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Warning: The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules. The aforesaid story is about rape fantasy. It is fiction. Its author does not condone rape or sexual abuse in any shape or form. All characters featured in this story are fictitious and any likeness to a real person is purely coincidental.
Note: This is a story that was first published on another site that allows only consensual tales. I'm rewriting it. This story was meant as the first episode of a series, each episode featuring the main character competing and raping and/or having sex. It starts here in 1946 when he's in his early 20s and was supposed to run until around 1962, by which time my lifter is ageing, still drug-free and no longer able to compete at the world level, but he still finds joy at the regional level. This could be a most enjoyable career for him where he fucks/rape/makes hot love with the likes of Ann Blyth, Lizbeth Scott, Audrey Hepburn... singer Jodie Sands (why not?) ...
In this first episode, Nadia is portrayed by Ariadna Shengelaya, one of the greatest actresses in the Soviet era. I wanted her to look Russian and really young for a woman in her 30s. I hope you will enjoy this film noir featuring an olympic… You’ll see for yourself!
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A man who’s been to war must learn to make peace with the mirror.
Our young man was from Canada. Montréal. He had surprisingly little similarities to hexagonal France and a lot more common points with British and Americans, starting with what he loved to eat for breakfast -- no crescents, but a lot of bacon and mountains of scrambled eggs with hash browns. Living in Montréal meant all was white outside four months a year, and those hooves would make crispy sounds on the early-morning ice when the milkman made his run in grey dawn at the reins of his horse-drafted wagon. Those were Canadian horses that didn't fear the bitterest winters.
He himself was a bit like a Canadian horse. He had massive muscles stretching his white camisole as he stood tall in front of an oak-framed mirror above a hand-rinse basin that was at the correct height for the average French man, but too low for his six-feet-one frame; a basin with brass faucets that looked like a pair of bronze crosses. Using a bronze safety razor with a double edge, the youthful muscleman shaved with military efficiency and a definite air of smugness on his fair features that offered a sharp contrast with his dark hair.
As he finished shaving, he was wondering whether he should grow a thin moustache like the one John Davis wore in that black-and-white picture he owned. John Davis was his idol.
In that picture, the 1938 world champion in Olympic weightlifting stood tall, shirtless, displaying his ebony muscles as he strictly pressed an unthinkable 285-pound barbell overhead, while only 19. In the background, two Yankee girls were clearly admiring his rock-hard, 200-pound physique and making the picture loaded with interracial taboo.
He had heard that Mr. Davis was very humble. He had brought the picture in order to get it signed by his idol.
It was noon in Paris, although it was only six o’clock for him; his four-motor DC-4 plane had landed at Le Bourget at the end of a sixteen-hour long flight that was broken up by a stop in the Azores. He had crawled to his hotel room in the wee hours and slept like a baby.
He stood shirtless in front of the mirror as he put his razor away after washing some remnants of shaving cream off it, in the same way the last remnants of the all-mighty German Reich had been washed off the Black Forest only the year before. He knew; he had been there.
Anyone in the know knew that this teenage-looking war veteran was an Olympic weightlifter, for he was thickly muscled all over with massive glutes, cannonballs for shoulders that spoke of years of heavy pressing, and a trim, yet thick waist like one saw on antique marble statues displaying long-dead athletes. The tall lad was sometimes a bit smug and selfish, but he was now aware of this.
He decided against growing a moustache, so he took back his razor and swiftly made a clean slate of skin under his nose. He was keeping his baby face. He wasn’t John Davis from USA; he was Daniel Lévesque from Canada.
“And besides, if it ain’t broke, why fix it?” the proud boy thought as he finished shaving himself clean. He smiled at his handsome reflection as he cleaned his face using his own towel from the beaver-nickel side of the Atlantic. Beaver indeed. He had found some left in his wallet. Those five-cent coins would each be good enough to buy himself a coffee back home, but here in Paris they were worth a big fat zero. Yet he kept one in his pocket so it would bring him luck with the gals. Daniel strongly believed that one nickel in his pants would bring him closer to a girl. It did work when he met Zabel.
Indeed, the twenty-one-year-old lad sometimes attracted smiles and sparkly eyes from charming young ladies, as proven by the picture Daniel was presently taping to the upper edge of the mirror. It displayed a pretty girl with raven hair and Andalusian eyes. She looked vaguely Spanish thanks to her rich complexion. She was quietly smiling with her hands neatly resting together on her lap in a pose that told of a nice girl one would want as a wife. He was indeed to marry her next June by which time she'd be just shy of nineteen.
Yes, he was lucky to have met her. They didn’t have sex yet; they both wanted to wait until their wedding night, like good Christians. Not even a run to second base as of yet! Just kissing, holding hands, hair stroking and touches on her feet.
Good God, he had gone a long way since his return from this sad affair called World War Two! After a year of having his soldierly services retained to help rebuild France, he finally got his ticket home on a ship headed for Halifax in April.
Within the next six months, he had trained himself back to tip-top shape and landed a well-paying job thanks to his war-acquired fluency in English. Most of all, he had become a better man. This was why his sweet girl had chosen him for her husband to be. His folks weren’t exactly happy with this. Zabel was from an Armenian family of migrants who were Orthodox! His folks wanted a Catholic daughter-in-law, but Daniel loved Zabel.
“Thank you… Thank you, Mister Stovepipe Hat!” Daniel said aloud in his small hotel room, referring to the quaint man he had met on the train from Halifax to Montreal, whose advice was instrumental in helping him to become the young fellow he was now looking at in the mirror.
As he buttoned his white shirt, the Catholic lad recited his weightlifter’s prayer…
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, give me the strength to bring up my Total and keep me humble. The Clean and Press is the Son, for it’s a true man’s lift, fit for a true son of life. The Snatch is the Holy Ghost, for it takes a spirited lifter to power up a loaded barbell while dropping under it into a deep split stance in one swift motion. The Clean and Jerk is the Father, for it allows the victor to stand tall while holding the world over his head. Amen!”
As he swiftly put on his mocha-coloured tie in his usual half-Windsor knot, he heard people speaking in the hotel hallway—a couple. They were not speaking French. It sounded… Russian?
The woman had a wonderful soprano voice. She sounded happy to be in Paris, and who wasn’t? It was so beautiful in October, with all those trees ablaze with fiery reds and golden hues. That man in the hallway sounded grumpy and authoritarian as he spook to the young lady, for such a lovely voice could only belong to a lass. He had never seen a Russian girl in person, so now was the time! But that big oaf with his grumpy tone... What a shame to spoil such a gorgeous day!
Ever so swift, Daniel put on his double-chest jacket, grabbed his wide-rim fedora hat and stepped into the hallway, just in time to catch a glimpse of the young couple as the man was closing the door. He met the man’s eyes. The dark-haired Russian was tall enough to make even him look short! Formidable size with huge shoulders, and he stared at Daniel with cold, dark eyes that said, “Mind your own f##ing business!”
The door was closed without much gentleness, leaving him alone in the hallway, between decades-old walls. The hotel was a legacy from the 1870s. The carpet on the floor looked faded and dated, but it was clean.
Daniel was starving and there was a street-side café facing the hotel; it looked very inviting with the aromas of hot croissants and fresh coffee. He crossed the bustling avenue, whistling a tune, “Y a d’la joie!” by Charles Trenet.
“Y a d’la joie! Bonjour-bonjour les hirondelles, y a d’la joie! …”
That is an interesting start to a story. I think this is the first story I read from you that is so focused on a singular character. I'm really excited to see what you do with that setup. I don't understand the first thing about weight lifting but I'm willing to follow you down that path. Given how this story is told so far, it's almost a little sad to know that this is a rape fantasy forum. You would not be able to tell that this is where the story is headed after reading this opening chapter.
Now, HistBuff, I need to test your historical knowledge:
HistBuff wrote: Wed Apr 30, 2025 10:25 am
They didn’t have sex yet; they both wanted to wait until their wedding night, like good Christians. Not even a run to second base as of yet!
That made me woder, when did the baseball metaphor for sex actually become a thing? I know that it was already present in the 70's because of Meat Loaf's Paradise by the Dashboard Light (great song btw) but did that exist in the 40's already?
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My stories: Claire's Cesspool of Sin. I'm always happy to receive a comment on my stories, even more so on an older one!
Claire wrote: Wed Apr 30, 2025 4:37 pm
That is an interesting start to a story. I think this is the first story I read from you that is so focused on a singular character. I'm really excited to see what you do with that setup. I don't understand the first thing about weight lifting but I'm willing to follow you down that path. Given how this story is told so far, it's almost a little sad to know that this is a rape fantasy forum. You would not be able to tell that this is where the story is headed after reading this opening chapter.
Now, HistBuff, I need to test your historical knowledge:
HistBuff wrote: Wed Apr 30, 2025 10:25 am
They didn’t have sex yet; they both wanted to wait until their wedding night, like good Christians. Not even a run to second base as of yet!
That made me woder, when did the baseball metaphor for sex actually become a thing? I know that it was already present in the 70's because of Meat Loaf's Paradise by the Dashboard Light (great song btw) but did that exist in the 40's already?
@Claire The baseball metaphor was brand new in the 1940's and most probably only heard in USA and Canada. It first became prevalent in the aftermath of WW2 and was very widely used by US teenagers in the 1950s. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baseball_ ... rs_for_sex
As to the non-rapey tone in this story, it needs to be said that this story was first written as part of a contest on a site called Lush Stories, which doesn't allow anything related to non-consensual. I'm rewriting everything and I have not yet decided when the sex happens exactly. That contest's theme was film noir. One of the inspiration is Alfred Hitchcock's Strangers On A Train -- In this film, there's a tennis match, and in mine there's a weightlifting competition. In both cases the protagonist is a top-level athlete.
Last edited by HistBuff on Thu May 01, 2025 1:13 am, edited 4 times in total.
Shocker wrote: Wed Apr 30, 2025 11:37 am
Interesting setup for a story.
Thanks, @Shocker ! This story was also posted on TBV; I actually retrieved it from there. First written on a site called Lush Stories as part of a contest on film noir. Lush Stories only allows consensual, so I'm rewriting this quite a bit. There are ways to include rape even in a Code-era movie!
LaLia wrote: Wed Apr 30, 2025 3:37 pm
Historical stories are totally your style, right?
Interesting approach, even if there's not much to say yet. But I quite like the introduction of the characters.
@LaLia Yes, very much my style. Like I told Shocker and Claire, this story was originally written on a site that only allows consensual. The love with earlier 20th century dates back from my childhood. I had a great aunt who lived in Montreal in the very same apartment since the 1930s. I just loved going there. When I was a teen, I would go and visit her on my own. She's the one who showed me how to properly do my necktie.
