His Lordship

(For the story to this time, please read Leni's Ordeal Chapter 01: Berlin 1945 and Leni's Ordeal Chapter 02: Havelsee)

"A countess this time, hey Harry?" his uncle teased him.

Young Captain Lord Harry Balfour sat wearily in the library of his uncle's requisitioned house in Gatow noting that, despite the early hour, Sir Randall Macloskie perched wide awake on the corner of his desk, impeccably dressed and, as always, ready to help his nephew.

"Just a ravishing girl, uncle. Tall, blonde, beautifully made-if she's not a countess she certainly ought to be."

Sir Randall smiled indulgently. From his earliest days Lord Harry had known his Uncle Randall as his relation at the Foreign Office. Sir Randall, when asked what he did there would airily say, 'Oh, make sure the dustbins are clean, the water closets work and protocol is rigidly adhered to.' But Harry's father, the thirteenth Marquess, would sometimes give young Harry a wink at this performance knowing his brother in law to be a bit more important than that. When Harry's father had died at Dunkirk early in the war Harry had still been in officer training. Sir Randall, despite the weight of his own duties in wartime had been willing to act as a helpful if sometimes distant guide for the often wild Lord Harry. Middle aged, thin, with a full gray head of hair and trim moustache, Sir Randall sipped his tea in the before dawn twilight as he listened fascinated.

Harry, with the help of Jack Smith, the American Captain, had barely been able to control his fury at Erica's killing. Sent out on a make work mission with a Russian police Colonel, the two had tried to keep the Colonel from pursuing the two running young women in the field. When a warning shot fired by a Russian underling killed Erica, Leni screamed, wrenching even the battle hardened hearts of the young Captains. Wrapping Erica's small body in a blanket, the two, with the help of Lord Harry's sergeant driver, had commandeered the truck, taking the sobbing Leni with them in the cab.

Not paying any attention to the jabbering Russian, they'd left the Colonel in the sedan, Harry driving like a madman, just driving east, knowing he had to get to the British Zone before the Russians. Captain Smith stood in his American uniform on the running board, his hand on his pistol when approaching sentries at a bridge or an intersection, snapping a brief salute as they roared by.

At Spandau Prison they'd hurriedly signed off on the Nazi prisoners in the truck. Harry, promising Captain Smith a case of scotch whisky implored, "I've got to get the girl away. I must get the dead girl taken care of. Can you just tell them the Russians got lost?" With the Captain's nodded assent they were off to the nearby British Military Hospital. After getting Leni to stop sobbing for a moment he got her name, Helene Schmundt, then told her to stay silent. At the reception desk, he was confronted by the Lieutenant on duty, a severely attractive young army nurse. He introduced Leni as his cousin, the Countess Helene von Schmundt und Liebnitz.

"I'm sorry Captain, we cannot treat German nationals at this hospital."

When he protested, the nurse rang for her superior, a matronly Major used to handling young lords.

"We cannot provide a bed and free medical exam to your lady friends, Captain," Major Gore barked, making it quite plain what was meant by 'lady friends'.

Rising up to play full lord of the manor, Harry replied, "This woman is witness to a murder committed this day which is being investigated by His Majesty's Adjutant General. The body of the woman murdered is in the truck with my sergeant and needs immediate attention. The Countess requires a sedative, a meal and a complete exam."

"Without written orders...Captain?"

Grimacing inside, the Major realized she'd almost said 'milord', quite improper considering her superior, though temporary, military rank. The Lieutenant stood stiffly off to the side, a bit goggle eyed at Lord Harry's nerve. Six foot two, with a build like a prizefighter, she thought him quite a bit too magnificent.

"Orders will issue in the morning," Harry promised.

"Very well, Captain. However, a complete report of this incident will be made to my superiors."

Completing his tale of Erica's tragic killing, Harry implored his uncle to keep Leni out of Russian hands.

"Harry, if the Russians really want her I don't know if there's much we can do. Has she any papers?"

"None, Uncle."

"Hmmm," he thought for a moment. Where had he heard of...something...? "A tall blonde you say? And the deceased woman?"

"Much shorter sir. Very young. Dark hair. Just a terrible thing."

"Well," he decided. "Since we've got her, I suppose we ought to listen to her story."

Leni sat puffy eyed before the German speaking British officer. He introduced himself as Major Hackett of the Adjutant General's office. He needed to know how she came to be in the hospital with no papers.

