Sunday, August 01, 2004

 

Cartoon Porn Series Sex story

WARNING: This story is an act of fiction that contains graphic sexual
descriptions and language. If you are a minor (under 21) or if you are
offended by this kind of material then you should stop reading now.
Any resemblance between this story and a real event is coincidental.
The participants are imaginary; their actions have no negative
consequences other than those portrayed in the story. The story is
intended for entertainment and should not be emulated in the real
world.

FRAU GRETA VON YURT'S GESTAPO ORDEAL By Arthur Kay

GESTAPO SSLIEUTENANT Hans Von Yurt stood at ramrod stiff attention
before the desk of his Commandant, SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp and
watched and listened as the man ranted and raved, banging his fist on
the desk for emphasis. He had rarely seen the man this angry.

So far, SSLieutenant Von Yurt had no idea why the man was yelling at
him about some traitorous woman who had sided with the Jews. The SS
Oberf�hrer soon corrected that lack of his knowledge in the
conversation.

"THE TRAITOR IS YOUR WIFE GRETA, VON YURT. YOUR WIFE!" Hans eyes
widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe his ears. True, Greta had
said some mild things against the Nazi party, to his dismay and
consternation, but traitor? Impossible! She was a loyal German. As
loyal as Der F�hrer, himself. She just had a funny way of showing it
sometimes.

"Mein Oberf�hrer, I don't believe . . . "

"SHUT UP, VON YURT! There is no denying it, She is the one I am
referring to. She is the one who has used her raggedy and pitiful
little weekly newsletter to blast the party's treatment, or I should
say mistreatment, of the Jews. She's the one, your Greta, who has
created great dissension and discord among the working classes." He
paused.

"WELL, NO MORE, VON YURT!" He banged his fist hard on the desk top.
"You, SSGestapo Lieutenant Von Yurt, are going to personally arrest
that little bitch wife of yours and bring her to me. Do I make myself
perfectly clear, Von Yurt?"

"YYes, mein Oberf�hrer, perfectly clear, sir! Hans stiffened his body
and clicked his heels together. He knew better than to say anything
else, especially any of the argumentative rebuttal thoughts he now
harbored. The man before him was obviously in no mood for a debate.

"Good! Now, go retrieve her, Von Yurt, and deliver her to me, in less
than one hour, in my private quarters." The Commandant looked down at
his wrist watch. "I want to personally teach the traitorous little
cunt some lessons in following party doctrine when it comes to mass
media." He smiled at the Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Von Yurt cringed, but saluted smartly, pivoted and headed
toward the door. He knew the fate awaiting his beautiful wife of less
than five years, but also knew there was nothing he, or anyone else
for that matter, could do about it. Their fate was sealed. It was now,
he knew, up to Greta as to just how horrible that fate would, or could
get.

A short while later, Hans and Greta Von Yurt were in the back seat of
a large, black unmarked SSGestapo car headed for the Commandant's
quarters. Two regular army soldiers sat in front and, one of them, the
driver, was humming a tune. It sounded out of place, given the
circumstances, but at the same time it sounded normal. A thing a
driver would do to pass the time.

Hans hadn't yet told Greta the reason for the trip, but he suspected
she knew something wrong was afoot. He had merely told her that the
commandant wanted to chat with her and she was not to worry, purposely
playing it down so as not to fret her prematurely. Her worry and fret
would come soon enough, he well knew.

"Hans," Greta said. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" He nodded, not turning
to her, but still staring out the rear window on his side. "It's
because of those things I wrote, isn't it?" He nodded again, still
staring at the scenery going past. She pumped him further.

"How bad is it, Hans?" She sounded fearful, so he turned to face her.
He looked very worried. Childlike in his worry. He took her right hand
into both of his and squeezed. He could sense her fear. He had that
fear in himself.

"Very bad, I'm afraid, my liebschen. The Commandant has labeled you a
traitor . . ." He let the words just hang there, waiting for her
response.

"Traitor? That's nonsense, Hans, I'm a loyal party woman, you know
that. So, I played Devil's advocate with my odd views, but . . . "

Hans shushed her. "Liebschen, we don't have much time. We must talk
before we get to the Commandant's quarters."

Hans leaned over and said something to the driver. It was said too low
for Greta to hear, but a moment later she heard the man say, "Ya,
Lieutenant!" and pull the car over to the curb and kill the engine.
The two regular army soldiers then left the car, slamming doors behind
them. Hans turned to her.

"Hans, I . . . "

"Greta, my liebschen, please, we don't have much time, so listen to me
and listen very carefully. I am helpless in his matter and cannot do a
thing to help you." He squeezed her hand. "I could shoot the two men
with us, but that wouldn't save us, or you. We'd never even make it to
the border or, even if by some incredible miracle we did, we'd never
get through without a border pass.

"They would arrest us and kill us, after putting the two of us through
holy hell." He squeezed her hand again. "Remember Anna?" He knew she
did. She nodded silently. Poor Anna, she thought. Anna had also been
called to have a little chat with the Commandant. She was now
hospitalized and in a mostly vegetative state. Her mind had snapped.

Before her mind had gone, she had told Greta most of the horrid
details. What she told Greta had seemed incredible in this day and
age. Impossible, even.

Anna had fought the Commandant wildly, even going so far as to bite
his penis when he had attempted to put it into her mouth. He had
beaten her severely and told her he would kill her entire family if
she didn't cooperate.

She cooperated, as best she could, but that still wasn't enough for
him. He meant to teach her a good lesson. After raping her night and
day for a week, he had turned her over to what he called the barrack's
boys, 160 of his regular army soldiers. They had used her night and
day, every day, without any mercy, for eight months. Anna didn't go
into great detail, but she did say it was the most horrible thing
imaginable, and beyond.

Anna did mention being tied to an army cot, night and day, while a
long line of soldiers waited outside the door for their turn at her.
And Anna's crime? She had called an SSGestapo officer a pig after he
had pinched her behind in the restaurant where she waitressed. But how
was she to know he was Schutzst�ffel? The dreaded SS. The man was in
plain clothes.

Anna's ordeal might have gone on until they tired of her or she died,
but Anna got pregnant. Most of the men wanted to kill her then and
there, but the barrack's boss, a kindly Corporal F�rst, took pity on
her and sent her home to have the baby. Upon her leaving, F�rst had
told her to go and have a healthy, German soldier boy.

Anna wasn't home three days when she miscarried and lost the baby.
Whether this fact contributed to Anna's deterioration or not will
never be known, but Anna collapsed soon after and lost all sense of
reality. She now spent her days in a home for the mentally insane.

But that was then and this is now.

"Well," Hans was saying. "Anna had no idea what fate was waiting for
her when she fought the commandant. How could she? But, you, my
liebschen, are a step ahead of it all. That could save you from a very
terrible time of it." Greta thought about the barrack's boys. Hans
knew what she was thinking. He spoke again, still very rapidly.

"Yes, that would be terrible. Terrible. But you can prevent that from
happening to you. By not being you, the strongwilled woman, the woman
who takes no crap from anyone . . . including me." He chuckled softly.
It sounded to Greta like a gallows chuckle. She tried to chuckle, too,
but found she couldn't. Her throat was too dry.

"Liebschen," he continued, talking rapidly. "While it kills me inside
to say this, you must humor the man and do everything he tells you to
do, sexual and otherwise. It's the only way, believe me. I've seen and
heard this man in action. He's a beast, a depraved beast. He enjoys
telling stories of how he made the woman fight back, on purpose, by
having her do things she found truly repulsive and the joy and
exhilaration he felt in turning her over to his wretched henchmen.

"At all costs, you must not fight him. It will only play into his
hands. If there is any hope of you coming out of this, my liebschen,
and being spared Anna's fate, this is it. Use any ability you have
within you to playact, pretend you like it even, but just don't get
the man angry. Do you understand, my liebschen?" She nodded meekly.
God, she thought, oh, God. What is to become of me? Of us? Hans had
said something more, again rapidly.

" . . . will insist on oral and intercourse, undoubtedly, but he will
also make you perform anal sex. I know, I know. This is something you
absolutely detest and I understand, my love, but he will give you no
choice in the matter. It's do it or suffer Anna's consequences." He
looked at her, great fear and love showing in his pool blue eyes. And
tears. "And, as I well know from listening to his many ugly stories,
his men will use you that way anyway, so please, liebschen, keep that
in mind." He had more tears in his eyes. He's trapped, she thought,
just like I am, but I must now be the strong one. If we are to survive
at all.

One of the soldiers tapped on the rear car window and said, " One more
minute, Lieutenant, sir." Hans turned to her.

"Greta, our time has run out. Do you think you can be a convincing
actress with this vile bastard?" He looked anxious and afraid. Wanting
her to say she could, but hating the fact that she had to.

"Hans, my liebschen, I love you. I can get through this. But will you?
Will your knowing what I have done with this man hurt you so deeply it
kills your love for me? That would kill me quicker than a bullet to my
head."

"No, liebschen, I know you will have had no choice. My love for you
will remain as srong as it is now. I promise." He reached out and
kissed her. A long kiss. "We have to go now. I love you." He held her
close. "I love you, my liebschen."

Just as the car door opened, Greta whispered, "I love you, too, my
liebschen Hans." The two soldiers rejoined them in the car and in less
than a minute they were once more underway.

Hans and Greta sat in the back seat, holding hands, both staring
straight ahead at the backs of the soldier's heads. They both had
tears in their eyes. The car turned a corner and there it was, the
posh hotel that housed the SSGestapo. And, as Hans well knew, the
personal penthouse quarters of SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp. The SSbeast.
The SSbeast, Hans thought, who would soon have his dirty hands all
over Greta's lovely body. Making her . . . Hans stopped thinking about
it as the car stopped and the two soldiers got out.



AS GRETA STOOD, all alone, in the middle of the Commandant
Oberf�hrer's living room, she concentrated on steeling her will for
the ordeal she could only imagine lay ahead of her. She was sure she
could do as he wished, the bastard, and then blot it out of her mind
later, unlike poor Anna, but she had to call on all the fortitude
within her to playact her part in the horrible scenario to soon come.
Later was later, she thought, but now, damn it, was now.

A door opened to her right and SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp entered the
room. He was barefooted and wearing a dark purple robe with twin
yellow lightning bolts embroidered on the breast pocket. The insignia
of the SS, the Schutzst�ffel, the feared quasimilitary arm of the
Nazi party that served as their special police force. The dreaded
Black Shirts. Stemp had a drink in one hand and was smiling at her.
She felt immediately nauseated. And truly frightened.

As he stepped even closer to her, she realized he was a bigger man
that she had remembered. Well over six feet, muscular, but with a
pronounced paunch for a stomach. His chest looked extremely hairy as
it peeked out of the purple robe's vee at his neck. His bare legs,
below the robe, were also extremely hairy. The words hairy beast ran
through her mind.

But it was his face that got her full attention. He was ugly. Not
horribly ugly, but ugliness showed through nonetheless. His face was
fat, wide at the jowls, with a close cropped moustache that reminded
her of Hitler, their beloved F�hrer. His lips, the bottom one very
fat, wore a scar that crossed diagonally over them both, making them
somehow look very evil. His ears looked too big for even his big face.
They had little hairs growing out of them that repulsed her and
reminded her of a man who should be older than he appeared to be.

"Good evening, Frau Von Yurt. How are you this lovely night?" The way
he had said it, with a slight sneer in it, spoke volumes to her. She
knew he was cat and mousing her, looking over his prey, which he knew
had no avenue of escape. And the bastard, she also knew, was enjoying
it immensely. She was sure he had done this before and was very well
practiced in it. Anna flashed through her mind. Anna had probably
stood in this very same spot. And had the same fears.

"I'm fine, Oberf�hrer. May I go home now, I have many important things
to do there, if that's all right with you." She was immediately sorry
her mouth had gotten ahead of her brain, but, at the same time, she
was pleased with herself. She'd caught him off guard, the bastard, by
the looks of him. He was flustered. But, she reminded herself to be
careful with him. She was in his home court, without any advantage.
And it was he, not she, who would always be the clever one.

