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Message-ID: <39157asstr$1036541406@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "The Russian Front, pt. 3" (conclusion)
Date: Tue,  5 Nov 2002 19:10:06 -0500
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The Russian Front, A Love Story

by H. Jekyll

Part Three: Happiness and Loss

* * * * * *

Note: I'm not using story codes. This is a story about rape and 
domination and love and loss and happiness in the middle of war. 
There are graphic rapes and other graphic sex. It's a "sex" story 
but not a sex "genre" story. If you want something that's "just" 
about sex, you'll be disappointed. Give this a pass. There are 
very well written pure sex stories out there. I even wrote some 
of them. Search them out.

This is a slight revision of a story originally posted at 
Ruthie's Club, based on an idea first put into print by Neil 
Anthony (see his "Housewife, 1946" series at Ruthie's Club). The 
formatted and illustrated original can be found there.

Copyright 2002 by H. Jekyll. Permission is freely granted to post 
on any site that does not charge for entrance, as long as full 
attribution is given to the author. The story should not be read 
by anyone under the legal age to read sexually explicit stories, 
or by anyone in a location where it is illegal to read such 
stories. 

I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms, and I 
absolutely promise to respond to them. Please send them to:
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com

The H. Jekyll stories are archived in the Alt Sex Stories Text 
Repository, at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/

Also at "Ruthie's Club" -- http://www.ruthiesclub.com/

*  *  *  *  *

The Russian Front, A Love Story
Part Three: Happiness and Loss


She didn't hate him. She never had, even when he had taken her 
that first day. His ability to arouse her was frightening, 
though, when she thought about it in the middle of the night, and 
she began to doubt herself. She imagined a Faustian pact, that he 
had sold his soul to the devil in return for the ability to 
arouse women. She fell asleep thinking about it.

He was affectionate in the morning, and her failure to react to 
him came from exhaustion, not an attempt to gain distance from 
him. She stayed at the apartment while he visited his men at the 
field hospital, and when he returned he had a fresh, professional 
bandage on his arm.

"I am ordered to convalesce, Liebchen. No more fighting for 
awhile, except with you."

She ignored this. She was dressed by now and ready to go home, 
but he required a kiss before he let her leave. She gave him a 
sloppy, phony kiss, one from the movies, to let him know she was 
still her own person, and he laughed a clear and happy laugh that 
followed her out the door.

That was the last happy moment for days. At home both children 
had been stricken with vomiting and diarrhea, and her baby, the 
two-year-old, was dehydrated and unresponsive. Her mother-in-law 
was exhausted. There were no doctors around, no stores open for 
medication, nothing. She'd been fucking and enjoying it while her 
baby was dying. She fled back to his apartment.

"I can't come tonight! My children are very ill. I need to get 
them something to help!"

"Wait one moment, Liebchen."

He left her alone in the apartment about half an hour.  When he 
returned he had a battered staff car, a doctor, and a satchel of 
supplies, and once he'd pulled her into the car they were at her 
house within ten minutes. There the doctor worked quickly on the 
children, put a tiny IV into the arm of the younger, handed out 
medicine bottles with Cyrillic script, and talked with her 
Rasputin. The mother-in-law could hardly stand to be in the same 
room with them, but it wasn't too bad because he was through in 
no more than fifteen minutes. Grigori translated the Russian into 
German and wrote out directions while the doctor gave her odd 
looks.

Then he took her aside to tell her, "Stay with your sick 
children. When they are better, in two or three days, come back 
to me. Now, for payment, I need your kiss."

Her mother-in-law was watching through the doorway.

She whispered, "Not in front of her. You can't be serious!"

"Yes. To show your gratitude. She will understand. Also I want my 
friend to see. I told him how beautiful my German mistress was," 
and he nodded toward the doctor.

So she did it. In fact she gave him a very tender kiss that 
lasted longer than it needed to, leaning up against him to apply 
it, and when she was done he said, "Mademoiselle, you could be a 
courtesan."