"Excuse me, sir," Leni said. "Can't I speak to a woman officer?"

"Oh, I see." Having heard already too many lurid stories about the sexual jungle Berlin had become after the Russian conquest, the respectable Major, with his own daughters safely home in England, immediately understood.

"However,' he had to say, "I don't believe we have a female officer who speaks German."

"That is all right sir," Leni said. "I speak some English.'

"How do you do?" she said formally in English. "May I help you?"

Returning to German, she said, "My mother lived in America as a child. She taught me."

"Oh." Impressed, the Major promised to see what he could do.

Moved to a closely guarded locked ward in the hospital, Leni crouched on a camp bed in a room with no window. Not wanting to lie down, not wanting to be bothered anymore, she flinched when an orderly brought lunch. Leni did not take to the British army sausage, thinking it a pale imitation of her German favorites. Picking at the doughy pastry around the sausage, sipping the water, she jumped again when the army nurse entered without knocking. The nurse was the same middle aged Major who had confronted Lord Harry when Leni was admitted. Stiffly unfolding the canvas backed chair she'd brought with her, the Major sat with an air of distaste, sure Leni was just another hungry German tramp willing to sell her arse for a few bob to some lonely soldier-or lord.

Instead, the story she heard in Leni's halting English almost brought her to tears. A woman who did care about others, it took all her military discipline to keep control of her emotions. A spinster, remembering her own distant romances, she forgot herself only once saying, "Erica must have been a very special love."

This simple statement broke the dam, letting Leni sob again, hunched with her head between her knees, coughing, holding the hem of the blue dress her lover Erica had helped her make crumpled in her hands, while the nurse patted her shoulder, all the while wondering if there was anything she could do. "I want my mother," Leni cried piteously. "Why can't I see my mother?"

"We've unfortunately learned quite a bit about what went on in that hotel," Sir Randall told Major Gore later. "There and throughout the city. The hotel is in the British Zone. We found the bodies of a score of young women there. They were most fortunate to escape."

"Revolting," Major Hackett commented. All three of them sat in the Major's cramped office. "Major Gore," Sir Randall asked, "does Fraulein Schmundt know the name of the Russian General who abused her?"

"No, she don't sir. So she's not a countess sir?"

"We are still looking into that."

Reaching into his attache case, Sir Randall retrieved a large photo.

"This is General Pyotr Petrovich Kruglov, a high ranking officer of the Soviet secret police. I want you to show Fraulein Schmundt this picture to see if this is the man. As Major Hackett may have told you, I am here on behalf of the Foreign Office at the request of the Ministry of Defence. Everything we have discussed is "Most Secret"."

"Of course sir," assented Major Gore, wondering who they thought she was going to tell tales to. She never discussed patient affairs with anyone outside the hospital.

"Oh, and you might tell her I'll be sending an officer to bring her mother to her over the weekend."

"Very good sir, thank you sir."

"Another wrestling match, uncle? Yes, of course, I'm off duty, certainly I'll come." Lord Harry hung up the phone with a happy smile. Not a bad way to begin the weekend!

Unable to use a military vehicle, Lord Harry rode a bike he'd purchased to his uncle's requisitioned home. Now August, 1945, the evenings were warm and sunlit, twilight coming late. After changing into casual sports clothes, Lord Harry joined Sir Randall in the spacious fireplaced living room. It was quite a good turnout. Twelve adorable young women had shown up for the match. After carefully checking their documents to make sure all were adults, Sir Randall introduced them to the buffet in the dining room. Everyone held a drink of some kind in one hand with a plate of beef, salad and bread in the other. Lord Harry grabbed a plate for himself, smiling contentedly at all the pretty girls, while in his weirdly accented German his Uncle apologized to them for the lack of chairs, inviting the women to sit on the floor or wherever they liked.

When everyone had eaten, Sir Randall asked them to line up before the blazing fireplace while he carefully inspected them asking if anyone didn't feel well or wanted to leave. "We always have one or two who just want the meal," he told them. "Oh no!" one said. "Please, let's go!" said another, all ready for action, most having attended before.

"Very well then! Let's go over the rules. I will select your opponents. All clothes hung neatly on the rack. Pick out a pair of work boots so you get traction on the mat. Everyone here tonight will receive a gold sovereign. Match winners will get another. Last woman standing will get ten more!"

At this, they clapped and shouted, eager to begin.