Armande was born in 1909 and never married. Even in her 70s she was still glamorous. On pictures of her in her prime, she was beautiful, dark-haired with an absolute sense of style. I was close to her. She would tell me lots of stories about her younger days. She missed the sounds of hooves that would wake her up in the morning when the milkman made his run; milkmen used horse-drafted wagons until well into the 1960s in Montreal. So those details in my stories are not only from researching!
After nearly bumping into a fellow young man who looked remarkably like Charles Trenet, Daniel got at the outdoor café and sat at one of those small round white tables, just by the sidewalk. A waiter greeted him and he asked whether they served vichyssoise.
"Yes yes, of course Sir! You fellows from abroad like it so much! Canadian, aren't you?"
"Yep! There's no hiding my accent, and I'm proud of it. Soldiers speaking this accent helped in fighting the Germans off your country. Some of my fellow countrymen never made it back home."
After a respectful nod to the war veteran, the short and thin waiter went off to fetch a vichyssoise, some camembert and of course, croissants and coffee. This was Daniel's first French déjeuner in six months. He no longer wore his British khaki uniform with a “Canada” patch sewn on the shoulders. He was wearing a dark wine-red suit that brought out his pale, yet healthy complexion and looked unmistakably North American. The jacket was of a roomy size, US-50, yet it was still a tiny bit tight for his shoulders.
After showing off his dark hair, he remembered Zabel and his engagement to her. He put back his sienna-brown hat on while mentally kicking himself for being so vain. He had yet much to learn!
As he waited, his mind wandered off back in time. Already more than two years since the landing in Normandy. D-Day. The day he was certain he would die before sunset. He had vomited overboard just before his landing craft reached Juno Beach. The hands of fate on his wristwatch were etched forever in his mind -- it was 8:30 as his company landed as part of a battalion in the 8th Canadian Brigade's first wave of assault that came as a reinforcement for the Queen's Own Rifles, who had already left dozens of corpses on that bloody beach.
As soon as the landing craft was still and the front door opened, the German machine guns firing from casemates up there found their marks and slain many Canadian boys, the whizzing bullets hacking through their flesh as their bodies seemed to monkey-dance with Death. Daniel had jumped over the side and landed where the water reached about waist height. He reached the beach and started to make his advance along with his company, leaving a dozen casualties behind.
Machine guns and mortars kept firing at them. But he pushed on, crouching on the bloody sand, under an overcast sky, but he kept moving nonetheless and heeding his platoon Sergeant who relayed the Captain's orders. There was no point in wasting ammo until he got closer to those nests of machine guns. Some more boys fell. He recognized a fellow who went to school with him; he lay there, disemboweled with dead eyes just like the eyes of some fish one buys at the market. The platoon Sergeant was suddenly hit and fell. He was replaced by a senior Corporal because the other Sergeant just wouldn't stop shaking after he shit his trousers.
It was horror like Daniel didn't know could exist. Every passing second as bullets whizzed near him, he was surprised to be still breathing and moving. Time had slowed to a crawl where every little detail mattered, right down to each grain of sand he trod on, because this could be the very last thing he saw. He eventually realized he was climbing up a slope along with his squad, when a mortar hit very close and the guy nearest him took most of the blast and probably saved his life by dying. Daniel would realize only later that his face was covered with blood.
Crouching and crawling, he got behind a rock and aimed at a machine-gun nest, and fired. He felt better because he was doing something. He fired again. It didn't matter that he wasn't hitting an enemy soldier. He felt a bit better and kept going, sparing his ammo. He kept firing once every five or ten seconds, just to force the enemy to remain inside those concrete bunkers that would become death traps once his company would get close enough to throw grenades in there. He had no idea where the Captain was at this point and just kept moving uphill, each step getting closer to his death or his share of victory.
At one point, the entire company was held at bay by an incredibly well-placed machine gun. The Captain ordered to seek cover and he was about to dispatch two mortar teams on a long and dangerous mission that would have them climbing down and walking down that beach again in order to circle that enemy position and hit them from a solid spot. But luck struck in the form of a fighter plane -- the British Hurricane dove right on that machine gun nest and let speak its six 12-mm machine guns. The Fritz manning this post were turned into mincemeat. Daniel saw one of them literally explode with gore splashing his dying teammate.
Ground support by aircraft was strong for the Allies, while the enemy Luftwaffe was pretty much absent from the sky.
When Daniel and his squad reached a point close to the top of the ridge, the farthest-forward men got right at a casemate's opening and they dropped several grenades, and everything and all hands blew up in there. The heavy machine gun fell silent.
One German boy came out with his hands up in the air, and a Corporal shot him through the head at point-blank range. No quarters were given to those Fritz who had been firing on them from those concrete casemates. Too many comrades had fallen on that beach.
Past the ridge, Daniel was surprised to find a small town, with the enemy holding positions in houses. And it came to a series of fierce street fights. But the enemy was retreating as Canadian tanks had begun rolling in and blasting those houses like nests of hornets, except those were feldgrau hornets that retreated.
Other companies were joining up the forward half of the battalion, and soon enough Canadian mortars were set and joined the chorus of fun along with the tanks. The enemy Panzers seemed to be all but absent, and this showed that the enemy commanders had been caught by surprise and were slow in responding. The Fritz got tired of eating fire and hell and retreated or surrendered. Many of the dead soldiers Daniel saw were boys between 14 and 18, whose thin frames had been floating in too-large uniforms before finding their death in their blossoming years. Some Germans were shot dead even when they had their hands up in the air, especially when they wore SS uniforms.
Daniel's company advanced through the streets, reaching an area where some enemy commanders had had their headquarters before fleeing. That's where he first heard screaming from women. He came looking, like many others and found that a pack of big boys from the other company had captured an all-female communications team that didn't flee in time or had bravely kept their stations to the very bitter end. Either way, those girls wearing the Wehrmacht's feldgrau uniform were dragged outside the burning building and assaulted by a pack of leering Canadians who all spoke French.
There were maybe seven or eight of those girls, aged about 18 or 20-24 years old, each wearing a feldgrau field hat that were soon taken off their pretty heads as light brown, dark, chestnut, red or golden hair cascaded down on their shoulders. The soldiers fell on them like beasts! The girl leading them was perhaps 25 and wore a thicker white line bordering her dark shoulder pads, which meant she was a Sergeant, an "Unteroffizier".
A Canadian soldier about Daniel's age, 19, forced-kissed her while another began groping her ass. It was the time and place that shocked Daniel, even more than the deeds themselves. Daniel had been so scared and so sucked in by the fighting that it hadn't even occured to him that some women could be found once the troops began advancing inland. In general, the female personnel is kept away from harm, but during a battle, cars get hit by mortars or artillery, comms lines get cut, etc. And this is even more true when an army occupying static position is taken by surprise. So those encounters did happen, as Daniel was brutally realizing.
Daniel was witnessing one of those Encounters between terrified girls and battle-frenzied men who are often surprised to be still alive and in some sort of savage celebratory mood. Those female-shaped uniforms got torn open, buttons flying as the girls either screamed or sank in frozen terror amid this enemy who had suddenly materialized after years of lull of static garrison duty.
"Nein! Nein! Ihr seit Schweine! Schweine!" that 25-year-old Sergeant said as Canadian soldiers ripped her jacket and her shirt wide open and obliterated her bra, and they pulled down her jacket along the white paleness of her shoulders and her arms, whistling and catcalling as they caught sight of her alluring topless figure, her gorgeous breasts pushed out of her chest, jiggling with high-riding nipples that seemed shocked to be out in the open, all of them out for Daniel's first time seeing those secrets normally lurking under everyday clothes. While the panicking Sergeant kept calling the men "Schweine", whatever that meant. Each girl in her team was similarly stripped topless and forced to endure a rough breast sucking while her attackers promptly pulled her trousers down and bent her over.
The rapes began even before Daniel was aware they were happening. The girls often shrieked as they got penetrated, and many cried and wailed all the time as the growing circle of men each took their bliss inside them. Some girls remained more or less silent as they endured the brutal assault, tears flowing down their eyes as their rapists held their waist and defiled them with military efficiency. Those were silent, urgent rapes that were quickly done with. No girl got her name asked. Only cocks silently spoke to their unprepared pussies. The girls were groaning with pain even deeper as the second wave of horny soldiers took their turns. One man holding the girl in place, the other one taking his pleasure behind her.
Daniel was still a virgin then. Amid the press of men he saw a pale glimpse of a butt. His first time seeing the naked bottom of a girl. It felt gross, grotesque and erotic all at once. Fascinated, albeit more disgusted than fascinated, he walked away from the gang-rape scene, trying to make sense of what he just witnessed. As he got near what was clearly a mansion turned into a small hospital, he saw another press of men with screaming girls amid them.
He saw the beige uniform shirt one of the girls was wearing along with a dark brown necktie, just as she was assaulted by a man he knew by sight as Mathieu Dagenais, a man from his very town of Sainte-Thérèse north of Montréal. They had been enlisted together. Mathieu presently tossed her nurse's hat off her hair, which another man undid while others leered at her and restrained her arms as they tore and pulled at her uniform.
"You won't be needing this, German bitch!" Corporal Mathieu Dagenais told her as he grinned like a devil and tossed the red-cross hat in the dust. All around her, the chaos was erupting as men from Daniel's own company were smiling a mile wide as they pulled, dragged and carried screaming nurses outside the building, through a large front door marked by a large red cross. They were committing a war crime! Men from his own unit!
The nurse he had first seen was the archetype of the German woman he had formed in his mind during the previous months when he was training in England. She had long hair that deployed in a cascade that looked like pure gold against her feldgrau jacket, which was now wide-open as Mathieu, his eyes all round and crazy with lust, grabbed the front of her beige shirt and ripped it open!
"Nein! Neeein! Ihr habt kein Recht! Kein Recht! 'ch bin das Rote Kreuz!!! Rotes Kreuz!!!"
"What is she saying, Corporal?"
"Nevery mind, Sir! Let's have her!" Mathieu replied to his company commander as he brutally snapped her bra while one of the men licked her face and promised her oceans of pleasure with Canadian men. The crying, distressed nurse was greatly mortified as she felt the air hitting her tits, with the odd sight of her necktie obscuring her cleavage between a pair of superbly shaped orbs that looked like she could breast-feed the entire platoon!
"All right, Dagenais. Me first! I'm the Captain!"
