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From: alancmcd@aol.com (Alan C McD)
Subject: Passages In Time 3 2.2: The Confidence Of Lovers (M/F)
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The expectation was, of course, correct. Back in the dressing room, Arturo
teased her mercilessly, unable, he claimed, to get over his relief that she had
found a good German boy. The hurtful thing was that even the girls seemed to
find her plight amusing.

She got back into her street clothing as quickly as possible, anxious to be
free, to have time to think. She was pulling her coat on when there was a
gentle knocking on the door.

She sighed. Tonight, of all nights, she couldn't cope with another old man
offering her undying love and a place in the country. And when Arturo had
spoken with the visitor and confirmed that she was wanted, her fears appeared
to have been realised.

She moved to stand by Arturo, already rehearsing her excuse. Some prior
engagement. Some important prior engagement. The doctor? No, too late at night
for that. What could she say....?

But her visitor was no old man. It was the officer she had danced for. Danced
for so slowly. Danced for so naturally. 

He was standing in the doorway, smiling rather sheepishly, looking for all the
world like a lovelorn little boy. Now that he was out of the steamy atmosphere
of the club room, his confidence and much of his power had apparently deserted
him.

Because of that, she wanted him all the more. The only thing that prevented her
falling head over heels in love with him there and then was the evil tale that
his uniform told. But, for the first time ever, she believed that she saw
something of worth beneath that uniform.

"My name is Gunther", he said, his English excellent, his voice softer than she
had anticipated. "I wondered whether you might consider joining me for dinner."

She held out a hand. "Lucy Bennett", she replied. "And... well, yes. Why not?
I'd be delighted." Her heart was pounding.

Instead of shaking the hand as she'd expected, Gunther touched it to his lips. 

She liked the soft touch, felt herself colour slightly. "I know a little
restaurant in Riffstrasse", he suggested. "Intimate, but you will find it
safe."

"Is safety a concern for me, Gunther?", she responded playfully. "With you, I
mean. Are you safe?"

"No free meal here, cherie", Arturo butted in, using his infuriating sing song
delivery. "You sing for your supper with a man like this. Am I correct,
Gunther?" And he playfully punched the man on the shoulder.

For a moment, it appeared that Gunther was going to hit the little man. Then he
said flatly, "Such comments, in the presence of a lady, are unwelcome. To her
and to me. Perhaps an apology should follow."

Arturo whitened. "No offence intended", he said, shrinking, if it were
possible, in stature. "I mean it. Just a joke. Just my way. No offence at all."

Gunther nodded, satisfied. "And Lucy's duties are finished for the night?", he
supposed, pressing home his advantage.

"Completely", the Spaniard agreed, backing away at least a foot.

"Then, Miss Bennett", Gunther said, crooking his arm, "perhaps you would do me
the honour of accompanying me."

And accompany him Lucy did, linked to that arm. She accompanied him to the
restaurant. She accompanied him to a hotel, for a drink. She accompanied him
into a taxi.

He was on leave, he said, and came from Berlin. He had rooms, he said, in
Berlin.

She accompamied him to those rooms too. But she didn't stay more than an hour.

In the morning, she woke with an unusually good feeling, remembering him. She
remembered the grace with which he had escorted her, and the ease with which
she had conversed with him. She remembered his unease about Hitler and the Nazi
party, an admission which had allowed her to get much closer to him. She
remembered his sincerity, obvious from his smile. She remembered his shyness,
the fact that she had needed to kiss him rather than the other way round, the
fact that she had needed to encourage his hand to her breast.

She remembered how gentle he had been, and how she had instantly regretted her
refusal of his request that he might be permitted to make love to her. 

"Not on the first night, Gunther", she had told him. "Sorry. I might seem like
that sort of girl, because of the job I do. But I'm not."

She remembered that he had accepted the disappointment with understanding, and
had assured her that he regarded her with more respect than any other woman he
had ever met.

And she remembered where, at the time, his hands had been, remembered that
gorgeous moment when he had slid a finger into her ass whilst two others worked
between her legs. And she remembered the odd tautness in his voice when he had
asked whether, if she wouldn't allow him to make love to her properly, he could
make love to her in a different place. He hadn't shocked her, because in the
past other men, particularly European men, had asked her that question,
believing the option to be a compromise. She'd always said no, because she
didn't see it as a compromise but rather as a violation, and because she was
nervous that it would hurt. 

