Madelaines War

This story deals with themes of reluctance and coercion in a lesbian setting. If you feel you might be offended please try another story.

Chapter 1

She looked so innocent, and I was going to ask her to give her life.

Neither the drab grey of her prison uniform nor the harsh overhead lights of the interview room could detract from her natural beauty. The file showed that she was twenty one years old, a Cambridge physics graduate, but she could have passed for fifteen with ease and therein rested her allure.

The Governess warned me that looks were deceptive and told me to be careful. She was not happy with my request to use her office and even less so when I told her that we would have to be left alone. She imputed a more sinister motive but when she saw the signature on my orders she was suddenly more than willing to cooperate.

I had considered wearing my uniform but finally decided that she might find a Major's insignia to be intimidating. Instead I opted for a simple skirt and blouse.

The office was well appointed, better than many used by senior ranks at the War Office, and I sat on the leather Chesterfield sofa to await her arrival. I dismissed the escort and for a second or two she looked unsure, probably having expected the Governess, but she quickly regained her composure.

She stood rigidly in the prescribed manner but could not disguise her shock when I invited her to take a seat.

"Madelaine, you are two months into a fifteen year sentence. I am here to offer you an alternative."

She feigned indifference but I could tell otherwise.

"Firstly, I need you to tell me what happened to you"

"It's in the file."

"I've read the file. I want to hear it from you."

"I fucked another woman but I guess I fucked my career prospects at the same time."

She was hoping to shock me but I had heard far worse. I remained unfazed and I could see that she was re-evaluating me. She tried a different tack. Leaning forward a little she held me with her large blue eyes. She was challenging me not to look down at her partially exposed bra and I found, to my own surprise, that it took an effort of will.

"You're married?"

Her question was rhetorical as she could see my wedding band.

"Twelve months"

"And when did you last see him?"

"Twelve months ago"

A four hour honeymoon before he took up his posting. No mail, no idea even which continent, just an irregular assurance that he was still alive.

"You haven't had sex for a year?"

"No."

She seemed to consider this.

"Have you ever had sex with another woman?"

I ignored the impertinence of the question and answered simply.

"No."

"You should try it. It wouldn't even be cheating."

Her psychiatric evaluation had warned of this, her ability to tap into other people's sexual sensibilities and turn it to her advantage, but I was caught completely unawares as she leant in and kissed me on the mouth.

I was thirty years old, and had enjoyed a number of relationships in that time, but nothing could have prepared me for that fleeting moment. It lasted less than couple of seconds but it conveyed so much.

As she brought her lips to mine there was some indefinable softness, a totally feminine experience, and, as she parted, the barest flicker of her tongue. I felt a flush of heat across my breasts knowing that no man, my husband included, had ever elicited such a reaction from me.

She paused, a few inches away, and a sly smile dressed her face as she gauged my reaction.

"You're the most beautiful woman that I've seen in months. In fact I would say that you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met."

I had heard this from men many times over the years but she was saying it with a genuine sincerity which made my heart quicken.

"Your breasts look just perfect...may I?"

She was completely unabashed as she stroked the back of her hand gently across my blouse and I felt my nipples immediately responding within the confines of my bra.

I knew that this had to be stopped but some perverted part of my brain was making excuses and telling me that this was something that I had to know.

Without taking hers eyes from mine she flicked her fingers, with the deftness of a croupier dealing cards, and unfastened the buttons of my blouse one after another.

I had been taught techniques for controlling my breathing and my heart rate but they availed me nothing as the steady rise and fall of my breasts betrayed my arousal. Now, her eyes did drop as she touched the silky material of my brassier.

"French? I am impressed."

As was I by her unexpected knowledge. One of the very few advantages of working behind enemy lines was the opportunity to acquire one or two of the luxuries that had been so long denied to women at home.

She leaned in again and touched her cheek to mine, as if pantomiming a continental kiss, but as she pulled away again my brassier fell free like a conjuring trick.

