Chapter 6
Without emotion, Yvette stared upward through the gloom at the naked Carmalle, Marie and Faubine slung in the old fish net high in the rafters of the rotting fish processing building that hadn't been used since the German occupation began.
Her wrist ached, her shoulder sockets hurt, but she hadn't struggled even when she was strung up by the wrists by members of the French underground or agents of Vichy French, she wasn't sure.
The only real feelings she had was one of sadness, wondering why her own people couldn't understand they hadn't collaborated with the Nazis, but they were captives and cooperation was their only means of survival.
Why wouldn't or couldn't they understand that?
She let her head hang slack, tears dribbling from her pinched eyes to fall into the peasant blouse and trickle down the valley between her breasts that had blossomed remarkably in the past three or was it four years?
And why had all those horrible memories of the first few weeks of the occupation come back to her so sharp and tormenting after all this time?
God! She would never forget the night of agony of being forced to sit in those crude torture chairs with those hideous iron spikes thrust in their asses while poor Carmalle lay on the bar with that dead fish buried in her cunt.
Her reverie was broken when the unshaven Frenchman slouched into the smelly building lit only by an open fire laid on a stack of old bricks. Perhaps they would be able to reason with their new captors when daybreak came.
"French sluts," the man spat at her as he uncorked a bottle of wine and slapped her face. "Nice French girls fucking the Nazi pigs!" he snarled, slapping her face, forcing her to totter and sway against the ropes binding her wrists high above her head.
"But we had no choice," Yvette said evenly, her right cheek burning like fire. She winced, but said nothing as he seized the neckline of her blouse and ripped it to her belly button.
And she knew, instinctively, why she had not been stripped and bundled in the net high in the rafters with the three other girls. Her skin seemed to crawl under the roving of his hands. She cried out softly as he seized her proud, luminous breasts and tore at them. Yes, she knew why she was left on the ground. For abuse by her own countrymen.
Her inclination was to spit into the whiskery face as the smelly man bent his face, breath heavy and sour with wine to nibble at one of her nipples. "Yyyyyiiii, God!" she breathed as his teeth closed sharply on the tender morsel and he chewed until blood seeped from the teeth wounds.
She gritted her teeth against a mixture of pain and pleasant relief when he left off chewing and began sucking the succulent tit-tip, then sucking in a whole mouthful of her jutting, proud cone.
Yvette turned her face aside when he spewed a mouthful of wine into her face, stinging her eyes. "We are going to kill off you collaborators," he leered, showing a missing tooth on the upper left side of his mouth.
Her eyes widened in fright as he brandished a long-bladed knife, thrust it against her strained belly. The sharp tip searched lower till it was at her very crotch and she was certain she was about to be impaled in the cunt and ripped up the belly, letting her guts spill out.
But the man angled the blade and thrust in through the skirt, between her legs. She could feel the steel slice past the puffy flesh of her pussy lips and her anus. The blade went through the skirt in back and the man, with a satisfied grunt, slashed downward, cutting all the way through the long hem.
I might as well be totally naked, Yvette thought gloomily as her tormentor resheathed the knife and reached through the front slash of the skirt, between her legs to palm her sex zone.
Yvette danced crazily on tiptoe when he thrust his thumb into her gash, found her sex opening and stabbed inside her. "You are all madmen!" she snarled at him, softly, grimacing with each brutal thrust of his warty thumb. "Yes, we are madmen," he agreed guzzling wine from the bottle. "We are mad at all of the French people who cooperated with the filthy Bosche!"
Yvette knew it was fruitless to try to reason with him. She winced as he curled his thumb in her tight cunny, tight despite the fucking and fucking and fucking she had taken from Deiter Schmidt.
Dully, she wondered where he was now. He had been good to her these few years. The only one who had had her except the night of their attempted escape. None after that to screw her and cornhole her and force her to suck cock.
He had probably fled as the Allies began storming through France.
"Aaaaiiiiieeeeee," she squealed. "Be merciful?" she pleaded.
