Chapter 2
"Mama, Mama," the little blonde girl sobbed chokingly as she was huddled in the long, steel-like arms of the German army lieutenant. She squirmed helplessly, feeling his big hands all over her naked body, stroking her tummy, her legs, her resilient ass, her tingling little boobies.
"Papa, Papa," she wept as the tall man strode across the room. In a minute, she was outside in the cool morning air. There were bonfires in the center of the cobblestone street. In a daze, she recognized respected citizens of her village. They had been herded together in the street, in their nightclothes, held at bay by rifles with fixed bayonets.
She recognized auburn-haired Marie Trodeaux, fourteen-years-old like herself and her best friend being dragged from the arms of her tearful parents and forced to the street while her hands were bound behind her.
And there was little Faubine Flambeau, thirteen-years-old, a tiny pixie of a girl who was youthfully arrogant that her breasts were even more prominent than Yvette's. She was chased through the milling crowd of villagers, caught and dragged by the hair.
The poor, terrified child with pale golden hair wept hysterically as her nightgown was ripped off and she was slapped into a supine posture on the cobblestones, trying to shield her titties and hairless pussy and Venus mound with her hands and arms.
As they passed along the way, Yvette recognized the gorgeous Carmalle Gaspre, and eighteen-year-old voluptuous brunette with the liquid-purple eyes was spitting and hissing and clawing as two gloating Nazi troops tugged her by the arms from the crowd, the clinging arms of her ancient grandmother who had no one else in the world but Carmalle.
Yvette went limp in the unyielding arms, her skin tingling from the coarse woolen material of the officer's tunic. There was a pinkness in the sky beyond Bordeaux as she was carried into the village inn with its rental rooms on the upper floor. A drunk soldier with his Mauser on the counter was slopping down cognac from the bottle, paying little attention as the frail blonde was carried up the rough stairs and into a large, musky-smelling room with an iron bedstead.
She choked off her sobs as she was laid with surprising gentleness in the middle of the creaking bed. Immediately, she curled into a protective fetal position, yes unblinking on the tall, blond-haired officer who had told her, very conversationally his name was Dieter Schmidt and he was in command of the detachment of occupation troops.
Schmidt stopped in the process of undressing at the timid knock on the door, which was opened and a crude tub was dragged in by the old man and old woman who operated the inn. They retreated to carry in buckets of steaming water to fill the tub, then departed, their eyes sympathetic and soulful as they swung furtively to the fragile child huddled on the bed.
In spite of the nudity she had seen in her own home, Yvette was still shocked and embarrassed and horrified as she watched the lieutenant undress, seeing him totally naked.
"Poor little split," he said, clucking his tongue as he bent over her, licking his thin lips, holding the long, half-limp hank of sex-meat in his long, tapering fingers. "That crude dolt used his finger on you when it is such delight to take a young girl's cherry with a proud, German prick in her pussy."
Yvette began crying again, kicking feebly as he picked her up and settled her into the huge round tube with faintly steaming water. She sighed pleasurably despite her terror and disgust as the warm water sloshed around her.
Her hands were brushed away as she tried to deter his hands rubbing into her crotch with only its golden tendrils of pubic hair. "Oh, God, please don't?" she pleaded, but was ignored as the nude man knelt beside her, picked up a cloth and bar of soap the old couple had left behind.
"Yvette Giraud," she answered his question regarding her name as she lit him press her back in the tub while he gently bathed her smooth skin, bringing gasps from her as he ran the bar of soap over and around and over her proudly jutting little titties.
A strange pang was born deep between her tensing legs as he rubbed her puffy little pussy lips with the soap as he used his left hand to work up frothy lather over her aching, tingling boobies.
"Aaaaahhhhh," she sighed in a soft whisper, barely audible, feeling weak and faint, ashamed of her physical feelings, mystified by the alien sensations of delight that surged through her. Her tummy muscles clenched so tight there was a sharp pain in her butt hole, a pain that lanced far into her bowels.
"Such a sweet young body. So wonderfully fuckable," Schmidt murmured, soaping her legs as he lifted one, then the other from the steamy water.
He urged her to turn over, support herself with hands on the brim of the tub. When she hesitated, he half-stood to take her slender arms. Yvette gasped in alarm as she saw him, fully ready for the first time.
His cock was so, so, so very long. So hard and straight and obviously heavy, the way it sloped out from the copious fur that all but obscured the root of his enormous organ. And his balls were so different from her daddy's. There was absolutely no hair on the dangling, symmetrical appendage that swayed lewdly as he flopped her over.
Yvette cried softly, helplessly as she clung to the edge of the metal vat as the cloth and bar of soap were caressed over her lithe back. "Eeeeeiiiiaaaagggghhhh," Yvette whimpered, body jerking convulsively as the slick bar of soap was pressed into the tight pinch of her butt, down against the dimple of her anus.
