Nandita To Nandini
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The Russian FrontPart 2: Submission And Dignity free porn video
She remembers the first bath he gave her every time she bathes the children. They can run only one or two inches of hot water, so little that she often merely sponge bathes herself. He had the riches of conquest, though, an ancient bathtub with four claw legs. He filled it well up with water so hot they had to wait before they could use it.
She had remained kneeling when he pulled out of her mouth to run the water, his obedient subject, hands on thighs, face red and wet. He led her to the tub by her hand, helped her in, and let her soak, immersed in impossibly warm water while he left the room. Then, when she was completely warmed, he helped her to stand and began to wash her. The water wasn't the only impossible thing. He was impossibly gentle and caring of her wounds, especially the bruise around her eye and the new welts on her back. He dabbed at them tenderly, then soaped his hands and slid them over her whole body, slippery hands over her breasts and down to her vagina, slipping his two hands up and down her thighs, one thigh at a time. He made her nipples stand by moving slippery thumbs over them several times. He spent much time on her vagina and ass.
She couldn't make her mind move away from his hands, take it to some safe place, because of the gentleness. She knew she could never face sex again, but even though it was obvious he wanted sex the hands didn't repulse her. She didn't feel sexual pleasure. She couldn't have stood that. No, but she could come to crave those hands that brought her to a world that wasn't so horribly frightening as the one she had left.
He made her bathe him. This forced her to look at his body closely, not just his cock, which she had to soap and clean until it grew again, but everything. He had gruesome wounds. The worst was a pit in his right chest just inside the shoulder. It was so large and deep that she thought she could put three fingers into it. She looked to his face in surprise and he said, "Mortar."
When she washed his legs she found two pits on a thigh, on opposite sides, one of which joined three long and jagged lines. Long, thin, raised scars ran along both arms and one cheek. And there was a thick crease at the corner of his forehead. When she touched it he said, "I was shot in the head, just barely Liebchen. It broke off a little of my skull. Some of my men think I am immortal. When I returned from the third wound the entire regiment surrounded me, cheering. They took to calling me 'Rasputin' because I am so difficult to kill, and they consider me lucky to be around. Of course I share my given name with the monk, Grigori, which clinches it for my poor, empty-headed boys."
He spoke in a frank and friendly tone, as though the two were new friends who sat on a bench in some park and told tales about themselves. His empty headed-boys, his men. She suddenly realized she had been caught in the moment and forgotten to think of them, and that he loved the ones who had raped her. She began to cry again.
"Why do you let them do... what they did?" she finally asked.
"This war is very hard for everyone."
She knows he is a Rasputin in more ways than merely his indestructibility. She listens to her husband breathe through the night, the husband who, after he absently comforts or caresses her, always lets his eyes travel to her stomach and then stops touching her, and she remembers those soft hands. She hadn't wanted pleasure, hadn't wanted to love him. She would be his obedient slave, or his whore, nothing more, except that he had this way about him. Night is the worst time for these thoughts as much as for the others, because she has no activities to distract her. She does masturbate sometimes, in the bathroom, or rocking before the heater in the middle of the night, but it doesn't satisfy her. She thinks if one of the Americans pursued her she would let him have her, even though it might cost her job.
Grigori, my love, my demon, who first used me, then deserted me.
He began that first night. When they were both clean and wrapped in bedclothes he led her out to the fire, where he had set a small dinner on a coffee table. There were mainly Russian rations, but he had procured some sausages, fresh rolls, and wine as well. He ate quickly but she knelt passively, with her hands on her thighs, as she had before.
"Eat, Liebchen."
She replied in a tiny, quavering voice, but she didn't look up at him.
"No, bitte, I cannot. I will lose it again if I do, sir." Now that she was wide awake to the world, whenever she thought about putting anything in her mouth she saw the red-brown sauce spurting from that one man's penis, tasted it, and felt herself swallowing it. Even empty as she was, she had to control waves of nausea.
"For me, you will keep everything down sweetly, schöne Fraülein. I cannot have you growing still thinner. You would disappear entirely."