"Very important!" he went on. "No, repeat no, punching, biting, kicking, hair pulling or slapping! Understood?" Everyone nodded. "And what, ladies," he asked dramatically, "is the penalty for breaking the rules?"

"A spanking!" several cried.

"A most thorough spanking with my tawse!" Sir Randall confirmed, pulling the short leather spanker from his pocket.

As the women stripped, stretched, bent to choose a likely pair of boots from the pile in the corner, Harry marveled how the fire's flames reflected off the pale bodies, how the fire's heat in the already warm evening quickly had them lightly sweating even before the competitions had begun.

It amazed Harry how the wrestling matches turned out. Anyone might think the tallest or heaviest girl might win. Given that Sir Randall tried to equalize heights and weights when choosing opponents, it thrilled Harry to see how little difference it all made. Instead, the quickest, neediest, most imaginative wrestlers won. Just now, for example, the pretty, slim redhead with the big boobs had been flung to the mat by a short stocky blonde tigress. Literally grasping the redhead's tits in both small hands she flung the woman over her shoulder. Both gasping loudly, dripping sweat, the blonde tried to smother the other by sitting on her face, thus pinning the shoulders to Sir Randall's old leather wrestling mat. Forced off by the redhead reaching her leg back to get it around the girl's neck, the muscular blonde found her fingers entwined in her opponent's hair for a moment. Sir Randall's shrill whistle quickly blew, bringing the matching to a halt!

"Hello! No hair pulling, Lottie! Up on all fours!"

Knowing there could be no appeal, the blonde wiped the sweat from her face and presented her ass.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" she piped, charmingly wiggling her bottom as the three strokes were meted out. Sitting up on her knees, rubbing the spot that stung a bit, she glared at the redhead. The whistle blew!

"Huh!" the redhead cried, up on her toes, ready to pounce. The blonde streaked across the mat, ferociously tackling her. Rolling back and forth, gripped in each other's arms, Lottie suddenly stuck a finger in the redhead's ass causing her to shriek and let go. By the time she reached back to grab Lottie's naughty finger, she found herself flat on her shoulders, Lottie's knees pinning her down for the count. After being so shamefully defeated the girl vigorously protested but was told by Sir Randall Lottie's hold was eminently legal. Of course, after that, all the women wanted to try it. Harry couldn't stop laughing as they often vainly tried to finger rape each other whilst violently entwined before the two voyeurs.

Near the end of the evening with the last of the fire glowing low in the grate, Lottie stretched naked over Lord Harry's thighs, handing him a bag of ice to soothe her bruised bottom. While she sipped a whisky Harry listened to his uncle rewarding the women for their efforts. Harry asked Lottie to stay the night with him. She readily agreed. He knew his uncle had already reserved two of the other wrestlers for himself.

Lottie, Harry thought as he massaged her with the ice, was not conventionally attractive. A tough sarcastic woman, the kind you might find in an open air street market-young, strong enough to load and unload her own merchandise, tough enough to drive thieving children away, her face snarling like an ocelot. He thought taming her might be a satisfying challenge. Hefting her over his shoulder he took a deep breath of her funky wrestling stench before disappearing with her up the stairs. As he walked up, Lottie slinkily twisted, arms embracing his head, sliding down from his shoulder to rest in his arms, licking his neck and cheek. Already hard, he wanted to penetrate her every hole.

On the bed, Lottie rose up on hands and knees whispering "Go ahead, beat me some more, isn't that what you want?"

Since Harry didn't understand much German, once naked he simply pursued his own plan, holding her by the shoulder and the hair, guiding her mouth to his cock. Instead she closed her mouth tight, looking away, frustrating him. Roughly, he tried to get her to open her mouth, squeezing her jaw, holding her nose shut, everything he knew. The harder he squeezed, the wilder she got, using her legs to get herself away. Not wanting to injure her he had to let go if she struggled too fiercely. Across the bed she laughed at him, a mean sarcastic laugh he didn't like. Grabbing her heels, he dragged her spread thighs firmly to him but she leapt up from the waist darting her mouth forward to bite down hard on his arm.

