[Fanfic] Author Self Insert fucks Violette Summers

Many thanks to Brave44 on Twitter for the renders this chapter was practically based on.

Violette had failed her mission, failed the citizens of this quaint little French village that nursed her back to health, and now she was to meet whatever fate the German soldiers surrounding her thought was most fitting. To make matters worse, the dreaded Dirlewanger Brigade, hated by even the Waffen-SS themselves, surrounded her - and with her elimination of them, a fate worse than was to be expected.

As the SOE Agent lay on the cold dirt in front of the burning church in a revealing hospital gown, she last saw a black Volkswagen Staff Car pull up to her location before collapsing from exhaustion. Out of the Volkswagen came a German officer, his face half-burnt while another Opel Blitz truck was coming to their location.

The German officer was a few feet away from the passed-out Violette, and many of the soldiers behind him were mesmerized by what was to come. The perfect distraction for the new Opel Blitz truck to reveal a special weapon: Four 2-centimeter barrels aimed at them and rapidly pumping out lead as soldiers attempted to hide behind the stonewalls and tombstones around the church to no avail, with their commanding officer being the first of its victims.

The side of the Opel Blitz had its canvas ripped as the driver jumped out of the supply truck to admire his work or examine the brutal scene he was witnessing, only to notice the passed out woman at the front of the building to which he quickly rushed to her and checked her pulse for any signs of life, quickly relieved to find that she was alive. However, neither of them would be if they stay any longer near the burning church.

Putting a hand behind the back of her head and in between her legs, the stranger carried Violette to the back of the staff car and drove somewhere, anywhere but there - though the fear of stopping at a checkpoint was still there, the whole town was seemingly empty of any life. Though it was expected from the locals, the occupiers were also missing, and every red and white striped guardhouse was unoccupied.

Leaving the little village to itself, the British agent began waking up and was utterly confused as to where she was, or who was driving her. Carefully, she rose from the seat to glance at who the driver was, only for her apparent captor to speak up, spotting her move from the rearview mirror.

"You're awake," The stranger made clear, "don't worry, the Nazis are gone now. They even left us this car for free."

Violette, unarmed without as much as a knife to protect her, sat in the middle of the backseat. If this was an execution, it wasn't one she couldn't escape much, though entertaining the driver with some questions was better than a quiet ride to wherever he was taking her, "What's your exact affiliations? You don't exactly sound French."

"I pick up crashed pilots." One hand waved as he said so but kept his eyes glued to the road, "Plenty of reconnaissance missions from Britain get shot down. The Opel Blitz that I stole was in an attempt to stop any more crash landings in the area, temporarily, while coordinating with the RAF. I don't know if you heard the Anti-Aircraft gun a few minutes ago, but the sky should be clear for the night."

"I believe I was knocked a few minutes ago." Then she grabbed both the passenger and driver seat, launching herself forward, "Wait, I believe you just said that you were working with the RAF?"

And the driver nodded, "That I am. I can contact some friends in London if you'd like, though evacuation may take a while." Pointing over the distance came the shape of a small building, though the nighttime made it rather impossible to determine what it really was, "That there is the hideout I've been sending pilots into, and I don't believe you're any different... other than your lady bits."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Violette crashed back into the backseat, "And I don't suppose you have any 'lady clothes?'"

"I believe I can provide some modesty for you at the hideout, but until then, the hospital gown will be the only thing to keep you warm."

After a while of driving, the staff car finally reached what seemingly was a farm, with a windmill and mossy stone wall fences surrounding the property, something similar to the farm that the British assassin was roaming around in, hunting down the officer that was finally annihilated in a hail of anti-aircraft fire.

Hiding the staff car in a shed to avoid suspicion, the driver had instructed Violette to follow him in which she did so with an abrupt burst of energy, considering that the failure of her rescuing the civilians in that burning church was enough to knock her , alongside having to fight through the Dirlewanger brigade before that.

Inside, Radio Londres was playing, with a British announcer sending 'heartwarming' personal messages to the nearby French villages. Something that the driver had to listen closely to when it came to his job, and something he kept turned on for Violette to listen to.

On a table next to it was bulky radio equipment, "And that's how I'm supposed to contact our friends in London." The driver said pointing to the device.

Sitting down on an armchair, Violette collapsed and melted on the furniture, "I suppose I cannot wait to get out of here, though a bed will suffice for the time being. Have you any whiskey and cigars, Mr...?"

And the driver opened a few cupboards, "Michael, Michael works; and I do have whiskey and cigars, Miss..."

"Mrs. Summers, Violette Summers."

"Ahh." Michael then produced some whiskey with a cigar balanced on the brim of the glass, bringing alongside a zippo in his pockets.

"Funny you say that you help pilots as my husband was one," once she received the whiskey, half of it was gone in a gulp while the cigar was lit between her fingers, "until one day, he was shot down with the body never being found. That's why I chose to join the SOE, Michael."

Walking towards a wardrobe and inspecting the items inside, the driver had picked clothes seemingly for a slimmer man, alongside socks for a soldier, "Unfortunate to hear that Mrs. Summers, truly is. It bothers me when I hear news of paratroopers or any airman being lost out here, dead or alive, it doesn't make a difference."

Returning with articles of clothing, they were placed on Violette's lap as she put down the glass of whiskey. Before Michael could excuse himself, his arm was grabbed and he looked down to witness her squinting eyes, and whatever little makeup remained, "You remind me of my husband somewhat. Michael, I don't suppose you're of Welsh stock?"

