The Partisans

The Italian resistance movement, better known locally as the Partisans, was a group made of independent troops who gathered spontaneously siding the Allied forces to fight the German Nazis and Italian Fascists.

The local population supported the Partisans by providing them with shelter and food at the risk of their lives. Women especially acted as dispatch riders between the partisan divisions, nursed the wounded, scavenged for food and spied on the Germans and Fascists to report information.

A general uprising liberated Italy on the 25th April 1945.

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'We do not have any choice. This has become a trap and we are like rats!' The commander's fist hit the table and the rest of the assembly jumped in their chairs. A woman was observing the scene from the kitchen door and wondered if they jumped from the commander's action or the mental picture of a rat in a trap.

The rats had gone. Had there been any, she would have probably made them into a stew. She bit her lip remembering a time when such a thought would have been disgusting and her stomach growled.

None of them looked older than 25, even the commander. Dressed in a pair of old pants held up with a piece of string and a plain cotton shirt, he did not look like anyone in a position of power. Actually, no one in the room was dressed differently, except for an occasional ragged jacket.

Another loud explosion sounded outside the house and made the windows shake.

The men sitting at the square table stopped talking and sat still for a moment and then everyone drew a sigh of relief.

'Far enough.' murmured a younger guy with tired eyes and a worn out hat on his head.

The frustrated commander stared at him, barely hiding a snarl. 'They will...' and did not finish the sentence, aware it would not help the morale.

She finished it in her mind: 'They will get closer.' She knew they would and it was just them there who would have to try and stop the Germans.

She turned away from the door to check the potatoes boiling on the stove. There was no need to listen any more. The feeling of being unsafe in her own home took hold of her from the inside as if an invisible hand was trying to crush her heart. Being in another house wouldn't have been any different; that was war, but still she couldn't push that feeling away. She grabbed an onion and started slicing it to keep such thoughts at bay.

Another shell exploded outside the house. The Germans were out there at the Casaccia, the farm down the hill. The forest between it and this farm on top of the hill had almost been destroyed by all the bombing.

Voices reached into the kitchen. 'They think we have the Americans here, they...' She finished it in her mind: '...they, the Germans who took the Casaccia, don't know it's just a woman and a handful of hungry partisans up here.'

Tears started prickling her eyes. 'Damn onion,' she thought. She had promised herself there would be no crying. War was war and she would see all sort of things she would rather not. There was no point in letting herself get desperate. Were death to come, it would, even if she did not want it.

She heard chairs being dragged on the floor in the next room and footsteps walking away. Silence fell on the kitchen, broken just by the bubbly sound of the water boiling on the stove and her knife cutting the onion into thin slices.

It was the unreal silence that falls after a difficult decision is announced; the silence meant to say everything is going to be ok when nothing actually will.

'It's tonight,' a low voice announced behind her back.

'I know.' She cut him short and he stared at her back with a puzzled expression. She may have overheard, but possibly not. During the time they had been in that house, she had been able to read their minds and moods better than the printed word.

The Germans down the hill surely did not have anyone like her, but a bitter smile clouded his face at the thought that he would not have her either. The action they had planned against the Germans was desperate. Few would come back, if any. At this point of war he had nothing to lose but... His eyes stared at her back and slipped down her shoulders to her waist, arresting his thoughts.

Fingertips touched her shoulder, halting the knife on the board. Another hand slipped on her waist and took hold of it, turning her to him.

With her eyes closed, she felt warm breath blowing on her throat and lips touched it in a kiss; such a difference from the damp coldness of the house. She raised her arm to reach for his head and caress it. 'One last time,' she murmured. He needed no more encouragement and lifted her up on the kitchen table, his arms wrapped tight on her back. They kept still for a moment, just listening to each other's heartbeat.

Her eyes searched for his and he noticed the redness from crying. For a moment, he wished they could fill the gaps in each other's lives and, if that evening could last forever, perhaps they would have. But there was no time for that.

She felt his manhood hardening under his pants, parted her legs and laced them on his back. His lips searched for hers and found them in a desperate kiss. He sucked her lower lip between his and their tongues played together.

Hands ran down the line of buttons on the front of her dress, unbuttoning them quickly to reveal more of her skin. He kissed inch by inch, going down her neck to her shoulder and finally to her breast. Fondling the smooth fullness, he buried his nose between her boobs and inhaled her scent: light flowery, sweet and subtle.

Her hand moved down and stroked the cock in his pants, kept still for a moment and felt it grow. He wiggled in discomfort and she found the end of the cord that worked as a belt. Unfastening it, the pants fell and she let herself slip off the table to crouch on the floor.

Her lips touched softly at the base of his cock. With her teeth, she pulled gently at a few hairs while her hand closed gently on his cock. Her breath tickled the sensitive skin and her hand moved up and down with a slow regular motion.

He felt like fainting and held to the wall behind. Her mouth welcomed his manhood and closed in a soft wet embrace.

She moved up and down on his cock, accompanying her mouth with her hand, stroking him harder until the red head of his cock stood fiery showing all the veins.

Another German shell exploded outside, then another. He grunted: 'Stand up,' the pressure growing and urging him to step into action. He touched her arm and helped her sit up on the kitchen table, her legs spread and ready. Fingers explored her; she was hot, moist, welcoming...'Take me,' she moaned, unable to stand more tickling.

He filled her with a smooth movement and kept still enjoying the feeling of warmness and protection only she could give him. Then he started moving and her hips rocked with his, hands explored frantically each other's backs and she pulled him down on the table with her.

He watched her eyes closed in bliss, enjoying every little bit of sensation he was giving her and made her boobs jump up and down with his thrusts, then caught one in his hand and brought the sweet nipple to his mouth.

The nipple tasted like honey: food for a hungry mouth and, Man, he was hungry. He licked it round and sucked it hard, taking her to the edge with sensations, then he felt her quiver, ready to explode on him. He kept pumping and felt her inner muscles hold him; she shook and grabbed his arms.

Their heavy breathing merged and he watched her body shaken by his blows, her uncombed long hair spread all over the table. What an amazing sight it was. They reached their relief together, holding tight to each other. They shook like leaves in the wind and were left breathless in the unreal silence between explosions.

With their bodies still sensitive, they laid still, enjoying the feeling of each other's warmness.

'Thank you,' she breathed as she ran her hand through his hair, his eyes still closed.