The mother-in-law did not "understand" it. She muttered under her 
breath against her daughter-in-law all evening, until the mother 
could stand it no longer.

"Oma, what was I to do? Gott im Himmel! They're my children! Am I 
to let them die?" She took over running the house and once the 
mother-in-law got some rest it was better between them. She did 
ultimately understand how things were.

* * * * * *

Many things could be understood back then that would not be 
today. Would her husband understand the affection she showed for 
the man who was, after all, her master? He will never know those 
things that could have slipped out, or been used as weapons in 
moments of anger by his mother. Neither child seems to remember 
anything of the incidents with the Russian soldiers in the house. 
Her memories remain, nothing else.

And could she explain her feelings for her Rasputin? If it came 
to that, would she say she hated him, she loved him, she 
tolerated him? The truth only she knows is that she was torn by 
him. Was?

The first evening back, a full four days after he left with his 
doctor friend, she ran to him and hugged him, kissed him, full of 
the affection that comes from gratitude, but also full of 
loneliness. She had been lonely at night in her own house, alone 
in her bed, with no one to sooth away her nightmares. She vowed 
not to fight her body when he coaxed it over to his side. Not 
this time. She would let it be easy for both of them this time.

It wasn't to be. For the first time he was distant and detached. 
He pried her arms from his neck firmly but gently and said "I am 
sorry, Liebchen, but I have things on my mind." She could tell he 
was stricken.

"What is it?"

"My men. Two of them in the hospital died. I thought they were 
recovering. I have to write letters to their families." A pause. 
"One had been with me since Stalingrad so we were very close."

"Oh, my poor darling. I'm so sorry. You're too good to have to 
suffer that." She was thinking what a wonderful person he was, 
how full of depths, how helpful and caring, but then the memory 
of the rapes rose in her mind, and the contrast so surprised her 
that she exclaimed, "But how is it that you can ra...," and it 
was too late to disguise her meaning. 

He gripped her wrists tighter.

"How is it that I rape women? That we rape women? We kill people 
too, madam. Perhaps I killed your husband in battle or he wounded 
me."

She drew a quick breath then stopped breathing for a second. She 
saw him killing her husband, shooting him, stabbing him. She had 
never before had that image.

"No. I didn't mean ... But you have to kill. It's war."

"And that keeps me a good man, right? I can kill and be 'good' 
for you. Oh yes I see your little bourgeois mind working, Frau. 
You are feeling warm toward me, so you want to imprison me on 
your good side. Are you so certain I am as sweet and sentimental 
as I let on? You should not bring up something you are not 
prepared to know about!"

For the first time he seemed really angry at her, furious, and it 
set her off.

"But how can you? You are good. I've seen it. How can you do ... 
the other?"

He pushed her away, paced three steps toward the door, then 
toward the fire. He faced her again.

"Let us begin with the worst reason, shall we? Let me shatter 
your image of me. We rape German women because we can! We can get 
away with it. No soldier who has had the chance to do that with 
impunity, and has done it, can ever forget the experience. There 
is a special joy in raping the women of the people who have tried 
to kill you. It is intoxicating. I have known men who became 
addicted to it. It is especially good because it lets us punish 
you Germans, as payment for what you have done to our land and 
our women!

"But what evil have I done?"

"Lady, the German army has left a vast trail of rape and murder. 
I wonder how many women your husband has raped? How many has he 
killed?"

"No! No he hasn't! You can't say that! Stop it!"

"I will not stop! You wanted to know, so know it!" He was 
shouting at her. She thought he would break his promise about 
hitting her.

"It does not matter what your husband has or has not done! Blame 
us entirely, though you speak from ignorance. Taking pleasure 
from enemy women is a payment to my men for what they go through. 
Your body gets a little abused, Frau. So? Do you think you go 
through one-tenth of what any of my men have experienced? One 
percent? Over half the men I began serving with are dead now and 
most of the rest are maimed. Every time we enter battle we face 
skilled soldiers determined to kill us. We live with terror! Do 
not complain to me about being a little hurt, because you do not 
know anything about hurting!"