Daniel couldn't believe his eyes! An officer! His Captain! He presently slapped the German girl hard and took hold of one of her legs, forcing it up against his side while he bunched her dark skirt all the way up and reached under it. The girl in stockings shrieked "Rotes Kreuz!!! Rotes... AAAahhaaaa Neiin!!! Neeiin!!! Vati! Muti!!! --ÀAAAA aaaaaaaaaa AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 'ch bin Jungfrau!!! Jungfrau OaaaAAAAAAAAnEIN!!"
The Captain had torn her panties off and the men helped him wrestle her legs apart while he hurriedly undid his belt and dropped his trousers, jockeying his way close to her crotch. She detonated in one loud shriek as he hit the bullseye and strained. Daniel looked on, fascinated as the penetration occurred.
While the Canadian officer pounded the bawling girl, they held her tightly, stroking her hair, licking her face and playing with her tits -- she looked to be around 22 years old. Daniel noticed a ring on her finger and understood she had a husband or a fiancé who was probably fighting, be it in Russia, Italy or right here in France. Maybe he was dead.
Before less than a minute, Captain Alain Lavoie screamed his bliss and filled up the German Jungfrau.
"She's trying to tell us she's a virgin," said the regiment's chaplain as he walked past Daniel and got among the pack of rapists as Adjudant Henry Dufort was now inside the nurse while a Platoon Lieutenant was right there, masturbating and waiting. All around Daniel, nurses were being gang-raped by the Canadian company, soon joined by other elements of the battalion. It was now the brutal aftermath where men vented out all their fears and anguish, often by raping the enemy's women. And they didn't care whether they wore the Red Cross or not.
Some men were wounded and wanted to get treated, but the German nurses were too busy being raped, and the Canadian nurses were still safe and afloat in the Channel. The men who were only superficially wounded ended up raping a nurse or some French girl among the civilians -- there were houses that got broken in by looting soldiers and right now, many of those houses were filled with the screams of women being raped and gunshots for the men who died trying to defend their wife or daughter. Some of those wounded men would die from infection during the following days. Others would be plagued with venereal diseases.
And this was how Daniel lost his virginity. To this 22-year-old blonde who kept repeating "Rotes Kreuz! Jungfrau!" as the men deflowered her while leering at her and stripping her completely naked. Daniel knew he was doing something terribly evil, but he couldn't help it. His raging erection wasn't going to be denied. After he saw the chaplain taking his pleasure inside her, and ending up screaming his bliss while dumping his load, Daniel knew there was no resisting this.
When his own turn finally came, the German nurse was as nude as Eve and forced to remain on her knees and elbows, her buttocks protruding for all to see! Gorgeous curves of pale skin with a glow of honey. Daniel knew there was no turning back from this as his hands landed on her buns and felt their firmness softly yielding to his touch as he knelt down and the Captain patted him on the back. Amid cheers, laughter and catcalls, Daniel got lucky and found her pussy on the first try.
He began pounding her and it was soon over... "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGH!!!"
What a rush! Throbbing bolts rushed out of him and inside her womb! Massive shots of cum! This was a biblical load he gave her. How intense! Daniel was flabbergasted and would feel his legs funny under him for several minutes after this.
As soon as he was back up on his feet, another soldier took his spot and also Canadianized the German nurse.
It was the waiter speaking. It took a short while for Daniel to realize he was no longer in Normandy on D-Day, but in Paris two years later, in fall with trees ablaze. What did he come to Paris for? To eat a vichyssoise.
"Oh, yes. Sure, thank you, waiter!"
"My pleasure, Sir."
***
Daniel got started on his vichyssoise, which was always eaten cold, when he heard a soprano voice that sounded vaguely familiar. That girl spoke flawless French with a delicious foreign accent that sounded Slavic.
“Is this seat taken, Sir?” she said from above him.
Daniel looked up and saw a strikingly beautiful woman, probably in her early 20s. He immediately rose to his feet and pulled the empty chair for the petite woman, who got seated next to him… and intoxicated his nostrils with her Slavic scent. He saw her dreamy-raven hair and instantly recognised her as his hotel neighbour.
Daniel grew very nervous, for she was very much to his taste with her black hair thrown back from the pristine paleness of her forehead; subtle earrings of silver adorned her dainty ears, and her forest-green dress looked as glamorous as a day dress could get. Her Parisian outfit was completed by ivory gloves and a double pearl necklace where small topazes brought a touch of originality. This short brunette packed quite a punch.
“I’m… I’m Dan… Daniel. Very pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” he said with great deference, just as if he were speaking to Princess Elizabeth of England. As he thought of Princess Elizabeth, a surreal fantasy passed through his mind, a fantasy where the guards in Buckingham Palace had mutinied for some reason and were now gang-raping members of the royal family, with the 20-year-old Princess being the crowd favorite -- the guards were raping her doggy style after stripping her Eve-naked. Daniel now had a hard-on under the table as he smiled at the girl sitting in front of him.
The Soviet girl smiled at him with sparkling eyes as green as a spruce forest in Ural; her wine-red lipstick intensified the whiteness of her spotless face, which was as fine and delicate as her entire person, yet he perceived mysterious fires of strength. He felt she could see through him.
She replied with her delicious accent, speaking formally and letting linger the first syllable in her name: “I am Nadia. I am honoured to meet the heavyweight contestant for Canada. You will be up against my husband.”
As Daniel stared at her with open-mouthed astonishment, she went on: “Your shoulders, Mister; only an olympic weightlifter has such big shoulders; boxers often have big shoulders, but not this big. And as for you being Canadian, your accent tells me that you are not from France and there are no heavyweights from Belgium or Switzerland, so you must be Daniel Lévesque representing Canada; I have read the list. We know all other lifters except you. You are the wild card! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“That’s correct, Miss, uh Ma’am, sorry, but I also did amateur boxing in my teenage years.”
“Did you? Tell me about it! I am curious and I love sports,” replied Nadia, her eyes ablaze with fires that looked positively exaggerated as a reaction to such trivial information.
“I started out boxing at fourteen, against my father’s wishes, but I was a natural. I was a solid light-heavyweight, on my way to a professional career, when I fell in love with weightlifting. This was a tough decision, but I never looked back. I won the junior title as a light-heavyweight in ’43, shortly before turning nineteen. I got drafted in November that year and got trained just in time to join the festivities when we landed on Juno Beach.”
Nadia’s face became sombre as he referred to the recently fought war, so Daniel quickly changed subjects: “I was so happy to see Montreal again, I mean when I got back home last April, and best of all, I met a wonderful girl I’m getting married to next summer!”
Daniel pulled out his wallet and produced a small picture of Zabel for Nadia.
“She looks like a really nice girl, and very lucky too; she is with a true gentleman!”
“Oh, thank you most kindly, but I’m only doing my best. Ever since I met that strange man on the train, my life seems to have magically changed for the better.”
Nadia was presently looking over her shoulder; she clearly was expecting her husband any second.
“So, you met a strange man on a train; that sounds quite glamorous. Please tell me more.”
“He was a very quaint man, tall and wearing very old-style clothes—a stovepipe hat and an astrakhan greatcoat and he…”
“A stovepipe hat with an astrakhan overcoat?!” Nadia blurted out, dramatically shocked. “Did he have a foreign accent? Did he smoke Flor-Fina cigars?”
“Y… Yes. As a matter of fact he did have a foreign accent, very much like yours. He must be Russian, and he did smoke very fine cigars, left handed too…”
“Ukrainian! He’s Ukrainian, from Kiev… Like me… That’s Igor…” Nadia said, looking down at the street-side pavement with tears welling in her eyes. She aimlessly observed two sparrows that were pecking crumbs.
“Oh, please, Nadia, don’t be so sad! It’s such a wonderful day!” the lad said as he nervously put a comforting hand on her forearm. “No one must be sad in Paris, the city of light, mirth and joy!”
Daniel felt an incredibly strong hand rudely fall on his shoulder. He was quickly on his feet and confronted the man, ready to strike him down with a one-two-punch combination.
“Oh, it’s you!” Daniel said as he saw the formidable size and height of the Soviet colossus. Daniel stood six feet one and weighed two-fifty*, but he looked average next to the Russian titan. (* 1m85, 115 kg)
“Da!” his foe said, then he started to scold Nadia in Russian, or was it Ukrainian? Daniel had no idea, as he only spoke French and English and was learning Armenian for Zabel.
Daniel stepped forward and positioned himself between Nadia and this so-called husband.
He introduced himself in English. It was awkward, and it looked like the big Soviet was going to attack him any second. What’s more, two tall and large men were now standing by his side as if they were bodyguards; they looked ominous in their black trench coats with matching fedora hats, both gazing at Daniel with gun-sight eyes. They also looked out of place in the sunny capital.
“Such a cheerful company! What have I got myself into?” Daniel thought.
Then, the Soviet powerhouse laughed out loud with the rustic sort of laughter you no doubt heard from loggers in Siberia. There was some barbaric vibe about him. Daniel felt sad for Nadia; such a husband must not be much fun to be with.
He extended a huge hand to Daniel and spoke some broken English.
“Yakov Vladimirovich Kutziev, champion of Soviet Union! And you, what name of you is?”
“I’m Daniel Lévekk…”
Before Daniel could finish introducing himself, Yakov squeezed his hand really hard in an attempt to crush it into putty, but Daniel held on and fought back with fires of his own. He showed the big man that he too had a mighty grip, forged through endless pulls while holding the bar tight. Daniel was also very adept at thick-bar lifting, always ending his sessions with those Louis Cyr globe dumbbells that had impossibly thick handles -- the heaviest one weighed 235 lbs and Daniel could stir it from the floor using one hand with chalk, which was quite a feat for a man whose hands weren't very large.
So yes, he could really squeeze a hand! The big Russian was finding this out for himself as he held his ground and squeezed too. Yakov looked at Daniel indignantly as he realized that his plan of crushing Daniel's hand was going to remain only a thought.
The petty cockfight finished with a draw. The Soviet laughed again and gave a friendly pat on Daniel’s shoulder. The customers were all looking at the two musclemen in great alarm. The café owner was especially worried; he thought they were about to fight each other and this would have meant loads of property damage, but all seemed good now. Phew!
“My wife, she says you have very pretty girl. I am most happy for you and I wish you the very best. Please, accept apologies of me. Let’s uh, let’s…”
“Let’s be friends! After all, aren’t we brothers in iron?”
“Yes, that is what I wanted to say to you… friends. Oh, and these two other friends of me are our official, uh, official shadows. Where we go, they go, but not in our bedroom of course! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
Pleased with his rustic humour, the king-size Soviet departed, wrapping a possessive arm around Nadia’s petite shoulders as they walked away with the pair of black-clad agents following them like trained dogs.
