The Luger felt cold and heavy in Anne-Marie's small hand. She hated guns, violence, confrontation, and was by nature timid and reserved. Under normal circumstances she would be home now, or maybe out with Polly at the girl's club, in the underground. I wish I was anywhere but here, she thought. Circumstances were far from normal, for this was Paris in 1943 and Anne-Marie had joined her countrymen in resisting the German invaders. She was not at all what one would assume a member of the Resistance should look like. At barely five feet tall and one hundred pounds she was had the trim figure of a dancer. Hazel eyes gazed out of a delicately featured face and were framed by a mass of black locks. Her slim hips, small chest, and youthful looks allowed her to pass herself off as a schoolgirl, even though she was almost twenty-four.
She saw the shadowy figures of Jean Claude and Pierre flit up the darkened street and gripped the gun tightly. She was the lookout tonight, standing in a darkened doorway she blended into the shadows. She would fire a warning shot and then escape down the street if she saw any Germans coming. The two men took up stations outside Madam Garnet's whorehouse and waited as a silent rain began to fall.
The door opened and the music of a piano drifted softly down the street along with the musical sound of women laughing. A few moments later two men in black uniforms started down the stairs. The quiet of the Paris night was shattered by gunfire, as the two freedom fighters sprayed bullets at the men on the stairway. The two SS officers went down, but a horrible sound quickly followed. It was a tearing sound, like a fine dress being ripped in half, but infinitely more frightening. Both freedom fighters turned and fled, screaming for her to run as bullets whined down the darkened street. Anne-Marie knew that sound and cringed, it was a German machine gun.
Anne-Marie bolted, fleeing as fast as her lithe legs would carry her through the dark Paris night. She dodged down the darkened streets, quickly becoming lost in the maze of apartments. She could hear the boots of pursuing soldiers and a shouted order in German to halt. When she kept running a shot rang out, followed by more. Soon a hail of bullets whined and ricocheted after her. She prayed as she ran.
She heard an engine then, it may have been just a passing car but her fear made it sound like a tank and she dared not look back. A stairway beckoned and she ran up it, the door at the top was closing and she threw herself against it, forcing her way in, slamming the door and drawing the bolt.
"Quite an entrance child, what do you do for an encore?" a cultured voice behind her questioned.
Anne-Marie whirled and faced the speaker. She was a tall, statuesque woman in her late forties, with blonde hair, blue eyes and creamy skin. Her long legs were concealed by the maroon skirt she wore, revealing only her button up boots and her matronly bust strained against the fabric of a white silk blouse, this was clasped at the neck with a single star shaped pendant. She had a damp umbrella in her hand, and a very stylish broad brimmed hat. Anne-Marie recognized her at once, Countess Von Shoenstoffen, wife to the SS garrison commander.
Anne-Marie immediately produced the Luger and motioned for the women to be silent by placing her finger over her lips. If the gun, or the intrusion frightened the tall blonde in the least she didn't show it. Feet pounded past on the street outside and orders were shouted in German, Anne-Marie held her breath, but no one knocked on the door.
"It seems you plan to stay a while, you might as well make yourself comfortable," the blonde woman said. Her French was flawless, tainted only by a very slight German accent.
Anne-Marie looked at the woman in surprise. Their eyes locked and as they stared at each other she thought she saw emotion in the deep blue eyes. Sardonic humor, pity, compassion and something else, something more disturbing than the woman's fearlessness, hunger. Something passed between them, something intangible but very real and Anne-Marie knew the rumors she had heard were true. She flushed deeply, but the gun in her hand never wavered.
When the silence stretched out to minutes the older woman spoke again, "Are we going to stand here in the foyer all night? The drawing room is much more comfortable, and intimate,"
Anne-Marie still couldn't speak, those knowing blue eyes unnerved her. She had been so careful, so discreet, but in that one glance this strange woman knew her secret. She could hear the indistinct sounds of men in the streets, the soldiers had not given up, and she knew she was in grave danger, but she could not keep her eyes off the woman's chest.
"At least tell me your name?" the Countess asked after another long silence. Anne-Marie's eyes lifted from the woman's large bosom to her face. Their eyes locked again and she felt herself shiver.
"Anne-Marie," she whispered.
"That's a lovely name. My name is Elkie. Now that we are more or less formally introduced let's go to the parlor, I am not accustomed to receiving guests in my hallway, and you are shivering," she said in an imperious manner.
Ignoring the gun, she turned gracefully and walked through an opening off the hallway, depositing her umbrella in a beautiful guilt stand as she passed. Anne-Marie could do nothing to stop her, not even order her to stop, her mouth was to dry to speak.
Carefully, Anne-Marie walked down the hall and peeked into the room. The sitting room was beautifully appointed. It was decorated in antique furniture, mostly in the German mode, tastefully decked out in French laces and silks. Elkie was pouring two glasses of wine from a crystal decanter as if it were not out of the ordinary to have a woman with a gun burst into her home. She took a goblet in each hand and sat on the settee motioning for Anne-Marie to join her. Despite her fear Anne-Marie did as she was bidden, she felt strange, hot and tingly and when she recognized what she was feeling she blushed again. Once the Frenchwoman was seated at the far end of the settee and had a goblet of wine in her hand the German smiled. "This is much nicer than the hallway, wouldn't you agree child?"
"Yes, it is," Anne-Marie grudgingly admitted. She was still holding the gun, she was a member of the Resistance, she should have been in control of this situation, but she knew she wasn't, and she felt Elkie knew it too.
They sipped their wine in silence. Elkie drank hers with obvious relish and her eyes roamed lustfully up and down Anne-Marie's petite frame. Anne-Marie sipped hers mechanically, while her ears strained to catch any noise from out on the street. Elkie finished her wine and put the empty goblet on the table next to her. Her eyes returned to the smaller woman and she gave her that hungry stare and scooted closer. Anne-Marie's eyes were glued to Elkie's breasts now, they were so full, so large, they seemed ready to bust out of the tightly stretched silk top at any moment.
Why did she have to look like that? Anne-Marie thought. She had never been able to resist such women; large women with matronly figures and large busts were her downfall, ever since Malena. Especially when they took charge in that motherly sort of way, she had no resistance at all then. With her life threatened sex should have been the last thing on her mind, but the fear and the adrenalin of her earlier flight only seemed to add to the fire in her loins that this woman was provoking with those hungry glances.
"There, there, ma petite, it will be all right. Sleeping with the garrison commander infers certain privileges, one of which is privacy. You are perfectly safe here," she said in a soothing tone. Her hand slipped past the gun and patted Anne-Marie's knee. A jolt of pleasure shocked her system from this simple contact.
Elkie did not remove her hand but gently squeezed and Anne-Marie felt her will to resist drowning in her need. She had been celibate since the night Paris fell. Working with the resistance was a constant rush of adrenalin, always afraid, always tense. It left her wrung out most nights and the fear of informers was so prevalent she dared not frequent the few places she knew where she might meet other women. Her regular lover had fled to Nice and most of her friends had gone underground, leaving her with no outlet save hurried masturbation on those rare nights where she could find the energy and wasn't out helping her countrymen hinder the invaders.