The Bluebells of 1918 Ch. 03

I've watched. I've waited. Every day, for months.

Now I move.

The storeroom above Kommandant Neimeyer's office is my way out of Holzminden. I'm certain.

Within is a window onto the roof. The roof overlooks a courtyard and a section of fence a guard only goes by every two minutes.

The Kommandant's office looks out onto the courtyard. But Neimeyer's secretary Frau Weiss leaves at six and on Thursdays—never any other day—he leaves his office and goes into town for an hour. He always leaves at ten to seven. I heard he visits a professional girl in town.

I check my watch. Five after seven. The coast is clear. Here we go.

Breaking into the storeroom is the first step. I get to work on the lock.

I don't know where Major Ryan learned lockpicking and I don't care. He taught me well. The lock gives way and I slip inside. I make sure to shut the door behind me. First obstacle passed.

The window is padlocked shut so I put my lockpicking skills to use again. I get past the lock and open the window.

I put on the work gloves and climb onto the roof, sliding along on my belly until I reach the edge. I peer over and freeze, my heart skipping a beat.

A guard passes below. He disappears around the corner. That was too close.

I check my watch. Two minutes until he appears again.

Deep breath, deep breath. You can do this.

I shimmy down the drain and dash to the fence.

I take out the pliers. Snip, snip, snip. The wires are cut.

Ninety seconds left.

I slide underneath and turn about. Can't leave behind loose wires. The guard will spot them and raise the alarm. I want to be on a westbound train long before they notice I'm gone.

I use the pliers to twist the first wire back into place. Like I'd practiced hundreds of times.

Eighty seconds.

I tie the second wire. It takes more fiddling but I get it done.

Sixty seconds.

The third wire is re-tied. This is taking too long.

Fifty seconds. Maybe less.

I charge down the ditch and back up the other side, sprinting to the woods forty yards away. I get twenty feet in and crouch down.

Have I done it? Have I really done it?

I wait, counting the seconds. The guard appears. He doesn't give the fence a second glance and disappears around the corner.

I did it. I'm out.

The race is on.

***

"What was it like in the prison camp?" Emeline asks.

We're in my room atop her chateau. A month since I escaped from Holzminden. Two weeks since I met Emeline.

"How did you know I was thinking about that?" I say.

"The truth?" Emeline asks.

I look into her violet-tinted blue eyes. There's a mischievous glint in them this morning.

"You're a mind reader," I say.

"Maybe. What if I am?"

"Okay. So what am I thinking now?" I ask.

She shrugs, sipping her tea. "You are thinking about making wild love to me. I am correct, no?"

"Of course you are. But that should be obvious."

"I confess," she says. "I am no mind reader. It was a coincidence. Tell me about the camp. Was it horrible?"

"It wasn't so bad," I say. "Those poor bastards in the trenches have it far worse. The thing about Holzminden is the humiliation."

"Humiliation?"

"We weren't tortured. We weren't abused. But it was humbling to be locked up like common criminals."

Her hand strokes my arm.

"Lots of guys didn't care," I say. "We got care packages from home, through the Red Cross. We found ways to occupy our minds, too. Somebody put on a production of Hamlet. A French officer gave German lessons. I attended all those."

"The better to be able to escape," Emeline says.

"Exactly. Thing was, it was not having a purpose which gnawed on me. I made up my mind to get out. The best part is, once you decide to escape you have a purpose again. Isn't that funny?"

"Tell me about how you did it."

"I started by talking to the ones who tried before, to learn from their missteps."

"What did you learn?"

"That too many escapees focus on getting out of the camp but not on getting out of Germany. That's the harder part."

"And speaking German helps."

"I could buy a train ticket and cover hundreds of miles on the first day. I had forged documents, too."

"Where did those come from?"

"A Russian in the camp with a typewriter who could forge anything. And a Scotsman who carved rubber stamps out of the soles of boots. They fashioned a fake pass to travel for work to a factory in Aachen."

"Then how is it you were sleeping in storm drains?"

I shake my head. "I took a train north, then had to transfer. I stepped into a grocer. The shopkeeper was an old woman who glared at me. She asked where I was from. I said Frankfurt. She asked about some beer hall and I said it was doing great."

"There was no such beer hall. It was a trick, no?"

"I knew as soon as I opened my mouth. I left the store and looked back. She was already on the phone. By the time I returned to the train station it was crawling with police. I'd have to make my way over land."