Yakov Kutziev was in Paris for one reason—to beat USA’s John Davis and win the 1946 world championship for the Kremlin. To prove that USSR was better than those decaying capitalists. All nice and friendly.
He was a formidable opponent indeed, and Daniel had no idea what shape John Davis was in. The American lifter was one of the few pre-war champions to make a comeback, but he was a legend; Davis had won the gold in Vienna at only seventeen years old, beating seasoned lifters who had competed in Berlin two years earlier. At only 25, John Davis was still in his prime, in spite of the war that had robbed him some of his spring years. Daniel had heard he fought the Japs in the Pacific.
Then, Daniel’s thoughts went back to Nadia. As he ordered a Paris-Brest for dessert along with more of their amazing coffee, he had a positive hard-on from picturing himself having sex with the Soviet wife on that very table.
So, she knew that mysterious man with the stovepipe. Talk about a coincidence! It was, in fact, so improbable a coincidence that it was unsettling. It felt like he was being thrown into a tragic game and do what he will, fate would stick to him like a shadow, like a black-iron barbell that would always be two pounds too heavy.
***
How could he forget that strange encounter on the train from last April?
He had been sitting in his compartment, eyeing the pretty passenger sharing his compartment since Fredericton until she got off at Gare du Palais in Quebec City. He had thus paid little attention to the quaint man sitting between him and the daylight window. At the time, he was still wearing his Army uniform, full of smugness as he took vain pride in his Lance Corporal’s chevron.
The ageless man, who looked like one who had gone to sleep in 1896 and woke up next morning in 1946, looked at him from under the narrow brim of his stovepipe hat. As he spoke, the strength of his soul shook Daniel down to his core.
“From what I can observe, young man, you have seen combat over there and you have been intimate with some ladies in less-than-honourable circumstances.”
The words stung Daniel’s pride deep and hard. He rose and moved on him, but the quaint man seized his wrist with such preternatural strength that reminded him of Bram Stoker’s depiction of Dracula’s ungodly strength.
He sat back sheepishly and listened like a pupil listening to a world-famous professor.
Daniel had indeed taken liberties with some women. He had in fact committed a war crime alongside his mates, with the tacit approval of his Captain, who even recommended him for promotion after the landing in Normandy. Only once did he force himself inside a woman.
Beside that one time with the German nurse, he didn't do anything criminal when he was in France and Germany, but he did witness the unthinkable on several occasions, and at times, he did take advantage of the desperate predicament so many women were in thanks to years of war. All he had to do was to offer cigarettes, whisky and food, and they would sleep with him. Granted, some of them were sex-starved, but most acted like this out of sheer necessity.
Daniel also tried to redeem himself after raping that nurse.
He felt immensely guilty. Especially so after a raped girl died in his arms in Normandy. This was under the orange-sky sunset. Somehow, it comforts Daniel to know that this Elsa died under a gorgeous sunset in June.
She was lying on the ground, her nose broken and one eye swollen shut. Not only was she raped a great many times over, but the communications girl had been hit repeatedly and also tortured as shown by unsightly wounds down there. And she was only 18! As seen from her papers he found later in her discarded uniform.
"Mozartstraße!" she feebly said, with urgency in her voice as he covered her broken body with his own uniform jacket and gently stroked her dark hair as he sat crossed-legs and put her head in his lap, and kept stroking her hair as he cried out of guilt for what he had done to that nurse earlier, while the girl just kept repeating, "Mozartstraße... Mozartstraße... Ich wohne dort... Mozartstraße..."
Her voice was growing feebler as he stroked her hair, ignoring the dirt and the dried blood and semen he felt under his fingers, while they both watched the bloody sunset and the grand expanse of oranges and clouds offering various lights where rose hues danced with celestial purples amid that mass of dreamy clouds. Daniel felt she was dying. He thought of getting up so he could go fetch a doctor, but something told him she would insist he remained with him, and she was breathing her last moments. He wasn't going to let her die alone.
With great effort, she tried to remove a necklace with a silver cross. Daniel helped her removing it. As he did so, the khaki blanket of his jacket slipped off her breasts and he noticed her erotic splendour, only to be horrified as he noticed a stab wound marring one of her mounds. She pressed her necklace into his hand.
"Hier! Die K, Kette... Bring sie... zu meiner Mutter, in... Mozartstraße..."
Very feebly, she pointed at the torn remnants of her uniform. "Mozartstraße... Dresden... Papieren da... Mozart... stra-ße..."
Then she spoke no more. Daniel remained with her in silence, stroking her hair and living his very first moment of true closeness with a fellow human being as they watched the glorious sunset together. If somehow a miracle happened and she lived, then he had to marry her. He then realized he was alone. The clouds took a surreal glow of gathering lights where golds of bright light pierced their sombre mass, where those bright golds seemed to dance and caress the cloudy shapes with a myriad of rose glowing lights, as if a loudly silent chorus of angels were there to meet her and see she got home safe.
Daniel cried and kept crying. For what he did. He didn't partake to the rape of this fine girl, but he was there and partook in the defilement of the enemy's women. He kept kissing the dead girl, covering her pretty face with his wet despair and the salt of his tears. He finally closed her eyes. Kneeling by her, he prayed in silence and took a coin from his pocket. He placed the five-cent nickel in her mouth for the Ferryman and went to the torn wreckage of what used to be a neatly worn uniform.
He found her wallet. Those bastards had taken all her money, but since they didn't care about her name, they had left her official papers there. She was Elsa Linden, born on April 22nd 1926. From Dresden. The address on Mozartstraße was probably her parents'. Dead at 18 after being deflowered in the most horrific way.
He then found a shovel and as he dug her makeshift tomb, Daniel promised to himself he would never rape again and he would go see her parents in Dresden to bring them her things. It was the least he could do.
The Captain saw this, and he was greatly moved. He helped Daniel putting the girl to her last rest. The Captain was crying too.
***
Daniel had been drafted the day after his 19th birthday. Sombre November. Being a virgin, he had felt curious of the opposite gender like any given lad, but war intensely magnified this. He fought in France, then in Germany and played cards with Death. Fearing an untimely demise, he took every opportunity for comfort and relief. But he remained true to his word; he did not rape again. And yet he took every opportunity to get sex. It was a sheer miracle he didn't get any venereal disease. Lucky beginner. Lucky Strike, such was the brand of a cigarette an American GI from a Greek home in New York gave him in exchange for a swig of Scotch whisky that Daniel had in a steel flask. Strange friendships on the front-line.
When V-E Day came and he remained stationed in France, he was already set in his ways. He had grown smug. And yet, he was greatly moved when he finally took the train and made it to Dresden, where a sunny morning found him on that Mozartstraße, where he knocked on the door of a German house. The woman who answered the door was Elsa's look-alike, except she was around 40.
He didn't tell her the details. It was very difficult for him to say anything since she only spoke German and he had limited knowledge of the language. He managed to tell her Elsa was buried in Normandy, and that she didn't die alone. Then he gave Elsa's pendant and papers to the crying mother.
Daniel felt awkward and wanted to leave, but the mother asked him to stay, adding clear gestures to her words. As she spoke, Daniel noticed she had Elsa's eyes and also Elsa's noble features. She didn't stand more than five-one. Daniel loved petite women. He couldn't help but see this woman twice his age had a very attractive figure.
He did stay with her for the two days of leave he had left. Kassandra was a widow. Her husband, Elsa's father, was a Captain in the Wehrmacht who was KIA on the Eastern front, near Odessa in '44. Kassandra was lonely... and horny. She gave Daniel food, a bed to sleep in and sex. Lots of sex. Daniel would never forget his first time inside her mouth. This was the first act they did together.
Nothing was said. They had been drinking coffee through the afternoon, with Kassandra talking about her daughter and showing him pictures of Elsa from her toddlers days to when she grew to become the loveliest teenager Daniel could imagine. Then, for no reason at all, the grieved mother got down on her knees and reached the opening of his uniform trousers. Her agile fingers had a powerful effect through the fabric. Daniel quickly grew a mighty erection as she freed it and soon put its head in her mouth.
He caressed her brown hair with streaks of grey as the German widow worked his full length with her tongue, her little hands caressing his branch and making him even harder as she looked at him, her mouth wide open and stars of lust in her blue eyes.
She kept at it until Daniel sailed right past his edge, his mind devoured by the foulest rape fantasies as he lived the short eternity when time seems suspended in the void that heralds the ejaculation. In this fleeting moment, he saw again that blonde nurse who kept screaming "Rotes Kreuz!" as her beige shirt was being torn open and her breasts sprung out into sight as a preposterous display of erotic grace in a horror scene amid her enemies. He saw again the full curves of that blonde nurse. Her butt! Holding her waist and grunting like a rutting moose! Soft curves, pale with honey light, as he bumped those buns again and again and again, his head bobbing and his loose jaw trembling as he blissfully detonated inside her...
"HHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRMMNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!"
He exploded inside the widow's mouth, filling it with the spurting eruption of his jism.
Kassandra Linden drank and swallowed his semen. She then proceeded to lick off any remaining traces of his joy, leaving his toy with a neat spit polish as she smiled at him, her eyes filled with the pleasure of giving pleasure to a fellow human being.
Then Daniel undressed Kassandra. Like he loved to do, he uttered a low grunt when he pushed her bra up to her neck and uncovered the play of her small breasts, very rich in their complexion with nipples and areolas of a light brown that magnified the silence in the living room, where a cat sat on the piano and licked its paw. Daniel sucked those tits and forgot he was with a woman twice his age. All that mattered was her running fingers through his hair and the spiritual touch of her nipple against his tongue.
He undressed her completely as she lay on that large sofa. Kissed her from head to toe, spending much time in the deep worship of her ageless feet. He kept on worshiping her small body until he was ready to go again, at which time he nudged her into a position where she got on all fours and he took her right there on that sofa, kneeling behind her, holding her waist and scoring a home run with the bases loaded. The living room was filled with sweat and musk and their grunting, their moaning as they tried to build a love story that shouldn't be happening and that had no real future but only two days.
The ejaculation came, massive. Daniel kept remembering all those girls raped in that small town near Juno Beach. He immensely enjoyed the sex with Elsa's mother. He knew why, but didn't want to admit it. When he dared to look at his soul in the face that night, as he was falling asleep with a naked Kassandra in his arms, he saw the reason why. Something evil in him wished he had also raped Elsa. But there was also another reason they quickly got so close, beyond their lust. They both shared a deep sense of grief for Elsa.
