One Night After the War — Lara Kairos

Bavaria, Germany, 1945.

Karl wanted to feel her skin under his palm. He knew Olena would let him. She would neither pull away nor draw closer to him. She would stay still if he pressed his cheek against the back of her neck, smelling the coarse brown soap on her hair. If he slipped his fingers under her sweater and white cotton undershirt, she would draw a breath.

The room had chilled during the day. It was only October and the coldest months were still ahead. They pretended not to know about the coal bricks in the basement. Instead, they nibbled at the stack by the kitchen. One had to be careful about using up the rations. Semi-starving the stove went a long way.

“It’s dark.” Olena got up, her outline framed by the grey pane of the window.

She looked at the kerosene lamp, then turned to the metal stove.

“Let’s get under the covers,” he said. “I’ll get more kerosene at the garage next week.”

“First, the ointment on your burns.” Olena opened the stove door.

He watched her start the fire. Wood scraps and newspaper lit up greedily. The poke clanked against the metal. Her face in a pool of warm light. Dark strands falling over her cheeks. The door closed and the glow disappeared.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “It isn’t like I’m in trenches.”

“Last thing you need is getting a cold,” she countered.

“I didn’t have a sneeze the whole time at the front.”

“Liar.”

The stove, like the trusty ones that used to warm soldiers in the mud and snow, was soon humming along.

At its lowest, the lamp flickered. Their shadows moved on the blanket fastened over the window. The heat radiated over his naked back, and Olena’s fingers were cool with the ointment. Her fingers rubbed his left shoulder and circled down and up his arm and back. The dryness of his old scars dissipated. She pressed her palms against his skin harder, as she went over his shoulder and down to his chest.

His abdomen tightened at the thought of her hands going all the way down to his cock.

Her fingers lingered on his chest, and he turned his head to touch her sleeve with his lips. Then he looked up and her expression was soft.

“Your scar irritation is much less now,” she said. “We must get more of the medicine.”

She blew to get a strand of her hair out of her face. He loved how she puffed her lips when doing it.

He did not look on when his wife undressed, since he had figured out she’d rather not. He did not have to wait long, because Olena, as usual, did it in a hurry.

Under the eiderdown, her back was snug against him. His palms cupped her buttocks, and her skin felt cool. He knew it would get warmer as he went deeper.

“I like the scent of this ointment. Not nasty like the other,” she whispered.

“I like it too.” He did not care for the smells, but if it was better for her, then it was good.

In the dark, embers glowed in the bottom cavity of the stove. He pressed against Olena, snuggling his cock between her thighs. She had more flesh than him: soft, warm and womanly.

His hands were now on her breasts, under her nightshirt. They felt round and full in his palms, and he was the only man who had the right to touch them.

 Olena’s fingers were over his hands, letting Karl know she wanted his caresses. He rubbed her nipples with his thumbs, and heard her breathing hasten. Her response and the sensation of her hardening tips made his cock strain, and he moved back and forth between her legs, probing her hidden folds.

His desire flaring, he kneaded her lusty breasts. Olena arched her back against him, her head nesting on his shoulder, and her hair spilled over him. He caught the moment and pressed his lips against her cheek.

Then she stilled, and he reached for her pussy, nudging her thighs apart. She did not resist; but when he tested her with his cock, her inner muscles were tight. He pushed in gently, opening and claiming her, back and forth, back and forth. She shifted and rubbed over his determined member, and, finally, he gained the entrance to her depths.

Her hot walls hugged him, as he pumped inside her. Blind with ecstasy, he was sinking into her body, and it was the most blessed way to drown. He could not tell where his hands were. It seemed that they were all over his woman, holding and feeling her in the most intimate way.

A surge rolled through his cock, balls and his whole body, shaking him again and again. He released himself into her and fell still, his face buried in her hair.

When he drifted back into lucidity, she still had him inside her. He pulled out, wet and sticky. Olena rolled onto her back. He put his fingers on her cheek, and she turned her face to him. Their kiss was languid and slow. He was spent but reluctant to break away from her, so still and calm.

Thoughts roamed his sleepy mind. Nothing would disturb them at night anymore, no bombs or shells falling. Without opening his eyes, he shook his head because a hated memory floated up again. A Ukrainian town overflowing with German troops. Olena, the girl with fresh cheeks and braided hair, was inside when that bastard of a feldwebel* entered the house. Fiery autumn foliage and her screams. Karl, drunk like a pig in a neighbor’s yard, was too late to prevent the assault on her. Riddled with shame, he avoided Olena for days after it. Why couldn’t the worst things disappear into oblivion, like his Wehrmacht uniform he threw away in a Bavarian forest before Americans came in?

Luckily for him, she never knew he was nearby on that bright September afternoon. The moment he met her again, an Ostarbeiterin** at a bombed munitions factory in Munich, he resolved no harm should ever come to this woman with beautiful dark eyes… Never!

Olena stared into the sloped ceiling, listening to Karl’s snoring. The embers were long dead in the stove. Her breasts still longed for more of her husband’s caresses. God only knew why it thrilled her so much, that she’d go all dizzy and forget her dread of a man’s dick going inside her. His warm palms sliding from her hips up her sides set her aflutter. His fingertips pulling and twisting her nipples made her so good and hot, she opened all to him.

And then, every time he was in her, she froze. She still hadn’t been able to get past this part, because of the cursed day four years before. How good that Karl would never know what a dirty thing had happened to her. If she had fought back then, they would have shot her. A soldier’s sour breath in her face, the Nazi eagle on his cap, his hands ripping her skirt off, and then the mortifying pain between her legs. Fear, hurt and shame.

Karl’s hands were so good they made her feel whole. Just like when he, already a deserter, loved her eagerly in a basement with the walls shaking from a distant cannonade. In two months the war was over, and they got married the day the pockmarked Rathaus*** opened.

Olena raised herself on her elbow and kissed his forehead. The salty taste of his sweat remained on her lips.

As she snuggled under the eiderdown, he jerked and shouted. His old nightmares were upon him again. What could it be? A memory of burning debris falling on him or vision of an enemy tank advancing at his trench? Olena leaned over him, cradled his head in her bosom and blew on his forehead gently. Not waking up, he shifted, mumbled something, then relaxed. Thank Heavens, his bad dream went away quickly. Olena sang a quiet lullaby, a memory of Ukraine. There was no way home for her because of the infamy that marked her.

Olena slid deeper under the covers. In his sleep, Karl turned and put his arm over her, his body weight on her shoulder. So big and strong a man. She would learn to love him all the way.

 *Feldwebel – a German military rank equal to Sergeant

**Ostarbeiterin – a female forced laborer in the Third Reich, usually from the Soviet Union

***Rathaus – City Hall

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Born and raised in Moscow, Russia, Lara Kairos lives with her family in the scenic Pacific Northwest. Her love of writing started with her voracious reading habit and has been advanced by her lively imagination. Currently she is working on a historical novel and erotic romance novellas. You may find Lara here: http://lara-kairos.livejournal.com/.