A Gentle Hand

The heavy steel door creaked open as Sophia turned the handle. She held the bandages in her left hand and two wine glasses in her right. Under her arm was tucked a bottle of champagne. The man's head snapped to attention, his eyes wide and blooshot. "Bitte, Mein Herr, sie sind Krank. Darf ich deine Wunden kleiden?" Sophia asked, hoping her German was correct as she asked if she could tend to his wounds. It'd been a number of years since she'd learned the language. The man looked from side to side with a panicked desperation. "Sprechen sie Russisch? Französisch?"

He perked up at something. Sophia had to tread very carefully here. "Französisch?" she repeated. His head whipped from side to side again as he gritted his teeth. She slowly approached the interrogator's table and sat the wine glasses and champagne upon it. Up close, she could see the wound was ghastly, but not yet infected. Whatever had happened to him had happened recently. She slowly pulled the wooden chair back and sat so that she wasn't facing him, but rather slumped her shoulders and looked into the corner of the room. Her goal was not to frighten him.

Sophia retrieved a hand wrapped cigar from her jacket along with a cigar cutter. When she affixed it to the end of the cigar, the man visibly tensed. Her brilliant blue eyes noted his discomfort as she quickly snipped the end off. "My God, surely they didn't..." she thought to herself, but he soon settled. "Haben sie Feuer?" she asked casually.

She tried not to show any signs of excitement as he patted his jacket pockets. He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a book of matches with a shaky hand. "Bitte." she said, leaning over with the cigar in her mouth. She hoped it wasn't too much for him, but was pleased when his gaze lingered on her voluptuous cleavage. She stole glances at him as his shaking fingers fumbled to open the matchbox. He nearly spilled it onto the table before successfully grabbing one. She waited patiently as he struck the side three times before the match head caught.

As she leaned in, she noticed his hands steadied as he cupped the flame. Simple motor functions are often the first to return, especially those done almost subconsciously. She leaned in, and dared to meet his eyes as she lined up the cigar with the flame. He held her gaze for a moment as the flare of the match illuminated her brilliant blue eyes. She broke away first, collapsing back into her chair as she puffed the cigar to life. There she sat, puffing calmly and silently.

"J...Ja ich... I speak French." he finally said in the Gallic tongue.

Sophia was delighted, as that meant not only was he speaking, but she didn't have to stretch her conversational German any further. Still, she didn't want to push things to quickly. Slowly, and gently; she arose from her seat and approached the steel door, rapping on it with her fingers. She could hear the man start to scratch his scars, but pretended to not be paying attention.

The guard cracked the door, and Sophia whispered to him. The man's eyes locked on them briefly before his chin sank and he began to sob as he desperately clawed at his wounds. Stadti or not, this man was suffering. Sophia harshly whispered something else, and the guard disappeared.

Sophia sat back in her chair and puffed her cigar casually. "Do you smoke?" she asked. This caused the man's head to snap to attention. He seemed to think for a moment.

"Ja...yes, I smoke." he said. Sophia pulled a silver cigarette holder from her hip pocket, opened it, and produced an unfiltered Turkish tobacco cigarette. She pulled one out slowly, held it's end to her lit cigar until it was sparked, and lazily offered it to him. The man looked at it for a moment before his head snapped quickly from to side. Finding no demons, he extended a trembling hand to accept it.

The door opened, and the guard came in. The man stood up, and quickly retreated to a corner of the room. "Set them down, and leave immediately!" Sophia barked. The guard, shocked at the forcefulness of the command, sat a record player down on the table, as well as fresh pair of socks. "Get out. Now!" Sophia bellowed. The guard beheld the scene, shook his head in confusion, and retreated.

Sophia slumped her shoulders, making sure the man could see the full glory of her cleavage. "I'm sorry, Mein Herr. The help is...rather crude." The Stadti crouched in a dark corner, his eyes seeking phantoms. "Please, come back to the table. I want to play some music." Sophia said as she plugged the player into a wall outlet.

The lumbering, calming tones of Edith Piaf's "Non Je ne Regrette Rien" began to waft through the room. The Stadti soldier returned to his chair. Sophia did not react, but rather took a deep drag off of the cigar as the music swelled. He puffed on his cigarette, each drag slower and calmer than the one before.

'Were you stationed in France?" Sophia asked casually. Sophia held her composure as she saw what she was waiting for. A slight upturn of the lip.

"Ja." he said, taking a deep drag off of his cigarette.

"You liked it there?" Sophia asked, puffing her cigar as she turned to face him, her eyes still averted.

"Ja... Ich... I did." he said, taking a more forceful drag. This was the crucial moment. He was on the cusp of remembering his former life. Edith Piaf's voice swelled with the music as Sophia stood up. She stretched casually, exposing her shaven sex.

"Can I bandage your wounds?" she asked. The Stadti, listening to the music and smoking his cigarette, just nodded. Sophia smiled as she walked behind him. "Lift your arms." she said. He saw the logic in this and complied. Sophia wrapped the white bandages around him a number of times until the wrap was expended.

"Do you have a wife in France?" she asked coyly. The man tensed up briefly, but soon relaxed.

"No, no wife. I have some breeding girls though." he said. Sophia smiled outwardly, but wanted to cave his skull in.

"That sounds nice." Sophia said, hiding the venom in her thoughts at the idea of yet another generation of Fascists to fight. Sophia popped the cork on the champagne , poured it, and offered it to the man.

"What is this for?" he asked.

Sophia stood up, and walked around the table. He looked at her intently. She held the glass out to him. Cautiously, he accepted.

"You are alive. That is celebration enough." she said. His trembling hand reached out to accept the champagne glass. Sophia slapped her thighs and stood up.

"I almost forgot! I got you something!" she said. His head whipped around for a moment, but settled again on her.

"Socks!" she said. She saw him tense up, but then melt as she presented the thick, wool socks.

"I...I can't believe it!" he said. Sophia nodded enthusiastically as she pulled his worn leather boots away. The man was absolutely beaming at her as she slid the old, worn socks off of his feet and slid the new, warm wool socks onto them. Sophia smiled up at him as she rested her hands on his knees before rising up slightly. His expression stayed the same as her hands slid up onto his thighs. Sophia took a drag from the cigar, and sat it down on the table with the cherry laying off the edge.

She stayed there until he looked at her. She met his eyes, finally. He looked at her, not trembling. She nodded slowly as she felt his hands at the sides of her face. Sophia insinuated herself onto his lap before her mouth was inches above his crotch.

"Ja?" she asked, her eyes upturned.

"Ja." he said. Sophia smiled. She had him. She quickly unbuttoned his trousers as Edith Piaf's song reached it crescendo. His thick, white cock sprang out, and Sophia engulfed it, cigar smoke lazily rising from her mouth as her luscious lips slid down his shaft. As she took inch after inch into her throat, she felt his body relax.

Soon, he would tell her everything she wished to know.