"And that led you to me."

"It did."

"We should thank the Boche bitch," Emeline says.

I squeeze her hand and lean forward. We kiss. "We'll send her roses after the war."

***

I start with long strips of paper, wrapping them around the plier handles. Then strips of rubber cut from an old raincoat. I stretch and wrap, stretch and wrap, gluing them in place. Until there's a thick mass surrounding each handle.

I study it. Is it enough?

If I were back home the engineers at the McQuay Tool Company would test it. The insulated pliers I saw demonstrated at our plant a few years ago could handle a thousand volts. Half what I'm facing.

I work on the blades next. It's hours of work fashioning sharp pieces of ceramic and affixing them to the metal snips. They should provide additional protection.

I shake my head. My father made me work summers at the factory, learning how modern tools are mass produced.

"It'll be yours someday," he'd say. "You need to know everything there is to know about it."

I hated it but now I chuckle. The old man had a point, didn't he? Except he never imagined this is how I'd apply the knowledge.

I test the pliers on pieces of wire I strung tight along the back of two chairs. They cut right through. Good. Next up, insulated gloves.

Emeline enters. She leans over, kissing my cheek. "Everything going well?"

"Everything going slow." I explain it all to her.

"And you are sure they are thick enough?"

"As sure as I can be."

A worried frown appears on her face. "Is that enough?"

"It had better be."

***

I'm engrossed in the map. It's taken me hours and now it's late, some hours after dinner, but I think I've done it. I've found a way to the wire that's fairly direct but stays away from roads. I've a creek to cross, but it shouldn't be too difficult.

Soft footsteps are on the stairs. Emeline.

She touches my shoulder and I turn my head. Her breasts are eye level, full and straining against the gray wool of her sweater. "It is late. Come to my bed."

Oiu, Madame.

She leads me. Holding my hand tight, as if she'll never let go.

She's lit a pair of candles, one on each end of her room, their light dancing in her eyes. Her hands are on the front of my shoulders. She starts to speak but stops.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You have only just come into my life," she says. "But soon you will leave."

I kiss her gently. "It will only be temporary."

"Can we be sure?"

"Hey." I look into her eyes. "Listen to me. We will be together again."

"I hope you are right."

"What does that mean? Of course I'm right."

"There is a war on. Things occur."

"Maybe, but I'm not going anywhere tonight."

Emeline wraps her arms over my shoulders and looks up at me. "That much is certain. Tonight you are mine."

"All yours."

"You will be mine and I will be yours," she says. "And now you will make love to me however you like."

I draw her close. We kiss. Our tongues seek each other out. Pushing forward, probing, dueling. God, her tongue's a delight, eager and active. Hungry.

It's still not enough. It's never enough. So I kiss her and kiss her. Harder and wilder. I never want this to stop. Never.

There's a pause and Emeline kisses my neck. She backs off, undoing her hair. Her black locks spill free, tresses the color of a moonless night stark against her fair skin.

"You're so beautiful," I whisper.

"How beautiful?"

She likes this little game, doesn't she? "The most beautiful."

She unbuttons the top of her sweater. "The most beautiful, you say?"

"I do say."

She unbuttons the rest of her sweater and slides it off. The next layer is her white blouse topped by a brooch. Prim and proper. I know better.

"Keep going," I say.

She takes off the brooch, sticking out her chest. "Why don't you do it for me?"

Gladly. "As long as you help me with my clothes."

"Deal."

She unbuttons my shirt, taking her time. Moving her hand down and pausing at each button until they're all undone. She slides it off my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.

My turn.

I do my best to be slow, to tease her, but I'm weak. I want her naked. I want us naked. No barriers between us. Skin against skin. Body rubbing against body. Kissing, groping, squeezing. Fucking.

"You are impatient this evening," she says.

"Yup."

More articles of clothing are cast aside. Wiggling out of trousers. Peeling off socks.

We're down to our undergarments. They go next, a frenzy of unclasping and casting aside. It takes too long. Of course it does. A minute is too long. A second is too long. I want us naked now.

We're nude at last, pressing hard against each other, our mouths clamped together. My hard cock grinding against her belly, my hands squeezing her plump ass. Her hands on my ass, pulling my crotch against her.

I'm swept away. Manic lust for each other. Passion beyond reason.

We stumble towards the bed, kissing as we fall onto it. Our hands roam over each other. I enjoy her curves. I love her hands on me, too, roving over my shoulders and down my back. Grasping my cock and jerking it.

