The Russian Front, A Love Story

By H. Jekyll

Part One: The Rapes

* * * * *

Story Codes: M+/F, rape, oral, vag, dom, rom

Note: I think I'm done with story codes after this. 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.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/

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

* * * * *

The Russian Front, A Love Story 
Part One: The Rapes


What is her name? Inge? Lena? It doesn't matter. It certainly 
didn't matter to the Russians. She was young enough and lovely 
enough and it was payback time.

A year back, now. Almost a year. The memory is strong as she 
moves through the day, doing the wash, tending to her husband, 
fussing at her children to be still because the neighbors will 
complain. She lives in a place where time hasn't moved, a 
hollow world, monochrome, chill. Though they long since escaped 
to Heidelberg, when she blinks it is still the East and they 
are still here. Her memory is too sharp. She sees them 
plainly. She remembers not only the scars of the one who 
finally claimed her, but things like the large black mole on 
the belly of another and the differences in penises. She 
doesn't eat much, doesn't sleep much, but there are times when 
it is worse, when little things will set her off so she'll 
suddenly have their smell and their taste at her face again. 
Then she won't be able to eat at all. She'll have to kneel in 
the bathroom behind a locked door, shivering and leaning over 
the commode until it passes.

Because of this she is gaunt, not a starveling but far too 
thin, every part of her except her belly which takes so much 
energy to lug around. She was already thin then, no Brunhilda 
after two years of caring for the children alone on ever 
smaller rations, ersatz this and that, moving from place to 
place because of the bombing. Friends went westward to be 
captured by the Americans rather than the Russians. They had 
heard that Eisenhower executed men for rape, but for the 
Russians, nothing. People fleeing the Eastern front told what 
had happened to them, how Zhukov didn't care, how German women 
were booty. Why didn't they leave? They could have. Until the 
last few days they might have slipped down the road, part of 
the river of refugees, but she and her mother-in-law both 
wanted to be where her husband could find them when the 
fighting against the Russians was finished. Then, suddenly it 
seems, it was too late.

The bombardment hadn't yet stopped when Russians came in the 
door that first day. They had thought they would be safe until 
the fighting stopped, but the door swung open. Hadn't they 
locked it?... who hadn't locked it?... and the soldiers 
entered. The first one rushed in but when he found only two 
women and two small children he stopped and laughed and called 
to the others.

Five, eight, nine men in the room. It was a large room but they 
filled it, men and rifles, bunched in a semi-circle, crowding 
the four terrified victims into a corner. The women tried to 
shield the children but the Russians didn't give a damn about 
the children. They came closer. It was completely still until 
the two-year-old began crying, and the mother-in-law quickly 
put her hand over the child's mouth to stifle it. Don't invite 
violence. Don't.

The soldier's smell preceded them. None could have washed for 
ages so they all smelled goaty. They felt goaty too. Two of 
them rubbed their crotches as they came forward. There was at 
least one who spoke some German.

"Your clothes! Off!"

They tried to resist but suddenly they'd been yanked to the 
middle of the room, both women, where their bodies were 
grabbed and they were slapped and punched. The children were 
screaming. She was yelling, "Die Kinder, die Kinder," not 
wanting the children to see. She didn't think she could stand 
for the children to see what was going to happen. The Russians 
were yelling at them, mostly with words they didn't know. Then 
she was hit hard on the side of her head, just behind her eye, 
and she went down. She hunched over, holding her head, and 
cried again, "Please, the children!" 

One of the men said something and it was again quiet except for 
the children screaming. The men stepped back, forming a circle 
around the women. One took the children through a door and it 
became almost completely quiet. The crying sounded as though 
it were coming from a great distance away. Afterward she found 
the children had been shut in a closet off the bath. Both women 
were gasping and whimpering, but quietly. Finally the one who 
had spoken German before said, "Take off all your clothes now. 
Cooperate or it will be worse for you."

They stripped, crying all the while, faces red but bodies 
white. Her mother-in-law spoke just once, saying "Please don't 
kill us. We'll do anything you want." But the man just laughed 
and taunted her, "Tell that to the raped and murdered Jewesses 
of Mother Russia. They did everything the Germans wanted." 
Thereafter the two said nothing.

