soldier, Mal had plenty of coffee, Clogston—no, Christine, as she had ordered Polly and Mal to call her—was pleasant and even faintly amusing[3], but Polly’s body had gotten used to a regular supply of orgasms, damn it, and it was now without them.

Hands pressed between her knees, Polly lay on her side in the officers’ tent (she and Mal had been right: it was bigger, this trip). Her pallet was in the middle, with Christine to one side—currently asleep—and Mal to the other—currently on watch, but due back any moment. She blinked as the door flap was moved aside, allowing moonlight and Mal to come streaming in. Mal glanced at Christine, and, apparently satisfied she was asleep and wouldn’t be bothering them, leaned down to kiss Polly. This rather quickly became being pulled down on top of Polly, who returned the kiss harshly.

“Missed you,” Polly whispered. “I need you, Mal. It’s been almost a month. Please, let’s just go out in the woods like we used to—I need your mouth on me.”

There was a pointed cough, a surprised shriek, and general, tent-wide embarrassment.

Christine sat up, fumbling for her glasses. “Uh, it appears you thought I was asleep, but you were quite mistaken... you do know that affairs between officers are strictly forbidden by rule 549, section 3b? I’m afraid I’m going to have to report this to Froc once we return to HQ.” The glasses settled across her nose, and she gave Polly and Mal a hard look. “Although, now that I think of it, perhaps I could be dissuaded from that course of action.”

Mal raised an eyebrow. “Pardon? I must have misunderstood you.” The smile she gave Christine was not a kind one.

The smile Christine gave in return was not exactly kind, either. “I think you understood me well. I will not report you, and you, in turn, will not report…” she glanced over Polly, who was certainly the most rumpled in the tent. “Sergeant Perks, remove your jacket.”

Polly glanced at Mal, who half-shrugged, and began undoing the buttons. She slipped it off, revealing a well-worn white shirt[4].

“Lieutenant, remove Sergeant Perks’ shirt, and then remove your own jacket and shirt.” Mal hesitated. “Now.” Polly lifted her arms over her head as Mal slid the shirt off, and shivered. She could feel Clogston—it felt only right to revert to formal—watching her, but Polly could not tear her eyes off of Mal’s casual discarding of her clothes. Watching Mal undress in her distinctly unhurried manner had always been wonderful, even now, and her nipples tightened uncomfortably.

She gasped as one of Clogston’s thumbs, calloused in the way of writers, skimmed across Polly’s nipple nearer to her. Mal’s nostrils flared. “Kiss your Sergeant, Lieutenant,” ordered the Major, and Mal complied. The kiss was fast, filled with want, and Polly had to pull back, gasping for breath, sooner than she would have liked. Clogston pinched her nipple. Polly realized that she had moved, and was now crouching behind her, and almost groaned. Almost. “Now, help…” Clogston lingered for a moment, apparently considering, “help Polly remove her boots, and socks, and trousers.”

The name shift seemed to have set off something in Mal, who complied more readily this time. Polly wondered dimly if there was some sort of vampire orgy thing in Mal’s distant past that she only had to be properly reminded of, but was mostly distracted by the feel of Clogston—no, if the name was switched for her, it would be for Christine, as well—pinching both of her nipples at once from behind her. Her fingers fumbled on the buttons of the trousers, but she managed to push them down, over her hips, as Mal finished tugging off her socks. Polly realized she was half-lying naked in the tent, and blushed.

There was a rustle behind her, and Christine’s hands left her chest. When they returned, it was skin, not uniform, pressing against her back, and Christine’s nipples were deliciously hard. No, not deliciously hard. They, Polly and Mal, were being forced into this. Yes! And it was Bad! Extortion! Even if her nipples did drag in a very encouraging way over Polly’s shoulder blades.

“Look how wet Polly’s gotten from all of this attention. Mal, you are to lick her until I say she may come. Do remove your own trousers and such first. And make it pretty—I’m watching.”

Mal’s nostrils flared again, but she slipped out of the rest of her clothing without comment and knelt in front of Polly. Then her tongue was at Polly’s clit, and Polly wasn’t entirely able to think coherently about any of it any more. Christine returned to teasing her nipples, watching intently over Polly’s shoulder as Mal licked her and teased her. Polly whined and groaned and begged to be touched more, anything to relieve the pressure. It felt like years before Christine finally breathed, “Yes, let her come now.”

Polly, had she been entirely coherent, would have been a little embarrassed to admit that it was the hardest she had orgasmed in a very long time.

There was more movement behind her, and she saw Christine’s trousers and boots land on Christine’s pallet. “Polly, turn around. You are going to lick my cunt—“ she stuttered slightly over the word, which only made it hotter, “until I tell you to stop. Mal, come lay beside me. You’ve earned a reward for that spectacular performance.”

Polly moved, turning in place, and saw Mal settle down next to Christine, who pulled her into a hard kiss, licking the traces of Polly’s come from Mal’s lips. She was pleased to see that Clogston kept herself neatly trimmed[5], and experimentally flicked her tongue across her clit. This was no different than fucking Mal, not really, if one didn’t remember the extortion bits. And, right that moment, with a perfect view of Christine shoving three fingers into Mal, who had her eyes closed and her lower lip caught with her teeth, Polly didn’t remember those bits at all. Mal’s groan of acceptance encouraged her, and Polly began to lap at Christine in earnest, tongue sliding inside of her. She nibbled up her inner lips on one side, and down the other, always returning to her clit.

“You have her well trained,” Christine gasped, breathless.

“Polly is a very enthusiastic learner,” said Mal, and then she came. The high, breathless groan was familiar and unfamiliar both to Polly’s ears—familiar because she had heard it so many times, and unfamiliar because she had never heard it at such a distance from Mal’s body. Resolving to make Christine come sooner rather than later, she sucked her clit into her mouth, then let it fall aside. Repeating it over and over soon had Christine moaning loudly.

“Enough, Polly, enough. You can stop.”

Polly pulled back, wiping the come from her chin, and considered the picture presented: Christine, flushed from coming, a sated and generally pleased Mal lying next to her.

As Polly woke up the next morning, sandwiched between Mal and Christine, all still nude and Polly very grateful for years of habit waking her before any others and thus reducing the risk of them being walked in upon by a new soldier, she considered that perhaps having another officer sharing their tent was not entirely a bad thing. They were just going to have to get her out of the habit of giving orders…some of the time, at least.