Prisoners of Love

PRISONERS OF LOVE Dorothy looked up as the door creaked open, her fingers hovering above the heavy, black typewriter, a look of mild irritation on her face. Colonel John McGinty registered the look and his mouth twitched in the typical military smile she had grown to despise. Why did soldiers act as if emotions were an enemy to be killed, rather than something to embrace? He stepped into the tiny office and Dorothy took in the tall German in the doorway. She was used to the sight of Germans in camp, they were all prisoners and whilst at first she had been afraid of their morose stares, she had grown used to the presence of enemy combatants now. Searchlights and armed guards controlled the perimeter, every move carefully monitored.
“This is Carl,” he waved the prisoner inside, “he speaks very good English, educated at Oxford, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” he replied in a soft English accent that had a slight European twang, “before the war I studied linguistics and literature.”
“Oh,” she put her hand to her throat, “so you speak and read English?”
“Perfectly,” he smiled through perfect teeth. Dorothy’s heart skipped a beat. The Germans tended to be good looking, tall, blonde and with faces that could have been cut from stone, but this man was an Adonis if such a creature existed. His blue eyes softened as he stared at her, falling to her sumptuous breasts and then back to her brown eyes, she felt a shiver go through her body as he smiled.
“Perfect,” he grinned, “the Colonel was saying you needed a secretary.”
“Yes, I, uh,” she glanced at the pile of papers, “yes, we uh do,” she glanced at the Colonel who merely smiled and clicked his heels.
“I’ll be in the outer office,” he checked his watch, “I’ll see you at 1700 hours then, Carl?”
“Yes sir,” he saluted crisply.
The door closed and Dorothy fluffed out her hair, where to begin?
“Are there any files I am not supposed to touch?” Carl tapped the pile of papers beside her.
Dorothy smiled nervously and shook her head.
“They are kept in a safe in the Colonel’s office,” she replied, “I couldn’t let you in there,” she cast an eye at the papers, “well, I suppose we shall have to get you started then.”
“Thank you,” he sat opposite her and leaned on the desk, “this will be my typewriter?”
“Yes,” she looked at the second typewriter, “it will be your typewriter,” she leaned back and studied him for a moment. The white collarless shirt and braces hid a muscular torso and she smiled at the thought of meeting him after the war. He seemed bemused by her studied reflection and leaned on his palm and returned her stare.
“Something wrong?”
“Oxford?”
“Yes, Oxford,” he replied, “have you ever been there?”
“Once,” she smoothed out her tie, “I was on my way to Cardiff, and we stopped off at the station on the way through.”
“I remember the station well,” his eyes flickered the picture of the king behind her, “I had just finished my degree and had received the letter from Berlin telling me I was to enlist.”
He smiled sadly.
“This war has made fools of us all. Three years ago I drove through the English countryside with my girlfriend, and now I am dropping bombs on her towns. War is a mockery of all that is good and kind, it is the final insult mankind can throw at God.”
Dorothy glanced down and adjusted her tie.
“If it means anything to you, I do not hate the Germans. I used to write to a German girl before the war, we were pen pals, she lived in Essen.”
“I know the town well, I was born not far from there, in a town called Dortmund.”
“Our people are dropping a lot of bombs there,” she bit her lip and glanced out the window.
“Come,” he clapped his hands and she jumped, “enough philosophizing or we will end this war and then what will our leaders do with their time? Write books on how they won the war?”
Dorothy giggled and pulling off her glasses, wiped her eyes.
“I dare say, it would make for interesting reading.”
He grinned.
“No doubt.” His nimble fingers danced over the keyboard not long after and Dorothy found herself beginning to fantasize over him. What would it be like to have those fingers inside her? He certainly seemed to have a way with his fingers she mused a couple of hours later, he was at home with the typewriter and his English was indeed flawless, almost embarrassingly so, for he managed to catch her out on a few missed commas. It had caused her to smile and every time she smiled, his eyes softened a little more until eventually he leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head.
“So, you are in the military?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she replied, “I am a clerk for the military police, I did my basic training but it was very basic. I’ve worked in three camps but moved up here to be closer to my mother, she’s feeling poorly now that the rationing is getting worse.”