"Silly bitch!" Harry cursed, stepping back only to have to endure another loud mean laugh. He made up his mind quickly. Grabbing his leather suspenders from the closet, he smothered Lottie's squirming body, kneeling on her struggling forearms, pressing them into the soft mattress as he bound her wrists firmly together, then to the top of the wooden bedpost. In response, her feline face turned back at him under her bound arm, sticking her dripping tongue far out at him, hotly kissing him as he held her face in his hands. Using the fingertips of his large, combat callused hand, he rained a mighty volley of stinging little slaps over her, even holding the top of her head steady with one hand while whipping her chin back and forth. Leaning back, he watched with pleasure as the once again sweaty body trembled, the face burned with excitement, her fingers gripping the carved top of the bedpost tightly. With a rapid move he hoisted her thighs up over his own, plunging into her from behind, the high pitched "ahhhhh!" of the girl taking the place of the stupid laugh. A wild full throated plaintive back alley wail came as he pounded into her. Lottie liked foreplay. Lottie came quickly. But Harry did not often come quickly. He varied the pace, slowing down a bit, getting a better grip on her limp, burning body.

"Allez-y, monsieur," she gasped, breathing hard, but Harry had skipped French too so he just enjoyed her groans as he thrust hard, waited, thrust hard again, waited, thrust ever so hard, using his cock like a bullwhip on her pussy until her wrists, her fingers went limp in the leather, lost their grip on the post. Realizing he held the full weight of a fully satisfied, exhausted body in his arms he hit the finishing stroke, spurting into Lottie for all she was worth.

Upon waking in the morning Harry found he couldn't use the bath in the hall since Lottie lounged in the tub, a whisky and water on the toilet seat beside her. The downstairs bath turned out to be similarly occupied by his uncle and at least one of the women Sir Randall had spent the night with. After discreetly relieving himself in the garden, he found Lottie dressing by the clothes rack in the dining room. When he handed her the leather purse of gold sovereigns he'd promised she hefted it, kissed it, winked, turned on a heel and departed without a word. Someday, Lord Harry thought, I must learn German and French. What in the world had she been talking about in bed? He thought he might ask his uncle.

When the other women had been dispatched, the two men sat to breakfast.

"Harry," Sir Randall began...

"Excuse me uncle," the absorbed young lord interrupted, "do you know what 'allez-y monsieur' means?"

Smiling, his uncle replied, "I believe it means 'go for it, sir'."

Harry laughed. "That's all right then."

"Anyhow Harry, I need your help about that girl you saved." Briefly he explained what he had in mind. "And so you see," he concluded, "I need you to get the girl's confidence-and her mother's. If it all works out, it will be a good thing for all of us."

Frau Schmundt, Leni's long suffering mother, had not been left alone long in her large apartment. She'd often relied on her husband to make decisions-more perhaps than she should have. With Leni gone too she had no one but Old Vati Emile, the building concierge, the same man who'd helped Leni and Erica escape to Havelsee. He had helped her survive by taking in neighbors whose buildings had been destroyed. A simple woman, it frightened her to see the two British officers come calling. Lord Harry, accompanied by the German speaking Major Hackett, had been sent to let her know her daughter lived and needed to see her. Her "Thank God" had been expected but not her frantic questions about Erica Muller, whose mother lived upstairs. To his dismay, he had to try to explain Erica's passing, foolishly hoping Leni's mother would break the news. Crushed, weakened by her confusion as to what had happened, she could not attempt it. Lord Harry decided he must, with Major Hackett's help, carry the burden. Erica's mother had been young, only forty, with dark hair like her daughter when the final battle for Berlin began. The petite, healthily plump mother wizened before Lord Harry's eyes at the news. Angrily sobbing "Nein!, Nein!" she leapt to the open window trying to dash her brains out on the pavement thirty feet below. It broke his heart holding her back as she screamed words Harry understood but did not know the meaning of. At last Vati and Frau Schmundt appeared to take her from him.

In the end, the officers accompanied all three to the hospital-first, the reunion with Leni, then the sad viewing of Erica's remains. Upon learning there was no money for a proper burial, Harry volunteered to help. All were grateful, even Leni, who wasn't too grief stricken to question Lord Harry's kindness. After the visit concluded, Harry, alone with Leni for a moment, invited her to address him without any title, simply as Harry, a friend. "Many thanks to you sir, but I could not be so informal," she replied slowly in English.

Lord Harry loved women. He loved looking at them, touching them, gossiping with them, listening to their problems, delighting them with gifts—everything. Some were friends, some lovers. Harry believed it much more fun to let a woman seduce him. When a woman found his web too entrancing to avoid he could be a cruel and dominant lover. Self centered but fun, he tried to avoid caddishness by never forgetting them, being always ready to help them and trying to leave them better off in some way. Of course some women, those who learned they could never own him, despised him. Sometimes at night he prayed for them.