The rape was anticlimactic, much of it. The two women were 
hustled to the bedroom. Both kept their hair fastened in buns, 
and when they didn't move fast enough soldiers would grab 
their buns and yank. Did they have to use the bedroom? The 
children's crying was louder there, so they could hear them 
screaming, "Momma, momma," while they were forced to lie down 
on the bed, side by side under the old photograph of her 
husband's family, the one from the last century. Two men 
unfastened and pulled down their trousers and crawled between 
the women's legs. The one on the mother-in-law complained to 
the others, but he fucked her anyway. Only one other would 
fuck her, though, before they pushed her out of the room so 
they could concentrate on the younger woman.

She, though, she experienced it all. The first man diddled with 
her vagina while another man squeezed her breasts. She closed 
her eyes and turned her face to the side but someone grabbed 
her chin to make her look at them, and he yelled something she 
didn't understand. When the man began forcing his penis in it 
hurt and she just couldn't stay quiet. She screamed and 
started to thrash, so other men held her hands and legs, then 
he was in and fucking, his massive weight on her all the way 
down. Her vagina hurt with every plunge, as though it were 
tearing. She screamed again and someone slapped her hard. Then 
in just a few seconds he was done, yelling in joy and holding 
his dick inside her as hard as he could while he came.

The men talked and joked among themselves the whole time.

The second wasn't as painful. There were semen and some blood 
and secretions, and he was smaller as well, so he slipped in 
easily. She didn't resist this time, not that she could have 
done anything. He also came quickly.

The third one made her kiss him. She didn't want to do it but 
he slapped her and grabbed and squeezed her left breast, his 
fingers digging in deeply until she opened her mouth for him. 
It was worse than she had imagined. He hadn't cleaned his 
mouth in weeks, so his breath was like something that had died. 
She gagged but he made her keep kissing him while he fucked 
her and she had to control herself. Maybe if she'd vomited 
they would have left in disgust.

How long did it last? She doesn't know that, or how many did 
her. She knows some did her twice, including the one who had 
made her kiss him. He forced her to kiss him again, but by 
then it was almost like it was happening to someone else and 
it was easier to control her gagging. They didn't hit her 
anymore, not once she stopped resisting, and even stopped 
holding onto her arms and legs. She cooperated, changing 
position when told, shifting her hips to help them. For the 
last two or three she lay face down with her ass in the air and 
they did her from behind. Then a few of them urinated all over 
her before they simply walked out.

She was still lying wet on her belly when her mother-in-law 
came to her. The two had never liked each other, but now the 
old woman was gentle and thorough. She had heated water to 
make a warm bath. She led her daughter-in-law from the bed, 
bloody semen and urine oozing down her thighs, to the bath, 
where she washed her, first her hair, then her body. She had 
mixed a douche of vinegar and something else and when the 
younger woman wasn't able to apply it herself she did it for 
her. Oh it burned when it flowed out! But she did it a second 
time, to clean her as much as possible, before spreading 
ointment over her sex. Finally she helped her dress.

During this the mother began to come around. She asked, "The 
children?"

"Shh. They're sleeping."

* * * * *

Sometimes when she sleeps the memories and terror sweep over 
her and she wakes sitting rigidly in the bed, ready to scream 
but controlling it like she did for the Russians. Rather than 
wake her husband, who has his own demons and own night 
terrors, she will go to their little sitting room where she 
will rock herself in front of the heater, arms folded tightly 
across her chest, sometimes for hours. If he has a nightmare 
she can comfort him, which will at least give her something to 
do. It is the only time they have much physical contact. She 
thinks of how much they fucked before he left for the Army, 
how sometimes they would sneak out to the park at night to 
take the risk of getting caught doing it, how they would wake 
in the morning and sex each other until he had to go to work, 
and he wouldn't have time for breakfast. He hasn't yet 
recovered from the war; only five men from his immediate unit 
returned at all. There's more, though. She was already great 
with child when he finally returned last month, and he 
wouldn't look at her belly when he first found what had 
happened. They have discussed the situation -- such lawyerly 
talk! -- and have agreed that she will give the child away when 
it is born.