She was sobbing now. Sad, angry, uncomprehending woman, this is 
the memory that dominates when she thinks enough of loving him, 
that he could do this and justify it and still get a doctor for 
her children. Finally she said something in a quiet voice, 
something she could barely get out while crying,

"But we, we women, we were just innocents. We never did anything 
to you. I was just caring for my family."

"Hah! Oh that is good! That is lovely! What you were -- you were 
just safe, or so you thought! Did you work in the war effort? 
Help out? Cheer the men and kiss them? What did you think your 
armies were doing when they invaded all those countries, playing 
games? They were destroying! Well, think of that the next time 
you cheer your men off to a glorious war!"

He came up to her as he said the last part, grabbed her wrists 
again, and shoved her down to the couch. Then he left the 
apartment and slammed the door behind. She lay on the couch and 
cried for awhile, then just lay quietly, then finally began to 
walk around the room in circles.

* * * * * *

He was very late getting back and he'd been drinking. She didn't 
know what he would do. She wanted him back so she could know what 
would happen, but she didn't think she could stand for him to 
touch her because he was just as bad as the others. She decided 
that in any case she had to be meek toward him. She built up the 
fire, undressed, and wrapped a sheet around herself like a toga, 
after which she waited. From time to time she couldn't keep from 
sighing because she was tormented by what she knew.

She met him at the door but he held a hand out in the "halt" 
symbol to stop her and stared at her with a fierce look that 
frightened her. He lurched past her to the fire where he 
undressed while she stood there. At some point he jerked his head 
to her and said, "Kneel in the sucking position," then he went 
back to stripping, until all he had on was a bandage where his 
arm hadn't completely healed.

She dropped the sheet, hurried to the stool, knelt and waited. 
Her hands were palm down on her thighs and her head was lowered.

He let her kneel there. Time passed. He went to the bathroom, to 
the kitchen. He didn't come out. She began to grow cold because 
the fire was dwindling. He returned but ignored her. He built the 
fire back up, then lay down on the mattress and pulled a cover 
over himself. She tried to be completely still. He became quiet 
under the cover. He was asleep and she knelt for him.

She began nodding off and then catching herself.

Finally he pulled down the cover and turned to her. When he 
looked at her she froze. What was it to be?

"Get out of here." His voice was flat, completely devoid of 
emotion.

What?

"Where shall I go?" She didn't raise her head, only her eyes. He 
was finally sending her away.

"I do not care. Go sleep in the bedroom." He turned away again 
and pulled up the cover.

* * * * * *

The bed was cold. 

For awhile she moved around to warm it, but after it was warmed 
she still couldn't sleep. Morning wasn't many hours away. She 
thought, then tossed, then did both. She rose and walked to the 
doorway, holding a quilt around herself, and watched him for 
awhile. How long did she watch him? He was so vulnerable now. She 
sighed and the sound seemed so loud to her that stepped back into 
the bedroom until she could breathe more quietly. Then back to 
the doorway. She crept to him on tiptoes and stood over him, 
where she looked down at him, then back to the bedroom doorway, 
then down at him. She couldn't decide. Finally she knelt by him, 
then lay down just outside his blanket. More time passed. She 
peeled away the quilt, lifted his blanket carefully, and eased 
herself under it. She was struck by his body warmth. She inched 
toward him, put a hand on his shoulder, very lightly to not wake 
him, and moved until her breasts were touching his back. He was 
so warm against her breasts. Almost hot. Finally she snuggled up 
completely, touching her forehead to his back, just below his 
neck, and laying a hand on his waist.