He started toward her. "Home? My, my, you've only just arrived here,
my dear. Besides, we haven't had our little chat yet." He was now
standing a foot away from her. "YOU TRAITOROUS LITTLE SLUT!" He
slapped her hard across her right cheek, knocking her head to the
side. The pain was awful and immediate. "HOME! HAH! Until I say so,
you Jew loving little cunt, this is your home!" He grabbed her by the
shoulders and shook her roughly from side to side.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" He put one hand under her chin, gripping it
strongly, and forced her to look directly at him. She saw that he had
spittle on his chin from the yelling.

"Yyes, Oberf�hrer. I'm sorry if I misspoke. What is it you want to
talk to be about?" She looked pitifiul. He stepped back a few feet and
looked at her, taking her entire body in and making her feel naked. He
read her mind in that direction.

"Before we have our little chat, my dear, I want you to remove every
article of your clothing, every last stitch, and stand at full
attention. Now! AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT!" He smiled at her. He knew she
was trapped. And she knew words were useless with this type of man,
one who wielded power without any thought to another's feelings.

Resigned, and without a single word of protest, she started to
disrobe, feeling the full, aching pain of humiliation and
embarrent creeping over her. I love you, Hans, she said to
herself, fighting back the urge to cry. Crying now, she feared, might
make the beast angry. And she knew where his anger could take her.

As she stripped before him, her hands trembling, he said, "I've had my
eye on you for quite some time, Frau Von Yurt, but I suspect you know
that. Tonight, my dear, I'm going to use you as you have never been
used before." She was now down to her bra and panties. She heard him
draw in a gasping breath. "Ah, lovely, lovely, my sweet one. You are,
forgive me for saying it this way, what those fool American's
idiotically call, stacked like a brick shithouse!" He laughed, which
added to her overall embarrent.

And to the guilt she was also feeling even before she had reached this
state of undress. For, while removing her outer clothing, she had
thought of something Anna had only glossed over; having three of the
barracks boys at a time using all her orifices simultaneously. Anna
had broken down in tears.

But even while consoling Anna, Greta had weird thoughts invade her
mind. She was picturing three men using her that way, and, to her
consternation, the picture in her head was having a strange effect on
her body. She could feel her vagina watering up, a heat coming over
her. 160 barracks boys would be much to much, but just three? Three.

She knew she was stronger than Anna. She would have survived and not
have gone to pieces. In face, she probably would have convinced them
she even liked it, thereby getting better treatment. More sleep, more
food. But, what scared her the most is, she might have liked it. For
even now, as serious as her situation was, she could feel a
perverseness coming into her mind.

She had stolen a glimpse at the lower body of the Commandant. His
erection had been poking the robe's material out toward her. She
quickly averted her eyes, but the effect on her was electrifying. She
had to fight her mind, keep it from getting her turned on, keep those
images of what he would be doing to her with the thing now hidden
under the robe. It was a very difficult fight.

She had been a virgin when she had married her childhood sweetheart,
Hans. To be sure, there had been the usual puppy love silliness of
using her hand to manipulate a boy, or two, but it never went the
whole way. She had saved herself for her Hans. And now, he couldn't
help her, even as much as he wanted to. She was at the mercy of man
with power not only over her and Hans, but over the entire barracks
boys.

Now, as she stood before the man, in preparation of removing the last
of her clothing, she could feel a wetness start to creep into her
vaginal area. It felt as if it was flowing out of her in a copious
manner, wetting her panties. The only saving grace, for which she was
truly thankful, was the fact that her panties were black. The
commandant might not see her telltale staining.

But something deep within her mind, wanted him to. She wanted him to
know she was willing, ready, and very able to do his bidding. This
thought made her feel a flushness creep up her neck. And again, she
thought of Anna.

As she was about to unhook her bra, he placed his drink on the desk,
stepped toward her and said, "Here, let me." He went up to her and put
his thick arms around to her back and deftly undid the clasp. She
could smell alcohol on his breath as the heat of him seemed to ungulf
her. He stepped back, the bra in his hand. He tossed it willynilly in
the direction of his desk as if female underclothing meant nothing in
his world.

As she now stood there, the perfection of her young, firm breasts
fully before his lecherous gaze, she felt the nipples go rigid from
the coolness of the room. This embarrassed her even more and she was
tempted to use her hands to cover herself. She resisted this as Stemp
now moved closer to her. He whistled a low wolf's whistle, the type
men use for pretty females on the street, and then said:

"They are beautiful, just beautiful, your perky little titties. Oh,
yes, my little Jew loving cunt, I'm going to enjoy you tonight." He
reached out and, with both hands, started to squeeze and knead the
twin orbs, tweaking the nipples hard.

He bent over and put his scarred lips on her right nipple and started
nursing on it. His lips felt rough and sandpapery. She stood there,
trembling and wanting to die. He worked both her breasts for a few
more minutes and then stood back. "The panties." was all he said, a
wide grin on his face.

Oh, God, she thought, as she lowered her panties, exposing her
unshaven groin area to his unyielding stare. Remember Anna, she
thought, remember what happened to Anna. Playact. Oh, God, and it's
only going to get worse, much worse, Oh, God, I love you Hans.

She stepped out of the panties, unable to look at him. Then she
realized not doing so might anger him. She looked at him. He looked
demented, depraved. He was drooling. His mouth hung down, making the
scarred bottom lip look even bigger and rougher. Playact, she
reminded herself. Remember Anna.

Thus, with a will of iron and the hidden talents of a Sarah Burnhardt,
she said, "Do you like what you see, Oberf�hrer?" Her mouth felt dry.
She had said it coquettishly, which surprised him, as well as herself.
She now stood at full attention before him, totaly naked, her
beautiful breasts and pussy unhidden to his eyes. She noticed that he
had his drink back in his hand, the ice clinking even as it melted. He
sipped at it.

"Oh, yes, my dear, what man wouldn't? But you disappoint me somewhat.
I had expected more of a fight out of you, more, shall we say,
revulsion at the idea of it all. But, no matter, I have many little
tricks that will test your feminine mettle. Many tricks, my dear. As
you shall discover. But for now, let's chat, shall we?" She stood
there as he walked all around her, taking an occasional sip from his
glass.

"We will chat about your feelings for the Jews later, but for now I
will ask you some questions and you will answer each with a nod or a
shake of your head. Understood?" She suspected he was about to test
her further. She nodded.

"Good. Now, do you know, Frau Von Yurt, that we are going to have sex
tonight or, as some say, fuck?" She nodded. The word fuck had forced
her to cringe.

"Good again. And you know you are going to suck my big, hairy cock,
don't you, my dear?" She shuddered and nodded. She heard him behind
her, taking a sip.

"And my old, hairy balls . . . ?" She shivered all over, but nodded
again.

"And if I tell you I want to put my prick into your tight little ass,
you will tell me to go fuck myself. Right?" She almost nodded, but
caught herself in time to shake her head from side to side. She heard
him laugh behind her. He was enjoying himself at play with his mouse.

"And if my asshole wants to feel the heat and wetness of your hot
tongue on it . . . " He let the question hang in the air. Gritting her
teeth, she nodded. Oh, God, help me, she thought, by letting me die
this very minute. But she didn't really mean the prayer because it
would mean no more Hans, no more us, no more anything. Playact, she
now thought as she nodded agreement to doing the vile act with him. He
laughed again.

"You're too pliable, my dear, I have a feeling our little Hansy pansy
has prepared you for what is going to take place here. Don't answer.
It doesn't matter to me." He came around to her front, threw his drink
at the fireplace, where it smashed into many pieces, and dropped his
robe to the floor.

He was naked now, too, large paunch and all. The two of them just
stood there, both naked now, facing each other in the brightly lit
room. His large, heavy, hairy balls hung down, framing his wide and
flaccid penis. The head of his penis looked huge, much larger than
Hans' more normal looking one. It frightened her just to look at it,
but it was also mesmerizing, just as a Cobra's gaze can be to its
prey.

"Come to me and put your arms around my neck and show me how well you
can kiss, my sweet little Jew lover." Playact, she thought as she
moved toward his hulking shape. As her arms encircled his neck, she
could feel the heat of the man. It was overpowering, as was the musky
smell of his male sex. To Greta, his heat and the musk smell seemed to
permeate the room, cloying her nostrils. This was nothing like Hans'
sweet, manly odor. This was more primitive, more animalistic. It
scared her.

Greta closed her eyes and sought his scarred lips with her. On
contact, she had the urge to vomit, her stomach muscles wretching,
churning, convulsing, but managed to control herself. His lips were
rough, partly from the scarring, but also from their natural state.
They reminded her of the papery, parchedlooking lips she had seen on
the gorillas at the zoo. Beasts, just like him.

She felt his large, fat tongue enter her mouth. It seemed hotter than
hot. And wetter than wet. As he pressed his lips against hers, his
tongue delved even further into her mouth, finding her own tongue and
playing with it. Kiss him back, she thought, don't anger him. Survive.
Her tongue rolled around, exploring the fat, fullness of the intruder.
He moaned and kissed her harder, running his hands over her ass cheeks
at the same time. Then his hands went up and explored all over her
back. Then back over her ass cheeks.

His kissed her for what seemed a long time. Then he kissed her neck
many times before he worked his way downward to her nervous breasts.
Finding her right nipple, he started sucking on it hard, causing her
to wince in pain. He then switched to her left nipple and did the same
thing. It felt unbelievably awful to her.

But SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp was enjoying himself. After thoroughly
suckling on her breasts to his satisfaction, he groped her ass cheeks
and then stuck a finger, then two, into her vagina. His other hand
stuck a large finger into her rectum to the first knuckle. His big
hands now had her impaled between them. He wiggled all his fingers
around for a bit as if testing for fit, and then seemed to lose
interest in the deed. He looked her in the eyes.

"On your knees, Greta, and suck my cock." He smiled at her and then
added, "And do a good job with no biting. If you bite me I will have
all of your teeth removed before turning you over to my men." He
didn't ask if she had understood. He knew she did.

She knelt down before him, his great, hairy paunch hovering and
seeming to sway in the air above her. God, give me strength, she
prayed. Playact flashed in her brain. Then Anna.

Greta took the fat, flaccid member into her right hand and lifted it
so it pointed toward her face, her mouth. In doing so, she couldn't
help but look at it. It seemed even fatter close up. And wider. At
least two inches in girth, perhaps even more. The flange around the
ridge stood out, all around, a full halfinch from the shaft, with the
cock head's pee hole deeply indented, as a cleft chin might be. The
whole appendage was meaty looking and felt quite heavy to her for a
human penis. Hans' was nothing like this, nothing at all like it.

Taking a deep breath, Greta moved her head forward and took the
monstrous head into her mouth. It was so incredibly wide. As she felt
her lips cross the flanged ridge, the plumpness of his cock head
filled her mouth, pressing against her tongue. She was reminded of a
salami. A thick salami. He moaned above her, placing his hands into
her hair and drawing her head even closer to him.

"Suck it, Greta, suck it good." She started a forward and back motion
with her mouth, as she had done many times to her dear Hans. As she
sucked, she felt the man's cock hardening up. Slowly at first, then
more quickly, getting fatter, the head swelling to even larger
proportions, the length of the shaft increasing. At full hardness,
which was no more than seven inches in length, Greta believed that the
wide head would certainly choke her to death. He moaned once more and
pulled her head even closer to his hairy groin.

"Take the whole thing, my dear, all of it." He said it threateningly,
as if failure in the attempt would anger him. I must avoid that, she
thought. She removed her mouth and said, simply, "Yes, Oberf�hrer."

Greta had been able to accomodate Hans' much slimmer 7" all the way
down her throat, but this cock head now before her was unbelievably
wide. She moved down the shaft, feeling the large cock head enter her
throat's beginnings. When it hit her gag reflex, she decided to try
something one of her married girlfriend's had told her to do, make a
swallowing motion. She swallowed, as if eating a large piece of meat,
and, to her utter amazement, it worked!! The entire cock head went
down her throat with the one simple swallow until the man's pubic
hairs were touching her lips. This amazed her. He moaned somewhere
above her.

"Gott in Himmel! Ach der lieber!" he said. It had amazed him, too. "No
woman has ever taken my cock head that way before. They usually throw
up an entire meal all over me. I have often fantasized about a woman
doing what you've just done, but I never thought it would ever occur.
Now, suck me and swallow my sperm, you unbelievable deviltress, you."
He started mouthfucking her face, the fatflanged head plunging deep
within her throat on every third or fourth stroke.