He fed her tiny bits of food, so tiny they were hardly more than specks, and gave her plenty of time between bites to finish swallowing. In between he gave her sips of wine, more wine than solid food. She wouldn't feed herself but she took what he held to her on his fork. He watched her face carefully, to tell when one of the waves had passed, and each time he let her rest a minute before giving her another tiny bite. Dinner was thus very leisurely, proceeding into the night. He restored the fire in the middle of it to keep her warm and relaxed.
After he decided she had eaten enough he told her to lie down on top of her sheet, on a little mattress he had brought out to the fire.
"Now, Fraülein, I will play with your body and you will do what I tell you. I will not hurt you. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir."
"And you will not call me 'sir.'"
She lay before the fire and he moved those hands over her forehead, down across her neck, to her shoulders. He lifted her head and used a brush to spread her hair out like a golden brown halo, then for a long time he brushed from her scalp to the ends of her hair. She had not been able to relax for weeks, even before the rapes, but he seemed able to bring it on. After awhile her muscles loosened, though she didn't know when it began. Her eyes closed by themselves.
He knelt over her face and kissed her eyes, then her forehead, then her neck. He kissed her mouth and she became completely tense because she remembered the mouth of the rapist who had forced her to kiss, but this mouth was clean, tasting only slightly of wine. She obediently returned the kiss. He brushed her hair some more and it wasn't long before she didn't want him ever to stop.
She fell almost asleep, so supine that her state was trancelike, but she was aware of what his hands were doing with her hair and then was aware when he moved to her nipples and licked them while caressing lightly all around them. He petted her pubic hair, soft light brown stuff, still barely touching her, and, as one would do with a cat, he stroked it again and again.
Finally he spoke to her again. "Fraülein. My dear. You will come here every evening and stay until morning, as long as I want you. Is this agreeable?"
She opened her eyes, only half open. She was a long distance away, but there was something she needed to ask again. Her voice sounded obsequious even to her.
"You won't hurt me, will you?"
"No. Never. You will do everything I ask voluntarily."
"What if I don't want to?"
"Then I will release you. I am sure there are others who would like you."
Ah, that was the threat.
"You'll protect me from the others?"
"Yes. A little badge on your coat will tell everyone you are with me. My men will know in any case."
"What of my children and mother-in-law?"
"I already affixed a sign to your front door. They will not be bothered."
"Yes, I'll come every evening, as long as you want me."
She was lying, but she would come as long as she had to. She thought she should rouse herself to do something he would like, and she tried without much success to half-rise, but he pushed her back down, gently as before.
"Tonight only I will do things."
He began the caresses again. Soon her eyes were closed and she entered her half trance again. She felt him spread her legs wide and push two fingers inside her. She thought his fingers might hurt her because of the rapes, but she was slippery and the fingers felt nice after all. They were part of the massage. He masturbated her intermittently, while stroking her and kissing her elsewhere, so that her breathing became more sonorous and lovely. She wouldn't pursue pleasure but she couldn't bring herself to resist and she had to let him do what he wanted.
Then he entered her and fucked her for several minutes, and she began to feel real pleasure. He brought her closer and closer, and she gasped with him though her arms lay at her sides. So close. Let him finish now. Let him finish alone. He did, which pleased her. She hadn't had an orgasm for him. She couldn't have stood that. He pulled out and curled on his side, drawing her to him in a spooning position. He pulled bedclothes over them and then they both fell asleep.
During the night she woke once from a nightmare, shaking and damp again, and when she felt his naked body she felt safe. He was unlike anyone she had ever known. Later an errant shell fell close by and she awoke startled, terrified, remembering every bad thing, but he also woke up and pulled her to him.
"There, there, Liebchen, nothing can hurt you when you are with me." She knew he was telling the truth.
Her head was raised when he said it, her neck and back completely tense, eyes wide and mouth open as she stared into almost black space, and he, who seemed to be able to see a little better, slid an arm under her head. She turned around toward him and nestled in, her face under the covers, hands touching his chest. And fell back asleep.
He was up and dressed before dawn. When she awoke he was sipping a cup of real coffee and looking at her.