Only Gunther had ever tempted her to say yes.

In fact, as she busied herself with her morning duties, she found herself
considering the request again. Favourably.

After all, he did, she thought, merit some reward. For his gentlemanly
behaviour. Didn't he...?

So if, next time....

Next time....

The thought was delicious.

If, next time, she was still minded not to let him fuck her, then perhaps, just
perhaps...

Well, just perhaps......

That night at the club, although no arrangement had been made, she wasn't
surprised to see him in the audience again, and she was disappointed when he
didn't visit her immediately afterwards. Like a frustrated little girl, she
waited until long after the others had gone.

The club was open all night as a drinking establishment. Unusually, she
remained in the dressing room, ordered some wine from the bar, drank a little
too much. 

She had almost given up hope when the knock on the door finally came. But even
so, she somehow knew that the visitor would be him, and went eagerly to greet
him.

He had brought her flowers. An unusual gesture to a woman in her profession.
She was startled by it.

"Why, thank you", she said, and kissed him gently on the cheek. He coloured
slightly.

He sat and watched her while she located a vase. Then, when she came to stand
over him, he said, "I was wondering about dinner again."

"I've eaten", Lucy lied.

"Ah", he replied, slightly thrown. "Perhaps a drink then."

"Not thirsty", she told him, indicating the empty bottle.

He frowned, then came to the wrong conclusion. "It was a one night thing for
you, then", he supposed.

She smiled. "I don't recall telling you to go", she said.

The flirtation flustered him. "I don't understand", he admitted.

She decided to cut to the chase. "Never mind", she said huskily. "Look, let's
go back to my flat."

His left eyebrow lifted comically. "Your flat?"

"Yes", she confirmed. "I thought that.... Well... Maybe we can talk about what
didn't happen last night."
 
He weighed the words. Then he said, a compliment, "You always surprise me,
Lucy."

"Be surprised later", Lucy warned. "Talk might mean just that. Talk. I haven't
decided yet."

He nodded, accepting the terms.

Ten minutes later, she guided him into the dowdy living quarters of her
accomodation and closed the door behind her. Turning on the old fashioned
gaslight, hoping that he wouldn't notice the tatty furniture and peeling brown
wallpaper, she stepped into his arms, tilting her head so that he had no choice
but to bring his lips down onto hers.

The kiss was scalding. Instantly, she was wet down where it counted. Instantly,
she was weak. Instantly, she was randy.

Knowing the wanton impression she would give, she pushed her tongue into his
mouth. Simultaneously, she reached to massage his cock through his pants with
her long fingers, trailing them teasingly from balls to tip. He hardened
quickly under her touch, the erection jutting into his trousers almost
horizontally, pushing against the heel of her hand. She thought that the
pressure must be painful, but he made no move to adjust the position.

She broke clear of the kiss. "I'm not burning my boats yet", she whispered
huskily, recognising the weakness of the claim.

And she turned away, but only to rub her rear against him, to bring his big
arms around her waist. She felt his thickness press between her buttocks, a
sensation recognisable even through their clothing. She knew that if she was
going to call a halt, it had better be soon. But she noted the shortness of her
breathing, and the sticky wetness on her thighs, and started to understand that
there truly was no way out.

Gunther's lips found her neck, moved up to nibble her ear. The thrills were
coming in waves now, and she moaned when his right hand snaked upward, found
her breast, started to torment the nipple through her black satin blouse. Then
his left hand made a similar journey, but dropped lower, kneading her crotch
through her skirt.

She was lost. Utterly lost. Passion was all. She tugged at the skirt to help
him, lowered it and her underwear over her hips, down to her knees, left the
clothes jumbled there. As soon as the barrier was gone, the hand returned to
her cunt, skating luxuriously over the slick surface, making her moan again.

The clothing fell to the carpet, and she stepped out of it. Then Gunther
removed her blouse, and she turned, helped him with his shirt. It was the first
time that she had seen him naked to the waist. And she was impressed. He had a
gorgeous body, wiry and powerful, his chest smooth and hairless.

