Lilli Marlene

German bitch

. It was the only thing that would go through his mind. She sat on the passenger side in a desecrated officer's uniform and casually smoked a cigarette like most whores sucked a man's cock. He didn't care that she'd been an American citizen for years. It didn't matter that she had spent the last two years entertaining American troops with the USO instead of chasing a glamourous movie career. Her accent was almost gone, but it was too exotic to be American. Somehow she had fooled Hoover's FBI, but most of the GIs had her number. German spy.

"Stop over there. I want to see the church." She waved her hand negligently at a burned out husk of a building. The fallen cross was the only testament to what it had been. He couldn't imagine why she'd want to see it. Maybe to savor the destruction.

"All right, Miss Dietrich." His tone was appropriately respectful and pleasant. Probably why he'd gotten stuck with chauffeur duty, because he was a good poker player.

She didn't say anything, just eyed him for a moment then returned to watching the scenery. He ignored the bitch and geared down the jeep. He parked it behind the church under trees and near bushes. The muscles in his back knotted up because there really wasn't any better cover than that. Even though this had been declared a safe area, it was hard to shake the feeling that the Krauts were everywhere. He followed her into the church, admiring the view. She strode like a man, but the way her ass twitched, well it made a man think off all the luscious sin he could do with it.

"Sergeant, I would like to be alone." Her husky voice crawled down his spine and stroked him with a thousand tiny pricks of heat. He stood still, hoping like hell she wouldn't turn around before she went into the church. He didn't have a single damned way of hiding his erection.

"All right, Miss Dietrich."

She paused at the sound of his voice, did she hear something in it?, then went inside. German bitch, he was forced to remind himself. A man could detest a woman he wanted to fuck, he discovered, it was just hard to concentrate on the animosity with a hard on. He leaned against the church and arranged his trousers just in case she came back out before 'Ol Boy calmed down. He lit a cigarette and scanned the area, listening to the birds signing. Nature never seemed to notice war nearly as much as people did. A particularly vocal bird took a seat on a branch near the jeep and carried on as if it were in the middle of Carnegie Hall. Some of the tension he'd been carrying around with him evaporated. He blew smoke toward the sky and just listened.

The crackle of her footsteps through the building stopped. He vaguely wondered what she was doing in there. Meeting her Nazi contact probably. He considered peeking, but couldn't muster the energy. The sun was warm, the breeze was soothing, and the birds were singing a concert just for him. Hoover's FBI had already cleared her three or four times over anyway. Maybe five. What was good enough for Truman was good enough for him. Nothing but dead silence from inside, she couldn't be doing anything but just standing there.

He stubbed the cigarette out more for something to do than because he was finished with it. After watching her make love to one with her mouth, he felt vaguely uneasy smoking it anyway. He froze in the middle of sticking the cold, folded butt in his pocket. His first thought was that she was choking a rabbit. The swallowed whimpers were low and full of pain and didn't even sound human. His second was that her Nazi contact had gotten aggressive with her. He slipped his eye around the fire gutted frame of what used to be a window and peeked. He could only see a gleam of honey-blonde curls in the gloom at the other end of the church, where the altar still stood.

He cautiously stepped into the church. "Miss Dietrich?"

She hadn't heard him. She sat on the floor against the altar, curled up on herself and rocking. The moaning was coming from her.

"Miss Dietrich?"

She stiffened, lifting her head. He could see the faint gleam of tear tracks on her cheeks. "Go away."

"Are you all right, Miss Dietrich?"

"Sergeant, I have asked you to go away, please go." Her voice cracked on the last word.

He crossed the church reaching to touch her, then stopped. She was a star of the silver screen and he was just a buck sergeant. She was golden, he was dirt. She was German. Fuck it. He gently put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel her shaking, occasionally hiccupping with the force of will she used to keep her tears in check.

"Go, please go..."

Aww shit. He'd always had a soft spot for women, German or not. He cursed that soft spot and his mother for sticking it into him. He wrapped himself around her, silently offering her a shoulder to cry on. She was like him, in a way. He wouldn't want anyone to see him crying either. She held herself away stiffly for a few moments, then allowed the luxury of weeping. He closed his eyes and rubbed her spine silently, letting her take as long as she wanted.