“I have not seen my mother for two years,” he replied sadly, “I sent her into the east, but now that the war on the Eastern Front has turned against us I am afraid for her.”
“Isn’t there a way you can get her back?”
“Yes,” he smiled and leaned forward, “you could help me escape, and then find me a submarine captain who would accept a bribe to take me to Germany,” he picked up one of her cigarettes. “I don’t suppose you could arrange that?”
Dorothy’s hand flew to her throat. “I umm,” she looked away.
Carl burst out laughing. “I was joking,” he lit a cigarette, “if I wanted to escape I could have done so by now, but what would I be escaping to? I would soon be dodging Allied bombs and probably dropping bombs on England again, instead of which I am sitting talking to a pretty English girl and smoking English tobacco.”
“So you don’t mind being a prisoner?” Dorothy’s eyes widened appreciably.
“Everybody minds,” he shrugged, “but you get used to the idea and the English are not so bad, I am in good with the commander here.”
A knock sounded at the door and she straightened up as it opened.
“Just popping out for an hour or so, will you be all right?”
“Fine,” she replied, “we’re really getting some work done here.”
“Jolly good,” McGinty seemed pleased as he looked at Carl, “I knew you had promise, old chap, well, there’s a guard out the front. Do you want me to send him in?”
“I think not,” she lit a cigarette, “he’d only fall asleep, you know how they are.”
“Yes,” McGinty’s eyes narrowed, “well, must dash, I’ll see you two later.”
The door closed and a moment later they heard the outer door slam shut. Dorothy exhaled suddenly and closed her eyes.
They were alone.
“We are alone,” Carl butted the cigarette out.
Dorothy set the cigarette in the heavy pewter ashtray and started typing absently. It was a requisition request to the quartermaster, one of three she had done that morning. True to tradition, the British army demanded everything be documented, and in triplicate. She was vaguely aware that Carl was looking at her and she glanced up momentarily.
“Would you like some tea? Now that we are alone?”
“Huh?” Dorothy stared through her spectacles and felt moistness between her legs.
“Tea,” he rose and made his way to the kettle, “a British tradition.”
“Yes, of course,” she mumbled.
The letters were running together and she cursed as she saw the typing error. With a sigh she pulled the paper out and inserted a fresh piece of paper, but two minutes later she stopped and stared; she had written the previous requisition report again. Dorothy sighed and pulling it out, stared at it and tossed it aside just as the kettle started boiling. She would have to pay attention, but she had only typed three lines on a fresh piece of paper, when she let out a groan and pulling her glasses off, leaned back.
“Damn, damn, damn.”
“Something wrong?” Carl moved up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“I made one mistake and had to start over,” she replied as he squeezed her shoulders lightly, “and then I started typing the previous requisition request all over again, I think I need a break.”
“A bit of relaxation?”
Dorothy leaned back into him and closed her eyes, allowing him to massage tired muscles, his fingers finding tense balls of muscle and releasing the tension slowly but surely. She felt herself drifting and came to suddenly to find his touch had become noticeably lighter. He stopped a moment later and coughed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she murmured half to herself, “it was a nice thing to do.”
His fingers slid through her hair and Dorothy felt a twinge of alarm as he undid the clasp and pulling the pins from her hair, let it tumble to her shoulders. The guard was just outside, a prisoner was making improper moves towards her and she was letting him. She glanced down as he started tossing her hair through his fingers, teasing the locks out gently and causing her to groan softly.
“The art of massage is an ancient one,” he murmured, “full of little surprises.”
He stroked her earlobes. “The ears are very sensitive to touch,” he moved down to her throat and flicked his fingertips lightly over her skin. She felt her temperature rising slightly as he reached the knot of her tie and a moment later she let him loosen the knot and pull it slowly down. Her breathing became shallower as he pulled the tie over her head and laid it on the desk.
The implication was obvious.
His slender fingers undid the top button of her shirt and teased her delicate nerve endings. Dorothy felt like crying out, but that would alert the guard and she definitely didn’t want that. She stared smilingly as his fingers slid up and down her front, but when he tugged at the next button she stopped him.