He wasn't completely asleep, or maybe her hand was cold and had 
waked him. He let her know he was awake by covering her hand with 
one of his. He didn't otherwise move at first. She lay almost 
perfectly still but did put her lips to his back. He drew a large 
breath and made a great sigh. Then he turned over so that their 
faces were together and they could see each other's eyes in the 
leftover firelight. His eyes were wet.

"It is just my luck," he said, his voice hardly more than a 
murmur, "to have taken a woman who thinks about things and makes 
me think. I could easily have had a whore who only cared about 
fucking and money, maybe jewelry, and would be happy with them. 
That would be so much easier. But I had to chose a woman who 
believes in love and in justice and in dignity, who therefore 
cannot be happy in this world because there is little of the 
first and almost none of the others."

He kissed her face. She started to say something but he put a 
finger on her lips, then spoke again.

"Me, I believe in nothing. Nothing at all. Certainly not in love 
or justice or dignity. Well, I believe in my men. Nothing 
universal, though. And now I believe in you. I wish I did not. 
You cause me to say things I should never say. What I said early 
in the evening, there was some truth in it, but not all truths 
should be spoken." Another sigh. "Especially not to a woman I 
somehow have come to love."

At those words she shivered. She grasped his hand tightly and 
stared into his face. He took another breath and sighed again. He 
was having a hard time talking.

"No, forget that last thing. Forget it. It is not true. I am 
simply stupid, not myself. I know you do not wish to be here, and 
I set you free. It is all right. Keep the medallion and the sign 
on your door. The rapes are finished anyway. You will notice the 
working girls on the streets. That always tells us things have 
become normal, when they catch up to the troops. If you would 
like, I will summon a car to drive you home."

"If it's all right," she replied, "I think I'd like to stay for 
awhile."

* * * * * *

For the longest time they kissed and ran hands over each other's 
bodies, lying on their sides before the fire. She grew playful 
before he did, scraping her knuckles over his stubble and going 
"ouch, ouch, ouch!" He then used the stubble on her nipples, 
which made her twitch, while she played with his penis. He didn't 
have to use his magic hands to make her want pleasure, because 
she wanted him so much already, but it was his habit and it made 
things all the better. They fucked, then they slept with their 
legs tangled together and the blanket twisted beyond any 
usefulness. She didn't think about her husband at all.

She returned before evening because she didn't want her mother-
in-law to see her too much. It would be dreadful if she couldn't 
disguise her happiness.

* * * * * *

After he kissed her he told her to strip and kneel at the stool. 
This made her hot. She held his penis in her mouth while he 
loosened her hair and caressed her like the first evening. She 
grew still hotter the moment he touched her. He didn't come into 
her mouth, though, and he made her wait for the sex.

At the table they fed each other those tiny bites of food, 
kissing often between bites. When they were finished he told her 
"I have a surprise. Lie down, Liebchen." She did, knowing he 
would do something wonderful to her. He told her to close her 
eyes, and when she opened them again he was leaning over her with 
a piece of almost-melted, dark chocolate between his lips. She 
sucked on the chocolate, then took it in her lips so he could 
suck on it from her mouth, but on a whim she said "boo!" and 
sucked the whole thing into her mouth. He wrestled her, his mouth 
on hers, and then they opened their mouths and passed the 
shrinking nugget back and fourth with their tongues until it 
melted and was all gone except what had smeared on their lips.

There was more chocolate, almost liquid now because of the fire. 
She ordered, "Now you lie down!" She spread melted chocolate on 
his penis, from the hole to the shaft, all the way to his balls. 
Then she began to lick and suck it off, to clean him with her 
mouth. She began at the base and worked upward, finally sucking 
and licking the head, using little licks on his glans so that he 
couldn't come, then finally sucking hard so that he would. She 
swished the semen around with her chocolate saliva, turned up to 
him to show what was in her mouth -- "Look at me, chocolate 
soldier, your chocolate sperm is so delicious" -- and swallowed 
the sweet mess.