Eventually she stopped and pushed herself away from him. He offered her a handkerchief and pointedly looked at the wall while she dried her eyes. "You hate me because I am German. I know this," she handed his hankie back. He was about to protest when she waved a hand negligently. "You are not a good actor, Sergeant. You are a kind man, but you are not a good actor. I am German and I am proud of my heritage. I am not a Nazi and it pains me to see what they have done. This," she waved her hand at the charred walls, "is the price of hate. My people have allowed this to happen. This is what hurts and angers me. I wish that I could stop it all and make it right. That I could make everything the way that it was. I am but one woman and this destruction is, it is tiring."

"Miss Dietrich, I don't hate you."

"Yes, you do. I have seen it in your eyes. Come, let us return. I have seen enough." She stood and brushed her pants.

He thought about it, knew he should follow orders. "No, Miss Dietrich, I don't think you have. Get in the jeep."

Astonished, she stopped. "I have no need for more guilt, Sergeant. I carry all of it that I wish to. You will return us to camp."

He didn't say anything, just followed her to the jeep.

She gifted him with a smile when he backed onto the road and headed in the direction that they'd come. She could think that they were returning all she liked, but he would take her to one other place before they did whether she liked it or not. He had no earthly idea why he cared one whit about how she felt, he just knew that he did. That damned chivalry that his momma had beaten into him with a broom wouldn't let him do otherwise. There was the trail.

"What are you doing? I demand that you turn this around and take me back immediately!" She said it

immeedjitly

like the Brits did. "You will be in a great deal of trouble for this sergeant, this I promise you!"

First Sergeant had translated his light duty into essentially no duty while his leg healed. Rather than hang around the bivouac waiting to be someone's gofer, he'd found a fishing hole. It wasn't very far away, just a little more than a mile, but it felt more like a different time or a different place. If the war had touched it, than it had forgotten about it. He stopped the jeep and shut it off. He wouldn't put it past her to drive, but she didn't seem inclined. She glared at him instead.

"I want to show you something, Miss Dietrich."

"I assure you that have seen several already, I have no interest in seeing yours."

"What?" He jumped out of the jeep and went around to her side, opening the door.

Her eyes dropped chillingly to the front of his pants, then met his furiously. He understood the innuendo finally and blushed. "No, not that. I come fishing here when I can get away. I want to show you the creek."

"Crick?"

"Yeah, it's right over here."

"What is a crick?"

"It's like a river, only smaller, you know, a stream?"

"You kidnaped me to show me a stream? Are you insane?"

"Maybe. Momma always said that I never had no sense. I'm not going to do anything to you, just please. I don't know how to explain it."

"Very well. I will see your stream and then we can return." She flounced out of the jeep, her nose in the air. She surveyed the little clearing as if it were beneath her. She hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath of the clean, sweet air, then sauntered to the verge of the water. "I have seen this water, can we leave now?"

"Not just yet. This is going to sound silly, but I want you to take your shoes off."

"You are insane."

"Please?"

She stared at him unblinkingly for a moment, as stoic as a cigar store statue. Whatever she found there convinced her, though he had no idea what it might be. She dropped gracefully to the ground and slipped off her shoes. He looked around, convinced for a fleeting moment that the Krauts were surrounding them. He shrugged it off and dropped into the fragrant grass next to her and yanked off his boots and socks. He shot her a glance, hoping she hadn't noticed the smell. She wrapped her arms around her legs and watched the smooth flow of water in from of them.

He stuck his feet out in front of them, mildly embarrassed about their contorted whiteness. Marching for years in combat boots did that. Still, they weren't something you showed to a lady. He shrugged that feeling off as well; he was already violating her privacy by forcing her to be here.

He felt her sigh all the way from the tips of her toes rather than saw it. Her shoulders drooped a little. "I like to wade in the crick, but it's too cold to."

"Why?"

"To just feel. Hey, try something." He hoped it didn't sound as silly to her as it did to him. "Close your eyes and curl your toes into the grass. Just feel."

