“Is there anything else you gentlemen would like?” the Countess asked pleasantly.
Dexter was about to ask her to sit on his face, but Mazursky spoke first.
“Could we possibly take a bath?” Mazursky asked.
“Why of course,” the Baroness said. “Come with me, please.”
Everyone stood up. Dexter picked up his submachine gun.
“Surely you’re not going to take that thing with you wherever you go,” the Baroness said chidingly.
“I never go anyplace without my gun, ma’am.”
“Well,” Mazursky said, “we never know when the SS might show up.”
“They wouldn’t dare come here.”
“I don’t feel safe unless I got my gun with me, ma’am,” Dexter said. “I hope you won’t mind.”
“Well, if you must.”
The ladies led them through a series of rooms and corridors decorated with paintings and the heads of wild game. The furniture was old and plush. On some walls were crossed swords and spears.
“This manor is very old,” the Baroness said. “It has been in my husband’s family for more than three hundred years. Bismarck himself slept here, as have many of Germany’s leading personages.”
“You don’t say,” Mazursky said, feeling like a shithouse rat in these elegant surroundings.
They climbed a curving hand-carved staircase and came to a carpeted corridor.
“I imagine each of you gentlemen would prefer a room of your own,” the Baroness said.
“Naturally,” said Dexter.
“I thought so. Lilli, why don’t you take Sergeant Dexter to the Green Room, and I’ll take Sergeant Mazursky to the Yellow Room.”
Both couples separated in the corridor, Countess Lilli and Dexter going to the right, and Baroness Helga and Mazursky going to the left.
The Baroness opened a door on the corridor, and Mazursky stepped inside. The walls were yellow, the drapes were yellow, and the bedspread was yellow. On one of the walls was an oil painting of a man in a strange military uniform astride a horse.
“This will be your room,” the Baroness said. “Do you like it?”
“It’s very nice. Who’s the guy in the picture?”
“That is the great-uncle of my husband, Prince Max Von Sperling. The bathroom is this way.”
She led him across the bedroom to a door, opened it, and showed him the large bathroom and its luxurious porcelain fixtures.
“Where does your hot water come from?” Mazursky asked.
“We have a coal furnace in the cellar.”
“Who shovels the coal?”
She smiled. “Who do you think?”
“That’s no job for women.”
“But there are no men here to help us.”
“There are now.”
She looked him up and down. “I know.”
Then she looked away. “You’ll find a razor in this cabinet here, and towels in that cabinet there. I’ll get some of my husband’s clothes and lay them on the bed outside. You’re taller than he, and he’s a little thicker around the waist, but I think they’ll be all right. Now I’ll leave you alone, because I’m sure you’re anxious to get cleaned up.”
“Thank you so much for everything, Baroness Helga.”
Her blue eyes twinkled. “It is my pleasure, Sergeant Mazursky.”
She left the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Mazursky, still puffing the cigar, stripped off his filthy stinking clothes and threw them in a corner. It was the first time in weeks that he’d seen himself naked, and was surprised by how much weight he’d lost. But his shoulders were still broad, and his muscles still hard. It was just the excess weight that’d gone away.
He went to the sink, turned on the water, took the safety razor, shaving brush, and soap bowl out of the cabinet, and shaved. It was rough going because he hadn’t shaved for awhile, and he nicked himself a few times. But slowly his swarthy, ruggedly handsome features emerged. He smiled at himself. “Hi Mazursky,” he said.
There was a new toothbrush wrapped in cellophane in the cabinet, and some tooth powder. He brushed his teeth and felt refreshed by the taste, for his mouth had been tasting foul for so long. Then he filled the bathtub with hot water, while puffing the remainder of the cigar, and when it was filled he put the cigar on an ashtray beside the sink, and got into the tub.
The water stung those places where the cat had clawed him, but he gritted his teeth and washed them. When the caked blood and dirt was gone he could see that the wounds were just shallow cuts and were healing well. Looking down to his right thigh, he saw the stitch marks on the wound he’d received on Omaha Beach. It hardly ever bothered him anymore. Taking the wash cloth and soap, he cleaned himself thoroughly, scrubbing away the layers of dirt. Then he rinsed off, drained the water out of the tub, and filled it again with fresh water. He lit the cigar stub, lay in the water, and closed his eyes, puffing away. If you’re good, all good things will come to you, he thought. That’s what his mother used to say.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Are you all right, Sergeant Mazursky?” the Baroness asked.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I can’t hear you. May I open the door?”
“Go ahead.”
She opened the door and was surprised to see a handsome broad-shouldered man lying in the bathtub smiling at her, the end of a cigar in his straight white teeth. The sight of him took her breath away.
“Perhaps I should come in and shut the door,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get a draft.”
“Good idea.”
She entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her, leaning her hands back against it. “My, what a handsome man you are, Sergeant.”
“I look a lot different when I’m all cleaned up, I guess.”
She looked at his straight black hair that glistened in the sunlight coming in through the window. “I should say so. You look like a Greek god.”