Emeline kisses my neck. "I see you are all ready to go. Tres bien."

I close my eyes, concentrating on the feel of her fingers on my cock. Their motion up and down its length. And her lips on my neck, kissing it. Sticking her tongue in my ear.

"God," I groan.

More jerking, more kissing. Our mouths meet again and I'm putty in her hands.

I squeeze her breast. Such a nice breast. I feel its weight in my hand, appreciating its size. Mashing it. Kneading it.

Emeline sighs. "Enjoy my breasts, mon chéri. They are for you to enjoy."

"I love them."

"Pinch my nipple."

I do so. Emeline moans, her eyes rolling. "Yes, that is it. Do it again. Harder this time."

I oblige her, applying extra pressure.

"Oui," she moans. "Again! Do it again."

I give her a harder pinch. She gasps. "Again! Harder!"

One more pinch, so hard I'm surprised she doesn't object.

"Oui!" she cries. "I love it. I love it so much."

Our lips reunite, tongues dancing.

We pull each other close, her hand stroking my dick. She hasn't slowed down. She keeps pumping me, ever steady. Keeping me rock hard.

"Oh, god," I whisper.

I give her nipple another pinch. She sighs, pressing against me. I pull her tight. I want to experience all of her. Her feel, her taste, her scent.

My hands wander down to her smooth, plump ass. I savor its size and softness. I squeeze it and give her a gentle smack.

"I love the way you touch me," she says.

"I love touching you." And I love you.

"Mon chéri," she whispers, biting my earlobe.

Waves of pleasure overtake me.

Emeline strokes my cock faster. I'm as hard as I've ever achieved. I thrust against her and she responds, tightening her grasp as she jerks me. Kissing me harder.

"Oh, my," she whispers. "You are so excited. You are mon étalon, no? My stallion."

I can be that. My hands roam over the edge of her hips and down her smooth thighs.

"God, these legs of yours," I murmur.

I kiss her neck and her mouth. I nibble her earlobe and hold her close against me.

My hand moves between her thighs. She opens them. She stops jerking me off and takes my hand. She guides it towards her bush. She pushes my index finger against her clitoris.

She takes my cock back in her hand, jerking it. "You know what to do."

Damn right I do. I rub her magic bump, hard and fast, kissing her neck.

Emeline gasps. "Oiu! It is so good, so good."

I rub her faster. She lets out a series of tiny squeaks and kisses me. She's aggressive, her tongue pushing past my lips.

"Will you do anything for me?" she whispers. "Anything to give me pleasure?"

"Of course."

She casts me a wicked smile. "How would you like to descendre à la cave?"

"Descendre à la cave? Go down into the basement?"

"The ladies of Paris did not teach you that? I am glad they left something for me."

It takes a moment to grasp what she means. French and its colorful euphemisms. Oh, boy.

I've heard men joke about it all my life. My prep school bunkmate, Evans, even claimed going down on a woman meant one was a homosexual.

"It's taking a subordinate role," he said. "No real man does that. Only a homosexual does that."

"But it's a woman," I protested.

"Doesn't matter. Start licking a woman's cunt, next thing you know you're sucking a dick."

I'd have loved to stick my face in the pussy of whatever girl would let me. To devote entire afternoons to licking pussy after pussy. Somehow that doesn't seem homosexual.

I peer into Emeline's eyes. "I said I'll do anything to please you. And I will."

She smiles, laying back. "Then have it."

"You may have to show me how," I say. "After all, the ladies of Paris never invited me into their caves."

"Do not worry," she whispers. "Emeline will show you the way."

"Please."

"Start by warming me up. Kiss me."

"Gladly."

We kiss, taking our time. Enjoying each other's mouths.

"Move down my body," she moans. "Take your time. Touch me, kiss me all over."

I kiss her neck, caressing her cheek. I keep my touch light and use both hands.

Emeline moans. Guess I'm off to a good start.

Next up, her breasts. Ah, what breasts. I never tire of them. Swollen, milky white treasures topped by erect nipples.

I suck one nipple, then the other. Each long and hard while squeezing the other breast.

Emeline moans. "Oh, I love it. Do not stop. Do not stop."

I switch tits again, sucking her nipple. I try to suck in as much of her as I can, then change breasts. I give her a gentle nibble and she squeals.

Onto the other nipple, sucking it. Biting harder than before. Hearing Emeline gasp.