"I have a long day ahead, so I cannot stay to eat with you, Fraülein. Here are some meat and coffee for your family. I hope to be back by the time you come, but wait for me in any case."
He bent to kiss her, a kiss she did not return, and left.
She didn't hurry to rise or leave his place. She didn't know what to expect outside. There was food here and she was able to eat a little. Finally, though, she dressed to leave, then was struck with terror that she couldn't find the emblem he had promised her. She went through everything in the room looking for it. It must be here someplace! Only after she'd given up hope of finding it did she see that he already had fastened it to her coat. She picked up the coat and held it to her. She was soaked in sweat. Her heart was pounding. She'd been sure the rapists would get her again.
Outside was the same world it had been the day before. She was almost paralyzed because her courage left her when she began to step toward the street. Grigori! Why did you leave me? She held her coat closed in such a way that the emblem was a shield going before her, and walked fast. She couldn't escape, though. Three soldiers sauntered down the street, blocking her way and grinning, giving way only when they say Grigori's mark. They taunted her in Russian as she passed and one grabbed at her ass. She half ran for a block. Other men stopped their work to make catcalls. She turned a corner directly into the path of the rapist who spoke German and two other men who looked familiar. She backed up to a light post, trying not to panic, but they followed, coming right up to her face and leering. She couldn't back any further and couldn't seem to breathe.
"Do you miss us already? We are planning another party and you will be our main entertainment. We will let you show us more of your talents." His face was almost touching hers.
"Stop! Stop or I'll tell Grigori!" Oh God, what are his family name and his rank?
"Already using given names, are we? Do not worry. When Rasputin is done with you he will throw you back down to us. After all, we found you first!" He reached down to grab her sex hard, and when she hit him and broke away the men all laughed.
She was finally home. How could she go back tonight? How could she not? She leaned against the door with the sign that protected them and worked for ten full minutes to calm herself. Then, time to make an appearance. She had to tell her mother-in-law, because she wouldn't be home in the evening any more and she would have to explain. She thought she wouldn't be able to, but it was easy.
"An officer rescued me. He will protect us all, but only if I..." How to phrase it? "Only if I spend the evenings with him."
At first her mother-in-law seemed perplexed, but after a moment she asked, "How bad is it?"
She had rehearsed her line: "It is nothing, and anyway, there is nothing we can do."
The mother-in-law looked at her in a thoughtful manner for about ten seconds. Finally she nodded several times, took the coffee and meat, and went into the kitchen. They never again spoke about it.
It is instructive to study Gustav Doré's etchings of nineteenth- century London. A bleak place, full of want and vice, filthy, dark, cold, a place much like she walked that evening before she orgasmed for him. No one grabbed her though everyone seemed to look at her, and she was certain they all knew what had happened to her and what she was doing. How many of them had done her themselves?
She left her house early because there was no street light and she couldn't bear the thought of being outside after dark. She had to wait at roadblocks, though, where she was questioned in atrocious German, and take approved detours around bomb craters and collapsed buildings, so that darkness overtook her. There seemed to be new fires. The air was full of smoke, sometimes so thick it obscured the street. There was a steady, distant bombardment, the vibrations of which came through the concrete to her feet.
She almost lost her way twice. Once she saw a girl being forced into a doorway by several soldiers. A child. She certainly wasn't more than a girl, not a full adult, and she was crying and begging, struggling, but she had no protector. The housewife looked away and hurried past. When she encountered Russian soldiers she looked past them and pointed her index finger at her little emblem. It was a tiny regimental decal, all that stood between her and them, and scarcely visible in the twilight.
She had planned to be coolly subordinate to the officer, whatever he was -- her protector, her master, her own private rapist? She was humiliated by everything associated with him, having relaxed for him, sleeping with him, finding him safe and warm, feeling the pleasure forced upon her. That wasn't what happened when you were raped. You didn't feel good about anything at all. He had somehow taken such advantage of her vulnerability! Well, she was stronger today, so it wouldn't happen again. She would let him have his way but keep herself removed and above it all, sacrificing her body but keeping what was more personal away from him.
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