“I’m not Greek. I’m Polish.”
“Then you look like a Polish god.”
“You look pretty nice yourself, ma’am.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes ma’am, everything’s fine.”
“I was wondering if you wanted chicken or roast pork for supper tonight.”
“Either one’s okay with me.”
“But don’t you have a preference?”
“Chicken, I guess.”
“Very well. Chicken it will be. I’ve put some clothing on the bed for you. I think you’ll like them.”
“Anything will be better that what I’ve been wearing,” he said nervously.
She wondered what he was so nervous about, and then she saw his penis break through the water in the bathtub. He was getting an erection. She hadn’t seen a man’s erection since her husband was on furlough last Easter. That had been almost a year ago.
“Would you like me to scrub your back, Sergeant Mazursky?” she asked.
“Oh, you don’t have to, ma’am.”
“That’s all right. I don’t mind.”
“If you don’t mind, that would be awfully nice. I can’t reach back there too well.”
“Turn around in the tub and lean forward.”
“Yes ma’am.”
He got up and turned his back to her, and in that brief moment she saw his muscular haunches, and wanted to grab them. Instead she soaped up the wash cloth and scrubbed his back.
“I thought Polish people had blond hair,” she said, running the washcloth over his back.
“My mother was Italian.”
“What an interesting combination.”
“The best part of it was that I got to eat two different kinds of food all the time.”
“I hope you like German cooking.”
“I like all kinds of cooking, so long as it’s good cooking.”
“I hope my cooking will come up to your high standards.”
“Don’t worry about it. My standards aren’t so high any
more.”
She let the wash cloth drop, and ran her hands over his shoulders. “What did you do before you were drafted into the Army?”
“I wasn’t drafted. I joined up.”
“What did you do in civilian life?”
“I worked in a clothes factory, and then I was laid off. After that I joined the Army. There was a Depression in my country, you know.”
“There was one here too.”
She squeezed his shoulders and thought that if it weren’t for the war she’d never dream of being alone with a man like this from a social class so obviously beneath her. But she was lonely, anxious, and horny. We must eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we all might die, she thought. A stray bomb might fall on the manor and that might be the end of everything.
“I’m going to do something very naughty, Sergeant,” she said. “I hope you won’t get too upset.”
“Do whatever you like, ma’am. It’s your house.”
She reached around His waist, grabbed his cock, and squeezed it, kissing his neck. “Oh Sergeant,” she moaned.
He took her hand off his cock, and she realized that she had committed a terrible faux pas, that he wasn’t attracted to her, probably he thought her too old and ugly.
“I’m so sorry,” she said stammering, standing up. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of the situation.”
He stood, turned around, and stepped out of the bathtub, his cock sticking out like a lance. She realized it was bigger than the Baron’s.
“Don’t apologize,” he said with a smile. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
He took her in his arms and fastened his mouth on hers. She hugged his wet warm body and nearly fainted with ecstasy. He cupped her ass in his hands and pressed her crotch against him. She swiveled her hips so she could feel it better.
“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered into her ear.
“Yes.”
He opened the door and led her into the bedroom. Sunlight bounced off the yellow walls and made everything golden. He took the clothes off the bed and placed them on a chair as she unbuttoned her blouse with trembling hands. She took the blouse off, reached behind her, and unhooked the brassiere. It fell away, showing her soft round breasts and hard pointy nipples.
She unbuttoned her skirt but before she could finish he came at her, hugged her, and enclosed her left nipple with his mouth. She groaned and pulled his damp head tighter against her. He sucked it hard; it was the first tit he’d seen since he left England more than six months ago.
He picked her up and placed her on the bed. Then he unbuttoned her skirt and pulled it away along with her petticoats, stockings, and boots. Now she lay only in white lace underpants that she’d bought in Paris in 1938. He inserted his fingers into the waistband and drew them down slowly, uncovering the fleecy blonde hair at the juncture of her legs. Blood pounding in his ears, he bent over and kissed the hair, and licked the moistening slit.
He pulled off her underpants and threw them over his shoulder. She spread her legs and he lowered himself between them, searching for her mouth with his tongue, hearing her moan and sigh. She took his cock in hand and stabbed it into her. He slid it in all the way, retreated, and then advanced again. She raised her legs in the air and wiggled her hips as he assaulted her most tender parts again and again.
Chapter Ten
After the Baroness went downstairs, Mazursky lay in bed for awhile, smoking a fresh cigar. He was pleased with the way things were turning out. He had an unlimited supply of cigars, food, and pussy, and no one was shooting at him. There was no reason to hurry back to the war. He deserved some rest and recuperation.
He got out of bed, stretched, and looked at the clothes the Baroness had brought him. He put on a pair of cotton boxer shorts and gray wool slacks that were a little big for him around the waist and a little short in the legs. The plaid shirt fit him nicely, as did the double-breasted blue blazer. There was a comb on the dresser, and he ran it through his thick black hair, parting it on the side. The black broughams were a good fit if he didn’t lace them too tight.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Sergeant Bull Moose Dexter strolled into the room, attired in brown slacks and a green tweed sports jacket. He was smoking a cigarette, his curly sandy hair was combined straight back, and he looked a bit like Spencer Tracy now that he was shaved.