He laughed coarsely and stood back, directly in front of her so she could watch him unbutton his pants. She looked away, but he slapped her, banged the nearly full bottle against the side of her head until her ears rang and eerie lights flashed behind her dazed, terror-filled eyes.
So, I'll watch, she shrugged silently, mentally, as her head cleared. Just another cock, Carmalle would have scoffed, Yvette thought bitterly, glaring at the dark hunk of meat in the dirty man's fist. Yes, just another prick; a French cock, this one.
She found herself studying the man's expanding phallus. She had learned much in the past few years. Why not? She had seen a number of German cocks and a lot of fucking. He will have a big one, she mused without emotion, watching him jack off to raise a full erection.
For a moment her heart was heavier than ever as she thought of the young French boys of the village kept behind to become "mistresses" of the more depraved German soldiers. Yes, she had seen all of them, at one time or another, naked and being cornholed with a laughing Nazi riding their lean butts.
Yvette squirmed slightly as the man slowly worked his cock to a long, thick hard shaft of flesh and he pushed the long neck of the wine bottle between her legs and into her nervous pussy.
She hated him most when he put his face close to hers and blew his foul breath into hers as he screwed the neck of the bottle back and forth inside her.
His eyes glittered madly as he yanked the bottle from her cunt and pushed his body against hers. She stared over his shoulder when he pushed his hard cock down and slipped it between her helpless, creamy thighs, letting it lever up against her luscious labia, the head against her burning asshole.
"We could keep you alive to be fucked by all De Gaulle's soldiers," he taunted her. "And the Americans and the British," he added thoughtfully. "But I think you would like screwing all the soldiers liberating France-the way you enjoyed fucking the damned Bosche!"
Yvette moaned as he eased back and the thick head of his cock plowed the silky-haired outer lips apart and slid into her tender sex-gash.
Just fuck your cock off in me and leave me be, she thought bitterly, morosely. She felt the entry to her vagina begin to flutter as the knob of his prick searched for her.
He will, she conceded dully.
Her jaws clenched and a tingling laced through her and the muscles in the inner planes of her tapering thighs trembled when the bulb of his cock found her opening and he bent his knees to pry it up into her.
He nearly lifted her from the rough floor when he leaned back to guzzle the wine, drain the bottle and toss it away. "I am surprised you still have such a snug cove-after fucking half the Nazi bastards."
It was on her tongue to dispute him, defend herself and say only two of them had had her-and one of them only once when she had tried to escape with Carmalle, Marie and Faubine. But he seized her flanks, hands on her bare skin and thudded his cock up into her quivering snatch as he lifted his body by straightening his legs.
Heat flashed through her loins as he lifted her, hands now on her buttocks, through the slit in the back of the skirt, on her curvy cheeks.
She hung painfully from the ropes as he tugged her crotch to him, her legs stiff out behind his working ass. Deliberately, Yvette crimped her sex-muscles around his thick, hard, driving cock, hoping she could make him cum immediately and cut short his carnal, depraved pleasure and get his ruthless prick out of her snatch.
But he merely chuckled lewdly, holding her firmly and punching his cock relentlessly into her gripping pussy. "Yes, you learned well or the Bosche taught you well how to fuck cock," he snarled deep in his throat.
"Oh, fuck me and be done," she taunted him, staring, unseeing beyond his head that was pressed to her bosom.
Yvette closed her eyes and breathed deeply, smelling their combined sex aroma mingling with the repulsive odor of fish. Her lips parted slightly and every fiber of her body quivered as he slammed his cock deeply into her body, stretching her spasming fuck-walls.
Ooooohhhh, God, she thought prayerfully, how can anyone-me-derive any kind of pleasure from this under these horrid circumstances? Yet--the young cunny muscles were responding with a flourish as her pussy was stabbed full of rampant, ravaging prick. Yvette's whine ended in a soft sob as the man rutted at her with his expanding prick, slashing it up into her aching, burning, itching cunt.
The front of his coarse trousers rasped against her maund with its now copious growth of cunt hair. And each time his groin banged against her sex-mound, her clit was agitated until it emerged from its little, fleshy sheath, tingling and burning enough to drive her mad.