After the two days were done, Daniel went back to his barracks in Paris and never went back to Germany. It was as if something of him really evil had been left there. Then he spent the winter in Paris, spending Christmas Eve with a prostitute he had met on the street, so neither of them would be alone. He didn't have sex with her. He just kissed her and held her in his arms, and she loved him for this. He spent the day in her small apartment and cooked a Canadian meal for her. A stew with meatballs in gravy sauce with a generous helping of round potatoes. With bacon for added fun. Mathilde was her name. A beautiful red-haired girl with prodigiously white skin.
Daniel never had sex with Mathilde. She would see him for free, as a friend. They would sometimes kiss and make out, and perhaps she would let Daniel suck her breasts, but most of all, they spent time together for the genuine feelings they had for each other and as a way to keep loneliness away.
Then April came and Daniel got his ticket home and sailed to Halifax. Then the train. Where he met that strange man wearing an astrakhan greatcoat with a stovepipe.
***
Daniel was thinking of all of this as he sipped yet another coffee and ordered another Paris-Brest. It was already two in the afternoon. A sunny October afternoon in Paris. He sat alone in the now-quiet café. The people who had had lunch were now back at work. He remained sitting at this round table and threw some crumbs to sparrows. His thoughts ran back to that strange man.
That stovepipe-wearing man, who looked like a character straight out of a Sherlock Holmes story, lectured him with powerful, life-altering words after hearing his story. Nearly all of it, barring the one rape Daniel committed. Something in him told Daniel that he most probably deduced it anyway.
Daniel got off the train in Montreal with the understanding that he had been one smug man who had drifted on a wrong path, especially when it came to women. Did he intend to keep his morally dubious way of life once he'd be back with his folks? He was already thinking of Manon, his favorite cousin, who must be already 19 by that time. Daniel knew Manon had always been in love with him and he could get her easy. But was it right? Through a letter from his mother, he had learned Manon was engaged to a young man who worked on the railroad.
Before he met that stranger on the train, Daniel had it fixed in his mind to steal Manon from that man. Just for the fun of having sex with Manon and discovering what she looked like Eve-nude. And then, yes, marrying her and getting a job. But marrying one's cousin was quickly becoming frowned upon in God-fearing Québec. Society in Québec was quickly changing, shifting from a mostly rural society to urban life, where one could meet plenty of people. Back in the 1800s and even around 1900, with all those large families, in villages where half the people were distant relatives, marrying a cousin was commonplace and it was often done out of necessity. But now that more and more people lived in a large town or a city, it was quickly becoming a taboo.
Daniel was but a human making his way through life with hopes, dreams and goals and doing his best to avoid getting tripped by fate along the way. Like everyone else.
After his long conversation with the stovepipe man, he decided that he'd let Manon be. The right girl would come along like a fateful Queen of Spades. She'd have dark hair. She had to. She'd be a bit bookish like him, she'd go see him lift weights, and yes... Weightlifting! This was the solution to keep himself busy and out of trouble! He was going to be a weightlifter again.
Daniel did not see this mysterious, quaint man again in Montreal, but he felt his influence. A mysterious person had put in a good word for him at a prestigious firm and he was hired on the spot. Then, there was the problem of raising the money for his trip to Paris. After he won the Canadian senior title again --- quite a feat after only two months of training again---the Athletic Commission agreed to make him their lifter in Paris, provided that he paid all his expenses including the plane ticket. Amateur lifting at its best!
Daniel just broke his own national record in the Clean & Press by powering 242 lbs overhead using arms and shoulders alone, and this under referees who were especially harsh. He had planned on trying 250, but when he watched the lighter classes go at it and saw that the least amount of lay-back got a lift disqualified, that's when he decided to be a lot more conservative. So he broke the ice with opening at 210, which pleasantly flew up. His second attempt was a jump to 232 and his last one turned out a success, a personal in-competition best of exactly 110 kilos or 242 lbs. He stood ramrod straight and intensely strained to get it all the way up for three white lights and the laurels of victory in the form of a flower bouquet with a kiss from a very shy schoolgirl whose parents seemed proud to see their daughter kissing a grown-up man. This lovely affair took place in Quebec City a stone throw away from Château Frontenac.
He also won for Total with 762 lbs via a Snatch of 220 and a Clean & Jerk of exactly 300 lbs. He missed the Jerk with 335 lbs and regretted having taken such a risky jump while being so rusty. His closest rival was some tall and stiff guy from Three Rivers who didn't go to war and posted a total of 757 with 227 / 230 / 300. Daniel beat him by only 5 pounds, but he beat a well-trained lifter only two months after getting off the ship in Halifax! And yet he would still pay his expenses to compete in Paris. Amateur lifting...
A chèque for 1,500 dollars materialised out of nowhere. It was more than enough. This quaint man must have been rich and a weightlifting enthusiast, which was just as eccentric a thing in Canada as wearing an astrakhan coat. He must have seen him giving his lifting exhibitions in Parc Jarry.
As he thought of Parc Jarry, his mind drifted to Zabel. Oh, Zabel, Zabel and her raven hair… Zabel and her lovely feet, so dainty… He got fortunate enough to see her in her bathing suit during a trip in Sainte-Agathe as they were taking a swim in Lac des Sables. Then, they spent the evening kissing and holding hands. He also kissed and massaged her feet, as they both felt horny while keeping their urges in check. They were saving the fireworks for their wedding night.
Daniel was so deep in his thoughts that he almost forgot this wasn’t August anymore. This was October and he was in Paris. He observed the sparrows on the sidewalk; they kept coming back for the small crumbs that always fell off the small, round tables as people ate and chatted. They too had their hopes and dreams.
As he enjoyed his third Paris-Brest, which tasted amazingly fresh, Daniel felt he was being observed. Looking up, he caught sight of a neatly-dressed girl in the act of looking away, but she looked back at him and smiled while fidgeting with her long chocolate-brown hair. Her knee-covering circle skirt offered waves of teal under the Parisian breeze and it naturally led his gaze down to her stockinged legs.
The pretty stranger looked lively and displayed a kid’s beauty, yet she already had a glamorous side. She wore white day gloves along with an ample blouse, sail-like in its flowing whiteness, styled in a way that highlighted her slim waist. She was as short as Nadia, about five feet one or two. Or 1 m 55 if one wanted to sound more European.
She was presently walking toward him as he took a bite from his dessert and a sip of his delicious coffee under Parisian heavens. Daniel couldn’t help but look at the penny loafer shoes encasing her feet.
“I think I’ve seen you before, Monsieur. Were you a soldier in Paris two years ago?”
It was clear she was desperate to speak to him. At any rate, she was bold. From this closer distance, Daniel could see she was about the same age as Zabel—a peachy-looking maid, almost a grown woman.
She stood in front of him while offering a three-quarter profile view, so he could observe her perky breasts from the most favourable angle. She clearly did that on purpose. Her boobs were small, yet seemed juicy. They rode high on her petite frame, tantalizing him in their gracefully hidden shapes.
He wanted to stand and introduce himself properly, but he had a fast-growing erection that stopped him midway in what must have been a very clownish move, for she burst out laughing.
She sat by him and kept laughing and giggling.
“Hello, Miss, would you like to have something? Some coffee, perhaps? Are you hungry?”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! My uncle owns this place and he spoils me too much, not that it makes me put on weight. Look!”
She rose from her seat and displayed her ballerina-slim waist, moving in such a way as to make sure he had the best view on her slender curves. The elderly couple sitting nearby looked shocked at her licentious behaviour, while Daniel felt both embarrassed and very much elated. Girls who behaved like this were usually willing to have sex.
He looked at his watch; it was already forty past two. He asked her to go with him on a walk as he wanted to see Notre-Dame de Paris before he was due at the lifting club. She said she’d prefer something even more spiritual.
—
Daniel looked at his watch as he chalked his hands before taking another warm-up set in the snatch. It was four-thirty. After going from 135 to 215 pounds in 20-pound increments, he was presently at 225 pounds for his last warm-up before doing heavy singles using 245 pounds or maybe two-fifty. It wasn’t to be.
Two-twenty-five should have been a cinch, for he had improved quite a lot during the four months of training since the Canadian championships and he was now able to routinely snatch 250 lbs. He chalked his hands, stood over the barbell and grabbed it with his hands about four feet apart. He pulled and… missed!
Instead of flashing under it and dropping into a shallow split, Daniel got stuck as the bar sailed slightly above his chin, then it came down and he bumped it against his lap before gently setting the iron weights back down on the wooden platform. He had completely mis-timed his effort! And he knew why.
That Parisian girl was with him and he couldn’t get his thoughts away from her, nor take his eyes off her juicy figure. She had told him her name while they lay side by side in a park watching clouds drift in the sky---this was her own idea of something more spiritual than seeing Notre-Dame de Paris.
Marie was watching him lift and looked all around her, her eyes filled with curiosity, in her blouse and skirt, looking like a teenage pin-up girl with her white gloves and her single-row pearl necklace. She was now giggling nonstop while watching all these dreamboat men hoist or press impressive weights.
Given his state of mind, Daniel just couldn’t concentrate on such a complex lift as the snatch. He stripped the bar down to 135 pounds—one 45-pound plate per side—and started training his press, which was the simplest lift of the weightlifting trinity.
As he worked up in weight, he kept daydreaming of sexual intimacy with Marie. He felt the pang of guilt as he thought of Zabel. He had taken a turn toward an unknown destination by dating the Parisian girl, but he felt that sex with Marie would be a genuine boffo.
He thought of Zabel’s picture on the small mirror, which was in a shadowy corner of the room. If he managed to take Marie to his room that evening, he knew he would take it off while she'd be gone to the storey’s common bathroom or something. He'd have to since he had more than enough experience with girls to know she’d use that mirror to refresh her light make-up after sex.
Everything about Marie was light and lively! She quintessentially personified youth. Daniel smiled as he recalled their first kiss. Out there in that park. It just came as of itself and filled Daniel with wonder and the feeling of kissing an angel. And guilt. What about Zabel? What about his engagement? The Parisian air seemed to be taking him back to his smug ways faster than turning on a dime.
Daniel kissed Marie under the caressing breeze. He intensely drank her peachy charms and scent while gently stroking that hair he had been dying to touch! Marie kissed him back and stroked his hair too with fires of her own in her little gloved hands, but when Daniel treated himself to the pleasing experience of holding her light buttocks, she made him understand that this bodypart was clearly off-limits. Mary wasn't the kind of girl to give herself so fast!