As she sucked away on him, her saliva sputtering all around her mouth
and around his fatheaded cock, they soon got into a syncopated
rhythym. It was intoxicating to her, this sucking action, as if she
was a baby suckling at her mother's nipple. And, to her chagrin, she
found herself enjoying it. The meatiness of his cock head was doing
something strange to her lips and tongue. Something very pleasurable.

While she hated this man, hated doing this for him, she also felt the
pleasure sucking can bring. Like a pacifier, she thought. A large
headed pacifier. This both scared and tantalized her.

As their cockinmouth rhythym increased, his moaning increasing along
with it, she found herself completely enraptured by it all. She hated
herself for feeling this way, but she couldn't help it. And she hated
herself for admitting that something else was going on, too. Her
vagina was moistening up. She could feel the stirrings, the familiar
wetness, as it increased. Sucking off the vile bastard was getting her
hot.

And the desire in her welled up, too. Not for the man, but for the
moment, the sex, the act, call it what you will. She tried to tell
herself it was playacting, but she knew that was a lie. Perhaps, she
thought, I'm a wanton slut deep down and this is merely revealing it
to me. Oh, God, I hope not, for how will I ever face my Hans again?
How will I face myself again? These horrible thoughts mingled with the
pleasure her mouth was feeling and the growing wetness between her
legs. Confusion swam through her brain.

SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp groaned, a real loud groan. He was, she knew
by the gutteral sound of it, about to ejaculate into her mouth. She
moved her mouth so just the head was engulfed, as she had many times
with Hans, and moved her mouth back and forth over the cock head
gently, waiting for his release. A moment later, he squeezed her head
with both hands, holding her fast, and spasmed his sperm into her. She
had expected him to yell as Hans usually did, but he was merely
moaning.

His sperm entered her mouth in large globules, thick and sticky, with
the consistency of yogurt. The sheer initial volume of it amazed her.
Her mouth flooded up, forcing her to swallow. As she felt the large
sea of salty sperm go down her throat, her mouth flooded again. She
swallowed once more.

Then, to her utter amazement, her mouth flooded again, even more so
than either time before. The amount of it caught her unaware and she
felt it splashing out around his cock and dripping down hotly onto her
naked knees. Her Hans had never been this copious, not even when he
hadn't ejaculated in a week's time. Or even longer.

"Greta, use your mouth to suck the last drops out of me. Vaccuum my
cock, my dear." She immediately complied, squeezing her lips tightly
around the cock head and drawing her lips back toward herself,
maintaining pressure. He was finally satisfied with her work.

He withdrew his cock and lifted her up to a standing position. He
reached out and removed a large glob of his sperm from her chin.
"Here, suck this off!" The finger was right in front of her mouth, the
large glob shiny white. She reached out and took the finger into her
mouth and sucked the sperm away. She swallowed just as he said, "After
such a wonderful performance, my dear, we must use our first names.
Call me Otto from now on, Greta. All right?"

"Yes, Ober . . . Otto." Was all she could say as she stood there awash
in her mixed emotions.

He told her they would now be wined and dined in the finest manner and
that afer dinner they would, now Greta and Otto, make love. She
nodded. He told her to get dressed. He had a phone call to make.

As he walked away from her, her eyes took in his naked back. He looked
younger from this position with that awful paunch hidden from view.
His back was very muscular and strong appearing. His buttocks were
somehow girlish looking and very tight. This side of him was, unlike
his front, handsome. And very verile looking. This surprised her.

As she saw him close the door, she tried to reason with herself, to
get some earthly perspective. She had just sucked off the vilest of
men and she should have been revulsed, repulsed. And she was, but she
also wasn't She should have been sickened now by it all. And she was,
but at the same time, she wasn't. This dichotomy worried her because
it meant that, while hating it, abhoring it, she had partially enjoyed
it. And now had to admit that horrid fact to herself.

Perhaps, she reasoned, my brain is echoing back to the days of the
cavemen, when a man, allegedly, would grab a woman by the hair and
drag her back to his cave. Where he would, allegedly, force the woman
to do his bidding. Was all women's subconscious wired that way? To
accept her fate by enjoying it? To survive? To live through it for one
more chance at another new day? To playact?

But where, she thought, did play end and act begin? Or was it all one
seamless illusion meant to fool her, the selfaudience? She was lost
in an ocean of confusion. True, she had had her share of girlish
fantasies, but never had she pictured anything forcible. It was always
gentle in nature, both loving and romantic. The man, who always
remained faceless to her, was handsome, dashing, and sweetly loving.
Gentle, even as he ravished her in his large feather down bed.

Tonight, on the other hand, was something completely different. It was
alien, truly strange. Frightening and titillating at the same time. It
was primitive and animal like, and yet, strangely normal, as if it fit
in with some master female plan for survival in the wild. The words
animal rutting popped into her head.

And worst of all, as she stood there now, naked and horrified, ashamed
and filled with guilt, she had to fight the overwhelming urge to place
two fingers deep into her vagina to relieve the havoc that some
unknown, unnamed demon had created within her. She felt a hot flush of
guilt rush from her neck to her head. And, she well knew, the night
had only begun. The Oberf�hrer wasn't finished with her yet, not be a
long shot. A picture of his hairy ass opening wide to receive her
tongue flashed into her brain. She shuddered at the image.



IN THE BEDROOM, SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp, was on the phone. He spoke
quickly, his authority on full display.

"Colonel Shtetl, Stemp here. Listen carefully as I do not wish to have
to repeat myself. Understood?" It was. "Now, Shtetl, I want you to
prepare orders for one SSGestapo Lieutenant Hans Von Yurt for
redeployment to the Russian front. He is to leave within the next
hour. He is to be told nothing of my involvement in the matter.
Understood?" It was.

"Good. Then, Shtetl, I want you, personally, to go to his apartment
and tell his landlord that the Von Yurt's are moving out, permanently.
Give them no other information. Then Shtetl, I want you, personally,
to enter the Von Yurt's apartment and pack up everything belonging to
Frau Von Yurt. Take nothing of her husband's. Understood?" It was.

Colonel Shtetl had been through this many times before. His superior
was taking a wife, quite literally. And the wife in question, Shtetl
well knew, was a knockout. Shtetl, himself, had more than once
devoured the woman's stunning figure with his eyes. He knew exactly
what to do to please the Oberf�hrer, who now and then shared his
conquests wiith him. Shtetl now daydreamed about the lovely and
luscious Frau Greta Von Yurt.

" . . . and bring all of her belongings, personally, to my penthouse
quarters. Use the service entrance so as not to disturb us, er, me.
Understood, Shtetl?" It was. Holy shit, thought Shtetl, he's got the
wench there with him now! I'll bet she's already naked. Oooh! Has he
put his bigheaded cock into her mouth yet? Has he fucked her?

His eyes closed as he attempted to picture, once more, Frau Greta Von
Yurt in the buff. His cock stirred, pushing against its confining
fabric. Reflexively, he reached a hand down and squeezed the bump it
had created. He knew mastubation was in the wind for him this very
night. With Frau Greta Von Yurt supplying the lewd images.

" . . . disturbed for the rest of the evening, unless it's news of an
allied surrender or of Eisenhower's untimely death. Understood,
Shtetl?"

It was.



WHEN SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp reentered the living room, Greta could
see he had changed his clothing. He now wore light gray pants, a dark
gray smoking jacket and a pale yellow ascot at his throat. Embroidered
on the breast pocket were the familiar twin SS lightning bolts, again
in yellow. And, this time, he had his feet covered in shiny, black
leather slippers. The word dashing flit shamelessly across her mind,
making her flinch.



AFTER DINNER, he took her into his bedroom. He ordered her to strip
once more as he proceeded to do the same. Before long, they were both
naked and standing no more than two feet apart. This time, she
noticed, he had a full erection, unlike before. It stood out beneath
his paunch, looking unfamiliar and familiar to her at the same time,
the large head wobbling in space as if seeking a landing spot.

The lighting in the bedroom came from one single lamp. This made her
feel much more comfortable than she had felt in the living room with
it's harsh glaring lights seemingly everywhere. Strangely, this
thought made her blush. Girlishly, she hoped the low lighting hid this
fact from him. As if it could now matter in the least.

"Now, mein liebschen, come to me." She obeyed and soon found herself
in his strong, hairy arms. His lips found hers and their tongues
dueled sloppily. His large hands roamed her body. She could feel his
large paunch pressing into her stomach as well as the head of his
monstrous penis. He kept kissing her lips. And kissing her lips.
Without let up. This went on for a very long time, the two of them
just standing there, a mere few feet from the large kingsize bed.

Hans popped into her head. He had usually kissed her just a few times
before taking further action. At times, this remission on his part had
left her mildly frustrated. But while her loving Hans was nowhere near
the handsome, virile and dashing, faceless man of her idle girlish
fantasies, he loved her. That made up for it quite a lot.

It hadn't really bothered her, not deep down, but now she fleetingly
wondered if that wasn't because she never had anything to compare it
to. Feeling unfair to Hans, she pushed further thoughts of him out of
her mind. She needed all her wits to playact.

SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp had left her lips and was now planting hot,
wet, sloppy kisses all over her body. Her neck was wet as well as her
breasts. Once again, she felt the familiar wetness make itself known
between her legs. His type of foreplay was getting to her, touching
something deep within her, making her tremble in want of him.

She had a choice. Fight the feelings that threatened to swamp her or
give in to them. Fighting could lead to his displeasure of her. Giving
in, she knew, would only lead to pleasure for them both. She decided
to surrender, to survive, to escape Anna's fate.

Thus it was that she reacted very positively to all his actions. When
he kissed her now, she kissed back, with passion, with abandonment.
When he rubbed his hands over her, she allowed herself to moan and the
moaning itself had a strange, wonderful effect on her. It made her
feel less like a prisoner and more like his equal somehow. And less
guilty. Then she surprised even herself. She reached down and lovingly
squeezed his fullblown erection. She squeezed it again and slowly
stroked the shaft back and forth. I giving, she mused, my first
handjob to an SSOberf�hrer!

SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp's reaction to this suddenly brand new Greta
was immediate. His kisses took on a new fire, as if lit by a brand new
match. His gropings were more sensual, more human like now. And more
tender than before. He was on fire and he let himself burn. He
fingered her vagina tenderly, as a lover, a husband might do. He
revelled in her even as he devoured her flesh piece by piece, area by
area. "Liebschen, mein liebschen." he breathed hotly into her ear.

And there was no mistaking her involvement in it all. He had made her
orgasm twice with his large fingers and she knew he knew it. She
hadn't even tried to disguise the fact from him. She had given in to
her desires completely. His manipulations, his kisses, had made her
truly hot, on fire, burning alive, and now she needed him, wanted him
if truth be told, to douse the flames with his large, oversized penis
head. The large, oversized penis head she now cradled in her hand and
lovingly caressed.

"Otto, my Otto, if you don't take me this very instant I shall die."
He knew he had reached her, reached the very depths of her carnal
soul. She may have, as many others had done before, acted a part, but
he knew no one could act this well, not even Burnhardt. And he desired
her, too. Not just in the way he always wanted them, but in a
different way. A new way that was strange to him. He wanted her as any
husband would on his first honeymoon night. She was so lovely, he
thought, this Frau Greta Von Yurt. SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp felt like
one lucky man.

But, as much as he wanted to feel his large headed penis in her now
yielding body, he didn't want to rush. To rush, he well knew, would
have him shooting his seed soon after penetration. No, he wouldn't
rush. Why should he? They had, unknown to her, an eternity before
them. And, again unknown to her, her attempt at playacting had
backfired, for SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp had no intention of ever
letting her rejoin her precious Hans. Not tomorrow, not next week, not
ever.

She was now, for all intents and purposes, the new wife of SS
Oberf�hrer Otto Stemp. His property and new toy. She just didn't know
it yet. A small thought entered his mind. At some point in their
relationship, he would, as he had before, start to tire of her, no
matter how hot she seemed at any one given moment. He knew he would,
as he had so many times before, have the need to spice up their waning
marital bliss.