Her sleep was destroyed that first night. It may never recover. 
When she had lain down, curled like a fetus, swathed in layers 
of blankets, she had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep, 
but after awhile it had all come back to her and she had 
jerked awake, thinking they were there. She was covered in 
sweat and shivering, quaking, crying to herself. Then, after a 
bit, sleep stole over her for awhile, until the next dream. 
Sometime during the night she distantly heard her mother-in-
law cry out.

In the morning she couldn't get up, but she let the children 
climb into bed with her, where she held them tightly until 
they complained. Her mother-in-law did the practical chores 
quietly. It wasn't until about noon that she remembered that 
the older woman too had been raped and beaten. Then she forced 
herself up. In the bathroom she counted eight distinct 
bruises, four to her breasts, some contusions, two welts. 
There was a bump just behind her left eye that led to a faint 
bruise and some puffiness around the eye. Her vagina burned 
when she used the toilet.

What of her mother-in-law? "Oh it is nothing," she'd answered.

Whatever there was, she had kept it inside, never giving any 
sign that she was affected, taking it to her grave. No she 
didn't die from the Russians but from an automobile accident 
after they'd gotten to the American zone. Sometimes the woman 
misses her mother-in-law. She wishes she had her strength.

* * * * *

She works as a maid for a group of American officers who treat 
her well. She is improving her English and teaching them some 
German words. They pass photos of their kids back and forth --
she has brought her two children to their quarters a few 
times -- and the men talk about how much they miss their wives. 
Being with the Americans, keeping busy, gives her a respite 
from her brooding. There will be a future. For now there is 
food for her family and the chance to talk with people who 
seem to have no past. After a few, uncertain days working for 
them she adopted their universal cheerfulness.

There is one exception. One day an officer who had helped 
liberate Dachau visits for cards. During a break he relates a 
story he'd heard from some survivors, about how members of the 
Einsatzgruppen, whose job was to round up Jews for 
extermination, would use young Jewish women sexually all night 
long. The women would cooperate because they thought it would 
save their lives, but they would be shot along with everyone 
else the next morning.

When she overhears the story, the woman breaks down sobbing, 
falling apart completely. She leans against a door and then 
falls to her knees and makes the same sound as one whose child 
has died. The officers can't get her to stop crying for the 
longest time, no matter how solicitous they are with "It's 
okay," and "There, there," and "No one blames you," and 
"That's all in the past." Finally they pull her onto the divan 
in a kind of Keystone Cops routine and bring her a large glass 
of wine, which seems to help.

"We're sorry. Entschuldigen Sie, bitte. We won't ever talk 
about that again, okay?"

They give her a ride to her apartment, though they almost can't 
get the directions right because they are all speaking so many 
comforting and cheerful words to her and because she is still 
weepy, but finally they arrive. The senior officer tells her 
to take the next day off. They're amazed that a German woman 
would be so affected by a story of the annihilation, so much so 
that afterward one of them tells the others, "I guess they 
weren't all Nazis after all, were they?"

* * * * *

The second time was utterly unlike the first. To begin, the 
door was locked and barred. The lights were off and they had 
retreated behind more locked and barricaded doors, down into a 
small room in the basement. Because of this they could tell 
the progress the Russians made as the crashing of doors and the 
profanity grew louder. Finally eight or ten of them were 
standing before the four cowering Germans and even the 
children were silent.

They wanted only the young woman. Two grabbed her hands and 
they pulled her away, slamming broken doors behind until they 
came to the bedroom. There was time for one action before they 
took her, time for her mother-in-law to push the tube of 
petrolatum into her hand.

The world rushed past her as she was jerked along by both arms 
in her circle of dangerous men. She couldn't follow the 
progress. Everything was fragmented. There were loud words she 
didn't understand, punches when she stumbled. She couldn't 
catch her breath, couldn't even beg properly, could think to 
cry nothing beyond "nein, nein, nein" as they passed through 
rooms. In the bedroom they pushed her into the middle of a 
circle and began shoving her from one to another. They would 
grab her breasts or her pudendum or hit her or slap her face. 
She fell, whereupon they dragged her to her feet and started 
over. When they were done there were two trickles of blood on 
her face, one from her nose and one from her lip. She stood in 
the middle of the circle, her head pulled down as far as 
possible into her shoulders, arms in front of her face, swaying 
like she might fall again, wheezing and whimpering, her eyes 
jerking first this way then that way. She was tiny and 
helpless and she couldn't stop shaking.