"Feel? I feel the grass already, it is cool."

"No, feel the land around you. The air, the water, the dirt. Smell it, feel it. Let yourself be a part of it."

Astonished, she shot a glance at him. "You do not sound like a soldier. You sound like a philosopher."

Unaccountably, he blushed. "I read Thoreau a little. It helps. To listen to nature. Kinda like everything will be all right."

"You are an odd man. I did not think that a soldier would consider such things. It is peaceful."

"I'm just a man, Miss Dietrich." He stared off into the distance, watching the wind brush through the trees.

She wrapped her aristocratic fingers around his hand and pulled it to her lap. Startled, he looked at her. She'd relaxed, her feet stuck out next to his. She turned his hand over and ran her fingers over the callouses on his palm and index finger. "It is hard to be German in this war."

He wanted to jerk his hand away. It was somehow obscene that she was getting intimately acquainted with the hard callous on his trigger finger. "Yeah, it's hard to be a soldier, too."

Her fingers explored the rest of his hand. The fine hair on his wrist melted with a brush of her nails and the sensation raced like a Messerschmitt straight to his cock. He willed it to stay down, to behave, but it wasn't paying any attention to him.

"Miss Dietrich, I–"

She lifted his hand and delicately licked the between his thumb and forefinger. It was the single most erotic thing he'd ever felt. Whatever he had intended to say almost choked him. She pulled the length of his finger along her lips, then sucked it into her mouth. He closed his eyes and groaned.

"Miss Dietrich-"

"Shh. It will be all right."

She pulled his finger from her lips, sucking as it left. He could only think of his cock in her perfect mouth, withdrawing slowly. He let her have his hand to do whatever she wanted to with.

She trailed his finger down her chin and over her soft throat. She spread his hand open and slid his palm down into her cleavage until it rested fully against the generous swell of her breast. When had she opened her shirt? He couldn't stop a reflexive squeeze any more than he could stop a Panzer Division by himself. She sucked in a breath and he gave into her.

He twisted himself, bringing the full length of his body against her. She closed her eyes, her head falling back, when he nuzzled her neck. He could feel her shiver under the moist heat of his breath under her ear. He pulled her shirt off of her completely and went to work on her brassiere, she reached back to help him. Feverishly, he nearly ripped it from her. She cried out, the soft epithet felt like praise, when his bare hands connected with her bare breasts. The skin on skin was electric, hot, every boy's silver fantasy in burning reality.

They both fought with her trousers, forcing them off of her legs along with her under drawers. He sucked in a breath, staring at her intense, liquid beauty. She didn't pause. She turned and attacked his clothing, as hot for him as he was for her. It was a heady feeling. His nakedness collided with hers and then he couldn't think of anything his. Her body was warm and silky against his, her mouth was on his chest, and her fingers were between his legs.

He lifted her face, bringing her lips up to his for a deeply ravenous kiss. His tongue tangled with hers, tasting the wet heat and wanting more. He shut his eyes. It felt like she was swallowing him whole, bearing him down into a sensual vortex. His slid his hands between her legs and found that she was as drenched down there as the creek that gurgled at their feet. He groaned into her mouth.

When was the last time he'd made love with a woman? He didn't really know. There were whores, he wasn't like some who took up with local women only to leave them. He preferred to keep things more professional. It had been too long. He opened his eyes and stared at the rich golden curls between her legs. Entirely too long.

He pulled away from her, even though she clung to him. He spread her legs, kneeling between them. She settled herself back, her eyes locked onto his cock standing stiffly away from his body. She tilted her hips, offering herself up to him. He wanted nothing more than to sink as deep into her as he could. Almost nothing more. He stretched out onto the grass and pressed his face between those world-class legs. The fresh, clean aroma of aroused woman washed over him. He'd wanted this for years. He gently spread her open with his fingers and took a long, loving lick.

She sank her fingers into his hair and arched her back, mewling. One by one, he sucked on her damp lips, then slid his tongue between them, tasting her as far inside as he could reach. Earthy, musky, delicious, everything a woman should be. He slid a finger inside of her, pressing gently against the tight muscle within. He found her clitoris with his tongue and she nearly bucked him off. He played with it, testing it, and was rewarded with a ration of warm wetness on his fingers.

