46 - Four Dead Nazis

From an inner coat pocket, Leroy produced a flask. He unscrewed the top and took a small swig. His sister brought him a candle, and he held it in his free hand.

"This story," he said without preamble, "is called

FOUR DEAD NAZIS

There is a memorial on the lawn outside Dagon's Hollow's library. To the dead of all wars that folks from Dagon's Hollow had fought in. When James Lochlear had left for Europe, only the dead of the Great War were chiseled onto the stone. Now he watched the names of men he'd shipped out and served with go up. Hans had taken a bullet on Omaha Beach. Steve had been bitten by a rat in France; the infection took him. James was the only one who made it to Berlin. To the finish, and then back home.

It wasn't the ghosts of his friends that haunted James Lochlear, though. They were there, just in the corners of his peripheral vision. The sounds of their footsteps matched his own as he walked.

The ladies of the house by the railroad didn't give him a freebie, even for a retired soldier with bullet scars and bronze stars. The Lady might have offered James a discount, but he wouldn't hear of it. Hans, Steve, and James had spent their last night before shipping out to basic in that house. Coming back here felt like closing the circle. Paying the ladies less would have been an insult.

James had gone to high school with Amy Commons. He never expected to find her with peroxide hair in pink garter belt and stockings, a bra that didn't cover her nipples. The memory of erections past had him take her hand. She smiled in recognition. Maybe more than one former high school classmate had paid for a night with her. Right then, he didn't care.

She helped him out of his jacket. Pulled off his shirt. Fingers traced his scars. Her brown eyes found his, the painted lips in the most kissable pout he had ever seen.

"How many?" she asked.

"Four," he said. "Four dead Nazis."

Her smile was genuine. She sat him down at the bed, undid his belt. Pulled down pants and boxers. James couldn't remember how often he'd thought of this, over there. A warm mouth wrapped around his cock. A sweet woman who was happy to see him, if only for the money in his wallet.

"Tell me about it?" she asked, as she peeled back his foreskin. Her tongue as hot as he had imagined. She was slow, methodical. Like when they shared science class together, diligent in taking notes, solving problems.

"December of '44. Battle of Metz. We were out on a night patrol, made contact. The others bought it, I got separated. Moving through unfamiliar streets, low on ammo. I needed to get back to my own lines, but I got lost in the streets. Then I saw them."

The wet schluck-schluck-schluck of Amy's head bobbing on his cock filled the small room. He didn't touch her hair. Just leaned back, eyes staring at nothing. The figures in the periphery of his vision were more distinct now.

"Four of them. Three troopers and an officer, breaking into a house. I heard screams, a shot—moved around to the back and peeked through a window. It was a bedroom. A dark-haired woman arguing with the officer in German. He didn't look impressed. There was a dead man on the floor. A young blonde woman huddled in the corner. Finally, they reached...an agreement. The older woman—couldn't be more than thirty-six or thirty-seven—took off her clothes and laid on the bed. Typical housewife body. Big breasts, dark nipples, a little flabby but not unattractive. The troopers tied her arms and legs to the bedposts so that she hung there, exposed. The young woman got on her knees when the officer ordered it. The men set their rifles aside, began to take off their pants."

Amy slurped hard on the head of James' pecker, holding it in her mouth as she began to stroke his shaft.

"The officer, her painted something on the bound, naked woman. A red star, in five red lines on her stomach. What might have been astrological signs. He had a little brush, a jar of paint bright as blood. Said something I couldn't hear. Then they took turns. The young woman would suck them hard, and then they'd go hump the older woman, who was probably her mother. Four pent-up soldiers—well, that takes a while. More than one go each. The men didn't joke, though. Not nervous, either. Intent. I didn't know why at the time. That's when I saw the opportunity. They hadn't set a guard on the door."

The blonde rose, and pushed James back. Her brown eyes glittered with interest, even as she slid a rubber on his shaft.

"I worked my way back around to the front. The problem was there was four of them. One grenade would do them all at once, but the women...I opened the door as quiet as I could. There was chanting. The older woman was screaming. When the young woman saw me, she screamed too. One of the soldiers hit her. The blonde hair fell off. A wig. That was my opportunity."

Amy sank down on James' prick. Her inner walls gripped him tight.

"Eight shots," he said. "Close range. Blood and cordite hung in the air. I stared at four dead Nazis. A bound woman splattered with blood and mystic symbols. Her son—I saw it was a young man now, in a dress, his wig fallen off—just stared at us. Then he fumbled with my pants."

The blonde bottomed out, her buttocks pressed against his balls, frozen in horror.

"You let a man suck you off?" she said.

"I was in shock," James said, and his hands found her hips. Hard, callused hands. Behind her, he could see the four figures become more distinct. Could make out the swastikas on their uniforms. The bloody holes in their heads, where his bullets had torn into them from behind. "His mother said something. I didn't speak enough German to really understand what she was saying, but her son's mouth was warm, and the woman was still tied to the bed, German blood dripping into a cunny full of German cum. There was something wrong about that. I couldn't stop looking at it."

James' hips flexed, driving his dick just that little bit further into Amy's snatch. She huffed, caught off guard as the bedsprings whined. He was grinding into her, his thumb finding her clit.

"I was about to blow my load when the son pulled his mouth off and tugged me toward the bed. His mother actually spread her knees a little wider, and...there was something wrong with her eyes. Four of the points of the pentagram on her stomach had turned black, but the last one, the one pointed at her cum-filled slit, that was still red. I pushed my prick into that sloppy tunnel, and it was like something sucked me in. I exploded inside of her almost instantly. The last point of the star turned black, even as I pulled out. She said something then, but the voice didn't sound like hers. So I ran. All the way back to my lines, with my dick still hanging out."

Amy gasped. Quivered. Behind her, the four dead Nazis were clearly distinct now. Dead eyes watching. Not accusingly. Just bearing witness. He always saw them most clearly when he was about to cum.

When he closed his eyes, he could still hear that voice from the tied-up woman on the bed. It was a voice that conjured smells of used condoms and dirty underwear, of unwashed cunts and the taste of spit. He shuddered as his prick throbbed and filled the condom.

The blonde collapsed on top of him. Her fingers traced a bullet hole on his shoulder. Pussy squeezing, milking his jizz out.

"Did you have trouble sleeping, after?" she asked.

"No," James said, eyes focused past her shoulder, to the four dead Nazis that stood at the edge of the bed. "Waking up, though. That's a motherfucker."

Leroy passed the flask to Latoya. He blew out the candle, but a coal lingered for a long moment, and then started to rise again. With a scowl, he licked his fingers and pinched out the last spark.