"That is what you get for making this difficult," said the one 
who spoke German. "Now take off your clothes and make this 
easy."

She tried to placate them while fumbling at her dress. "Please, 
yes! Please! I am! Only don't hurt me anymore, please! I'm 
doing it! I'm doing it!"

Once she was naked, she tried to smear some ointment onto her 
vagina, but they took the tube away. They didn't want that 
part of her anyway.

"Kneel!" commanded the one who spoke German.

She knelt.

"Open your mouth!" he shouted.

She opened her mouth. Then he said something to the others in 
Russian in a boastful voice, unfastened his pants, and put an 
engorged penis to her face.

She exhaled and closed her mouth and tried to turn away but 
they were right there, all around her. Someone grabbed her 
face and she was slapped and hit some more, so finally she 
opened her mouth and he pushed the meaty thing in. She was 
overwhelmed by the feel and the taste. In a few seconds he 
spurted semen into her mouth, making her gag while he shouted, 
"Swallow, German whore! Swallow it all." He hit her with an 
open hand across the side of her head, right on her ear, and 
all she could hear from that ear was ringing while she forced 
herself to swallow.

Then another was at her face. This one came almost immediately. 
Her mouth and nose were saturated with the taste and smell. 
The next one lasted a little longer. When he came his semen 
flowed instead of spurting.

The next was the worst. She was already hiccupping and half 
heaving, but he began to pull out as he orgasmed and she saw 
that his semen was a deep, reddish- brown color. It tasted 
metallic. She shouted and began to heave in earnest. She had 
to turn her face away, the back of her hand to her mouth, to 
vomit, but they wouldn't let her.

"Swallow it all, whore!" yelled the one who spoke German, and 
they began hitting her again. In the end she forced back down 
the burning liquid that had risen in her throat and held 
everything in.

She could hold anything in, it seemed. The next one's penis was 
so dirty that it was covered with a whitish crud. "Cheese," 
said the one who spoke German and she fellated the man. His 
prick was so sour that the taste stayed with her through the 
next two.

Finally the first one was ready for his second go. It took 
longer this time. He began saying something in Russian, then 
switched to German. "Suck, suck, suck." The others took up the 
chant. "Suck, suck, suck," and one began hitting her on the 
back with a belt or something until she became active in her 
sucking on the fleshy thing. She sucked another one, then 
another. It would never end, the cycle of pulsating dicks.

* * * * * *

That is the scene that comes to her the hardest but not the one 
that brings her the most shame. It seems to be fading a 
little, as well. When the memory would come to her in the 
early days, she couldn't eat -- not really -- for days. Now it  
lasts only hours.

Her husband returned from the POW camp long after the worst 
days were gone. When she finally saw his cadaverous frame in 
the doorway, far thinner even than hers, she had stared at him 
in amazement. For his part? He had stared at her belly for the 
longest time with absolutely no expression, then had asked, 
"Whose is it?" Now he will hold her hand or touch her 
shoulder, but he avoids her stomach, her breasts, her sex.

He now knows the Russians raped her but he doesn't know any 
details, just as she knows almost nothing about his life as a 
soldier or a prisoner. She wonders if they'll ever begin to 
find out details and doesn't think she will ask. She hopes he 
doesn't either.

* * * * * *

When it did end it was suddenly. One second her world was all 
dripping penises and the next she was kneeling untouched while 
a new soldier, an officer, stepped to her. He said something 
to the rapists in an authoritative but not unfriendly tone, 
and they began leaving the room. One or two made wisecracks on 
the way out.

"Stand up, please, Mädchen," he said. He had an accent but his 
German was fairly fluent.

He had to help her to her feet. She didn't even try at first, 
and when she did try her limbs went off in such a paroxysm 
that she couldn't get her bearings. Please help me do what he 
wants, she prayed. Then he had hold of her hand and was 
helping her gently, not yanking and not hitting, until she was 
upright. Her breathing was still in machine-gun like bursts.