She was bewildered by her physical sensations and emotions. How could she experience such delectable pleasures, naked like this, ministered to by a total stranger and a blood enemy of her beloved France?
Ashamed of her erotic feelings, naive about what he was doing to her, what he was searching for so expertly; the erotic zones of her young body. He was finding them under her shoulder blades, in the side dimples of her maturing buttocks, at that area of her spine where the sleek cheeks of her ass flared away into her delectable hips, in that tendon area behind her knees, in the arches of her feet, deep in her armpits. He even discovered one on the right side of her throat, causing her to gasp in surprise.
Her arousal was becoming to intense she couldn't break her thoughts away from what he was doing. She tried to focus her thoughts on worrying about what was happening to her mother and father. But all she could think of was the manner in which they were being degraded.
And-Yvette whimpered in mental anguish-she had heard her mother pleading for the depraved, ruthless Nazi soldiers to keep on doing it to her-fucking her. And she had truly seen her mother reaching greedily for hard cocks to suck on, taking them fucking deeply down her throat while she slurped them and gulped the creamy flow of the soldiers' male stuff.
Juvenile that she was, Yvette vowed solemnly she would never permit herself to be subjected to sucking on a man's-any man's-ugly cock. She knew she could not fight off a man's getting on top of her, forcing himself between her legs and spearing his prick into her and fucking her.
But she would never suck on a man's filthy prick!
Suddenly, Yvette was perplexed. The nude German officer no longer was bathing her and touching her in those maddening places. Slowly, uncertainly, she turned in the tub, splashing in the sudsy water.
"Get out," he said and she looked up at him. She drew a slow, deep breath, glad she was unable to see his bared genitals because of the big towel he held up for her. Yvette made a feeble gesture at covering her titties with a crossed arm and her virginal mound and pussy with a hand.
Quickly, he dried her shivering body from head to toes and let her clutch the towel about her nakedness. She whined in mild protest as he hugged her to his hard, muscular body and held a fresh bottle of cognac. Yvette tried to recoil from the acrid aroma of the liquor, but his hand was on her neck and he forced the bottle against her lips.
"Drink, little French bitch-slut," he breathed harshly against her damp hair. "Drink plenty. Believe me, you will be glad that you did."
"I don't-I won't," Yvette tried to protest, but the liquor was spilled into her mouth and she swallowed, gasping and choking slightly. In minutes, as he held the bottle to her mouth, then his own, Yvette had the sensation the room was spinning and she would have spun with it, if he hadn't held her tightly in his arms. And the towel was slipping away and her own nudity was against his, feeling the rock-rib hardness of his massive cock against her tummy. It seemed the huge, hot head reached nearly to the wide valley between her adolescent titties.
And Yvette knew she was drunk. Oooooohhh, how the brandy burned like a fever in her flat little belly. Oooohhhh, how her nipples burned. Oooohhhh, how the fires were raging deep in her little pussy that had been violated by that soldier's rude finger, busting her cherry.
"You will wash me-all over," Lt. Schmidt breathed heavily on her, bending to capture her dainty lips with his harsh mouth, sucking them in and nibbling them until she thought she tasted her own blood.
She mumbled something totally incoherent as he dipped his tongue into her struggling mouth, forced her to move her tongue so he could suck on it. Yvette would have collapsed to the floor, except for his strong arms, his hands cupping the rounded buns of her bare little bottom.
"You will bathe me," he repeated, releasing her slightly as he stepped into the tub of water. She gawked at him, blinking foolishly, drunkenly, dumbly accepting the washcloth and the bar of soap.
I can't-won't-do it, Yvette thought dizzily as he squatted in the tube of still steaming water. She swayed a little drunkenly as she bent to saturate the washcloth, lathered it and began rubbing it over his back.
She deliberately kept her gaze from his solid prick protruding from the water when he leaned back in the old tub She avoided the gaze of his pale, metallic blue eyes as she swabbed his almost hairless chest. With a pitiful squeak, she cringed when he reached to grasp one of her lean bare thighs, then pushed a hand between her legs to cup her crotch, a finger dipping up into her, right inside her fluttering little pussy that was so snug around the finger.
"Pleeeeeeaaaassssseeee, don't?" she pleaded in a little-girl voice. For the first time, since he had leaned back, her blue eyes sought his genitalia, gaze resting on the dark, purplish head glistening like the head of some kind of vile serpent.
Deiter Schmidt chuckled condescendingly and he wiggled his fingertip in her burning little snatch-hole. "Yes, you will learn to say please and want it and do it," he said lightly, yet Yvette detected an ominous tone in his arrogant voice.
He pushed her hand with the cloth away and stood, dripping in the tub. Before he said anything, Yvette knew what he demanded of her now.
"No," she said in a weak, numb voice, staring at his erect cock, his dangling balls, the strands of pale hair that dripped water. "I won't," she said, defiant, yet filled with terror.