To this end, he knew he could count on his aidedecamp, Colonel
Shtetl. As he had so many, many times before. He could trust Shtetl to
be discrete. Shtetl knew the penalty for displeasuring him. And Shtetl
had already, bless him, and on many an occasion, voiced a wanton
desire toward the lovely Frau Von Yurt. Oh, yes, Shtetl would be more
than eager to join him and Greta for a threesome in the kingsize bed.
And Stemp would get more than excited watching Shtetl's 9" penis
enjoying Greta's mouth, ass, and vagina. The SSOberf�hrer now felt
the heat within him rise even higher. His erection was at full
blossom. And was now ready for Greta.

He picked her up bodily in his massive arms and deposited her on the
bed. Her legs were spread, her pussy lips in plain view as if inviting
him in, as if saying, I'm all yours, do what you will with me, but
kiss me first.

Although, as a general lifelong rule, Stemp hated eating pussy, he
knew he wanted to taste Greta's flowing juices. The idea pleased him,
spurred him onward. He knelt between her highs and lowered his large
head toward her unshaven bush.

As his lips touched her vaginal lips, he heard her moan. She then
grabbed his head in both hands and pushed it inward, toward her wet,
hot and mysterious cavern. He proceeded to lick her for all he was
worth, his fat tongue finding new things to do, new things to lick on.

As his large tongue penetrated to its full extent and moved upwards
and then down, Greta went wild. She gyrated her hips and squeezed his
head until it hurt him. He didn't care. He was obsessed with the task
at hand. He rolled his tongue around and around, leaving no point on
the compass feeling neglected. Simultaneously, his tongue darted in
and out, shallow fucking her, with a distinctive pressure on his
topmost licking movements.

To Greta Von Yurt, his tongue and lips felt slightly sandpapery, but
with much less chafing. The friction his mouth was creating on the
clitoris was excruciatingly pleasurable. It was driving her wild and
unleashing one orgasm after another upon her.

This was nothing like Hans would, or could do. Unlike Hans, she felt
that Otto actually enjoyed eating her, relished doing it, in fact.
This idea added to her pleasure. Added to the intensity of her
orgasms, which now, were becoming unbearable. She had to have him
inside her. And not tomorrow, mind you, but now. She found herself
reaching for his large, muscular arms, urging his body upward and
toward her, pulling him on top of her.

"Fuck me, liebschen, fuck me now! I need to feel you inside of me!"

He knew she was his now. Fully his. "Liebschen," he said. "Are you
telling me you want my hot, German cock in her Jew loving pussy?" He
couldn't resist the Jewish reference. It pleased him.

"Yes, Otto, I want your magnificent German prick in my pussy." She was
beyond hot now, she was aflame.

"Then, my dear, you must tell me you love me. Say it!" He waited, but
he didn't have long to wait.

"Ich lieber dich, mein liebschen Otto." She had said it, but he made
her repeat herself. "Ich lieber dich, mein liebschen Otto." He was
satisfied.

As his large headed prick entered her pussy lips, he kissed her hotly
and passionately. She returned the kiss fully. Then he was deep inside
her, pushing forward, probing. The large cock head spreading her
insides in all directions. She had never felt anything like it.

His large cock head was hitting something deep inside of her, doing
strange and wonderful things to her. Oh, God, she thought, please
don't let me enjoy this, please. And yet, at the same time, she wanted
to enjoy it, to let herself succumb to the strange and wonderful
feelings, feelings that even her beloved Hans hadn't given her.

It was the first time in her life that she could actually feel the
flanged ridge of a man's penis inside her vagina, where she could
differentiate between the head and the shaft. Otto's cock head was
driving her absolutely and utterly crazy with its oversized width and
pronounced ridge. Out of the blue, she felt herself orgasming. And
this orgasm was unlike any she had every felt in her entire life. It
was mindbending.

The intensity of it overwhelmed her, taking her up to the ceiling in
her mind's eye and then beyond, through the ceiling and into the sky,
and beyond, to the stars. It was incredible to her, so incredible that
she couldn't feel her body, or his body, or even the bed immediately
beneath her body.

It was as if, all of a sudden, she and Otto were fucking in midair,
floating along like two fornicating feathers, who had successfully
escaped the confining pull of gravity. In midair, as it was, she
found herself wrapping her legs around his muscular back, forcing them
as high as they would go up on his muscular frame.

This had the startling effect of making her feel as if he had
impossibly found a way to elongate his cock and make its enormous head
reach to the deepest depths of her vagina. His cock head, she thought,
his wonderful, magnificent cock head. Otto's cock head. My Otto's cock
head. Oh, God, I will now want him all the time, poor Hans. Forgive
me, but I cannot help myself.

The image of his muscular back and girlish ass, the image that she had
witnessed earlier, flashed through her mind. Along with the words
handsome and dashing. Even his large paunch, so repulsive to her
earlier, now seemed wonderful and totally natural as it pressed
against her stomach. It seemed to enfold her as if to protect her from
the vagaries of the outside world.

She opened her eyes and was surprised to not see the stars in the
heaven. She heard him groan and increase his pumping tempo. He was
soon due, she knew, to deposit himself, his hot seed, deep within her.
She squeezed her legs around his back, urging him onward, her eager
hands caressing his handsome and dashing back.

A moment later, he came with a spasming of his large cock head. It
seemed to grow inside her, if that was even possible. Then she felt
it, the heat, the heat as hot as fire, burning her, scalding her, so
deep within her. Hans had never felt this way, as hot as this, not
even at his most ardent.

Otto's sperm had to be hotter than normal, she reasoned. Then, she
felt a ball of fire inside her, right where she felt Otto's enormous
cock head. He was puddling up, much as he had in her mouth. This drove
her to another orgasm, even more intense than all the others. She
closed her eyes and the stars reappeared. She heard herself yelling.
And him moaning. Then he was finished.

But, instead of simply rolling off of her and leaving her to her own
devices, he surprised her. He started showering her lips, her face,
her neck, her breasts, her belly with hot kisses. He even ran his hot
tongue one time up the crack of her vagina, causing her to shudder in
pleasure. Come what may, the man now with her, was no Hans. For which,
guiltily, Greta was glad.

And, she full well knew, this was but the first night of many nights
to come. Poor Hans, she thought, I've playacted myself into a
quagmire. I hope our love is strong enough, my beloved Hans, to
withstand the new me. If, that is, the new me ever meets the old you
ever again. She had her doubts along those lines.



THE DAYS turned into weeks, and the weeks, as they will do, turned
into months. Three and a half months to be precise.

During that long time, Otto had been voracious when it came to their
love making. Insatiable, even. Three or four times a day had become
their normal routine. Sometimes, five. And a few times, an incredible
six. And he had never tired of his shower of kisses during the
aftermath.

Once, in a private moment, Greta had compared her and Otto's amazing
couplings, unfairly perhaps, to the love life she had shared with
Hans. After four and a half years of marriage, their couplings had
fallen from once or twice a day, to three or four times a week. Then
it went even farther down to a now and then, when it seemed Hans
merely needed her body and not her.

But that was then and this is now. And the now was Wednesday, Otto's
favorite day for anal sex. He would be home around 3:00 p.m. and would
expect her to be ready, prepped as it were, with her anus well lubed
and ready for his use. Which, now, she was only too happy to oblige.
It hadn't always been this way, her actually looking forward to anal
sex. Especially anal sex with a cock head the size of a tennis ball to
boot.

Oh, no, far from it. Hans knew her views on the matter. Although she
had never even tried anal, she instinctively feared it and she knew it
would hurt, in spite of what Hans would say. You don't have to drink
gasoline to know it's not good for you and that it will hurt you.

But Otto had changed her mind about the matter, on the day after their
first night together. With Otto, of course, there was no denying him,
no saying how much she thought it would hurt, no excuses. It was do it
to die. He had left that vivid impression on her even though he hadn't
even made the simplest of threats. And strangely, he had been gentle
with her.

He had showed her a tube of a creamlike substance that he said would
kill all pain to her sphincter muscle. It had been used, quite
effectively he said, on volunteer Jewish prisoners and none had ever
complained, to his knowledge.

Thus, her rectum well lubed, he had penetrated her. And he had been
right, the pain was there, but it was minimal and bearable. No worse
than a vaccination shot. And lasting just as long. Pain one minute, no
pain the next.

And, as his largeheaded cock had found her innermost anal depths, she
had felt pleasure. Great pleasure. A strange pleasure, one she had
never known existed. And yet the pleasure was familiar, similar to the
pleasure she experienced when she evacuated her bowels. Only, instead
of being as fleeting as a bowel movement usually was, the pleasure
caused by Otto's being in her rectum stayed around for as long as he
did.

It also created a super wetness in her vagina and she had found
herself using the middle knuckle of her right hand to masturbate. When
the pleasure of the fullness in her rectum combined with her first
orgasm during anal, she thought she had lost her mind. It was
tremendously powerful. She found her anus muscles spasming,
convulsing, as if chewing on his penis and devouring the largeridged
cock head.

When her first anal spasm had hit the two of them, with her chewing
rectum working its mouthlike magic on his cock, Otto had lost all
self control and ejaculated immediately within her. And, just as his
seed had felt in her vagina, it was hot, hot, hot. Boiling hot. The
man spewed fire balls from his balls. And, in her mind of minds, she
knew she loved feeling it, this spermy heat of his.

But that was then and this was Wednesday. She heard Otto's key in the
door and, a few seconds later, heard him yell out, "Liebschen, go into
the bedroom, strip yourself naked, and lie on the bed. With both eyes
closed. I have a nice surprise for you." A surprise. Flowers? A new
mink coat? She felt girlishly foolish as she proceeded to undress. And
girlishly anticipated his surprise.

Greta got on the bed and lay down on her back, pulling her legs up and
spreading them wide, as she knew Otto loved her to do. He loved seeing
her vagina exposed in this fashion. Already she could feel the heat
increase between her legs, even as the wetness started to make itself
known. She squeezed her breasts with both hands, manipulating each
nipple with small, circular motions. She was hot and she was ready.
Hot and ready for her Otto. Her Otto and his largeheaded magnificent
monster. She had her eyes closed, as he had instructed, as she heard
him enter the room. From where she lay, she could feel and smell him
already.

"Open your eyes, my liebschen and see your gift." She opened them and,
at first, didn't comprehend it all. Otto was there all right, and
naked, but there were no flowers, no mink coat.

Standing next to Otto, and as naked as the day he was born, was
Colonel Stetl. His eyes looked demented and he seemed to be holding a
long truncheon in his hands. Greta screamed and jumped from the bed
trying valiantly to cover herself with the bed clothes. Otto barked at
her.

"PUT THAT DOWN IMMEDIATELY AND LOOK AT ME AND THE COLONEL!
NOW, GRETA, NOW!

She dropped the bedding and turned her head toward the two
totally naked men, feeling shame and humiliation overtake her. She now
saw that the truncheon wasn't a truncheon at all. It was Colonel
Shtetl's penis. It now pointed at her, long and fat and angry looking.
It was over a foot long and as thick around as Otto's penis. It scared
her, especially knowing what her Otto and the evening now had in mind
for her. She must have been staring at Stetl's monstrous thing, for
Otto said:

"Yes, liebschen, it is big, isn't it? ISN'T IT?" Greta nodded.

While Shtetl fondled his humungous cock, SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp came
up to her and took her by both shoulders. He looked directly into her
eyes.

"Now, Greta, I don't have to explain this to you, but I will. I want
to add some spice to our marriage. It's getting stale I want . . . "

"But, Otto, my liebschen, we . . . "

"SHUT UP AND LISTEN!" She shut up and listened, not liking the idea of
what she knew he was going to say.

"Now, Greta, Colonel Shtetl here is my right arm. He is married to a
frowzy little dumpling with the body of a wrestler. As my loyal right
arm, I like to reward him from time to time. You, my dear, are this
week's Shtetl reward." She started to speak, but he raised a
forefinger to his lips, shushing her.

"You will, Greta, fuck Colonel Shtetl and suck on his baseball bat
sized cock and you will do it with all the passion and ardor you so
generously shower on me. Do you comprehend?" Defeated, she nodded. She
heard Colonel Shtetl chuckle.

Then, SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp walked over and sat down in one of the
bedroom chairs. "Good, my liebschen. Now, let's get, as those stupid
Yankee pigs like to say, the show on the road! Listen to me, Greta,
and listen carefully. I want you to pretend, in that so convincing
playacting fashion of yours, that my Colonel is your husband. Or me,
take your pick.