He wasn't through. He pushed her down and painted her sex in 
melted chocolate. Then he began licking and sucking on her. She 
had never been eaten, even as a chocolate delight. The chocolate 
made his mouth slippery, so it moved slickly over her sex. He 
sucked everything in and licked everything, sucking in chocolate 
labia again and again, and licking her chocolate clitoris until 
she bucked against his face and screamed. Then he put his penis 
into her vagina, chocolate and all, and they fucked in a 
chocolate paradise until they were exhausted.

* * * * * *

So she remembers it during the nights. Does her mind exaggerate? 
Could it have been so overpowering? Yes it was. She doesn't think 
he really owed anything to the devil, but it didn't matter to 
her. It still doesn't. Faust himself had good qualities, no? It 
crosses her mind that if there hadn't been the terrible war they 
never would have been so caught up in their passion. Maybe women, 
some women, needed soldiers just as the soldiers needed the 
women. Maybe he didn't have power. Maybe it was actually her. The 
reasons didn't matter. Nothing mattered. There were only the two 
of them in the entire world, in his richly appointed apartment, 
they and their little fire and their bodies, and they needed 
nothing else. The war and everything horrible was far away. They 
would be together forever.

But -- oh sweet irony! -- his orders came before she left the 
next morning. If they'd come any later he wouldn't have been able 
to tell her goodbye at all. His men were to enter the offensive 
for the final push on Berlin. They would organize that morning 
and move to a disembarkation point later in the afternoon.

Why couldn't the orders have come while she was angry with him?

There were only a few minutes. He had responsibilities. He had to 
go. He couldn't see her any more. There was a war on, after all.

So they held each other and she kept her head against his chest 
and said "nein, nein, nein" and cried like she had when the 
rapists had taken her, with as little effect. She told him she'd 
follow him. If he'd given her the slightest encouragement she 
would have abandoned her family and done it. She would have. 
There were many camp followers and she could travel among them. 
But he wouldn't let her.

"Liebchen, no. Liebchen, I love you but you cannot. You have 
children and they need their mother. Today you would leave, but 
tomorrow you would regret, and this would follow you forever. 
Finally you would hate me."

He kissed her all over her face then took her arms from his neck. 
He gathered the few things an aide couldn't fetch later, and he 
left her standing in the apartment.

She has never gotten a letter from him.

* * * * * *

Her husband is having a nightmare again. She goes to comfort him.

"There, there, my love. It's only a dream. You're safe at home. 
Nothing will ever hurt you, I promise."

She soothes him, caresses his brow. He is grateful to her and 
begins to kiss her face. He holds her as close as she can be held 
with her large belly. Is it Grigori's child who is coming between 
them, or someone else's? She hopes it is not the child of that 
one who spoke German. She knows her husband will stop soon, but 
no, he keeps kissing her and she gets a little catch in her 
chest, and then he is cupping a pregnancy-swollen breast in his 
hand.

"It's been so long," he says. He has an erection. It is obvious. 
She'd thought he would never again have one for her. "You are 
beautiful you know, meine veile sch�ne Frau, but so thin. I'm 
afraid I might hurt you."

Then he looks down at her belly. It is almost time for her, too 
late for intercourse she has been told. "I guess I can wait a 
little longer."

Is that why he hasn't touched her more?

"No, wait darling. I can do something for you. Tell me if you 
like it."

She opens his pants and takes out his penis. How long since she's 
seen it like this? How much they enjoyed each other, so many 
years ago it seems. She takes the head in her mouth for a second, 
to swab it with her lip and tongue, then raises her face and 
looks up at him.

"Would you like this?"

"You don't have to do that, Liebchen. I want to do things you'll 
enjoy, too."

"I will enjoy it, darling. Really I will. Watch me. Soon we'll be 
able to make love like we used to, but for now I'll do this."

Goodbye, Grigori. She takes his penis in her mouth.


End.



=====
Find H. Jekyll's stories at --http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/
and 
"Ruthie's Club" -- http://www.ruthiesclub.com/

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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