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 /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 schöne 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.