Sie · bittet · einen · letzten · Kuss
und seine Augen werden nass
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Tanya was not a natural blonde. Major Johann Krauss had noticed it before, brushing his hands through her long, flaxen tresses. It was insignificant at the moment, but obvious with her head moving in his lap, and his mind worked at it as Tatyana worked over his prick with her mouth. With a contented sigh, he leaned back in the plush mahogany leather chair, savoring the feeling of Tanya's mouth on his cock, hot and slick, teasing with slow strokes and the tip of her tongue. "I'm close, mein Schatzi." He purred, eyes rolling back in his head and fluttering closed, completely enamored with the way her manicured hands cupped his balls with gentle pressure, and the staggering pleasure of her tongue brushing against the underside of his glans, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. The Major's mangled right hand came to rest on the back of her head, gently encouraging but never demanding, as soft curses in his native tongue rested at his parted lips. Tanya made a soft noise of compliance somewhere under the veil of silken platinum hair that spilled over his exposed thighs from dark roots, the sound of a kitten lapping at a saucer of warm, sweet cream. She shifted between his legs, bracing herself on the arm of his chair and swallowing his length with practiced efficiency. Johann gave a shudder as intensity mounted in his loins and desperation built, turning back upon itself in golden spirals; higher and higher into a vibrant blue sky, where white clouds gathered on the horizon, turned dark, and began to weep warm rain. He held his breath as he came, little more than a sibilant hiss escaping him as pleasure poured over him and his cock pulsed again and again, with a visceral intensity that blurred on the edge of pleasure-pain as he fucked her mouth. Tatyana dutifully swallowed until nothing remained, and Johann fell back into his chair, satiated, smiling, and breathless. As it turned out, a quick morning tryst in the office was just what he needed to alleviate tension that he wasn't even aware of, until he drew a deep, contented sigh. "Das war gut," he murmured, motioning for her to join him reclining in his chair. "Komm hier, mein Liebling." Johann smoothed her hair back away from her face and kissed her languid and slow, savoring the aftertaste of his own musky essence on her lips. "Ich danke Ihnen vielmals, dafür." His appreciation was genuine, low and murmured against her cheek. The German's words were returned with a sweet smile and a nod. The Major thought nothing of the footsteps in the hallway just outside his office, reaching for the warmed Cognac on the edge of his desk and sipping thoughtfully at the sweet amber liquor as Tanya draped her arms over his chest, stretching out against him like a cat basking in a sunbeam. |
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The news of our new visitors is quite pleasing to me. |
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Krauss drew his white coat off with a sigh, and found that the effort required to hang it on the coat rack was nearly too much to bear. “Trautes Heim, Glück allein,” he murmured, lifting his ushanka and hanging it on the hook beside the garish wolf pelt. “Make yourself at home, Captain.” The Oriental rug was plush under his boots, and he studied the swirling scarlet and gold flowers with pause, as if lost in a daydream. How many times had he invited Stefan to make himself comfortable in his lavish quarters, to soak in the claw foot tub or lounge carefree among silk sheets and feather pillows? “Help yourself to anything in the liquor cabinet.” He gestured vaguely to the lacquered mahogany cupboard sitting cattycornered near the window. “If you like, I --” Johann trailed off, realizing that Utrov wasn’t really paying attention to him, but staring intently at the French ormolu chandelier suspended in the center of the room. Nein, no. Not transfixed by the fixture itself, but by the purple satin and lace brassiere that dangled bawdily from one of the chandelier’s arms. Krauss raised one narrow flaxen brow. “Ach, das ist nicht mein...” |
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The conversation with a dead man over dinner last night has left me greatly unsettled. |
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In Stefan's absence, it is Motte who lies on the pillow next to me. She greets me every morning with low rumbling, pressing her flattened face against mine until I relent and give her the attention she craves. I would always have waffles brought to my private quarters for breakfast in bed. Belgian waffles stacked high, smothered in strawberries and cream. Russian cuisine ceased to baffle me years ago, but Stefan was always perplexed as the mention of my favorite Schnitzel Eierkuchen. But Tanya is always gone before I awake, so I share my sausage and egg cakes with Motte. There is something suspicious about that woman. Her vicious curiosity is barely veiled under an innocent guise, and I speculate that her questions are more than idle curiosity. She knows how to ask the precise right questions, and I can tell she is lying when she draws a breath -- the delicate ivory skin between her clavicle bones twitches and pulls taut. ... I suspect she is a spy, and I find the notion of bedding a spy altogether thrilling. She is good with her hands and her mouth, but I have had much better. Tanya is but a means to an end, until I find someone more suited to my tastes. These days, I find I prefer men over women. A man knows how to please another man, as only men can... but a woman lies there looking beautiful, and does nothing but lie there on the pillow with a coy smile. But at the same time... breasts are so very, truly intriguing! I suspect Tanya's are about as real as her blond tresses, but that is of no consequence to me! Perhaps I shall invite her to wear my old SS uniform before I tell her auf Weidersehn... she would look stunning with her hair in braids...
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Lieber Deitrich, |
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With Colonel Volgin "away on business," I found that it was an entirely perfect day to avoid my own administrative duties. It's amazing, the way a two-hour soak in a lavendar bubble bath will change a man's entire perspective on the world. It would have been better shared with someone, as stolen hedonistic indulgences always are... with chocolate covered strawberries, a vintage champagne, and... Well. Nothing. Perhaps it would be best to turn up at mess for something to eat, before Tanya arrives for my manicure. Suddenly, I'm painfully aware of just how lonely my private quarters are. Yes. Maybe there will be some kind of diversion for me at the mess hall... |
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I pulled my camera out of storage today. Motte is always a good subject for photography.
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Geliebte Molokova, All my love, J.K. |
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Three hundred or so liters of rocket fuel, live prey for an army of flesh eating hornets, multi-legged poisonous wigglies... I can understand these simple requests. And do my best to fill the orders as they come. But someone thought it would be funny to include 'a horse' at the top of this month's supply request list from the Cobra Unit. I will wager that it was the cosmonaut doing it, just to screw with my head, thinking it would be funny. I fail to see the humor. |
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No matter how many times I am forced to write these letters, it never becomes easy. How do you tell a mother than her son was used as a decoy, and that the Colonel's quarters are still painted with his brain?
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This morning, in the dusky shadows between dawn and light, I remembered a conversation that seems as though it happend so long ago... ( Stefan... ) Every night, I awake in the darkness, searching for you in my bed... but you aren't there, and my bed is cold and empty... |
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Dearest Molokova, |
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I have not been myself lately, not at all since Stefan's passing. My comrades try to convince me I should go about with them, take a weekend pass. All I want to do is sit in my office and weep, or drown my grief in vodka. For the first time since I can remember, I am forced to consider my own mortality... and it scares the hell out of me. Yet I find myself craving it, in some off chance that I may be reunited with Stefan in the great beyond, if there is such a place. I have never made such an unconditional bond with anyone before, and I am at a loss as to what I should do now that he is gone.
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Alle Häuser sind verschneit Und in den Fenstern Kerzenlicht Dort liegen sie zu zweit Und ich Ich warte nur auf dich Fur ihr, ich werde warten für immer. Liebe auf den ersten Blick. Ach, Voyevoda, meine Liebe. |
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