"I want you to recall our first night together. How you first sucked
me off, swallowed my sperm, and then how we fucked afterward. Picture
it, Greta, get it all firmly in your mind. I have told the Colonel all
about it and I now want to reward him by letting him have a firsthand
experience of it all, down to the last juicy nuance. Nod if you
understand." She nodded, a slave to whatever lay ahead.

"Splendid! Now Greta, Colonel, let the show begin." He sat back in the
chair, fondling his penis and testicles. A lewd look was on face,
coupled with a weird and very scarred smile. He was enjoying her
plight.

Greta looked at her slave master, the Oberf�hrer Stemp. "Is it all
right, Otto, if I take a moment to remember our first night?" He
nodded.

She stood there naked in front of two naked men, one she hardly knew
at all and one she would just die just to fuck. One man stood less
than six feet from her and played with his cock. The other sat less
than six feet from her and played with his cock. She had never felt
more naked, more exposed, more vulnerable. Anna suddenly popped into
her mind. Don't end up like Anna, she thought.

She tried as best she could to remember their first night together.
The spermswallowing blowjob, the fucking on the very bed in this
room. Her mind raced to recover memory. My God, she thought, I've got
to kiss this almost stranger, to be passionate with him, to suck and
fuck him, and do it before Otto, my lover, and now my audience. And I
have to be totally convincing. She thought of Anna again and of the
160 barrack's boys.

Otto was tapping his foot, signalling his impatience with her. She
looked at him, a red hot flush coursing through her entire body. Play
act flashed through her mind. Playact and make it good. Play the
wanton slut Otto so wants me to be. Play the whore, the cunt bitch in
heat.

Yes, she knew she could do it. All she had to do was let nature take
over her mind, her body. Let her own desires come to the fore and fuck
and suck the Colonel as he had never been sucked and fucked before.
She looked at his big erection and licked her lips, over and over,
seductively and slowly, making sure the two men noticed that she was
ready to perform.

And perform she would. Even more than they had bargained for. With
this thought in her mind, she started to finger her vagina and, at the
same time, squeeze a breast, toying with the nipple. All the while
still rolling her tongue around her mouth. She heard the Colonel moan,
then speak.

"Gott in Himmel, mein Oberf�hrer, she is even more beautiful than even
the wildest of my imaginings have ever been. Thank you, mein
Oberf�hrer, thank you, thank you. I am forever in your debt." Stemp
nodded twice.

Greta now walked up to the Colonel and put both arms around his neck,
feeling the baseball bat cock touch and poke her belly. The man looked
dazed and unsure of himself. Greta would have to take the lead.

She kissed him, full on the lips, her tongue seeking his. The Colonel
sighed into her mouth even as he returned the kiss. And she didn't
just kiss him, she devoured his mouth, passionately and with all the
ardor a human can muster up. All the while, she ground her stomach and
her groin into his hard penis.

SSOberf�hrer Otto Stemp urged her on. "Good, my liebschen, very good.
Wonderful, in fact." He seemed to be breathing laboriously.

Greta kissed Shtetl for what seemed a long time. Perhaps she was now
reliving that fateful night, perhaps not. Perhaps she was playacting,
perhaps not. She was, to her way of thinking, somewhere in between it
all.

Finally, she broke the kiss and knelt before the man, his large member
bumping her cheek. God, she thought, he is big! Will I be able to
swallow him as I did Otto? Swallow was the key word, she remembered.

But now, determined to play the whore and put on a good show, she
added a wrinkle to the act. If Otto, she thought, wants a show, I'll
give him one he'll never forget! With that she pushed her head into
Shtetl's groin area and proceeded to suck on his hairy, largesized
testicles. Shtetl immediately moaned and his legs started to shake.
She heard Otto gasp. Then he spoke, a hoarseness to his voice Greta
had never heard before.

"Ach du leiber, Greta, you are full of tricks now, aren't you?" She
nodded her head, one of Shtetl's balls fully in her mouth, and
mumbled, "Hmm hmm." Shtetl moaned again and his legs continued to
shake even though he now had both hands on her head as if to steady
himself.

Greta worked his balls until both were sloppy wet. As she laved them
she placed both hands on his ass cheeks and drew him toward her. She
knew Otto would like that.

She then used both lips and mouth to wet up his large cock shaft. She
went down one side and up the other, leaving a trail of saliva to mark
her travellings. When Shtetl moaned once more, it seemed to act as a
trigger on Greta's vagina. The wetness was now beginning there as she
gave herself up to the lewd act. She now moaned as she continued to
lave his shaft and cock head all around.

As she now held his stiffened penis in her hand, she noticed that it
had a slight upward tilt to it. For whatever reason, this had an
electrifying effect on her. It was the first penis she had ever seen
bent that way. As she touched it now, she felt her vagina moisten up.

Finally, and Shtetl seemed glad of it, she took his penis head into
her hot mouth. The head was huge, though not any wider than Otto's,
but it was longer and went farther down his shaft. Feeling it in her
mouth now, Greta estimated it to be at least half and inch longer than
Otto's. But the flange, unlike Otto's, more closely hugged its shaft.
She proceeded to go up and down on the massive piece of meat.
Throating it fully was next on the agenda.

Swallow the meat flashed through her mind and swallow the meat she
did. And, just as with Otto that first time, the cock disappeared down
her throat without bothering her reflex gag in the least. When her
lips finally touched the Colonel's pubic base and her nose bumped his
lower abdomen, he let out a yowl. "Oooooooooooh, mein Gott, I can't
believe it!"

She worked his cock as she had Otto's that first night, but twice as
passionatelly. The effect on the Colonel was amazing. He kept yelling
and moaning, moaning and yelling. Then, at some point, he grabbed her
head fast and started to mouth fuck, slowly and sensually, in and out.


She knew he was getting close. She also knew her thumb, which now
touched the bottom of his cock base, would warn her when the sperm
started its trip to her mouth. She worked him a while more, and then
she felt it, the first ripple under her thumb. She was all the way
down on him at the moment.

She knew she could stay where she was and just let his sperm enter her
belly, untasted by her, but she sensed this wouldn't go over too well
with Otto. Thus, she scooted her mouth up to the middle of his cock
head and sucked away at it, her tongue pressing firmly against the
underside. A second later, she felt the first of his acidic and salty
ejaculate.

Unlike Otto, but similar to her Hans, the Colonel was a spurter. The
first spurt hit the back of her throat and she felt some of it makes
its way downward toward her belly. More such spurts soon followed, the
cock head swelling up just before each one. Why, she didn't know, but
she used her thumb to count the spurts. Nine in all and all very
copious in volume.

She swallowed them all, all nine spurts, without even spilling one
small drop. She knew she was getting good at this part of the game.
After swallowing the last violent spurt, she worked her mouth vacuum
like on the large cock head, milking it for every last possible drop.
Shtetl was gently massaging the back of her neck, still groaning. What
Otto was doing, besides looking, she didn't know, and, if truth be
told, she didn't care, either.

She stood up and continued the show. She put her arms again around the
Colonel's neck and kissed him again. And thought some.

She knew that she had just given the Colonel the best blowjob he'd
ever had and had pleased him in a way no woman ever had. She hoped she
had pleased Otto, too. And, in doing to Shtetl what she had just done
and knowing she had an audience, she had enjoyed it herself. Her very
wet pussy told her that much. Now she was hot, too. And wanted Shtetl
to fuck her. In her pussy, in her ass, anyway he wanted to. Nature was
in command of her.

A perverse thought flashed through her hot mind as she felt Shtetl's
hot tongue working against her own. Fucking both men at the same time.
Fucking one while sucking off the other. Oh,

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Saturday, July 31, 2004

 

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Thursday, July 29, 2004

 

Cartoon Porn Series Sex story

A BARELY ACCEPTABLE PORTRAIT

By Francine

Ellen Morrison sat thoughtfully, as was her custom, as the vicar
concluded his sermon. Beside her was her husband of thirty three years,
Alistair. They stood for the singing of the concluding hymn, as Ellen
smoothed her dress and smiled at the younger woman standing beside her.

After the benediction had been pronounced, she spoke to her neighbour in
a friendly voice, inquiring, "Will we be seeing you at the Guild meeting on
Tuesday, Ann?" "Let us hope so," the younger woman responded, "though I
shall be working late that day. I may not be able to be on time!"

Ellen turned to the other worshippers, greeting them as she moved to the
door. As Chair of the Women's Guild, she felt an obligation to appear
outgoing and welcoming, especially to the women who were less diligent in
their participation.

She greeted the vicar warmly, and walked with her husband to their car.
"Are you going to make the Guild meeting, yourself? I thought you were
driving to Manchester Tuesday to visit the bookseller there?"

"So I am. I'll look in on the publisher, and check on the big store to
see just what's selling well, perhaps order a few items for the shop. But,
I should be back in time for the Guild meeting in the evening. If I'm too
late, you'll find something to eat. The house is well stocked."

Alistair Morrison shook his head at his wife's activities. "Ellen, in a
few years I hope to retire. But you you run a book shop, you manage the
women's guild, you're always hauling your grandchildren somewhere, you
volunteer for more projects than I can keep track of I don't think you'll
ever retire! You'll need me to keep up with the projects you take on!" It
was a family joke. Alistair, an architect in a small firm, spent his life
designing houses for other people. He looked forward to the day when he
might create a retirement home for himself and Ellen. But Ellen never
seemed to have a minute to spare. Her time went to her bookshop, the
church Guild, collecting and delivering her grandchildren and advising her
two daughters on their upbringing efforts too often regarded as more
meddlesome than useful.

Indeed, Ellen was a woman of energy. She was not, however, an efficient
housekeeper. Housework had never appealed to her, and her home was only in
order when she hosted a meeting of the guild officers or when the vicar
came to visit. At other times disorder prevailed, a condition Alistair had
learned to accept as the price of having a wife who had become a respected
community leader. At times he reflected that had he not been a passably
good cook in his own right, he would have been compelled to learn by reason
of his wife's constant involvement in affairs that often meant she would
not be home to eat, let alone cook.

Their two married daughters lived not far away, close enough for Ellen
to be conveniently called on when emergencies arose, yet distant enough to
minimize her unwelcome intrusions to micro manage the affairs of her grown
children and young grandchildren.

Alistair had a certain interest in his wife's enterprise, a bookstore
she managed and partly owned, but he left its operation to her. Knowing
her assertive characteristics, he rarely involved himself in the business
or made suggestions about it. Yet, he was rather proud of his wife, who
kept her fingers in many pies, maintained her independence, and seemed to
command the respect of their friends and the community.

"You'll be leaving early Tuesday?" he asked her. "The car has a full
tank. You should be able to be home by dark, if you're not delayed."

"I'll hope so. If I'm late, I'll go directly to the Guild meeting. You
can manage, can't you?"

He was quite used to that. In fact, it seemed sometimes that Ellen
spent little time at home. The picture of good taste and respectability
when she was out or in her shop, home was the place where could relax.
Order and decorum, important to her at other places, did not carry over
into her home life. Ellen had better things to do than housework. She was
not a meticulous housekeeper, in fact she was somewhat untidy. Some might
say she was sloppy. For guests she made it presentable.. When only she
and Alistair were at home, there tended to be a fair amount of clutter
about. If he took note of it, he was apt to be reminded that he could
clean it up if it troubled him.

It really troubled him little. He accepted her the way she was, in fact
he rather liked it. He had been accustomed to the relaxed side of her,
something outsiders never glimpsed; it drew them together in a way that was
not particularly intimate, yet very personal.

Tuesday morning, Alistair noted his wife was up and gone before he was
dressed. He knew she would have a busy day, and he contemplated picking up
from a take out on his way home. He wondered if she would make it home
with time to share it, or if she would only arrive home when the guild
meeting had finished.

Ellen drove into the area of the city where there was a large
bookseller. She at times visited there, where she knew the manager, to look
at what was new and selling well, before ordering items for her shop.
Also, the store often had good exhibits, which she liked to view.

She greeted Fiona, the manager, and the two of them shared a brief
social time over coffee and biscuits. Fiona pointed out that a
photographer was exhibiting in her store, as part of a promotion for some
of his work.