"Oh my god, do not stop. Do not dare stop. Bite down harder. Harder!"

I give her another nibble.

"When I say bite my nipple hard, you bite hard! Show me what you are made of."

This time I gave her a real bite. Emeline responds with a long gasp.

"That's better," she moans. "Keep working my nipple that way. Now lick them. I want to feel your tongue on my tits."

I obey. I lick her nipples as she moans. Running my tongue around them.

I work her tits for another minute, going back and forth with my mouth. Kneading them. Loving every moment my face is buried in them.

I could keep at it for hours. Alas, new frontiers beckon.

I inch further down, hands roving over her belly and her hips. Across her expanse of hairy bush. One soft thigh then the other. Her calves and her feet, too.

She rolls over. My hands run over the back of her legs. Her plump ass. I squeeze a cheek.

Emeline giggles. "That tickles, mon chéri."

I run my hands over her ass. "Forgive me."

"I do. As long as you touch me like this, you are always forgiven forever."

I caress her shoulders. I move her hair aside and kiss the back of her neck.

"Ah," she gasps.

I give her neck more kisses. Delighted squeals follow.

"Oh god, give it a nibble."

I do as she asks.

"Keep going," she moans. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

More nibbles, more gasps from Emeline. She turns over and kisses me, pulling my face towards hers with both hands.

"I am ready," she moans. "Lick my pussy."

Whatever you wish. But we mustn't rush.

I slide down her torso and give her tits more attention. First her left breast. I take her nipple and suck on it. She gasps and I switch to her right. I give the left more treatment, taking my time. Enjoying the taste of her nipple.

"Oh god," she moans. "I can't take it anymore."

I continue down, scattering kisses upon her belly.

I'm above her bush. It is black and thick. Wild and untamed. This is it. Here we go.

Emeline spreads her legs. "Start on my thighs. Kiss them."

I kiss the inside of her left thigh. It's soft and smooth. So nice.

Her right thigh next. Two kisses. Three. Closer up her leg each time. She sighs, squirming.

The moment looms. Time to lick her pussy. I want it. More than I thought when I began this journey.

But how to start?

Emeline points to the spot. "There, mon chéri. Lick me there. Start at the bottom and lick all the way to the top. And go slow."

I get into position. Her aroma fills my nostrils. I inhale, savoring it. Trying to decide what it reminds me of. I'm not sure, but I like it. A lot.

I lick her, long and slow, from the bottom all the way to the top. She's salty and pungent all at once. I lick her a second time the same way.

A third lick. A fourth. A fifth, a twentieth. I lick and lick, reveling in it. Her juices cover my lips and her musty scent fills my nostrils. I love this.

I speed up, swept away.

Emeline reigns me in. "Slow, mon chéri. Slow."

I ease my pace.

"That's better," she whispers. "Always start slow. Yes, much better. I am glad you are enjoying yourself, though."

"I am. So fucking much."

"Now find my clitoris. Lick it."

My tongue probes her pussy. I can't find her bump. She moves her hand down, rubbing a certain spot with her index finger. She rubs it back and forth. "Lick me there."

The moment my tongue touches it, Emeline gasps. Her entire body tenses.

"That's the spot," she moans. "That's it. Lick me there. Right there. Up and down. Up and down. Shorter strokes. Shorter. Faster. Faster! Faster!"

She gasps, writhing. I'm giving her greater pleasure than I could've imagined I could ever give a woman. I'd no idea.

"Now finger me," she says. "Don't stop licking my spot. Finger me and lick my spot at the same time."

I follow her instructions. Happily lapping away at her spot and fingering her. God, this is fun.

"Faster!" She moans. "Harder!"

Happy to comply. I finger her pussy harder. She arches her back. An incoherent babble pours forth from her mouth. I catch the occasional oui amid her squealing but little else.

She screams, twisting her torso as her pussy clamps down on my finger over and over. Her arms flail and her mouth hangs open. She gradually returns to English as the repetitive clenching of her pussy eases.

There's more to a woman's pleasure than I know. I'm eager to learn, though.

"That was so wonderful, mon chéri," she says.

"I'm not done." I start in on her again. I lick her spot, faster than before. Harder, too.

I'm a man transformed. I was nervous, unsure. Go down on a woman? Lick her pussy?

No more of that. Count me converted.

I plunge into my task. I want to inhale Emeline. Devour her pussy. Soak up her taste, her aroma. All of it.