His trousers weren't pulled down. That was the first thing she 
noticed about him, and she wondered when he would fix the 
oversight. He wore a greatcoat, heavier than was needed for 
the weather. Somehow that was the second thing she noticed. 
She didn't wonder what would happen next, just stood dumbly.

"Now put your clothes on. Just your dress and shoes. I will get 
your coat."

She has no recollection of dressing, or that by the time she 
was done he had her coat and a wool scarf. He also had a wet 
cloth with which he washed her face tenderly while she stood 
with her arms hanging limply at her sides. She remembers 
standing passively while he washed her, remembers him making a 
"tsk" sound. She remembers that he had to help her with her 
coat and scarf. She thinks she remembers him looking into her 
face and saying things would be all right but she can't be 
sure. She wishes she could remember their first meeting more 
clearly. He took her arm to lead her from the house.

The other Russians were nowhere to be seen, but the streets 
were filled with Russian trucks and cars, and sentries stood 
at street corners. She waited at the doorway for a moment, 
swaying, while he fixed some kind of sign to the door. There 
was a sweet smelling breeze from the South and one or two small 
clouds in a blue sky, but the trees weren't yet beginning to 
bud. What was he doing? He finished his task, took her arm, 
and said, "Let us go then, Fraülein."

So they walked, she his little automaton, going where he 
directed, asking no questions, her mind so frozen that she 
would have walked right into a shell crater in the middle of 
some boulevard if he hadn't steered her around it, but after 
they'd traveled some blocks it came to her that she should 
correct him.

"I'm not a Fraülein, sir. I'm a Hausfrau and a mother." Her 
voice was so quiet that it took him a moment to understand 
her. He replied simply,

"Yes I know, Fraülein."

His tone was gentle and he steered her without any threats or 
force. Her mind began to thaw a little, but she knew he was 
taking her to more Russian soldiers and she wanted to keep her 
mind as far as possible from her body. Still, she became aware 
again of the taste and the smell she carried, how she swam in 
ejaculate. Once she was aware of it, it became the center of 
her perceptions. She had to start breathing through her mouth. 
She grew nauseated. Everything that had happened, that had 
seemed to happen to another, now came to her as her own little 
Hell. Her stomach began jumping so that she couldn't hold 
anything down this time, no matter how much he hit her, and 
she turned and threw up loudly onto the street. She heaved 
over and over again to force out the phlegm. She began 
spitting and wiping her mouth before she was even through, not 
at first aware that he was holding a bottle to her.

"Here. Rinse, Fraülein."

It was vodka. She swigged some, swished it around, and spat. It 
made her gasp. She did it again. Once more. She was burning 
the feeling and taste out. She splashed some on her hands to 
wet her mouth and wiped it with the end of the scarf. He said, 
"Drink," and she swallowed vodka to clean herself inside, after 
which he took back the bottle, wiped her face and her hand with 
a handkerchief, and once more took her arm.

* * * * * *

When they can afford it she buys dry Rhine wine, so dry it is 
almost astringent. She goes to market every few days and can 
finally find fresh foods sometimes, but she still accepts 
excess rations from the Americans. Some of the soda crackers 
are stale but they get eaten in any case. Her husband smokes 
the American cigarettes. There is powder for cocoa for the 
children and pieces of American chocolate. She herself never 
eats the chocolates, explaining that she doesn't care for the 
American style. When they opened their first ration package 
her husband broke off pieces of chocolate for everyone. She 
stared at hers, took a small taste, then quietly put it on her 
plate. A moment later she left the table and went to the 
bedroom to lie down. When her husband came to her later her 
eyes were red. She had a sick headache, she said, so he turned 
down the light and stroked her forehead for awhile.

What she can tolerate least is American Spam. The first time 
she opened a tin and smelled it she dropped the can and ran to 
the bathroom, where she stayed most of the evening. The 
children and her husband love Spam.