Urgently, she went to work on his pants, and within seconds the couple were
entirely naked. She caressed his long, thick, powerful cock, moving the
foreskin slowly back and forth, so gently that he closed his eyes momentarily
against the pleasure. "Are you saluting me with that thing, soldier?", she
teased him.

He didn't answer. Instead he jammed his mouth against hers again, and this time
his tongue was the more powerful. He forced it past her lips, stealing most of
her breath. 

He tasted, she thought, rather decadently of schnapps. 

When, eventually, she broke the kiss, she dropped to one knee. She smiled up at
him, knowing that he would enjoy the anticipation. Then she took his erection
into her mouth. 

She started slowly. Working the solid stalk with her fist, she teased the crown
and the eye, enjoying the weight and stiffness, enjoying the salty pre-come as
it oozed across her taste buds. After a time, she started to suck the glans,
loving the combination of softness and power as it worked over her lips.
Gunther was shaking, clearly having difficulties, and it wasn't long before he
gently pushed her clear.

Then he bent to lift her, hoisting her easily into his arms. "The bedroom?", he
croaked. 

She pointed, feeling deliciously helpless. He moved in the direction she had
indicated with a lazy grace, but kicked open the door with rather more
determination.

The bedroom was no better decorated than the living quarters, and she had left
that morning without making the bed. Still, the light was off, and she hoped
that he would have too many other things on his mind to notice her bad habits.

He placed her on the bedsheet and lowered himself next to her. Then he kissed
her again, luxuriously, languorously. A hand moved again between her legs. It
worked delicately, playing all the right chords, composing a symphony of
pleasure for her.

She halted the kiss, took his face in her hands. "I still don't want to fuck,
Gunther", she told him. "I'm not ready for that yet."

She was lying, of course. She was more than ready.

But she wanted something else first.

With amazing patience and restraint, Gunther pushed his frustration, which was
palpable, aside, accepting the edict, seeing it as a brick wall. 

"I understand", he said.

Lucy sprang the trap. "But maybe", she proposed hesitantly, "we can do what you
suggested last night."

Then, the oddest thing happened. There was a voice in her head. A female voice.
A screaming voice. Someone else's voice. "Wrong", it insisted. "Wrong, Lucy.
Wrong."

The voice was impossible to ignore. It bore authority. It carried honesty. And
she found herself suddenly full of doubts. Doubts about her sanity, obviously.
But doubts about her decision too.

Gunther had no such doubts. His eyes glittered now. "Are you sure, Lucy?", he
said. "Really sure? I mean... you seemed... well, reluctant. Disgusted, even."

She shook her unwelcome guest away, determined her route in resentment of the
interruption. "Not disgusted", she assured. "Or reluctant. But nervous, maybe.
And I still am. But I want to give you something. You deserve something."

He seemed horrified. "No. That's not a good enough reason."

"It isn't the only reason", she conceded. "It's something I've... well...
wanted to try."

She was caressing his cock with her hand again, and she felt it jerk at her
words. "Now that reason I do like, Lucy", he said. "I like that reason very
much indeed."

She smiled, lowered her eyes as she asked, "Will it hurt?"

He shook his head. "Not if... well, not if you're... lubricated enough."

Her heart was beating like a triphammer. "And how do we achieve that?", she
breathed.

"I have some ideas", Gunther advised, and slowly he started to move his mouth
down her body.

Her breath caught. This had never happened to her before. He paused to tease
her nipples with the tip of his tongue. He trailed warm wetness across her taut
stomach. 

By the time he reached her pussy, she was writhing.

He pushed his tongue deep inside her body, circling the musculature of her
inner lips. She was so juicy, so ready, that she could feel warm liquid running
down her buttocks. Then he moved up to work on her clitoris, and as he had done
the previous evening he led the slick fluid into the crack of her ass with his
finger, riding the digit on the flow to insert it into the hole. Her buttocs
clenched tightly around the intruder, making her wonder how she could hope to
accomodate his cock if she was having so much difficulty with this slim
visitor.

Gunther worked the finger deeper. Her cunt was singing joyfully to her now,
sending tremors through her hips, and she heaved her groin against his face,
jerking wildly. His chin buried itself in the cleft of her cunt. He worked
diligently, dredging levels of sensation she would not have dreamed to seek.