"You will," Schmidt grumbled, steel in his voice as he seized her by the moist hair and quickly pushed her head under the water, holding her there until she nearly passed out. When he let her up, gasping and gagging, he took her wrist, shaking away the washcloth and pushed her limp fingers against his pulsing cock.
"Use the bar of soap and your soft little hands on it and wash them good-my cock and balls," he ordered in a lustful, croaking voice.
Yvette sobbed painfully, almost blinded by scalding tears of fear and humiliation as she groped and her fingers closed around the firm, smooth flesh of his prick. Timidly, ineptly, she reached with the soap and began rubbing the bar over the slick head of his prodigious cock, up and down the sides and the underside and the top of his prick.
His grip eased on her wrist when she ministered to his hot, hard balls, sighing with sexual relish. "Soap them good and use your hands to wash them good. Work the skin back and forth over the head," he groaned.
Yvette let the soap slip from her hand and she got both hands on the shaft of his cock, working them, in effect jacking him off slowly, steadily, arousing his passion to an even higher pitch.
All the while she cried softly, the sounds of her weeping the only ones in the room except the tall German's lustful breathing. She stared at his husky balls, lifted high in the smooth-skinned scrotum, fumbled for them and swabbed the lather over his huge cod.
Greedily, he reached for her and his right hand covered her left breast, the palm rubbing over the deep pink tip. Yvette stifled a wailing cry as he pinched the dainty nipple, sending electrical stings flashing down her body into her tummy.
"Aaaahhh, good enough," Schmidt panted. When she bent to retrieve the washcloth to swab away the suds, he deterred her. "No, leave it; I will fuck you with my soapy cock and you will have the cleanest pussy in town." And he laughed lewdly as he stepped from the tub and picked her and tossed her onto the creaking bed.
"Yes, you will have a cleanly fucked cunt."
Yvette cowered there, staring fearfully at her adversary. The tears had stopped; her eyes were clear; still, her frail body shuddered with dry, silent sobs as he climbed, dripping onto the bed with her.
She tried to clamp her legs together, but Schmidt seized her ankles and spread her thighs wide open, holding her legs up straight as he nestled his lean body between them. Yvette peered down at his wobbling genitalia, felt the soap suds drip in soft plop-blobs onto her heaving tummy.
The German looped her ankles over his shoulders and bent her almost double as he hovered like a smooth-skinned vulture over her. She cried in dismay and apprehension when she felt the hot shaft and knob of his cock rub across her sensitive belly.
He looped a long arm behind her neck while he fumbled with his right hand for his weapon. "Aaaaahhhh, my God!" Yvette screamed, feeling the head of his alien object nudging at her tight little sex-crevice.
"Uuuurrrrggggg," Schmidt frowned, probing with more force, the weight of his hips behind the short hunchings. "Damned tight. You will be a snug little cunt-fuck."
"Eeeeyyyiiii!" Yvette screamed in terror as pangs of pain lanced through her immature loins. He had found her entry with a long finger and gouged it all the way to his doubled fist into her cringing cunny.
She struggled beneath him, gasping for breath, fighting for breath as a curtain of unconsciousness descended slightly, then lifted. She howled quaveringly as he wobbled his finger around in her, trying to open her to receive his monstrous prick.
"Pleeeeeease?" she screamed, again conscious of the blunt head of his tool of flesh. This time he managed to gouge it into the pinched smile of her pussy lips, slicking the pick inner petals with soap suds. She felt his knuckles and his fist as he maneuvered his long cock.
A fever flashed through her as she felt the point of his sex-instrument poised at the nervous cavity between her outwardly stretched thighs.
Holding the staff of his prick steady, he hunched roughly and the little blonde screamed in anguish, sensing a tearing between her legs as her pelvis was stretched and she received the harsh penetration of the head of the German's cock.
"Maaaaama!" Yvette shrieked pitifully, every nerve in her body afire and screaming as he bored down and into her body. Her hands tangled in her long blonde hair and she prayed to die or faint.
The farther he invaded her, the more bloated her belly felt. Even with some six inches of cock in her and another three of four coming at her, Yvette could feel the roll and rub of his balls against the splayed crack of her butt, against her bulging little asshole.
The rub of his obscene flesh against her insides was as agonizing as sandpaper, she thought, unable to writhe away from his relentless penetration.
He snorted and snuffled as he struggled above her, his chest against her face as he drilled his enormous prick into her, giving her the maddening sensation he was splitting her up the middle.
Suddenly, he stopped and Yvette was surprised, was able to draw a deep, shuddering breath. But in a minute he resumed; this time, drawing his cock out of her cunt a little bit, then hammering it back in.