He knew she was right. Any girl worth having had a high sense of dignity and virtue. Marie could be willing to have pre-marital sex, but she had to be in the proper mood for it. More than anything, she had to feel safe. She had to be in love.
Undressing this Parisian kid would be a transgression at every undone button and every flash of perky flesh. In Daniel's dream, the movements of her light breasts and her raspberry-pale nipples summed up her sparkly youth. Her areolas would be secret circles of joy that would suddenly come into the light. All of this out of wedlock. Daniel would be a sinner, even though Marie was already 18 like her uncle owning that café had told him.
No doubt, such a giggly-laughing girl would keep giggling like crazy in the bedroom, as if sex was the funniest laughing matter in the world, and he'd keep contemplating her pure-white nakedness in absolute awe.
He would taste, sniff, lick, kiss and caress her from head to toe! Her dainty feet and perky breasts would give him life before his manhood made her sing a Parisian song as she'd climaxed in his arms in a position he really liked---with her legs propped up under and against his brawny shoulders. Her lithe body thus coiled under him, legs and feet high up! And he'd hammer her on and on, hard and deep as the willing prisoner of her tightness!
Her whimpers would be echoing through the room while he'd grunt his way into a slam-bang finish! Oh, the massive load he would spew! Bolts and bolts of hot seed while listening to her high-pitched finale!
Both of them being young and full of fire, they would do it a second time. No doubt about it. But what about Zabel? If only he had the fortitude of stopping while it was still time, while he had but sinned little, by just one kiss, if only he could wait 'till next June, then he's kiss Zabel in church and all such pleasures would be rightfully his -- From the amazing grace of Zabel's figure to her impregnation. From A to Z.
He was going to scream, yes, scream his relief inside her! This was going to be so good after such an impossibly long wait! Zabel... Marie's image kept robbing him of his faithfulness to his fiancée!
As he kept gazing at the lovely little Parisian lady while chalking his callused hands, the Canadian lifter daydreamed of screaming his relief into Marie’s shadow-brown hair while burning her neck with kisses as he would shoot his maple syrup inside her, making her happy as she'd receive his transatlantic jism while imprinting her little nails on his massive back.
Lastly, he would finger her the way she tells him she likes, until she'd fill his hotel room with her high-pitched fireworks, informing any passerby in the hallway that a dame was present.
He had turned out slightly late at the lifting club, the owner of which gave Daniel a knowing smile upon seeing Marie at his side. But he still had yet to have sex with her.
Daniel was physically present in the training hall, but his mind was still in that park where a blissful turn of fate hooked him like a fish on a line. The bait had a divine taste—Marie’s raspberry-like kisses. Tangy little rainbows like only a damsel can give.
At present, Daniel had his hands white with chalk as he was going through his heavy singles and kept pressing 250 lbs overhead, making it look like a cinch. All this black cast iron looked like the night being defeated by the son of life, over and over again. Eventually, terrible old age would catch up with the young lifter. Sooner or later, he'd be dead and buried and forgotten. But just not yet. Now the handsome young man gave the illusion he were an immortal demigod. And he was good at it!
Marie was all over the place, giggling and giving the training hall a nice female touch as she chatted and flirted with the American lifters. She presently tried - without success - to fit her white-gloved hands around the ebony arm of USA's John Davis, who warmly smiled at her. Daniel would later learn that staying in Europe was always immensely enjoyable for the coloured champion, since he was always sure of getting a hotel room, unlike in USA where segregation was often the norm, especially in the Southern States. Daniel would be quite shocked to learn that the world champion was sometimes compelled to sleep in the back of a truck the night before competing just because no hotel in town would accomodate "folks of his people".
As he watched Marie with the Afro-American wonder of nature, Daniel didn’t feel jealous; he felt strongly aroused as he pictured her having sex with the champion.
Daniel took the opportunity to meet and shake hands with his idol, but John Davis was busy with his own training, resting a full five minutes between sets and meditating, sometimes looking like he had fallen asleep where he sat!
He nonetheless spoke a bit with the legend, who told him to pull a tiny bit longer before dropping under his snatch so he could get the bar an inch or two higher.
Yakov and the Soviet team were all lifting intimidating weights according to their respective weight classes—up to 132, 148, 165 and 182 pounds, and then the heavyweights above that. Several black-clad agents wearing shadow-casting fedoras were chaperoning them as they lifted under their coach’s watchful eye. These agents from the Ministry of State Security (the MGB) were Kremlin’s watchdogs.
Marie was now chatting with Nadia; both girls kept laughing together like giggling teenagers. Daniel couldn’t help but notice how similar they looked while being profoundly different—both had dark hair. Nadia was clearly a grown woman, although she still looked very young, while Marie still looked like an in-between kid, wearing a pearl necklace that was supposed to make her look more adult, but it glistened like a teenage girl’s smile in the dim-lighted hall, which was filled with men’s sweat and grunts. The passing years seemed to refuse to allow Marie to become a woman, although she was one or would soon be. Daniel was very curious to know whether she was still a virgin. He had seen too many tragedies to assume she was.
Five Egyptian lifters showed up, the great El-Touni among them. El-Touni, who had won the Olympic gold in the middleweight division in front of the Führer back in 1936. This must have positively infuriated Hitler to see an African man with dark olive skin beating his fair-haired, fair-skinned lifter!
Nadia and Marie enjoyed the view and giggled like schoolgirls as they watched the Egyptian dreamboats take off all their street clothes in front of everybody and reveal their mahogany-brown physiques with cannonball shoulders and meaty glutes before putting on their shirtless gym attire, acting like they always did when they trained under Allah’s sun. Egyptians were indeed famous for training outdoors. They were also famous for the antiquated barbells and dumbbells they used.
Nadia’s giggling gave cause for Yakov to throw a menacing gaze at her, and for Daniel to grow a raging erection as he pictured these Egyptians taking both ladies to the gym showers and subjecting them to a round of rough sex. Geissa the heavyweight would create quite an intense erotic scene by helping the graceful and petite Nadia out of her clothes and kissing her water-drenched nipples under the running shower!
And now, how was Daniel going to train with that ever-present erection? Better do something simple! After his 10th single in the Press, Daniel threw 280 lbs on that barbell and began doing clean pulls in sets of two. Not too heavy so he wouldn't create any excess in fatigue while still doing something useful. The last week before a competition was no time to be pulling 450 lbs to see if it would go higher than the waistline.
As he did his sets of clean pulls, Daniel’s thoughts came back to Zabel. Once again, guilt took hold of him, crushing his sense of wellness under its heavy boot. The 280-pound barbell he kept pulling chest-high felt like a feather in comparison.
He ought to stop seeing Marie! He ought to just compete, and then head back home and forget all about Paris. It wasn’t too late to pull back.
His eyes wandered and rested on Nadia and Marie of their own volition. Both girls kept up their lively chatter while Yakov was lifting the heaviest weights without any sign of straining.
As he finished his lifting session, Daniel saw Marie walking to the phone booth. Her gait was midway between an angel and a ballerina. This girl was pure magic!
When he had showered and got back into his street clothes, Marie was right there waiting for him. She threw herself in his arms and kissed him, telling him she easily got carried away as she didn’t weigh very much.
Nadia and Yakov were there too along with their MGB chaperones offering their tall, shadowy presence. One of these men in black, the taller one, had a truly sinister-looking face; his long, crooked nose made him look like some Bolshevik bird of prey. His vampire-pale skin didn’t exactly lessen this effect.
His name turned out to be Sergei, from Leningrad, as Yakov made the introductions civilly. The other one, who stood “only” six feet tall, was Yuri, from Stalingrad. Yuri was pretty much nondescript; he had the usual hard-at-work features of most policemen who were naturals in their trade, except for an ugly scar barring his right cheek --- a bayonet wound he got from a terrified SS somewhere in Pomerania.
Marie had phoned her mother. They were all invited for dinner in Faubourg Saint-Germain.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Note: In the original version, Daniel actually had sex with Marie in his hotel room, but when I rewrote the story, I decided to keep the sex as just a daydream in Daniel's mind and not going further than kissing and making out, with Marie setting a clear boundary. I feel doing this is a lot more realistic. Going from complete strangers to kissing and petting within two hours is a really hot pace. Marie is indeed very much into Daniel, but she's not a tramp! Delaying the sex will make the later sex scenes more powerful (provided that I don't screw up).
It thus came to be that four Soviets had dinner in the humble three-room apartment rented by Madame Sophie Berthier, a widow and the mother of Marie Berthier, who was born on the 1st of September 1928 in Amsterdam. Marie was born in the Netherlands because her father was a shot putter for France and Sophie wanted to see her husband compete for an Olympic medal, and her daughter decided to be born three weeks early. Marie's father fought for the Resistance and made the ultimate sacrifice in July '44.
But now the apartment where Marie grew up was lively with Marie dancing to her favorite hit from the Andrews Sisters, while precisely drinking one small glass of rum'n'coca-cola...
"Bois-le lentement, ma fille, parce tu n'en auras pas d'autre!" (Drink it slow, my daughter, because this is the only one you'll have!)
"Mais maman! J'ai 18 ans!" (But Mom! I'm 18!)
Daniel was following Marie's motions and the slender gyrations of her hourglass figure, dreaming indeed of tropic love with his newfound date.
The MGB agents didn’t come empty-handed; they had bought some fine Beaujolais and a bottle of samogon while Nadia had found some chai to offer her host as a thank-you gift. To avoid burdening her mother with the cooking for seven persons, Marie had arranged a food delivery with her ever-generous uncle at the café.
Much wine was drunk as everyone enjoyed Parisian cuisine. The main feature was a canard à l'orange. The duck with orange sauce was one of the most fabulous dishes Daniel ever tasted. The fatty meat was cooked to juicy perfection and melting in his mouth with just the right amounts of herbs, salt and tangy sauce. Nadia seemed used to such glamour, from the nonchalant way she ate, while often looking at the Canadian lifter.
Then it came to vodka. Sergei and Yuri made merry and sang folk songs such as “Katyusha” and “The Volga Boatmen Song”. Yakov and his wife sang along with them while Daniel and the two hosts listened with fascination.
On the surface, everyone was having a wonderful time, but there was something about Yuri and Sergei, especially Sergei, that made Daniel wary. He could feel it, something was off. These three men --- yes, even Yakov --- didn’t seem to be all that clean.
Daniel felt they could suddenly show their true face at any moment and these MGB agents were certainly armed with pistols --- neither had taken off nor even unbuttoned their jacket while sitting at the table. He especially didn’t like the way Sergei kept looking at Marie.