I instinctively brought up my hands and held it loosely to my breasts but her fingers were already slipping inside. I knew that she was condemned to a reasonably harsh work regime and the incredible softness of her touch came as a surprise.

"Let me see..."

The words were almost whispered as she eased my reluctant hands away and then slid my blouse off over my shoulders. It was still fastened at the cuffs and now formed a loose pair of manacles. I immediately stiffened as my defensive instincts kicked in but she understood and worked the final two buttons open.

My blouse dispensed with she removed my brassier altogether and forestalled me as I attempted to cross my arms across my chest.

"Oh, you are so lucky. I would give anything for breasts like these."

She was certainly more modestly endowed than me but I have found that larger breasts can be an encumbrance. I had no such concerns now as she lovingly worked her hands over them.

At first she treated me like a piece of sculpture following the curved uplift and testing their firmness but then her fingertips sought out the sensitive tips and I could not suppress a groan.

As an adolescent I felt embarrassed by the size of my nipples. They seemed so large in comparison to my only frame of reference which was the images to be found in classical paintings. Later, when I overcame my Catholic guilt, and discovered the pleasure I could induce with my own fingers, I recognized them as a gift and not a curse.

Men have no idea and, over time, I simply accepted their uncertain fumblings as a step along the way to consummation. It was not so now. Her touch was magical as she gently ran the pads of her fingers over the heavily dimpled areolae as if reading in Braille my level of arousal.

I felt sure that they had never before been so engorged but she kept me on edge for a long moment before she applied an exquisite pressure to the very teats with a full understanding of the pulse of pleasure that she sent coursing through my body to resonate deep within my sex.

"Stand up. Let me undress you."

There was a studied youthfulness in her eyes which was unnerving but it was counterpointed by the assured tone of her voice which held out a promise that I was powerless to resist.

I was dimly aware of the institutional surroundings, and all that they represented, but my mind was adrift from reality. My world seemed bounded by the few feet of space that we immediately occupied as I stood up before her.

She ran her hands slowly down to my waist and then further still to the swell of my hips. She lingered there a moment and then she worked the buttons that fastened my skirt allowing it to drop to my feet.

It was then that I was seized by panic but she seemed to anticipate the moment of onset and she drew me closely to her. Her purred as she nuzzled her cheek against the satin of my Parisian underwear whilst, at the same time, reaching around to keep me in place.

She did nothing for a minute or more, allowing me time to gather a little composure, but I felt a renewed rush of adrenaline as she eased her thumbs into the waistband of my pants and slid them down my legs.

I now stood before her in nothing more than my stockings and I automatically crossed my hands in front of myself.

The nature of my profession sometimes removed me from the comforts of civilisation for long periods of time and I had taken to trimming myself quite closely which served to reveal my prominent labia.

Once again, my early impression of women's genitalia was informed by paintings and a single science text book. Thus, I thought that I was unusual and it was some while before I understood that nature bestowed infinite variety. However, I was not prepared for Madelaine's response.

She took my hands in hers and, easing them away, she stared at my sex.

"So lovely..."

She reached towards me and, with the back of a single finger, she teased the very tips of the exposed lips. I gasped in response and felt them swell beneath her touch.

My husband told me that I had the healthy complexion of a land girl but I think that even he was surprised by the contrast formed by the dark colouring of my sex. At the beginning of our relationship I thought that he found it off-putting but Madelaine treated it almost with reverence.

I had come to accept his uncertain pawing as a perfunctory prelude but, for her, it was an end in itself. She continued to stroke with a loving tenderness that, literally, left me weak at the knees.

She laughed quietly.

"You had better sit down."

I sank back down onto the sofa expecting her to join me but she shocked me again as she went to her knees purposefully parting my legs as she did so. She laid a single, warm, kiss on the inside of my thigh and I began to feel faint.

For me oral sex was a myth. It was not possible to live the life that I lived without exposure to some of its coarser aspects but they seemed to have no bearing on my own experience.