I must be a sex-mad animal, she thought mournfully, sensing he was going to bring her out and around to climax long before he began spouting his prick full of jizz into her pussy.
She stifled a scream of ecstasy as her cunt exploded and flowed its hot, sweet honey around his plunging, lunging cock. But he knew she was orgasming, the way his fingers dug into the rubbery flesh of her butt, stretching the cheeks wide, flattening the crack of her ass.
"Oooohhhhh, my God," Yvette whined softly, then louder as he rammed his cock deep, provoking even harder cum-spasms and eruptions.
"Yeeeeah! Come on a good, big French cock, you damned slut!" the grunting man yelled fiercely, slam-banging cock into her viscous cunny.
Yvette tossed her head back, long, blonde hair hanging stringily down her bare back and screamed her adoration for big cock and being fucked. She begged him to cut her down and lay her out on the dank floor and really pour the prick to her loving pussy.
But he laughed harshly, squeezed his fingers into the pulpy flesh of her ass and rammed prick into her as fast as he could hunch his hips.
She gurgled with pleasure when his lips curled around one of her nipples and be began sucking ravenously as he fucked away at her vacuuming cunt. "Shoot your German-loving-fucking pussy as hard as you can," he taunted her.
Yvette howled wildly, weirdly in the echoing expanse of the old fish factory building. Jesus, he had an enormous, handsome cock and her pussy was devouring it avidly. Numbly, obsessed with lust, she mused that this was-or could be-the best fucking she had ever received.
"Fuuuuuuucccccck the cock to me!" she screamed. "Put me on the floor and get on top of me and tear off my skirt and really pound your prick into my pussy! Eeeeiiiiiiaaahhhhhh!" she howled and pleaded.
A delectable reverberation began deep in her snatch, echoing erotically through her belly, seeming to explode around his tongue as he curled it around her turgid nipple.
"Oooohhh, Christ, fuck the shit out of me!" she begged.
There was a new, more intense burning in her O'ed slot as his thickening prick tried to tow the pink, inner petals of her fuck rose into her clutching channel. She sensed little pop-poppings in her clit-gun and the agony of pleasure was almost unbearable.
With the fever of lust burning in her, she wished he would never shoot his jizz, but would keep on fucking her and fucking her 'til Garonne River froze over. Which would probably be never, she thought fuzzily.
But he had stopped screwing her, had his cock buried in her snatch. Every muscle that could respond tensed and the walls of her pussy contracted around his expanding prick.
"Aaaahhhhh-ah-ah-ahhhhgggggg!" she purred as the first bolt of his liquid lightning flashed and flooded into her. "So goooood," she whimpered, savoring the feel of his massive prick in her pussy, the gushing of his hot, thick jizz spattering the walls and the depths of her cunt.
If he would only cut her down, stretch her out and keep fucking her, she wouldn't care what happened. And if he wanted her to, she would grovel before him and crawl on her hands and knees and take his lovely cock in her hands and go down on his and blow-job him and suck out his jizz and give him pleasure and keep him hard and she would gladly set her asshole down on his wonderfully huge prick and cornhole him herself with her lithe body and suck him some more, keep him hard and spread her legs so he could really fuck his cock up her cunt.
But then it was over. Not because his cock-gun had stopped firing. No, because there was a sharp, crisp gunshot from the gloom of the old, deserted building.
The Frenchman died on his feet, a bullet through his brain from a German Luger. As he slumped away, his cock falling out of her, leaving her dangling with his jizz flowing down her legs, Deiter Schmidt strode into the dim light of the dying fire, putting the pistol in a pocket.
Grimly, he cut her down, holding her lithe body to him. "We have to hurry," he said tersely. "I have clothes."
Yvette leaned against him, panting. Then she pointed to the three naked young women dangling in the fishnet overhead in the creaking rafters. "Them?"
"For them, too," Schmidt said and Yvette noticed he no longer wore his uniform, but nondescript peasant garb. As he unlashed the rope holding the huge net aloft, he said, "Help me hold the rope to the let them down. We must hurry. I have a boat to cross the Garonne. We will go south."