"Aaaaiiieeee!" Yvette yelled in consternation, feeling fractions of an inch of cock going into her with each lustful thrust of his powerful hips. Every sense was alive in her and she could feel every inch and detail of his prick; the fat knob on the end, the blue veins that stood out like cords of waxed string, the huge flange of the corona that adorned the head.
"God, nooooo! Pleeeease stop? she sobbed in vain as the grunting, foul German officer continued to plow prick into her, planting it deep in her clutching snatch.
There was intense pressure through her bowels, through her belly, a stretching of her outer labia around the massive shaft of demanding cock. There was a searing, scalding sensation in the distorted trough of her vulva.
When he began rocking atop her, levering his prick around inside her, she squalled in misery. But she could feel the rasping tickle of his thick pubic brush and sensed he was almost all the way up her pussy now.
She was completely gorged with his cock, helpless to protest or escape. And the way he had her body balled up, she found it almost impossible to breathe. She was almost relieved when he shuffled her calves from his shoulders and let her spread legs hang limp, toes not quite touching the bed as he scooped up her butt and repositioned himself.
A squeaking sensation cascaded through her as he slowly withdrew his prick, leaving her with an eerie empty feeling. But before the stretched walls of her twat could collapse, he banged the length of his cock back into her quavering snatch, bringing a cry to her dry lips.
She whimpered in torment as he began fucking her, his cock sawing away at her tender insides, stretching her pussy out of shape-the walls and the rubbery bottom. But the sensations of pain had diminished and her mind agonized over the keen realization of total degradation.
Above the creakings of the ancient bedsprings, Yvette could hear elsewhere in the old village inn the sobbings of another girl-and another-and the shrill, wavering scream of Carmalle.
"I'm going to fuck your snug little cunt bloody," Schmidt grunted, pouring the prick into her coiling pussy.
Yvette recognized the insane screechings of little Faubine Flambeau, then the sobbings of Marie Trodeaux. She needed no visual evidence to know that Marie and Faubine were getting the same as she was. Maybe worse. Maybe there were several with them; fucking and fucking and fucking them.
But Carmalle? They must be doing horrible things to her; not just sticking their filthy cocks in her to make her scream like that. After all, Carmalle had been married and just getting fucked by the Germans wouldn't make her scream like that.
Then a scream was forced from her own lips. It felt as though her inside were being ripped out as the brutal German atop her crammed both of his thumbs into her anus and was thumb-fucking her burning asshole.
An unbidden sigh fluttered from Yvette's pale, dry lips from the sudden release of pressure in her tortured pussy. Maybe he had torn out her insides; but his prick was going in and out of her cunt smoothly, slickly, wetly.
She swallowed dryly. Intuitively, she knew that her insides had loosened up and he was fucking her comfortably although the walls of her pussy were snug on his gliding, pistoning prick.
And the head of his cock, swollen so much, no longer caused her any pain as it slid far into her, past her sensitive cervix. She sniffed at the elusive fragrance of soap mingled with the musky, earthy odor of sex-of cunt and cock joined in rampant fucking.
A strange curiosity roused slowly in her brain. Each time he hauled his cock out of her cunt, she raised her head to peer between their bodies at his wet, red, thick prick-shaft buried in her body, so deeply between her upraised legs.
There was an almost triumphant satisfaction growing in her brain as she acknowledged she was taking him, all the cock he had to slam into her pussy. Too, it was weirdly satisfying to realize his fucking her could produce such mournful-sounding snifflings and such a painful expression on his male face.
Yes! A woman taking on a man could almost defeat him with just her cunt gobbling around his prick!
Tentatively, Yvette rocked her held bottom from side to side as he thrust in and out of her twat; then she rocked back and forth, bringing her ass up to meet his powerful fuck-lunges, dropping away as he pulled his cock out.
"Aaaarrrggghhhhh!" Deiter Schmidt groaned as if in pain. She was fucking him as much as he was fucking her. She was taking his cock, milking it.
Yvette felt a convulsing expansion in the shaft and the head of his long prick and shook her ass with greater determination. A spasm of sweetness almost shattered her senses and she cried out sharply, shaking her trim little ass wildly as he plowed at her with increasing fervor, pounding prick to her.
He squalled deep in his chest and bang-slammed cock down into her clutching snatch, blasting jizz into her pussy, but not stopping, but fucking frantically, the little girl's red-hot cunt.
Yvette was unaware of the smug little smile on her lips as she stared up into his agonized face with a gleam of conquest in her blue eyes. Her cunt muscles squeezed delectably on his plunging prick, her insides reveling in the torrid flood of jizz she had fucked from his cock in seconds while he had been trying for several minutes.
Yes! A girl could use her cunt on a man and, in a sense, defeat him by sapping his lustful prick.
Knowing this, now, she kept going, fucking like crazy, making Deiter Schmidt, the arrogant German Nazi whine and whimper as his cock was milked into a rubbery mass of wilted flesh.