There came a time when she felt the stirrings of orgasm, but these dissipated
slightly when suddenly he removed the finger, started to smear her juices
around her rectum. 

The moment, she knew, was drawing near.

He came back up to her, kissed her again. She tasted her own love fluid on his
lips, sweet and musky. But then he moved the kiss from her mouth, took it to
her forehead, her nose, her neck, her eyes, simultaneously stroking her hair.

"I don't want to hurt you", he whispered. "If you want me to stop at any time,
just tell me."

"I'm ready", she told him, a brave assertion.

"Turn over on your stomach", he requested thickly.

Lucy did as he asked, and closed her eyes. His hand moved back between her legs
for a time, dizzying her yet again with its wonderful activities. Occasionally,
he smeared more of her juice into the cleft of her buttocks, but mainly he
concentrated on her cunt. By now, she was rocking rhythmically upwards.

Then he rolled, bringing his arms on either side of her head, his knees to
straddle her hips. She breathed in sharply, half in anticipation, half in
dread.

"You're certain?", he asked her, ever concerned.

"Do it", she breathed.

She felt the firmness of his erection against her anus, felt pressure without
stretching. 

Desperate for the dance to begin, she pushed up.

But Gunther was in control. He worked his cock back and forth on the slickness
he had spread, each sweep opening the hole a little wider, the continuous
action not letting that ground be lost. So carefully, he prepared her. Then, at
last, he pressed down.

The intrusion was pleasant, felt like it had been made with something less
substantial than the head of his erection. But she knew that it was that head
which was inside her, because the throbbing in the top of her anal passage had
a familiar rhythm. There was stretching, but it was a filling rather than
uncomfortable experience.

"I'm going to go deeper", he warned.

"Okay", she said.

Spreading her cheeks with the palms of his hands, he exerted steady force. A
couple of inches more of cock slipped into her, then another half an inch.
Deeper. 

Just as he'd promised. 

Deeper.....

Deeper....

Pain slammed into her spine, sickening her. She squealed.

"Oh, stop, Gunther", she pleaded. "Stop."

True to his word, he abided by her instruction, was still, neither advancing
nor withdrawing. 

"What is it?", he asked, genuinely concerned.

"The muscle", she moaned. "I think you hurt the muscle."

"I'll come out", he proposed. "But I'll do it slowly."

Already, the agony was starting to dissipate. In a moment, she believed, they'd
be able to carry on. And she wanted so much to carry on. "No, don't come out",
she panted. "Just give it a few seconds."

He spent the waiting time encouraging her. Caressing her breasts. Gently
tweaking her nipples. Reaching beneath her to torment her pussy. Pleasure built
again, strongly, inexorably. It wasn't long before approaching climax
despatched the last traces of pain.

"Try again, Gunther", she moaned.

"Really?", he responded, clearly uneasy.

"Really", she said.

A few seconds passed. Then, very slowly, he pushed again. 

Immediately, the pain started to return. Lucy grimaced, rocked up firmly in
reaction.

And suddenly the barrier was gone, the taut ring of anal muscle popped once and
for all. Gunther filled her easily then, sliding his thick pole fully home, his
balls settling against her cheeks.

He started to fuck her, still gently, and she moved against him, loving the odd
impalement. 

"Oh, Lucy", he groaned, delighting her. Then he added, "I've never felt
anything so tight."

"Don't come", she begged. "Gunther, don't come." Something made her say it. She
didn't know why. She was quite happy for him to come in that place, more
concerned now with working her pussy. Her slick fingers, rather than Gunther's,
were doing the job now, and her breath caught as she drew ever closer to
resolution. 

In any event the appeal, which wasn't really her appeal, seemed destined to be
wasted. Finally, Gunther's chivalry had been overcome by other considerations.
He had seized her hips and was now ploughing into her with some force. Her
asshole strained beautifully against the incredible solidity of the soldier's
prick.

The strokes got harder and harder, faster and faster. Then, wonderfully, her
climax arrived.

She stiffened, every nerve dancing with power. She moaned deep in her throat,
hand working frantically between her thighs. Her body started to shake. 

Gunther groaned, and hot semen spurted into her bowels, cementing the union,
increasing the joy of it. Even in the throes of orgasm, she shuddered in
response, then her body naturally tensed, just in time to receive a second
strong expulsion, sloppy and heavy, deep within her.