* * * * * *

Of course he had private quarters, a warm apartment that must 
have been owned by someone of means. There was a small fire in 
a grate, and large, classical woodland tapestries hung from 
the walls. She had gone back into her fugue state by the time 
they reached the place, so she examined the room from a great 
distance away, with no particular interest. The little fire 
drew her most, and she stood staring into it, watching it 
flicker, feeling the slight heat on her face. She could stand 
there forever. Maybe she could fall into it, fall forever into 
the light and the heat. Actually they stood there together, on 
a Persian carpet, and he turned to her and said, "Now will you 
please be so good as to take your clothes off?"

She came to herself, raised a hand to her mouth and moaned, 
long and slowly. It was going to happen now! What doorway 
would all of them come out of to get her? She began to shudder 
like before. He repeated, "Please. Your clothes, now."

So she began to strip again, with difficulty because she was 
quaking all over again, her shoulders, her belly, her hands. 
Only when she was naked did she notice he had stripped too. He 
had a large erection, especially large, it seemed to her, for 
one so impossibly wiry and lean.

He sat down on a low, leather stool, with his legs spread wide, 
so that his penis commanded her attention.

"Kneel in front of me please."

But she couldn't. She stood there and looked at him and 
shivered, but she couldn't make herself move.

"Now, please. Kneel."

Finally she could talk, in a tiny, quavering voice. "I will. 
Please don't hurt me again, sir. Please don't. I'll do 
anything. Please, sir."

"It should be obvious by now that I am not going to hurt you. 
Now kneel."

She knelt in front of him.

"Closer."

She crept closer, as little as possible. He made her creep 
still closer, until she was almost touching him.

"Now, place your hands palm down on your thighs, please. Good. 
Now lean over and take my penis in your mouth."

She did as she was told. One more penis, meaty and aromatic. 
How many more? She began to suck like she'd been forced to do 
before but he made her stop.

"Just hold it in you. You can suck and swallow softly but only 
enough to keep from dripping. I do not want this to end too 
soon, and you should become acquainted with me."

She saw a movement of his hands coming toward her head and she 
jerked back, nearly dislodging his penis, because she thought 
he was going to hurt her, but no.

"Sweet Fraülein, no one is going to hurt you. I will never hit 
you. You are completely safe as long as you are with me. Sit 
quietly and do not worry."

What he did was remove the pins from her bun and spread her 
hair across her back, then caress her hair.

"Meine schöne Fraülein, you are so beautiful, but so thin. Your 
bones show."

He caressed her hair again, stroking from her head down toward 
her ass, stopping only when he had to lean forward and his 
cock pushed back into her mouth and made her gag. He 
apologized and leaned back. Then he stroked the front of her 
neck, down to her breasts, which hung like fruit in this 
posture, over her breasts to her belly. His hands were softer 
than a soldier's hands should be, but he was clearly a 
fighter. How had he gotten such softness? He stroked her 
again, from her neck, over her peach-like breasts, to her 
belly. It didn't stir her sexually. Nothing could now. But it 
brought her back. She didn't understand his gentleness. It 
didn't go with the prick seeping in her mouth or the battering 
from the other soldiers. His voice didn't fit either. She 
couldn't understand what was happening or why she was feeling 
and knowing again. What had happened became real once more.

"The skin of your breasts is...how to say it in German?... 
exquisitely soft. Such lovely pale skin on such a beautiful 
woman."

And at that she began to cry openly. She had never really 
stopped shaking. Now she cried aloud, tears pouring down her 
face onto his penis and then to her thighs, sobbing around his 
penis, snarfing and swallowing because her nose was running 
and her tears wet her mouth so. And he caressed her the whole 
time, her hair and her body, saying, "Shh, Liebchen, it is all 
right."

Liebchen. Darling. His voice was soothing, like one speaks to 
calm a frightened child.

"It will be better than you could possibly know, Liebchen."

His breath grew short as he talked because he couldn't hold 
himself back anymore, and he came. He held her head only while 
coming, gently at that, and she swallowed his ejaculate along 
with all her own juices. It was still several more minutes 
before she could stop crying around his now half-erect penis, 
but until she was through he continued to caress her and to 
tell her how beautiful she was, in that warm and soothing 
voice.

End of Part One. 