The Parisian kid was presently calling Daniel her cuddly honey bear, holding his thigh under her tiny fingers, all this below the table cloth. While finishing yet another glass of wine, she softly whispered to his ear that she could hardly wait for him to eat her pussy. Daniel grew a titanic erection.
Marie’s mother was clearly horny and tipsy; she was sitting erect and giving her male guests the full view on her breast shapes, well revealed through her tight blouse. Nadia didn’t like this at all, but politely respected her host. Everybody had a bit too much to drink. Nadia looked at Daniel more and more often while fidgeting with her wineglass. Yakov drank way too much vodka for a lifter who would be competing in only four days.
Daniel was now on high alert and took a bold decision to protect Marie and her mother. He began talking about his fiancée who was waiting for him in Montreal, knowing this would likely make Marie angry and jealous, since she didn’t know about Zabel yet.
He told his hosts about how wonderful Zabel was, how he was missing her magic-scented raven hair, which he liked so much more than merely brown hair, which was a vulgar, common colour according to him and Goethe’s Werther too. He of course didn’t really think that, but he wanted to anger Marie so she would make a scene.
It worked like a charm.
Marie began crying and yelling at Daniel; she threw her spoon and fork at him along with a flurry of foul names in rapid-fire French that Nadia had difficulty to understand.
"Salaud! Tricheur! Gougat! Porc! Retourne dans ta soue canadienne, maudit verrat!"
Nadia was mad at Daniel too; how could he speak like this in front of his hosts?
This had the result Daniel was hoping for --- it caused the dinner to come to an abrupt end, much to the disappointment of Marie’s mother, who had planned on getting some of her youth back in the arms of one, or perhaps two of these Russians.
Nadia, Yakov and the black-clad agents politely took their leave. Daniel could sense Sergei’s disappointment.
Daniel was happy with himself; he had succeeded in getting these men out and away from Marie. This was all that mattered for the time being.
Once outside in the cool of the evening, Daniel walked some distance alone with the four Soviets, who had suddenly got very cold and distant. They began to speak between themselves in their language, which was a rude thing to do. Nadia wouldn’t even look at him. This was getting beyond awkward.
Saying he forgot something, Daniel took a hasty leave. After making sure the Soviets were long gone, he had a quiet walk along the Seine under the moonlight. It was tranquil, peaceful, but he knew he lived in a blue world where silvery magic was a wonderful dream for children.
***
Next morning, Daniel had croissants with café along with an entire brie cheese and more croissants for breakfast. He warned Marie’s uncle, stressing to him that he must --- yes, he must --- tell Marie and her mother to never let these Russian men anywhere near them again.
The fatherly café owner told Daniel that he had disliked these men right from the start and that his niece shouldn’t have invited them in the first place. He’d phone his sister right away!
“My dear Marie has gone through enough bad stuff already as it is!” he said.
“What kind of bad stuff?” Daniel asked, looking at the shorter, balding man wearing the proverbial apron.
“Oh, these American GI’s… All the time they were in Paris, they walked our streets as bold as brass, thinking they could do or take whatever they wanted. Last year, in a cabaret I had warned her against, a bunch of these Yankees got a bit too enthusiastic with Marie and a same-age friend. The barman knew me and phoned, and there I was with three of my old buddies from the Résistance, with sub-machine guns! The Yankee boys left pronto, and the girls were fine, but Marie spent the next few months without going out at all.”
“She didn’t strike me as a shy girl, much less as a frightened one.”
“Indeed. I was really surprised yesterday. You’re having such a wonderful effect on her, young man! This is the first time I see her opening up to a lad since last year. And she’s a very fine girl; a bit boisterous at times, but all in all a really nice girl! It’s so good to see her cheerful again, all this thanks to you!”
The good man warmly patted Daniel on his beefy shoulder.
“Well, I don’t think she’s that cheerful today; we had a quarrel yesterday evening.”
“What happened? If it’s these Russians, I’m going to…”
“No, Sir, it didn’t get that bad, but it came at a cost for me.” Daniel smiled and told the man about the previous evening and how he caused a scene about Zabel so he could get these men away from Marie.
“Young man, you’re a real pal! By the way, I’m Jules.”
Both men shook hands. Jules went on:
“You know how to protect the ones you love. I’ll put in a good word for you! And cheer up my lad! Don’t worry, she’ll get over it and then she’ll be out looking for you. Ha! Ha! Ha! Have another croissant with prime-quality butter and my finest coffee --- the one I drink myself! It’s on the house! And tell me, my lad, would you consider moving to Paris? I know some well-placed people if you want to get started here!”
The rest of the week went by uneventful. Daniel didn’t see Marie again. Nadia had become a cold fish to him and Yakov snubbed him as well.
He kept his focus on his lifting, training light except for a handful of heavy lifts and making sure he was well-fed, well-rested during the next few days before the big Saturday. He went to see places such as the Notre-Dame Cathedral and the Eiffel Tower, but he spent most of his time in his room or at the café reading a book.
In his room, he often lovingly contemplated Zabel’s picture and felt heavy guilt. He wanted to send her a telegram, but his sense of guilt blocked him better than a brick wall. He masturbated often, and always began by fantasizing on Marie only to end up picturing himself with Nadia straddling him and offering the jiggling charms of her Soviet bosom along with the hot tightness of her legs and her pussy. For a victorious relief before falling asleep in his way to his first world championships.
“All right, he told himself, I’ll get this championship done and then I’ll jump on the first plane to Montreal. I’ll make it up to her! Oh, sweet Zabel! I shouldn't have gone astray like this!”
Daniel eye-kissed the beloved picture, where Zabel sat quietly, in a black dress with a square décolleté that showed how warm and rich her complexion was --- it was apparent even on the black-and-white picture. He was going to be her husband in less than a year! All he had to do was sit tight, compete and fly back to her.
On Friday night, he went by himself to a music hall to hear Edith Piaf. This was the first time he saw her in person. He even bumped into a handsome young man and realized this was none other than Charles Trenet! The famous singer gladly signed an autograph for him before joining his friends.
Daniel sat by himself, letting the velvety atmosphere take him away in that wonderful world of French singing. He kept refusing wine and only drank mineral water, telling the waiter he was competing the very next day as a weightlifter, but the man predictably didn't care one nickel about weightlifting.
Edith Piaf was simply magical as she sang. Such power in so small a person! She carried the entire music hall with the tiniest note of her voice!
Daniel went to the men's room. When he came back, he found a young woman sitting by herself at his table. She smiled at him and shook his hand.
"Hi! I've been looking at you for one hour and you seem to be just as lonely as I am. I'm Rachelle."
"Daniel. Would you like to have something?" replied the burly Canadian lad in wine-red street-clothes as he sat right next to her and his right knee gently bumped into hers, which proved enough to make him hard, horny and hot on her. It had been a long while since he last had some real action.
"Yes, Monsieur, I'd like to have something!" the fair-faced brunette said, smiling a mile wide and making her availability so obvious even a blind kid would have seen it. Her eyes said "Fuck me!"
"Oh, in this case, Rachel, we better have it in my hotel room."
After she asked him where he was staying, the Parisian woman laughed and said she lived much closer. So off they went together, arm in arm.
She lived by herself in a two-bedroom pad. Its nine-foot high walls looked like they had seen generations of tenants. There were paintings. Daniel recognized one of them. He stopped and looked at it.
"Ah, yes! This is a cheap copy of the original, but I love it. Die Kette! Done in 1917 by a painter who died in the trenches not a year later. She's swell-looking. I wish I looked this good naked."
"You are beautiful, Madame!" Daniel said, realizing this woman was probably at least in her late twenties, nearing that age when the handsome young men would stop looking at her. He absolutely avoided asking her how old she was. He wasn't that stupid. But yes, she was pretty, with some girly fat in her face, just enough to give her round, graceful features with waves of light brown-- hair that had the same artistic flare as that painting showing a naked brunette wearing a coral necklace. And there was life in those French eyes!
Daniel felt her hands on him. He let her mark her territory, feeling a female touch on his buttocks for the first time since April in Paris, with Mathilde. Once again, the events confirmed his belief that sex was easier to get in France. He let the moment linger, enjoying the anticipation. He was going to strip this stranger naked and he knew he was going to love this little violation of morality.
Her hands on him came to a halt.
"What is it? You don't like me?" she asked.
"On the contrary, Madame. I'm savoring the anticipation. Please, let me undress you myself. I love doing this to a girl!" Daniel replied.
Then his gaze stopped on a framed photo of Rachelle, a black-and-white picture where she wore a pale jacket over a pale, flower-patterned dress while also wearing a French soldier's iron helmet with a sub-machine gun strapped on her shoulder. Men were right behind her with rifles on their shoulder. She was confidently looking forward with her lips relaxed, but closed-- pulpous lips that he'd loved to kiss... or see forced-kissed by the Germans if they got their hands on her. Daniel grew a rock-solid erection as the rape fantasy instantly formed in his mind--the Germans capturing the small squad and forcing the tied-up, beaten-up men to watch as they took their turns inside her, their Teutonic cocks fed by the charms of her brutally torn-out nakedness, with the forest trees to send back the echoes of her screams and whimpers.
"Oh, that picture!" Rachelle said. "This is me in '43! We took such insane risks! My legs are still trembling just thinking what the Germans would have done to me and my friend Jeannine if they had captured our small group..."
"You look gorgeous in that outfit! I'm sure the first thing the German officer would have done, I mean if I found you in this outfit out there in the forest, the first thing I'd do would be taking off your helmet and telling you you won't be needing this anymore, and then removing it while calling you a very foul name in German."
"Ha! Ha! Ha!Ha! So you are a naughty one after all! I thought you'd be shy and bookish and I'd have to do everything for you!"
"War aged me before my time. I'd rather not tell you all I saw and did when I landed in Normandy."
"That's all right!" Rachelle said, her hand stroking Daniel's erection through his suit's trousers while tossing his fedora hat away.
"You won't be needing this, Mister!" the French lone woman added as she threw his fedora on her couch where it landed very accurately on a cushion covered with mousseline. While hardening Daniel, presently through some sensual pressure from her lap on him, she agilely undid his necktie, magically fast and smiling the whole time.
"I'm so hungry for your cock, Mister! My husband left me three years ago with that Italian tramp, but they caught up with this pig over there when they toppled Mussolini. The little tramp! I hoped at least a hundred men took their turns on her before killing her! There they go with their Reich and their idea of a grand Europe! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Rachelle threw his necktie where it joined the fedora. "So what now? Are you going to just stand there? Didn't you just say you'd like to undress me? Ooohh!"