“How’s it going?” Dexter asked nonchalantly, sitting on one of the chairs and crossing his legs.
“Pretty good. How about you?” Mazursky sat on one of the other chairs.
“Pretty good. You get any pussy yet?”
“Yeah. Did you?”
“Of course.”
“How was it.”
“Not bad. How was yours?”
“Pretty good.”
Dexter blew a smoke ring into the air. “This is a pretty good set-up, ain’t it?”
“Best duty I ever had.”
“I was thinking that maybe we ought to rest here a little while and build up our strength.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Besides, I don’t know how we could make it through the German lines and into the Allied lines without getting killed.”
“It’d be suicide to try.”
“No point to it.”
“None at all.”
Mazursky puffed his cigar. “God damn, that woman knew how to move.”
“The little countess gave me the best blow job of my life.”
“They’ve got fine figures for old babes.”
“Like young girls, for crying out loud!”
“There’s just two problems,” Mazursky said. “The first is that their husbands might come back, and the second is that the SS might come looking for us here.”
“To hell with their husbands. We’ll just bop them on the head if they give us any trouble. But you’re right about the SS. We’d better bury our clothes and hide every trace that we’re here.”
“We’ve also got to find a hiding place for ourselves. Let’s go down and talk to the ladies. They might know of one.”
Mazursky and Dexter went downstairs, carrying their dirty clothing. The found the Baroness and Countess in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The aroma of cooking food was in the air, intermingled with expensive perfume.
“Ah, here are the gentlemen,” said the Countess, looking up from the potato she was slicing.
The Baroness was tasting the soup in a pot. “Did you enjoy your baths, gentlemen?” she asked with a sly expression in her eyes.
“Oh yes, ma’am,” said Mazursky.
“It was just what I needed,” Dexter added.
The Baroness looked them up and down. “I can see that the clothes fit fairly well.”
“Oh, they’re very nice, ma’am,” Mazursky said.
“The cat’s pajamas,” Dexter added.
“We thought,” Mazursky said, “that we’d better hide our other clothes, in case the SS come here.”
“They wouldn’t dare come here,” said the Baroness.
“Well, they might, and we ought to be prepared,” Mazursky replied. “A couple of old soldiers like us know that anything can happen.”
The Baroness shrugged. “I suppose you could bury them out in the barn, if you think it’s necessary.”
“We also think it’s necessary that we have a place to hide ourselves.”
“How about the cellar?”
“The cellar will be the first place they’ll look.”
“How about the attic?”
“That’ll be the second place.”
“How about a nice closet?”“
“They’ll look in all the closets, and under the beds, and in the barn. Is there any secret place in this house?”
The Baroness made a haughty face. “Secret place? There are no secret places in my home, sir. Why should there be?”
“For situations like this.”
“But no situation like this has ever arisen before in the entire history of m
y family.”
Mazursky looked at Dexter. “We’ll have to search the place and see what we can find.”
The Countess laid down her knife and wiped her hands on a cloth. “I think I know of a place where the gentlemen can hide.”
“Where?” asked the Baroness.
“All of you come with me, and I’ll show you.”
She led them through a series of rooms and corridors to the huge living room, where a fire was burning in the fireplace. It had the usual paintings and animal heads on the walls, and suits of armor in the corners. It also had piano, a record player, and a radio.
“They can hide in here,” the Countess said brightly.
“Where in here?” asked the Baroness.
“You can’t think of any place where they can hide in here?”
The Baroness looked around. “None whatsoever.”
“Neither can I,” said Mazursky.
“Me neither,” added Dexter.
The Countess smiled. “You see? The hiding place is so good, none of you are aware that it’s here. Guess again.”
The Baroness, Mazursky, and Dexter looked around the room.
“In the piano?” asked the Baroness.
“No, silly.”
“Up the chimney?” asked Mazursky.
“That would be unbearably hot for you, Sergeant.”
“You wouldn’t have to light the fire.”
“Then the room would get cold, and we wouldn’t like to have a cold living room, would we?”
“I guess not.”
The Countess looked at Dexter. “Where do you think you can hide, Sergeant Dexter?”
“How about underneath your dress?”
The Countess blushed. “You’re being naughty.”
“Sorry.”
“Can’t you think of a good hiding place in here?”
Dexter looked around the room again. “I can’t see anything.”
“Then I’ll have to show you, won’t I?” The pretty brunette Countess walked to one of the suits of armor and tapped the helmet. “In here.”
“In there?” the Baroness asked, a bit bewildered.
“Certainly. Sergeant Mazursky and Sergeant Dexter will merely put on these suits of armor and stand still, if anybody comes looking for them. No one would ever dream that they’re in the armor.”
Mazursky smiled. “Hey, that’s a pretty good idea.”
Doom Platoon Page 15