He rubbed his face in her pussy, forgetting all about the Nazis on the other side of the border. He sucked on her clit, gently pulling on it for a moment, then teasing it with the tip of his tongue. She surged against him, then fell back gasping. He slid two fingers inside, rubbing in maddening circles. She squeezed him, gripping his fingers in a vice that made him shudder. He sucked on her clitoris, just to feel that grasping inside of her all over again. She thrashed under him, her hips lifting to meet his mouth and fingers. She panted and whined. He kept up the suction, pulling on the very core of her orgasm. A moment later it crashed over them, soaking him in her juices and saturating her in her sweat. Her husky siren's voice lifted, pleading in broken English and fractured German. It was the sweetest song he'd ever heard.

She clawed at his shoulders and he acquiesced to her. He rose along the length of her legendary body and pressed the tip of his erection to the quivering, wet lips between her legs. She opened her eyes, meeting his, and held her breath. They both sighed when he sank inside. She held him tightly, her pussy welcoming him with a searing heat that felt like a homecoming. He stared down into her face, memorizing the silver lines of her golden profile. She licked her lips and rocked against him, her eyes half-lidded. He saw her completely undone, like few people ever had seen her or ever would. Glamorous beauty replaced by raw, feminine sensuality.

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled. He braced his hands on either side of her head and withdrew until only the head of his cock nestled in her lips. The cool breeze of the late September day caressed his shaft and dried the pussy cream that had leaked onto his balls. He shut his eyes and stroked back in.

Catlike, she lifted herself up, clinging to his neck with her arms. His hips worked against her almost automatically. He couldn't stop himself if he wanted to. She lapped at his lips, then swiped her tongue over his chin. He groaned deep in his chest and felt his balls tighten against his body. She relished the tasted of her pussy on his face, he could see that easily. The rumors about her had always flown. She dressed in manly clothes at times, strutting in a tuxedo that seemed more feminine on her than a ball gown on a starlet. The rumors, though, had it that she had as many female lovers as she'd had male ones. The way she chased the last bits of her own cream on his face seemed to prove the rumors true.

His eyes closed and he pictured her wrapped in a torrid embrace with another woman. Their bodies writhing together in a soft collision of voluptuous female flesh. Breasts crushing breasts, painted fingernails parting pussy lips, red lips clinging to red lips. She licked along his throat, her tongue leaving a trail of sexual fire from his adam's apple to his earlobe. He gritted his teeth against the tide rushing through him. He didn't want it to end this fast. She tilted her hips up, thrusting against him. He could almost see her thrusting her hips up against a female lover's face. The tendons on his neck stood out in an effort told back his orgasm. She mewed something at him, her husky voice mixing with the sighing of the stream like two lovers intertwined.

He roared, shoving himself as deep into her as he could. He felt himself jerking like a marionette on a string, pouring all of himself into her.

She patted him, caressed him, singing softly. He eased his weight onto her; sucking at the air. His lungs burned because he couldn't get enough oxygen. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck and breathed her. Closing his eyes, he felt himself melting into her. The war and their positions in life were the furthest thing from his mind. She was all he knew. Replete, he dozed off.

He sat through most of the USO show smoking a cigarette and waiting for Bob Hope to finish his golf jokes. He stared off toward the Sauer and one of the little creeks that fed it rather than at the stage. He thought about the chirping birds, the cool breeze on his back, and warm, living woman beneath him. Consequently he missed the moment he'd been waiting for. The whistles told him that she'd come on stage before her voice reached him.

He didn't listen to her banter with Bob Hope other than to feel the rhythm of her voice. She laughed at something and lifted her skirt to show off those gorgeous gams of hers. The soldiers exploded with the proper appreciation. He thought about the soft skin he tasted. She was known for her legs, her sparkling wit, and the handsaw that she played with eerie skill. She was remembered for her song, though. When she came to it, he closed his eyes and remembered the creek. Instead he heard the husky words sung quietly in his ear while her warm breath stirred his hair.