None of my varied male partners seemed minded to engage in what my mother would have called "sordid practises" and, in truth, that suited me as I certainly had no wish to reciprocate.

She read my hesitancy and looked up at me with a wicked smile.

"An oral virgin? That's so sweet. What is it with the English middle classes? How can a race with so much reserve hope to win this war."

The jibe rankled, if only from a professional standpoint, but I was given no time to respond. She pressed her face to my sex and breathed deeply.

"You smell divine..."

It was an outrageous thing to say but I felt my stomach lurch with excitement. I was aware of my own scent and I understood, in some way, that it had an integral part to play in the process of love making but it had always been something deliberately ignored.

Now, this young woman was giving voice to it. She nuzzled me gently and I could feel her nostrils flaring as she slowly inhaled.

My muscles tensed painfully as I held myself still not daring to move and it felt as if she was mocking me.

I almost pleaded as she seemed poised to pull away but she was simply shifting the focus of her attention. It was a second or two before I could be sure but then I squirmed as I felt the tip of her tongue tracing the crease at the top of my thigh that marked the boundary of my sex.

I could not believe that my skin could be so sensitive but I was alive to her every movement. She reached the open plain of my thigh and marked her stopping point with a kiss before she bowed again and followed the same path on the other side.

I actually felt my sex opening up to her and I had to overcome the urge to close my legs. All of this she seemed to understand and she gave a sly smile as she ran the flat of her tongue over my mons. The rasping sound was barely audible but, to me, it seemed to echo from the walls.

For uncounted minutes she continued to tease, moving away from my sex and back to my inner thighs when she judged that I was beginning to come to the boil.

My mind was still operating at some rational level drawing on the ingrained tenets of my upbringing. I was telling myself that making love to another woman was a sin and that oral sex was distasteful but, at that moment, I was overcome by a desire that came from some hidden place deep within me.

Reading my emotions she chose that moment to return to my sex. This time she licked softly right along the central divide and I felt myself melting inside but she remained unhurried. When she reached the apex she started again and fell into an easy rhythm until I became accustomed to the wonderful sensation.

Once she knew that I was ready for it she began to take each delicate fold between her lips and caressed the fringes with her tongue. I began to feel almost uncomfortably warm but she looked coolly serene as she lovingly applied herself.

Just when I thought that I could take no more she firmed her tongue and I felt the tip as it broached the portal.

I held my breath and tried to come to terms with it. I naively thought that we had already reached the limits of intimacy but she was about to shake my world apart. With a slow, measured, thrust she pushed her tongue deep inside me and I had to stifle a scream.

I felt filled with a beautiful warm softness, so different from anything else in my experience; it was as if we were perfectly melded together.

After a few seconds I felt her begin an inner exploration and, more than ever before, I was aware of my own wetness. This came with a fleeting pang of guilt but then I understood that this was what she wanted. She sealed her mouth to my sex, drew in her cheeks, and she slowly began to swallow.

For reasons I could not explain it was the most erotic sight that I had ever beheld. My whole body went weak and then I was wrenched by the contractions of a powerful orgasm the like of which I had never before experienced.

I cried out but it was rendered a staccato scream as my body jerked with each ensuing wave of ecstasy and through it all she remained with me her tongue forever coaxing.

Time ceased to have meaning as she held me aloft only allowing me to relax when I was too weak to take any more. I lay exhausted but, even now, she continued to preen my sex keeping me on edge.

When my heart rate finally returned to something like normal anxiety began to assert itself. I had badly compromised both myself and the mission and I was not sure what I was going to do about it.

In the event I was allowed no time to dwell on it. I thought that I had given all that I had to give but she was not finished yet. I felt her tongue probing once more and then another convulsion as she homed in on my clitoris.

It had always seemed to me a secret, known only to me, and only then when I chose to bring myself pleasure, but she was a true adept. She worked patiently, until I felt the tiny bud engorge, and then she began to experiment, testing out the tricks of her tongue to find which brought the most pleasure.