"Photography books don't sell well in my shop", Ellen noted. "They seem
to be like art books people buy them, if at all, as coffee table items,
to dress up a parlour or a waiting room. Few people in our area seem to go
for such luxuries the books seem to be too expensive for their tastes."

"Have a look, anyway, Ellen. He's doing a book signing, today. He does
have some interesting ideas. He's even asked some of my customers to model
for him! Imagine quite ordinary people, ones I would never think of as
models!"

Ellen browsed around the shop, then found the exhibit in a side room. A
middle aged gentleman, perhaps forty five, greying but slender, sat at a
table. A customer had made a purchase, which he appeared to be
autographing.

Curious, she went to the side room, where an exhibit of his photographs
was placed on easels. She noted the rather curious title, simply,
"Contrasts". The pictures, some black and white, some in colour, seemed to
arranged in pairs. She looked at them, trying to understand the logic of
the juxtaposed pairs.

As she stood there, the photographer cum author came over to her.

"Mrs. Morrison?" he asked, extending his hand. "Fiona told me you were
here. I am pleased to see you always looking for a new outlet for the
books I might be able to sign. Are you impressed?"

He gestured toward the mounted pictures surrounding them.

"Quite an arrangement, really. Now I am not much of a fan of books on
art or photographic art, simply because they seem not to sell well in my
store, but these are interesting. I am trying to understand just what it
is you are attempting to depict."

"Allow me", he said, moving to the first display.

"First of all, I must tell you that this is a display of what might be
called a work in progress. It has not been assembled into a book, in fact
it is far from finished. I hope that it will soon be completed, but I am
still working on it. In fact, as I think Fiona may have told you, I have
persuaded several local people to model for me."

"You are using amateur models? Tell me what your project is like."

"It is called simply, `Contrasts' . In away, that tells it all, yet not
really all. I look for a model who is generally perceived in a particular
way, and I attempt to capture that person on film as he or she is
ordinarily seen or perceived, or perhaps wants to be perceived. Then, I
look for a completely different, unexpected, aspect of that same person,
which I then attempt to capture, also. The two are then joined in the
exhibit; two views of one person. First, as we usually see them, and then,
that other person which he or she is also, but which may starkly contrast
with the first."

"Rather the professional appearance, as opposed to the private self? Is
that the idea?"

"Perhaps, in away, but it is more than that. Look at these; we have the
bus driver, in his uniform, efficient, orderly, responsible; then we have
the picture of him jogging on a footpath not driving, no uniform, his
propulsion his own feet, not the vehicle, and then his personal appearance
hair untidy, sweating, rather carefree.

"Here's another. This one was an army officer. We see him in uniform,
the picture of authority as he calls orders to his troops; a martial figure
in military attire, armed, disciplined. Then, here we have him with his
children on a picnic. It is they who are in charge as they pull him around
interplay, while he is jovial, relaxed, totally unorganised.

"Here is yet another. See the nurse, in her uniform, on duty in a
hospital. She appears fit, capable, clean, one who physically cares for
others. Then, we put her in a hospital gown and into a bed, as a patient
might be. We see her not as one who does the caring, but one who has needs
which must be cared for. The contrast is striking, yet she is the same
person."

"Fascinating", Ellen observed. "You have a gift for seeing the
different aspects of people, and recording them so clearly."

"The gift is mostly work. I am constantly on the lookout for models who
can show the different aspects of themselves. You will note the pictures
are always anonymous I do not divulge the identity of the models. I want
them to bethought of as what the pictures show them, not as names. Thus
the lady is, to the observer, a nurse, a patient, but not Mary Smith!"

Ellen spent a few minutes taking in the exhibit, and then a few more
exchanging thoughts with Mr. Hunter. He seemed quite interested in her,
where she was from, what she did other than operate a book store. He
seemed to exude such charm and interest in her that she spent more time
with him than she had planned. Soon, though, she had to go on to her other
business. Before leaving the store to visit the publishing outlet, she
took her leave of Fiona.

As she headed for the door, Mr. Hunter again came up to her.

"I am so impressed with you! Fiona told me a little about you. You are
such a lady of style and grace, I hope we will meet again."

Flattered, she answered with a gracious, "I do hope so, Mr. Hunter; and
I wish you well with your project!" She went on, leaving for her other
business. Her errands took her some time, and she stopped for a short
lunch after. Then, thinking of a purchase she might make for her daughter,
she visited some nearby shops. It was late afternoon when she headed back
to her car. She passed by Fiona's store on the way, and, on a whim,
decided to go in again and have another look at the photo exhibit.
Something likeit might just make a good promotional event in her own shop.

As she entered, Mr. Hunter greeted her again.

"Mrs. Morrison! I am surprised to see you back so quickly! I am
honoured!"

"Yes, Mr. Hunter. Frankly, I was quite interested in your exhibit. It
seems to be attracting quite a number of people. Do you do it in many
places?"

"Some. Right now, I have booked to show it at three locations next
month. But, I do want to expand it. It is not nearly finished, and before
I show it in the more prestigious locations, I would like to add some
additional items."

"I was thinking, Mr. Hunter," she went on, but he interrupted her,
"Please, Geoffrey. We do not need to be so formal!"

"Geoffrey. Would you consider showing it in something like the shop I
have? It seems to get a lot of attention. Of course, I don't have so big
an area for it, so, perhaps before it grows too much"

He thought for a moment. "Mrs. Hunter, I really think it better not to
book further showings until it is more complete. I want to devote my time
to finding additional models to include. It is a challenge, as you can
understand."

"Yes, I quite understand. Well, perhaps at some future time we might
think about it!"

"Perhaps. But, there is another matter. I am so impressed with you,
your appearance, your style, the work you do. Would you I hardly know
how to say this, but would you consider being one of my models?"

"Me? A model? Geoffrey, I am a grandmother. I am not young and
pretty, certainly no model. Whatever possesses you to think I would be a
good subject?"

"Because, Mrs. Hunter, you are just the kind of person I try to depict.
You are a person of standing in your community, you have character, you are
as you say a grandmother, a leader in the community, a business woman.
Now, you are an example of style and respectability! I would love to be
able to make you one of my contrasts!"

"And what, Geoffrey, would be the contrast?"

"Ah, madam, that is where I have the challenge. In some way we must
show another side of you."

"Well, Geoffrey, when you think of it, do let me know. It does intrigue
me. Now, I must be getting home. I have a distance to drive, and a
meeting of the guild this evening!"

She made her farewell, and was soon on her way.

It was late that evening when she arrived home. She had gone directly
to the guild meeting, and Alistair did not see her until she pulled her car
in front of the house. He opened the door for her, and greeted her as she
came in.

"Did you eat?" he asked her. "You had a busy day!"

"Indeed I did", she replied, kicking off her shoes, and shooing the cat
from a small table on which she proceeded to rest her feet.

"Care for a touch of curry? I stopped at a takeout on the way home. I
only ate pasrt of it."

"Sounds good. Would you put it on something for me?" she asked.

At home, Ellen put comfort ahead of decorum. Being orderly and proper
was almost an obsession with her when in public or at her shop, but at home
she cared little for it. While Alistair warmed her snack, she stood and
divested herself of her blouse and skirt, then, assuring herself the window
blinds were closed, she sat down at her kitchen table in her bra and half
slip to eat what her husband now offered her.

She went over her day with him. As she finished her food, she recalled
to him the photo exhibit she had seen, and the interest Mr. Hunter had
expressed in her.

"Can you imagine? He wanted me to be a model for his project. Me? A
model? "

"You should consider it" he told me. "You might become famous! The new
Mona Lisa!"

"Hardly!" she answered. "His models are all anonymous. He doesn't use
any names, just the photos themselves. His idea contrasts is what
makes it interesting. Really, it was intriguing, to see people shown in
such different ways. He makes you think about a side of a person that
would one would not think of."

"What kind of a contrast would he use with you?" Alistair pondered. He
thought for a moment. Then, he answered his own question.

"It really wouldn't be difficult. He could show you as everyone sees
you each day that style you show, every hair in place, everything just
right, everything in good taste, and you busy, working, the lady of
impeccable taste, always doing the right thing"

"Alistair, you are making a joke of me!" Ellen retorted.

"No, Ellen, I'm not. Everyone sees you that way. You have a sense of
style, you always try to be in the right place, saying the right thing,
making that wonderful impression you always make!"

"Good taste is not elegance. It's just being proper, and trying to keep
a good sense of proportion. Anyway, what is the contrast you thought of?"

"The way you are right now! Look at you! The lady of style and good
taste, the one who always doing everything the proper way; flopped in a
chair barefoot, in a bra and a half slip that's riding up her legs showing
her underpants, munching on a plate of curry on a paper plate, and spilling
it on her leg!"

Ellen looked down at the drip which had just fallen to her thigh. She
looked at her husband and laughed.

"Alistair, that's just when I am with you. I wouldn't be like this with
anybody else! You know that!"

"Which is exactly what makes it the contrast! It's the side of you I
know about, but you're public never sees!"

"Like my sloppy housekeeping?" she asked, throwing her empty plate to a
rubbish bin, and missing.

"Like the way you are at home. Ellen, everybody has a private side.
Maybe that's what your photographer is trying to show. It can be so
different from what we show as our public face! I love your private side
I know you can be messy, untidy, and sit around in your underwear. What
would I do with you if you were always prim and proper around me?"

He smiled at her, as she considered his thoughts. "So you think I
should pose for him in my business suit in my office for one picture, and
in my sloppy house dressed in my underwear for the other?"

"Well, it would be a contrast. A quite real one!" he noted.

"I may never hear any more of it. Thanks for your thoughts!" she
concluded.

Ellen had no real expectation of hearing further from Geoffrey. She
thought about his exhibit from time to time, wondering just what kind of
contrast he might invent for her.

After a week, she received at her shop a phone call from Fiona.

"Ellen", she began, "do you remember Geoffrey Hunter, the photographer
or artist or whatever, who had the exhibit here?"

"Of course. I looked at it and had quite a conversation with him!"

"You must have made quite an impression. He asked me how he might get
in touch with you. He really would like to have you as a model for his
project. Did you give any thought to it?"

"Yes, Fiona, he did mention it. We didn't pursue it, I thought he was
just making polite conversation. Is he really serious?"

"Indeed he seems to be, Ellen. Serious enough to want to talk to you
about it. Would it be all right with you if I gave him your shop telephone
number, so he could ring you up? If you don't want to be bothered, I'll
just tell him so!"

"Go ahead and give it to him," Ellen responded, without hesitation. If
he rings, I'll see what he wants. It just might be something interesting!"

Ellen waited for the call she knew Geoffrey would make. It came the
following morning.

"Mrs. Morrison?" the voice inquired, "Geoffrey Hunter here. Do you
recall our conversation about my project?"

"Yes, I do", Ellen replied politely. "Was there something further about
it you wished to discuss with me?"

"I would very much like you to consider modelling for me for my project.
I have thought over all that I have learned about you, all that I saw, and
I just think you would make a perfect contrast. Would you consider it?"

"I have thought about it. First, what would I need to do, and second,
just what would the contrasting pictures be like?"

"You need only be yourself. We would need to agree on a time I could
visit in your area. I would want to make several pictures of you in your
shop, your office, wherever you usually function, dressed as you ordinarily
would be. No special preparation needed; in fact, I would want none. I
would try to capture you just as your are; selfassured, with that style
and good taste that seems always to surround you."

"You flatter me! But what of the contrasting view?"

"Of course, it would be quite different from the way you usually appear.
You know that, because you know my theme. I would not need to do the
contrasting pictures at the same time; we could schedule another time for
that. I have thought t through, and I know how it should be done."

"Which is?"

"I would need to explain it to you when we do the first group. You
understand I would make several photos, from which I would eventually
select the one that presents the image I want. The contrasting ones would,
of course, need to be very, very, different. I would not expect you to be
completely taken with the concept if I explain it over the phone, but when
I see you I think I can show you what would best illustrate my theme."

"Suppose I don't like the contrasting idea?"

"Of course, you could withdraw. I would of course not use the first
group unless you agreed to pose for the second, also. But that is the risk
I would assume. Can we proceed?"

Ellen wondered about the contrasting images, but the idea sounded
exciting. She agreed to pose, and they set a day the following week when
he would arrive and photograph her for the first set.

