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Medical matters and a deepening involvement with Mundt My work continued despite my involvement with Ilse Mundt. I delivered messages between members of our resistance cell, left messages which I had encoded myself for our radio operator in pre-arranged concealed places. It was vital we knew as little as possible about our colleagues. That way, were we arrested and interrogated we could not reveal other’s identities. It was lonely, always frightening and the temptation to talk, simply to share the burden was sometimes overwhelming. My cover as a nurse and midwife meant I could travel within the local area and I soon became well-known to the German’s night patrols and was rarely challenged with more than a ‘Gute Nacht, Schwester.’ Even that made the heart race. Ilse worked shifts, so quite often it was impossible for her to demand my attention but whenever she could she had me call on her. One Saturday afternoon she had called at the surgery and demanded that I go to her cottage when I had finished. I cycled there, bare legged and still in my uniform because stockings, especially of the sort she gave me, would have screamed ‘collaborator’ to the townspeople. Also because clothing was in such short supply that to wear the uniform placed less pressure on my very limited wardrobe. On arrival at her cottage, she’d send me to the small guest bedroom to change into what I felt was my whore’s uniform; stockings, suspenders, expensive silk knickers and a long nightdress or something similar. That evening was no exception and, once changed, I joined her in her sitting room where she sat, naked. “Better. Pour us both wine. Both of us.” I was always careful not to drink any more than I absolutely had to. Loosened tongues had been the death of many operatives. Ilse believed I had a low tolerance of drink, since early on I had feigned falling almanbahis şikayet asleep which had angered her but paid the dividend that she no longer plied me with too much drink to get her way. I pretended always to enjoy her company and it was not necessary to fake my sexual arousal. Her body was firm, strong and beautifully proportioned. Ilse could be very demanding, sexually. Sometimes she would expect me to pleasure her with tongue and fingers for protracted periods then dismiss me but at others, she was gentle and loving and used her body to bring me to welcome climax; even if my mind resisted my body could not. She had clearly had wine before I had arrived. She drank her glass in one deep swallow then pointed at the carpet between her feet. Shuffling her arse forward she reached for my hair and gripped it, pulling my face to her cunt. I licked and kissed her there, my tongue swirling over her, her clitoris, her lips and delving into her. She held me to her, issuing her customary commands, occasionally strumming her clitoris with her finger as I paid attention to her lips and hole. She was often quick to orgasm and this was no exception. She was not, however, satisfied. “My little French nurse is so good. You love treating me like this don’t you?” What could I say? She smiled. “Come to bed now. Do it again, push your tongue and fingers further into me. I will be slower this time and will enjoy you more.” She led me upstairs to her bedroom and reclined on the bed with its thin mattress and slightly grimy bedclothes. Kneeling between her thighs I slurped between them, her cunt wet and sticky from her previous climax. Her knees were bent and I slipped a finger into her and she moaned, loving the intrusion. I curled it and tried to think of Eloise or Naomi and the pleasures we had shared to be more inventive for her, almanbahis canlı casino to make her cum more quickly so that I might get away. She was getting close. Her passionate cries were more frequent, louder and her body was writhing. I allowed one finger to stroke down between her lips around that which was curled inside her, down over her perineum and to circle her arse. You’d have thought she’d been stung. She sat bolt upright and pushed me away. “What do you think you are doing? That is disgusting. First, you stuff me with medicines there, then you want to make love to me there. You are depraved, like all French women. You have ruined this for me. Get out, leave!” She was beside herself and I was genuinely scared. Apologising I stood up and made my way to the bedroom door to return to her guest room to re-clothe myself and go. Dressed again in my uniform I went back to the bedroom. “I am sorry, Fraulein Mundt. I meant no harm.” To my surprise she acted like a young girl, her voice soft, almost whimpering. “Do some women like that?” “They do. Not all, but some. Some find it hurts, others enjoy the feelings it creates.” “And you, do you enjoy it?” I nodded. “At first, I was appalled like you but I grew to love it.” “Who taught you?” “She was a teacher.” Keep as close to the truth as possible. Never reveal more than you have to. The fewer words you speak, the fewer opportunities for mistakes, contradictions. “Did it hurt?” “A little at first but we become used to it, learn that to enjoy our body, all of our body is a wonderful thing. I am a nurse, I’d never do anything that might harm you.” She reached out for my hand and pulled me to lie beside her, hold her to my breast. To my astonishment, she began to cry. “In Germany to love women is to be a pervert. The authorities say that homosexuality is a crime. I almanbahis casino have not been able to be me, to be free to indulge myself for so long. Before the Nazis, Berlin was free, women like me could find love, joy but now those places are banned and ‘offenders’ arrested.” I held her as her tears and words flowed. “I hate the Nazis. I hate the military. They are brutes and they have made me brutish. Everyone hates us. Do you hate us?” I said, as I had before in different circumstances. “I don’t hate the Germans, but I do hate what they have done, are doing to my country.” She nodded. “We are bad people.” “No, you’re not but you are doing bad things. Not you personally but your people are.” “I know. You have no idea what is happening to people at home. Are you Jewish?” “No, I am Catholic.” “That is good. It is a bad time to be Jewish in Germany, here in France too. My friend, Rebecca, was Jewish. I don’t know where she is now. She was taken away with many other Jews. I loved her, Jeanne, I loved her.” My natural sympathy was tempered by the fact that she had almost forced me to become her lover with bribery and threats but her deep sadness was moving. It was also interesting. To reveal her feelings as she had put her at grave risk and my professional mind, as opposed to my humanity, wondered if there were ways I could exploit this rich seam of sadness and anger within her. You may think me callous but espionage is a callous business and winning the war was the sole objective for my own country and the rest of the world. Her hand went between my legs and a finger slipped up the hem of my knickers and stroked me there. Her face rose up and she kissed me, her finger slipping into me as did her tongue. “You are beautiful.” I knew I was not. “You are kind. It is why you have chosen your profession. I am a scientist and was made to become a communications officer and to come to France. The Reich,” she almost spat the word, “makes ordinary people do awful things.” I stroked her back and she continued to kiss me, to stroke deep inside me. “Will you show me how to enjoy my body, my whole body?”
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