Daniel had come alive and then Rachelle realized how short and small she was in his arms. Indeed, an average-sized girl like her was petite to him. She moaned as she felt his hands on her! Daniel was now frantic as he cupped her breasts through the pale fabric of her dress top. He went crazy when he felt hints of her nipples and the seams of her bra as her girly fat yielded under his loving pressure.
He then hugged and kissed Rachelle, who kissed him back with a fury that took his breath away. She was indeed hungry! A volcano going ablaze!
Rachelle went down on her knees, her fingers moving fast and unzipping his trousers and urgently liberating his stiff cock out of his boxers, as if this were the treasure she had been looking for all her life.
"Ah, crisse de tabarnak que c'est bon!" (Oh, holy shit this is so good!) Daniel blurted out as the experienced woman tightly sealed her lips around his Canadian shaft and began that heavenly back-and-forth spit-polish motion, making him as hard as a bull under her wet heat. From Paris with love and hunger for more!
Her hazel hair! Wonderful under his fingers, under the room's soft light, as she kept a steady bobbing service, going throat-deep with her nose pecking his pelvis on each stroke. She stopped and looked up to him, her eyes like a prayer of supplication.
"Fuck me, young lad! I want it so much! It's been such a long time since I last had such a handsome dreamboat inside me! I'm tired of the old pigs!"
Daniel took her in his arms and undid her buttons, with her helping him. Her dress opened in a sensual vee, offering a plunging view on her cleavage, a generous cleavage which Daniel covered with kisses as she got rid of her dress and let it fall on her feet after swiftly undoing her dress while Daniel covered the roundness of her breasts with kisses loaded with anticipation through her bra. She kicked off her thick-heel pumps and purred.
Rachelle laughed as she went behind her and unclasped the undergarment. Daniel was now acting like a German soldier who enjoyed the act of sucking her tits like a lad on his first time. It was so much fun to see this glorious expanse of female flesh while she was a stranger! It carried a sense of social violation a bit akin to the much stronger one that came with the raping of a girl by foreign soldiers. The similarity was enough to keep him granite hard as he twirled his tongue around Rachelle's juicy nipple.
Her breasts were curvy with just a slight sagging, telling him she was indeed in her late twenties or early thirties. He pictured a German brutally ripping her dress and uncovering those gorgeous tits under the sun as she screamed and the others mocked and hit her male comrades and made them watch.
He held and pressed those tits.
"Ahh yes! At last! At last! We can fuck their women!"
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
His talking during intimacy greatly amused the Parisian ex-member of the Résistance. Now topless in front of him, and very sexy with her garters and stockings breaking the spotless paleness of her generous hips. Her panties were of a stylish rose of the salmon kind. Her vulva danced under them amid a display that naturally led his eyes down to her gorgeous legs.
"Oh gosh! The Germans would have..." Daniel said, then stopped himself.
"The Germans would have what? Tell me! Tell me what they would have done to your Rachelle!"
"Well, I mean, uh..."
"Would they have ripped off my panties? Sucked my tits? Ate my pussy? Forced me to watch them rape Jeannine? Tell me! Don't worry! It's all over now, I mean the war. Nothing bad actually happened to me, nor to Jeannine. But we did have several close shaves! It always left both of us soaking wet. Two of the Resistance boys understood and took advantage of it. They jumped us and we let them do all they wanted! I still hear Jeannine's hot moaning. She was so loud!"
Daniel went right down on Rachelle. Grunting like a jungle-king orangutan, he roughly pushed her panties down and discovered the wide carpet of dark hair she had down there. He began kissing her cunt while holding her legs, thinking of a German squad about to gang-rape Rachelle and Jeannine. He pictured Jeannine just like Marie was --- a slender brunette with porcelain skin who was just 18. The German called her "die Junge Hure" while they called Rachelle their "Sau"-- the young tramp and the sow. And he ran this fantasy while honouring Rachelle's pussy lips with his tongue, drinking her juices and tasting the interesting flavour of sweet salt with a tiny zest of damp ammonia. It was loudly spiced up by her hot moans. She was sex-starved indeed!
"All right, lady! Down on all fours! We'll have you by order of ranks! The balding Major first!"
"Speak German! Speak German! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" the stockinged woman laughed as she went down on her hands and knees, giving Daniel the first sight on the most prodigiously erotic buttocks he had ever seen! What a perfect hourglass shape! With just the right amount of girly fat. Mirabile dictu, his erection got even harder and bigger! It was painful! Screaming for a Vesuvian eruption!
"Yavohl! Yavohl!" the French-Canadian yelled in a strongly accented parody of Goethe's language as he knelt down behind his hostess and obliged her by inserting his young cock inside her seasoned pussy, and he began to bang her while taking her waist and pretending to be a German Major, balding and sweating like a pig as he took his pleasure under a sunny forest canopy with male Résistance fighters watching, down on their knees, bruised and powerless, and he filled the room with his sharp grunts loaded with the pent-up sum of six months without sex.
Rachelle's bottom looked even more gorgeous with those echoing waves of shock as she moved herself to meet him with added force on every thrust, moaning as she kept saying she was taken, taken along with Jeannine. Daniel suddenly hit his jackpot and filled her up while exhaling the fulfillment of his lust... "HHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHMMMMMuugh..."
Rachelle was back on her knees where she dutifully licked off all his goo along with her own juices, licking and sucking him clean, and keeping at it for a full half hour until the young man showed signs of a comeback.
"Oh yeah!" she said between tongue strokes. "I had forgotten how fast young studs can reload!"
Next, they did it with Rachelle sitting on a sideboard and hugging her young lover as he kept impaling her while holding her butt and tapping those buns over and over on the sideboard's dark wooden top. It banged and banged. The neighbour banged the wall in irritation, for it was now well past midnight, but Rachelle laughed and urged Daniel to even more vigour.
Holding Rachelle in the heat of the act and kissing her neck while she took her pleasure, Daniel urged on and imagined a scene where German soldiers ripped Jeannine's shirt and savagely uncovered and assaulted her small tits while pulling her skirt off her legs and telling her they were going to teach her not to resist the Reich. A spiritual Leutnant told her he was going to search her path of least resistance and laughed like the young pig he was.
Daniel soon got to his edge while picturing Jeannine getting gang-raped good and square by five or six men in succession of rank, her face just as pretty as Marie's and now looking twisted in sourness as if she just swallowed a dozen of soaps, while each man took his turn and rocked her with his own personal touch and his own brand of brutality, one pinching her nipples, the next one slapping her before entering her, the one after just raping her so roughly that her eyes nearly left their sockets as her head shook in a raven blur of hair.
And Rachelle climaxed in his arms, "Aaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh, je suis prise!" (Aaaaaaaaaaah, I'm taken!)
And Daniel joined her and gave justice to her natural beauty in the form of a Canadian eruption. French women! Such a fine stock...
It was a night of debauchery. Daniel knew he should have gotten back to his room hours ago, but he kept at it, banging her again, this time doggystyle with her face sliding on the top of her dinner table. Later on, he let her suck his tired cock until he splattered her all over the face while picturing smiling Germans doing just that to her and Jeannine back in '43. It had been such a long time since he had this much fun!
Naked in her bed, he fell asleep and had a dream where he and several fellow soldiers broke inside a house in Frankfort and found a young woman with an old man. After beating up the old man and leaving him for dead, they turned on the woman and ripped her dress off as she screamed and called them "Schweine!"
As he tore her dress top and uncovered the small fullness of her pristine breasts, Daniel found she wore a coral pearl necklace that gave him an impression of déjà-vu. They ripped the rest of her clothes off, her coral-orange dress and all, then brutally bent her over the dinner table, but just as Daniel, being the squad's Lance-Corporal, was about to take his turn after the Corporal, he heard a loud voice...
"Hoc accipe!" the old man said in Latin (take this!), his wrinkled face twisted with devilish meanness as he fired an antique blunderbuss from way too close, with a definite BANG! Just as he woke up, Daniel saw the old man was wearing an astrakhan greatcoat with a stovepipe.
It was daylight. Who was this stranger woman who stood by his bed? He could swear to God he had never seen this chestnut-haired woman before, except perhaps in a dream he had forgotten. She wore a bathrobe. Where was he?
"I made coffee. Do you want some? Let's spend the day together, lover! We haven't been properly introduced yet."
Who was she?
"You've slept like a baby until past noon. You're so handsome when you sleep. I've let you..."
"Noon you say?! God dammit!"
Daniel was up and realized he was naked. Looking around the room, he found his street-clothes scattered out and about the vast room of what looked like a living room that also acted as a bedroom, with tiny white flowers smiling at him on a deep purple wallpaper. Ignoring the woman speaking to him, he found and put on his clothes, one after the other and not bothering to look for his boxers. He got dressed in a time rivaling is best performance as a recruit in the King's colonial Army.
She tried to stop him as he vaguely recollected her and what they did the previous night.
"Sorry, girl, but I must go! I'm competing today! I must go at once! Bye!"
With a peck on her cheek, Daniel walked out the door and downstairs with his necktie half done and his hair unkempt. As he found himself outside under a blinding sun, Daniel realized he had forgotten something.
A fedora hat fell down from the second floor with such devilish accuracy that it hit his face!
"Take this, you German swine! And don't ever come back here!" an angry young woman yelled as a couple passersby laughed. One large man looked at him with murder in his eyes.
"I'm not German! I'm not German at all!" the world-class lifter blurted out in French with a Canadian accent that pleaded his case better than the best devil's lawyer. The large man burst out in laughter and patted him roughly on the back.
"So, our young Canadian tourist is getting his fun? Better than the Eiffel Tower, eh?" the man said, all smiles.
"Well, uh, yes", Daniel answered confusedly as he picked up his fedora and put it back on, before shaking the man's hand with a crushing grip that flabbergasted him. This was the man's first time meeting a man with stronger hands than his.
"Who... Who are you?!"
"Daniel Lévesque, Canadian national champion in weightlifting and I'm competing tonight for the heavyweight world title. Please, could you tell me where the nearest bus stop is? I must go to..."
Daniel panicked a bit as he realized he was lost and couldn't remember the address of his hotel. The man tried to help him as Daniel cleared the cobwebs. Then finally, Daniel remembered the street name and the man gave him directions to a nearby taxi station. Half an hour later, he was finally back in his hotel room, where he washed and shaved while avoiding Zabel's dark gaze on that photo he worshiped. What a bad, no-good man he was! Why couldn't he just keep his cock in his pants until next June? Was it so hard a thing to do?
TO BE CONTINUED.
Last edited by HistBuff on Wed May 07, 2025 3:29 pm, edited 2 times in total.