"Essex actually," he chuckles, "but people have asked the same before."

It took a while, but Violette eventually released her grip of the man's arm, "I'm sorry, it's been a while since I've met a man who has been helpful to me these last couple of weeks so my instincts have simply forgotten what a friend was."

"It's quite alright. I suppose you should get dressed however, it gets chilly at night." Downing the last of her whiskey and snuffing out the cigar, Violette took the pile of clothes on her lap and disappeared behind a room with Michael listening closely to the radio.

A few minutes passed and the driver had finished cooking a local dish before delivering it to the room where his guest was staying at. Though with no hands to knock on the door, Michael had softly kicked the door agape, but before he could enter, he witnessed a rather marvelous scene.

Violette Summers, who had removed her gown for the socks in what he imagined was an interrupted session of getting dressed, was masturbating. Witnessing her bite on her lip as she changed how her fingers worked while inside of her cunt, the British agent was simply lost in bliss in her activity.

Being the good host he is, Michael had taken a few steps back from the room and found someplace nearby to place the plate of food on top of before closing the door, only for the creaking of the entrance to give him away with man and woman staring at one another with either shock or awe.

"I can pretend that I never saw you, Mrs. Summers, and give you that modesty I was talking ab-" And he was immediately cut off by Violette who gestured at him.

"No, that can wait in the morning, Michael. You've said before that you've been receiving pilots for quite a while now but not enough women to accommodate women's clothing, correct?" Spreading her legs further, Violette smirked and showed off the tightness of her womanhood, "I haven't had a man that wasn't trying to kill me for quite a while, Michael. Surely the two of us can compromise just for one night?"

Awestruck by such an invite, Violette had turned around and plunged two fingers of her into her rim while her other hand was showcasing her cunt, splitting the labia in half and letting them close until the host had come inside the room and closed the door before approaching the woman on the floor, and tossing her onto her bed - ass hanging.

Kneeling down in front of the British Agent's asscheeks, Michael had his tongue dampen the rim of her clitoris, and no further, pushing forward instead to her vagina which he dug deep with the assistance of a middle finger.

His trousers were progressively loosening after his boots and socks were removed from Michael's person until they too were removed, freeing his stiffening cock as it ached to be inserted inside the woman which invited him into the room. Unable to restrain himself, Michael stood up and aligned his penis at her cunt, letting the tip of his manhood enter first before slowly feeding his girt, inch by inch, opening her tight pussy.

Violette moans lowly as she sent over a finger to soothe her aching womanhood, grunting the further Michael fed himself inside of her. As the man was nearing her cervix, she bit on her finger in an attempt to shush herself but failed to do so, resulting in her uttering, "Come fuck me harder, Michael!"

Picking up the pace, the man obliged and aggressively thrust his hips as the British agent unsuccessfully suppressed her moans, pounding the pillow with her fist instead while her other hand rubbed the outer rim of her womanhood. Michael grabbed her by the waist and pulled her ass in the air to which Violette complied as she stood on her knees.

Instinctively, the man raised a hand and gave one of her asscheeks a slap and the British agent howled in bliss, "Yes! Awh yes. Michael, do anything to my cunt!"

"I have to say Mrs. Summers, you're rowdier than the horniest of French whore around these parts." Finally reaching the farthest his dick could get to. With no other options left, he simply enjoyed the free reign of his making, "I don't suppose you have the same reservations as they do."

"Oh, ooooh?..." Violette manages to utter, all the while the only friendly man for miles was clapping her cheeks like no tomorrow, "and what- would tha- hat be?"

"You can't- cum- inside them." He promptly replied between grunts. Violette reached for her rear and gave the same asscheek he had slapped a while ago another imprint of a hand.

"Cum inside! Cum inside as much as you like." And he complied. As he picked up the pace and hold onto her hips, feeding her his cock, lubricated only by her juices while the woman herself buried her face on the pillow to preserve a shred of dignity, muffling the uncontrollable moaning of hers.

Burying deep into the British Woman, Michael felt his cock jolt and slowly pulled out an inch or two before going back in, eventually climaxing and emptying himself deep inside her cervix. It took half a minute or so, but eventually he pulled out to see that most of his cum was trapped inside Violette, "Was it a safe night, ma'am?"

The lower body of Violette collapsed, lying down on the stone cold floor, only to be lifted by the naked Michael who had her placed on the bed. He could see that her energy was sucked out of her, and knocking that she went through a lot tonight, he should've guessed so, but at least there was a simper on her face, "Whatever happens, happens. I suppose it's goodnight now?"

"Afraid it is." And then he stepped away, letting the woman to cover herself in a blanket leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Once locked, he touched the food that he made and settled down, "Cold. Hmm, best to not let it go to waste."

As the morning came and the two woke, there was an awkwardness between the two adults. Violette, however, was finally in some warm clothes, though made no further advancements while inspecting her belly for some kind of sign, while Michael sat next to the bulky radio in his home, typing in morse code every now and then until the evening.

That night, a truck stopped by the hideout. Before Michael or Violette answered, there was a flashing of a light at the windows, signifying that it was the Maquis coming to pick the British spy for transport.

As the woman was about to leave, she turned around halfway through the door, "Do you believe we'll see one another after this war?"

"If I get to go home, I'll come look for a Violette Summers in London." With one last nod, the agent had left, and the pilot rescuer was left alone, watching as the truck disappear beyond a hill...