When Gunther finally stilled, and the last ebb of Lucy's release drained away,
she found herself able to do no more than close her eyes. She was truly
exhausted. Gunther remained where he was for a time, throbbing in her passage,
then she felt him roll from her, his cock exiting her anus with a distinctive
pop.

For a brief time, she slept. When she awoke, he was supported on one elbow,
watching her, something suspiciously like canine devotion in his eyes. He had
turned on the light. 

"Hi", she purred, because she, of course, was feline. She'd always known that.

"You are beautiful, Lucy", he told her. "The most beautiful woman I have ever
met."

She grinned, enjoying the fact that his compliments didn't seem to embarrass
her any more. "I've changed my mind about something", she said. 

"About what?", he asked. 

"About wanting you to fuck me", Lucy requested, the hard word feeling right.
"Because I do. I do want you to fuck me."

"Lucy", he said. "It would be my pleasure."

He turned, started to caress her breasts. She was flattered to see that he was
already fully erect, a state he had developed merely from observing her as she
slept.

After a time, he lifted above her, and when he penetrated her, fully, in a
single stroke, it was a luscious, smooth claiming, a certain and irrevocable
connection. She expected him to take his time, but he was urgent, and he was
fierce, and he seemed desperate. It was not, as a result, very long before he
made her come a second time, strainingly, rackingly.

He was only the third man that she had ever made love to, but he was far and
away the most skilled. He held back his own climax as she quivered through
hers, only releasing his semen, releasing it in rushing hot gulps, when he
seemed certain that her sensations were starting to ebb.

He teased his cock from within her, moved off. She felt wonderful. She felt
exhausted all over again. His semen started to dribble from her, and she loved
the warmth of it, the stickiness of it.

This time, he was the first to drift into sleep. Lucy was skimming oblivion,
about to follow him into the mists, when there was a knock on the front door of
the residence. 

Confused, unused to visitors at any time, never mind this late in the evening,
she rose, pulled on a dressing gown and went to satisfy her curiosity.

Standing stern faced in the hallway was Lucy's landlady, Frau Schmidt, an
unmarried harridan with a mean temper. In her hand, she was holding an
envelope. "I do not take kindly, Miss Bennett", she said in German, "to being
raised from my bed in the middle of the night to collect messages for my
tenants."

Lucy apologised, took the envelope. Her name was scrawled across the seal in
rather spidery handwriting. 

Frau Schmidt had already turned her back and was waddling down the corridor.
Nervously, Lucy called her back. "I wondered if you could tell me", she said
hesitantly, "whether the person who gave you this left a name."

"Nobody gave it to me", the woman replied irritably. "There was an obscene
clattering on the door, but when I opened it nobody was there. That...
communication... had been pushed through the letterbox."

Lucy nodded. "I see", she stated. "Thank you. Sorry again."

The woman grunbled as she disappeared into the stairwell. 

Lucy went immediately back into the bedroom, where Gunther was still asleep,
and, curiosity burning, she opened the letter. 

There was a single piece of lined writing paper inside, folded into two. 

She straightened it out, and read what was written there.

Her reaction was utter confusion. The message didn't appear to be addressed to
her, despite the envelope. It read:-

"Loranna, the game is ended. And this will be your last throw of the dice. 

We are the devourers of lives. Be vigilant. We are your doom. We bring that
doom to your very door.

We are the devourers of lives, Loranna. Sarah, we are the devourers of lives. 

We know where you are.

And we know where you will be."

Not for me, Lucy thought. Mad, and not for me. 

Even though she recognised the style of handwriting.

It was a lot like David Holm's handwriting.

Very much like David's handwriting,

Now wasn't that strange?


AND FINALLY...

To compete with Celeste (well, she treads on my turf), a joke. A joke,
unfortunately, with two disadvantages. The first disadvantage is that it's in
bad taste. The second disadvantage is that only British readers will understand
it.

There is tragic news about Fiona, the unfortunate hairdresser in the TV soap
opera "Coronation Street."

Word has it that she is suffering from CJD.

The diagnosed cause?

She's had too many Macdonalds, apparently.

NEXT: Episode 4. Toronto, Canada. October 2000. THE HEIGHTS.

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