gently and steadily upwards. “None of that sweet wine served in there.” She’d grimaced toward the open dining room door and he’d laughed.
“To each his own,” he’d said, toasting her with his brandy glass.
“Yes,” she had replied, eyeing him steadily. Just then the door opened and the others began to emerge from the dining room so she had no further opportunity to talk to him.
With a sigh Lais pulled the soft green silk nightdress over her nakedness. Karl liked her in green. And in silk.
He was already in bed, waiting for her, as she walked from her dressing room. The smell of the roses she had piled into enormous crystal vases drenched the room and she flung open the window, gazing out across the courtyard to the Seine. Moonlight glinted off the rifles of the sentries as they patrolled the area in front of the house, lighting up the long black Mercedes that waited, chauffeur at the ready in case of emergency. Her lover was a very important man. Leaning against the window she lit a cigarette and stared out into the night.
“
Liebchen
,” General Karl von Bruhel lifted his eyes from the papers he was reading and smiled at her. “Time for bed, my angel.” He placed the documents with their important looking seals and stamps to one side. “Come to me.”
Karl von Bruhel was forty years old. He had harsh grey hair and very blue eyes that looked even bluer because of the clean pinkness of his complexion. His skin was smooth, his body spare. He had been married for eighteen years to a quiet woman of a good Munich family and he had a daughter Peach’s age.
Lais tossed her cigarette from the window. Sliding the straps of the nightdress from her shoulders, she walked slowly towards him, easing the silk over her breasts, letting it slide in a soft rustle to her feet.
Karl’s eyes devoured her nakedness, his hands waited for her, hard, predatory, exploring. Lais hesitated by the side of the bed, she was always a little afraid of him, a little wary as he approached her. His hand slid ruthlessly between her legs, gripping her until she cried out, only partly from pain. “Tell me you like it, Mademoiselle de Courmont,” he commanded, with a disdainful smile, “tell me what it is you want. Come on.
Tell me!
”
“Please, please, Karl,” she gasped as his hand gripped tighter, crushing her softness. Even as she spoke a tremor shook her. Oh God, oh God! His hard fingers caressed her ruthlessly and she moaned with pleasure. Abruptly he removed his hand, leaving her gasping, desperate.
“Now,” he whispered, lying back against the pillows, hands clasped behind his head. “
What
is it you want, Mademoiselle de Courmont?”
“Please Karl,” she begged. “Please Karl, oh please,
fuck me
.”
With a great roar of laughter he lifted her from her feet and swung her on top of him, forcing her down on his hardness, enjoying her moans of pleasure.
“Now,” he said, “wait. Wait one moment, Lais. Take a look in the mirror over the bed.”
Obediently Lais stared into the mirror at their reflectedimage. Roughly he lifted her from him so that she could watch them. Her eyes were dark with excitement, she would do anything he asked, he knew it. “Now,” he said, “lift your eyes higher, Lais, away from us. What else do you see, reflected in the mirror?”
Lais raised her eyes reluctantly. The portrait that Karl had insisted on hanging there stared back at her. His face was lean, with a full sensual mouth—a darkly handsome, slightly cruel-looking man with Peach’s deep dark blue eyes.
“Monsieur,” she whispered, trembling. “I see Monsieur.”
Karl roared with laughter again, letting her sink back on to him, feeling her juices flow. “So what do you think of this, Monsieur le Duc de Courmont?” he called to the portrait. “First we took your country, then we took your factories and your estates. And now I’m going to take your granddaughter. Again!”
Lais cried out with pain as, still inside
“To each his own,” he’d said, toasting her with his brandy glass.
“Yes,” she had replied, eyeing him steadily. Just then the door opened and the others began to emerge from the dining room so she had no further opportunity to talk to him.
With a sigh Lais pulled the soft green silk nightdress over her nakedness. Karl liked her in green. And in silk.
He was already in bed, waiting for her, as she walked from her dressing room. The smell of the roses she had piled into enormous crystal vases drenched the room and she flung open the window, gazing out across the courtyard to the Seine. Moonlight glinted off the rifles of the sentries as they patrolled the area in front of the house, lighting up the long black Mercedes that waited, chauffeur at the ready in case of emergency. Her lover was a very important man. Leaning against the window she lit a cigarette and stared out into the night.
“
Liebchen
,” General Karl von Bruhel lifted his eyes from the papers he was reading and smiled at her. “Time for bed, my angel.” He placed the documents with their important looking seals and stamps to one side. “Come to me.”
Karl von Bruhel was forty years old. He had harsh grey hair and very blue eyes that looked even bluer because of the clean pinkness of his complexion. His skin was smooth, his body spare. He had been married for eighteen years to a quiet woman of a good Munich family and he had a daughter Peach’s age.
Lais tossed her cigarette from the window. Sliding the straps of the nightdress from her shoulders, she walked slowly towards him, easing the silk over her breasts, letting it slide in a soft rustle to her feet.
Karl’s eyes devoured her nakedness, his hands waited for her, hard, predatory, exploring. Lais hesitated by the side of the bed, she was always a little afraid of him, a little wary as he approached her. His hand slid ruthlessly between her legs, gripping her until she cried out, only partly from pain. “Tell me you like it, Mademoiselle de Courmont,” he commanded, with a disdainful smile, “tell me what it is you want. Come on.
Tell me!
”
“Please, please, Karl,” she gasped as his hand gripped tighter, crushing her softness. Even as she spoke a tremor shook her. Oh God, oh God! His hard fingers caressed her ruthlessly and she moaned with pleasure. Abruptly he removed his hand, leaving her gasping, desperate.
“Now,” he whispered, lying back against the pillows, hands clasped behind his head. “
What
is it you want, Mademoiselle de Courmont?”
“Please Karl,” she begged. “Please Karl, oh please,
fuck me
.”
With a great roar of laughter he lifted her from her feet and swung her on top of him, forcing her down on his hardness, enjoying her moans of pleasure.
“Now,” he said, “wait. Wait one moment, Lais. Take a look in the mirror over the bed.”
Obediently Lais stared into the mirror at their reflectedimage. Roughly he lifted her from him so that she could watch them. Her eyes were dark with excitement, she would do anything he asked, he knew it. “Now,” he said, “lift your eyes higher, Lais, away from us. What else do you see, reflected in the mirror?”
Lais raised her eyes reluctantly. The portrait that Karl had insisted on hanging there stared back at her. His face was lean, with a full sensual mouth—a darkly handsome, slightly cruel-looking man with Peach’s deep dark blue eyes.
“Monsieur,” she whispered, trembling. “I see Monsieur.”
Karl roared with laughter again, letting her sink back on to him, feeling her juices flow. “So what do you think of this, Monsieur le Duc de Courmont?” he called to the portrait. “First we took your country, then we took your factories and your estates. And now I’m going to take your granddaughter. Again!”
Lais cried out with pain as, still inside
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