He had told her special preparation would be necessary, but Ellen was
not one to be careless. The day before he was to come, she had an
appointment with her hairdresser. That evening, in anticipation of his
visit, she stood looking into her closet, considering the appropriate
attire for the coming day. Alistair watched her with interest.

"One would think you were meeting with the Prime Minister", he noted,
"instead of with an artistic photographer who wants to picture you as you
always are, and won't even use your name. Why so particular? You usual
gift for style should see you through!"

"It's not just any photographer. He'll be using the picture as an
exhibit. Who knows, people a generation after may see it in a book.
Wouldn't you want me to be in something that might be remembered?"

"Remembered? You'll be anonymous. The reason he wants you, you said,
is because of the way you always present yourself. Just be natural
that's what he wants!"

"Be natural? I suppose. But, what really is getting to me is how he
will want to do the contrasting picture I can't imagine what he will come
up with!"

"As I suggested, flopped on a chair in your underwear with your bare
feet on the table! That's the contrast I see!"

"Would you really want me photographed like that?" Ellen asked, rather
seriously.

"Ellen, I have no idea what he might invent. He's an artist he will
think of something. But, if you want him to use the pictures tomorrow,
you'll have to go along with the contrasting views!"

"Even if it means posing in my underwear and bare feet!" Ellen laughed
at the thought. "Well, if that's what he suggests anyway, he won't use
my name what difference will it make? No one around here is ever likely
to see it!"

Ellen selected an adequately conservative yet stylish business suit, and
set it aside for the morning.

The following day, Geoffrey Hunter appeared at her shop in mid morning.
He had a younger man with him, apparently an assistant. The assistant
carried some equipment, including some lights.

"Mrs. Morrison, you look wonderful exactly as I thought you would.
This is Alex, my assistant!"

Ellen extended her hand to the younger man.

"Good to see you, Mrs. Morrison. You look just as Mr. Hunter
described you." Alex noted, warmly.

Ellen showed them around the shop briefly, then asked where they would
prefer to do the photos.

"I don't want anything in the background that would specifically
identify the place or the area, or you personally", he noted. "My subjects
will all be anonymous, as I told you. But, let's try one in your office,
and then one or two of you standing in a part of the shop."

Ellen noted that Geoffrey was meticulous in his use of lighting and his
choice of backgrounds. He posed her several times in each location, then
carefully selected the pose he preferred, and made several pictures. He
would change the pose slightly, and try again. His patience and obvious
striving for perfection impressed her.

After more than an hour, he seemed finished.

"Now, Geoffrey, will tell me what I should do for the contrasting
picture?" Ellen asked, then added, "My curiosity is intense. I must know
what you have in mind!"

Geoffrey packed up his equipment, then sent Alex to take it to the car.
"Alex will go back, now, he has another assignment. Yes, I have given
great thought to the contrasting pictures, and I will discuss it with you.
It is important you understand why I make my specific suggestions, so I do
want to explain it to you. Might I do so over lunch?"

Ellen agreed, smiling, still intensely curious.

They walked to a nearby restaurant, asking for a quiet table in the
back, where they might talk. Their order was taken, and Geoffrey began to
explain.

"Ellen, if I may, my project will be successful only as it presents
subjects in absolute contrasts, one person, two very different views. I
carefully consider just what will show the most complete and distinctive
contrast for each individual. What I wish to do with you will be to
present you in a very, very, different way as your associates, your
employees, your friends never see you. It must be dramatically different.

"In fact, the presentation must show you in such a different and unusual
way that I would not expect you to agree to it unless you understood the
artistic message which I must convey, and how I do it. I could ask it of
you only because you are assured that the pictures will be absolutely
anonymous no names, or even places, will ever be used in the exhibits or
the book which follows.

"Geoffrey, you have my attention. Please explain I really am
fascinated!" Ellen urged him.

"First, Ellen, you understand I am an artist. Perhaps, in some ways, I
am something of an anthropologist. That is, I like to do photographs which
tell a story about the subject I am photographing the subjects, as you
know, are not be shown by name, for that inhibits them. Rather, the
completed work should be exhibited and sold in places quite far from where
the photographs were made. Now, consider some of what I have done."

He produced a folder from a briefcase he had been carrying, and began to
take several photographs from it.

"Now, you have seen some of my work. See this first photograph, this is
Mrs. Harshman; she is known for her gardening. Yes, I made a portrait of
her, somewhat formal, but I will also had her dress with the clothes and
tools of a gardener. Then I took her outside, give her an axe, and posed
her as though she were cutting a tree.

"The next photo is a town councilman. I have shown him in his proper
business attire, wearing his badge of office. But, next, I have shown him
as no one would imagine him as a street sweeper, a volunteer helping to
clean rubbish from the roadways.

"Now, Mr. Hill is a bus driver. I portrayed him in his driver's
uniform but then in jogging clothes, as he runs on his own legs. I saw
Mrs. Needham in her nurse's uniform, attending a patient. Then, we had
her placed in a bed where she appears as a patient, being cared for by
another nurse. It shows her in the role contrary to her usual self. These
are some of what I am seeking to depict."

"But what of me?" Ellen asked, a little insistently.

"But in your case", Mr. Hunter went on, "you are such an active,
elegant lady, so well dressed, so representative of the best of the
community; it would take some very special treatment to show you in the
proper contrasting ways."

"Mr. Hunter, you are an artist. I know you have thought of something."

"Oh, Mrs. Morrison, I have. I know how the contrast should be done in
your case, and it would be beautiful."

"My husband says you should photograph me in my rather untidy house. I
don't brag of it, but I am really not much of housekeeper. He says that
would be the perfect contrast that is, if I was sufficiently relaxed and
informal!"

"My idea for you is so startling, Ellen, that your house would be only a
distraction. However, I would want your husband there when I do it, for
his idea is not far amiss. It just does not go far enough! Ellen, you are
grasping the concept! But, I would not want to show your home, whether it
is immaculate or untidy. What I would want to show is you!"

Mr. Hunter hesitated for a moment. Then he explained.

"Mrs. Morrison, when a lady is so elegant, so reflective of the best
upbringing, and of such good taste, there is only one way to do her
justice. She should be posed showing her elegance, her style, and her good
taste, as we did this morning. Then"

He hesitated again.

"Yes, then what?" Ellen queried him.

"Then, she should be photographed unclad. Completely natural. Showing
that which she would never show to her associates, doing that which she
would do only privately!"

"Do you mean undressed?" Ellen was a bit shocked.

"Yes. Naked, if you will it would be the perfect contrast!"

"MISTER Hunter" Ellen exclaimed, drawing herself up indignantly. "I am
a lady. I am a married woman, and a grandmother. How can you suggest such
a thing?"

"Because, Mrs. Morrison, you are a lady. A wonderful, elegant lady.
You would look beautiful. Of course you are a married woman, which is why
I would only do it with your husband present. It is your choice, but you
would be a magnificent subject!"

Ellen glared at him for a moment.

"I think, Mr. Hunter, you had best seek another subject. Thank you for
your offer". In silence, she began to eat her lunch. She found herself at
a loss for the appropriate words. His suggestion was so unthinkable, yet
he proposed it in such a polite way, she found it hard to be rude to him.
Rudeness did not come naturally to her, but what he proposed was, she
thought, nothing any gentleman should suggest to a proper lady.

Geoffrey went on, after some moments of quiet.

"Ellen, I know this sounds most improper. But I ask you to think of me
as an artist, which I try to be. Surely you are aware that the human form
is often depicted in works of art; and I see you as an art form. I
realized that you might refuse, but I took the chance that you might
consent, and so I did the photographs this morning. If you do not wish to
proceed, I will still offer you prints of the photos we made. But I do ask
you to consider my request. We would do the photography in a most private
setting, just Alex and me, with your husband present."

Ellen thought as she ate. This was just unthinkable.

"Perhaps you can create another contrast more suitable for me,
Geoffrey!" she suggested.

He thought for a minute.

"I have considered this since we met with Fiona. Ellen, you might
consider mine an artistic temperament, but I am something of a
perfectionist. I want to do only the best, that which is absolutely the
supreme presentation I can conceive. What this is of you, I have tried, in
my poor way, to explain. But, do not ask me to do less than I am able to
achieve."

They finished their lunch. Ellen was still in a state of shock.

"Thank you, Geoffrey! You are an artist, I give you that. I appreciate
your interest. But what you propose is out of the question. It is not
possible with me. Now, I think we must bid each other farewell!"

Geoffrey thanked her for posing that morning. He assured her she would
get prints of the photographs, and he offered her his card as he departed.

They had no further exchange of words that day. Ellen avoided contact
with him. In her mind, she wrestled with his proposal. How dared he
suggest that she pose nude? What decent woman would do such a thing. It
was absolutely unthinkable, out of the question.

She could not, however, put the idea from her mind.

For two days she made no mention of it, to anyone. Still, the thought
stayed in her brain, and she kept coming back to it.

Then, one evening, she mentioned the subject to her husband.

"Alistair, remember the photographic artist who did my pictures the
other day?"

"Indeed I do. You were quick taken with how to dress for him, as I
recall. But you never mentioned how it turned out."

"Oh," she answered, "the photos in my shop went well. He seemed happy,
and I shall be received prints of his work."

"Did you determine what he will do for the `contrasting pictures' he
wanted to do?"

"Yes".

"And what does he plan to do?"

"Nothing. Unless, of course, I should agree to his rather unusual
concept."

"Unusual?" Alistair raised his eyebrows. "What unusual idea did he
develop? Seems to me the whole concept was unusual that's why, I
suppose, he's considered an artist."

"He wants to do some further photos the contrast concept, but I did
not agree to it. Anyway, he wanted you to come along with me if I agreed
to what he wanted!"

He indicated":, Alistair questioned, "that I was to accompany you? Am I
to be photographed, too?"

"I am not sure", Ellen went on. "But it is important that you be with
me. He wants to do contrasting photos he has already done pictures of me
in my best dress, as it were, but then he would like to the contrasting
ones without the best dress!"

"Without? What are you implying?" her husband seemed confused.

"Alistair, my dear, this is just between us. You must never discuss
this elsewhere. He wants to photograph me in a way I have never been
photographed in my life. If you were to witness it, you would need to
absolutely breathe not a word of it to anyone around, ever."

"Just how would this to be done?"

"He took photos of me dressed as I usually am, and now he wants to the
others without my clothes. I know it shocks you. I was shocked. It
is really unthinkable. I have thought about it for days. I simply cannot
get the idea out of my mind."

"It shocks me, too. I should have thought you would have told him off
properly, and seen no more of him!" her husband commented.

"I did, really. But I have been thinking about it. I have never, ever,
done anything like that!"

"Then, you won't. Did you tell him so?"

"No. I tried to, but the idea has taken root in my mind. I am thinking
that I just might do it!"

"You might?" Alistair exclaimed.

"All right, then. I will!" she answered him decisively.

"Ellen, how could you ever" he wound up just shaking his head. He
well knew his strong willed wife, and he was not going to attempt to
dissuade her from that which she had firmly decided to do.

"You must not tell anyone, and I do need you to come with me. I could
possibly pose that way alone. It will be hard enough, even with you there.
I don`t really know why, but I just have a urge to do it. It is simply
something I must be a part of!"

Alistair knew better than to argue. He held great reservations, but he
knew his wife. Clearly, this was her decision. He just hoped no one else
ever heard of it.

Ellen had made her decision, however reluctantly. She did not change
her mind easily, but she had now to implement that which she had decided.
The next day she took out the card Mr. Hunter had given her. She noted
the telephone number, and dialled it.

She reached Mr. Hunter. "This is Ellen Morrison, Geoffrey. Perhaps
you did not expect to hear from me, but, is your offer of this morning
still open?"

"Of course, Mrs. Morrison, but I understand your feelings. I really
did not mean to offend you."

"If I did it, my name would never be used, and it would not be shown
near here?"

"Of course, that is my policy," he replied.

"Then, I will do it. Where will it be done? It will, of course, need
to be quite private. I will insist on that!"

"I have in mind, Ellen, a suitable place, though I will need to check on
its availability. It is a house, not presently occupied, which I sometimes
borrow for special settings. It is perhaps forty or fifty miles from your
place. If it is available, and if I give you directions, could you come
next Tuesday?"