Within seconds my body was held in tension again but this time she was determined to keep complete control. In the corner of the room a grandfather clock struck the half hour and, by the time it began to herald midday, she had taken me to the edge at least four times.

My body was sheened in perspiration and I felt almost feverish as she teased me up to yet another, seemingly impossible, level without granting me release. I reached a point where I was prepared to beg when she pursed her lips at the apex of my sex and it felt as if the tip of her tongue was vibrating.

My second orgasm was no less intense than the first but she drew it out over a greater span. The sensations, centred on my sex, slowly spread throughout my body easing all of the built up tension and then taking me beyond. My eyes rolled up and then I was overcome by the sheer power of it until I felt myself on the verge of passing out.

I fought to stay at the summit, where I had never felt more alive, but I no longer had the strength.

As I surrendered she finally knelt up from between my legs. She looked into my eyes and, in a final act of beautiful depravity, I accepted the unspoken invitation to part my lips and join my mouth with hers.

Chapter 2

In the aftermath I simply sat with her on the sofa, holding her close and in that moment I came to realize the full extent to which nearly five years of war had hardened me. It had instilled in me a single minded determination and an undoubted fervour but it had stripped me of some essential vitality.

Now, this young woman, unknown to me just a couple of hours ago, had restored it.

I stroked her hair and when I posed my question it was with a need to know that went well beyond the matter at hand.

"Tell me how you came to be here."

For a long time she said nothing but then she began her story.

"I knew that I was a lesbian long before I went to University but I also knew that I had to keep it quiet. It's hard enough as it is for a woman in a man's world but if men think that you have no need for them at all, that you might be impervious to their doubtful charms, they can make life very difficult.

Everything was okay until I began my Masters degree. My professor had a grace and favour home in the college grounds and I went there once a week for a tutorial. As soon as I met his wife I knew. She was like you, a lesbian who hadn't come to terms with it, and had married because it was what was expected of her."

I was startled and wanted to tell her that she was wrong. I was certainly not a lesbian in spite of everything that had taken place between us. I lost track of what she was saying for a few seconds but then fixed my concentration.

"...and so, we began an affair.

We loved one another and spoke of plans but, one afternoon, he caught us together. She did not have the courage to leave him nor was she prepared to face a scandal. I was left with no choice but to give up my studies with all my ambitions of a career in academia in shreds.

Inevitably there were rumours but, ironically, they were stories linking me with my professor. Still, whatever the colour of mud, it sticks and I had difficulty finding work.

I finally became a governess for Lady Gloucester but it soon became clear that she had ulterior motives in hiring me. I obviously had a choice but pragmatism overcame scruple. Fortunately, she's quite well preserved for a woman in her forties and living out her little girl fantasies was not too onerous. It was a roof over my head and, understandably, very well paid.

Things started to go wrong when she introduced me to the Viscountess Tremaine and her bitch of a step daughter.

Gillian, Lady Gloucester, was in thrall to them and they must have got wind of what was going on. They wanted to see for themselves and, when I refused, they forced themselves on me."

She paused, trying to overcome her anger, and I stroked her hair in an attempt to sooth her.

"The report says that Lady Gloucester had her jaw fractured and there is the business of the missing jewellery."

She sniffed back a tear and continued.

"They wanted me to do things...and then they threatened me...believe me a broom handle is a very potent threat.

Gillian tried to intercede but, when I lashed out, I caught her with my foot. After that there was panic. They took Gillian to hospital and the next thing I knew the police were at the door. Between them they had fabricated a story which involved Gillian catching me in the act of stealing some jewellery and coming off second best in a struggle."

"Lady Gloucester testified to that?"

"She was terrified of Tremaine and they will do anything to protect their own."

"What about the jewellery?"

"A necklace went missing and was never found. If you want my opinion you'll find it in Tremaine's bedroom; it was always a piece that she coveted."