“The door,” she opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a key, “lock the door and put that radio on as well.”
While he was carrying out her instructions, she undid her belt and inching it through the loops, let it fall to the floor. Carl pulled his braces over his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. Dorothy swallowed as she stared at his muscular body, his pectorals perfectly formed, his skin nicely tanned and when he reached her, she pushed away from the desk and slowly unbuttoned her shirt to reveal her buxom breasts constrained by a bra.
Carl lifted his typewriter and moved it to the far end of his desk and then holding out his hand, helped her to her feet.
They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment and then he smiled and kissed her tenderly on the lips, his tongue flicked over them and Dorothy felt a surge of passion flooding through her. She thought briefly of John, her Canadian boyfriend who was stationed at an RAF base in the south, and then his arms were around her. He reached her buttocks and began working them firmly. Her moist, vaginal lips were rubbing together as he massaged her cheeks firmly, and she gasped under her breath and bit his shoulder gently as the erotic sensations surged through her.
He was drawing her closer and closer and she felt his hardness against her softness, it was dying to be released and she tugged at his buttons and parting his fly, stroked his erect manhood. Carl’s eyes rolled back in his head, and then she was pushing forward as he undid her skirt and pushed it over her hips. It fell to the floor with a soft plop and she leaned against the desk, while he covered her throat and breasts with soft, biting kisses that sent her into another world. Time seemed to stand still while he tasted her, and then she felt herself being forced backwards until she was lying on the desk, her legs spread for him.
Carl grinned.
“Mein beautiful Fraulein.” he breathed.
She stroked his penis slowly, feeling it harden.
“We don’t have much time.”
“Time enough, keep your voice low.”
She nodded as he pulled her panties to one side and stroked her lips with the head of his penis, she closed her eyes and waited. But the stroking continued for a few minutes before he inserted the head about an inch. She winced, waiting for the inevitable plunge, but instead there was just a gentle thrusting as he pushed the head in and withdrew, in and out, in and out, until suddenly he let her have another half inch. She arched her back and groaned but then he withdrew completely and started painting her lips with his cock. She stared lustfully at him and he slid inside her again, this time giving her an inch and a half. It was slow and painfully orgasmic as he proceeded to move in and out, his final thrust gave her another half inch and Dorothy arched her back and tried to grab his penis but he slapped her away.
His next thrust came some thirty seconds later, and this time she almost screamed aloud as he gave her everything, but then he withdrew halfway and pivoted his hips sideways. This rocking, rolling action made her grunt and satisfied that she was reaching arousal stage, Carl began alternating it with a gentle thrusting motion, giving her more and more, until she finally wrapped her legs around him and hauled him forward.
“Harder, harder.”
He waited a few seconds longer and then began pushing harder, his cock moving in and out, still keeping up his rocking rolling motion, his balls slapping against her perineum must have been heard all over the camp as he worked her hard. She felt him stiffen and begin to ejaculate and then she was sailing high above the world as a pleasurable series of waves move through her, each more intense that the last.
“Oh mein, Gott, oh mein Gott,” he grunted over and over until he finally emptied himself into her with a shudder.
Dorothy sat up suddenly and grabbing his shoulders, forced herself further onwards, until the orgasm finally started fading and she felt wetness on her cheeks and sweat between her breasts.
They parted a few minutes later and she fell back onto the desk while he cleaned up.
“We have made a mess,” he murmured nonchalantly.
“Yes,” she giggled, “we have made a mess, it must have been a while for you.”
“And you,” he smiled, “you were really going.”
“I was,” she sat up and stared down at her wet panties.
They smoked a cigarette in silence until she finally extinguished it and leaning across, kissed him firmly.
“You are feeling relaxed now?”
Dorothy giggled. “I do believe I am,” she slid off the desk and picked up her skirt, “shall we have tea now?”
And as his fingers slid along her lips, Dorothy sighed. It looked as if her new secretary was going be very useful indeed.
How thoughtful of Colonel McGinty.

Written by Alastair Rosie