"Yes, I believe I could."

"Then, allow me to verify the availability, and I will ring you back."

Ellen hung up. An hour or so later, Geoffrey called her back at the
shop.

"Ellen, Tuesday is fine. Could you manage at three o'clock? I will
tell you how to get there!"

She took down the driving instructions as Geoffrey gave them to her.

"Yes, and this will be completely confidential, will it not? I will
bring my husband, but no one else. How should I prepare?"

"I am glad three o'clock will be satisfactory. If it is a good day, we
may do some poses outside the area is quite private. Yes, as I have
thought it over, a little preparation might help. I would suggest you come
dressed casually, as your clothing will not be part of the pictures. Also,
it would be well if you rank several tumblers of water before the session
it does have an effect on the model that helps in these situations."

"As you wish. I am sorry if my earlier response seemed abrasive you
understand, I have never done anything like this before."

"That is, Mrs. Morrison, exactly why you would be such an excellent
model!"

They ended their conversation..

That evening, Ellen greeting Alistair as she arrived home from her shop.

"You were surprised to get my call this afternoon at your office?"

"Well, Ellen, you rarely ring me there. You asked if I could join you
Tuesday around three, to have the photographs made? Is this to be what you
decided to do?"

"Yes, it is," Ellen explained. "He has offered a private session to
make some pictures of me, as I described, and they will be used in the
project he is developing. In a way, it a bit of an honour. After all, how
many women my age are asked to be models for an exhibit of artistic
photos?"

"An honour? If that is how you see it. Some might see it otherwise!"
he seemed a trifle negative.

"I know it shocks you. I have thought about it for days, but I decided
as you know. He can make a beautiful display of it!"

"It will be a display, all right! Ellen, how could you ever" he wound
up just shaking his head.

Tuesday, Ellen dressed herself in her usual business attire, a light
green suit with a red scarf about her neck, just a bit of jewellery. She
took perhaps just a little extra care with her appearance. Mostly, she
gave unusually attention to the underwear she selected, something that
would nit usually have caused her undue concern.

Ellen worked at her shop in the morning. As the time came for her to
depart for their appointment, she recalled Mr. Hunter's instructions,
though she wondered at the purpose. She poured herself a glass of water
from a large bottle and drank it down. Soon she followed it with two more.
About two, she explained to the staff she would be leaving for the day.
She took her car and drove to her husband's office. He met her in the car
park.

"Sure you want to do this, Ellen?" he asked once more.

"I'm not turning back, now. Will you support me?" she turned to him,
her hand grasping his arm.

"I cannot understand why. You do have your reasons, I'm sure. I just
hope no one around here ever sees the pictures." He shook his head in
resignation.

They arrived at Mr. Hunter's makeshift studio, a small house on the
edge of a small village, with a fenced garden area to the rear. It seemed
to be isolated from other houses by distance on one side and a row of trees
on the other.

They went in.

Mr. Hunter greeted them. At his side was another man, whom she
recognized as Alex.

"Mrs. Morrison Ellen! Good to have you; too, Mr. Morrison so good
to meet you. Now, this is Alex, my assistant."

Mr. Hunter was turning on the charm. The atmosphere seemed relaxed.
They entered into the room he was using as a studio. One wall was covered
with a large cloth backdrop, and lights and camera equipment were
positioned about.

"Now, Mrs. Hunter, I think we should start in here and then, I would
like to get a few shots of you outdoors in the garden. The light is
strong, today, and the effect should be quite good."

Turning to Alistair, he said, " Mr. Morrison, you can stand here and
watch your wife. You should be proud she is quite the elegant lady, today
but, then, isn't she always?"

Alistair found a chair and sat.

To Ellen, Geoffrey asked, "Are you ready to prepare for the contrasting
set, as we discussed?"

Nervously, paling a bit, Ellen nodded, "I think so." She stood, almost
shaking, in the studio room.

"Do I prepare myself here?" Ellen asked, a bit shyly.

"Yes, here will be fine", Geoffrey Hunter advised her.

"Shoes?" she asked.

"I think you should remove them. We want total contrast. Nothing
should remain that can be removed. Your glasses are OK, though we don't
want you walking into trees!"

Ellen laughed a bit, trying to ease the tension.

Alistair asked, "Do you need some help?"

"No, thanks," Ellen noted, taking off her shoes. "This is something I
do every day. I can handle it. It will take me a couple of minutes!"

"Mr. Morrison, you have a remarkable wife", Mr. Hunter observed.

"I know and a will of her own, to match, Mr. Hunter. You have no
doubt noticed!"

"Yes, and it's Geoffrey. May I call you Alistair?"

"Quite all right, Geoffrey!" Alistair responded, perhaps more nervous
than Ellen.

As they watched, Ellen removed her scarf, belt and dress, hanging the
items carefully on a chair. In a minute she was standing before them in
white knickers and a bra. She looked at Geoffrey. She was pale and
trembling just a bit. She was showing an obvious blush.

Geoffrey tried to calm her. "It's hard but you will feel better about
it in a few minutes. Just breathe easy and take your time."

"Jewellery watch?" she asked.

He nodded, "Yes, I think it should be off!"

Nervous now, still shaking just a bit, she removed her bracelet,
necklace, watch, and earrings. Taking a deep breath, she reached behind
her and unfastened her bra, then dropped it off and placed it on the chair.
She held her hands in front of her breasts for a moment, looking at the
men.

"Sorry I haven't done this for an audience. Give me a moment to
adjust!"

Geoffrey looked at her. "You do seem somewhat nervous. It's natural.
Try to be comfortable!"

"I'll try. I'd be more comfortable if I could visit the loo was that
what the water was for?"

"Yes," Geoffrey observed, "I thought you might wonder. That adds a
certain amount of tension. It affects the poise of the model for this, I
really don't want you to be too comfortable. We will ask you to wait for
now."

She nodded assent. She finally lowered her hands, seized her knickers,
and pulled them own, then stepped out of them. One hand instinctively
moved to cover her pubic area, as she faced the men. She felt terribly
exposed, extremely vulnerable. She was conscious of her breasts, lacking
support and moving in a way she seemed unable to control. She wished they
would just stay still. She stood erect, rigid, trying to keep her breasts
still, a hand trying, quite inadequately, to conceal her dark pubic hair.

"Is this all right? I seem to have run out of clothes!"

They let her stand there, the lights illuminating every crevice of her
body, for a short time, as Geoffrey and Alex considered the viewpoints and
lighting. Ellen stood, nervous, one hand pressed over her pubic hair,
trying vainly to conceal it, while dark clumps protruded from under her
hand.

"You modesty is commendable, Mrs. Morrison. It makes you a wonderful
model.", Geoffrey observed.

She nodded in slight agreement, trying to steady her loosened breasts
with her other hand.

"Mr. Hunter, you must have known I am not twenty I am a grandmother,
and parts of me are a bit flabby, I fear. I am sorry I hang so so "
she struggled for the right words.

"Gracefully?" asked Geoffrey. "Allow your parts to hang, Mrs.
Morrison, you should not be ashamed of their appearance."

He posed her, standing, using several poses. Alistair watched without
comment, enjoying the display of his wife's anatomy and her weak attempts
at modesty. He reflected that she was still a quite good figure of a
woman.

After taking the shots they wanted, Geoffrey invited them to go outside.
Ellen was horrified at the thought. "But I'm Naked! I can't go out
there!"

"It is quite private, Mrs. Morrison. The sunlight will be very good to
your body. We need some of you standing and walking outdoors. Perhaps we
can even have Alistair join you for a picture or two!"

They posed her outside. She was almost trembling, looking about in fear
someone might peer through the trees or over the fence. After taking
several poses of her standing and walking, Geoffrey called to Alistair.
"Here, stand with your wife we want you together!"

Surprised, Alistair stood beside his naked wife, holding her hand. He
felt perhaps just a little out of place, standing juxtaposed, him dressed
and her nude. He allowed several shots to betaken.

"Mr. Hunter, I hate to ask, but really, I am quite uncomfortable. How
much longer must I wait for the loo?" Ellen asked, her hand pressing on her
pelvic area.

"I was thinking you would come to that", Geoffrey answered. "Now, I
want to get a photo of you doing something very personal and private, so
why don't we have you squat right here, as you did before?" He indicated a
spot in front of a small tree.

"You want me to to urinate, here?" Ellen asked, incredulously.

"It is an act you have need to perform, is it not?" he asked her.

"But not here not in front of everyone I just couldn't!"

"But," Geoffrey noted, "you could hot earlier have envisioned removing
your clothes in front of us. If you will, and you acknowledge your need,
it will complement my study in contrasts, for no lady of your style and
reputation would be expected to be seen in such an act in front of others.
It is the perfect picture to complete my study!"

Ellen blushed noticeably. She squatted, looking up at her husband
standing next to her. She extended her hand up to him. "Hold my hand",
she requested, adding "At least I don't have any clothes to hold. I don't
know if I can do this let me try!"

She held the pose for perhaps a minute, releasing nothing. "It's hard",
she observed.

"Take your time", Geoffrey assured her.

Finally she produced a small stream. It grew to a stronger one. Her
head was turned down.

"Look up!" Geoffrey requested. She raised her eyes. The camera caught
her face as a stream poured from her lower body. She kept her grip on her
husband's hand.

Finally she was finished. "Have you got enough?" she asked of Geoffrey.

"I think so. You were good model!"

Ellen turned to her husband. Grasping him firmly, she planted a
passionate kiss on his lips. She explained to him, "Don't I usually do
that when I'm dressed like this?" There was mischief in her voice.

He reached up and seized her breasts, squeezing them, as he returned the
kiss.

Alex and Geoffrey watched. "Hey, you love birds you'd better go home
before you get into that!" Alex warned them.

They returned inside. Ellen looked at her pile of clothing. She
slipped her feet into her shoes, and started to slip her dress on. She
placed her jewellery into her handbag, then scooped up her underwear into
one hand.

After a few words of farewell to Alex and Geoffrey, they left. Ellen
slipped into the drivers seat. As she did so, she handed her underwear to
Alistair, asking "Could you hold this? Remember when you used to do it for
me?" Alistair did not answer.

On the way home, Ellen seemed a bit light hearted. The ordeal was over,
and she no longer feared it. She felt strangely excited and aroused.

They arrived at their home. Alistair unlocked the door, as Ellen closed
up the car. They went inside. They were alone.

Ellen reached for her underclothing in Alistair's hand. She dropped it
on the floor. She placed her handbag on a table. She began unfastening
her dress, facing Alistair.

"When", she asked him, "was the last time you watched me pee?"

"It has been a while", he acknowledged, "and I never saw you do it in
front of two men, either!"

The dress was quickly laid over a chair. She kicked her shoes off.
"Could you do it", she asked her husband, "in front of one woman?"

Alistair, almost speechless, found himself being undressed by his wife
of more than thirty years. He started to help her. In moments, they were
both naked.

She led him to the bathroom. "Pee! In front of me! You haven't in
years, but I did it in front of you, and in front of them!"

He stood and tried. He had an erection and it was difficult. His
efforts produced little success. Suddenly he felt a tug and found himself
pulled onto a hallway floor. He stared at his wife, as she pulled him down
and rolled him to his back.

"Ellen", he protested weakly, "What got into you?"

"This afternoon was one of the strangest and most exciting things I've
done in a long time. Now I have one more activity to pursue, just like
Geoffrey's study in contrasts right now I'm about as improper and
inelegant as I've ever been now just you hold still and let me do my
workout!"

He knew it was no use protesting, even if he wanted to. She mounted
him, her body pulsating with the effects of her erotic arousal. She shook
her torso, her hanging breasts brushing him, the erect nipples almost
scratching him. The crescendo of their activity culminated in what seemed
a physiological explosion, as she collapsed on him, her breathing hard and
quick.

She lay there for a few minutes, neither of them moving or speaking.

"I say, this was a fun day! You won't tell anybody?" she asked of him.

"Too bad Geoffrey didn't get the final act oh, what a contrast!"
Alistair observed, not moving, exhausted. Then he added, "You going to
mention all this at the Women's Guild tomorrow?"

"Not a chance", Ellen replied, "Not a chance!"

END

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