Love's raining

The rain was falling harder now, like the war drums that had died down, but in the Chelsea mansion, the three captains’ pulse was beating faster than ever. The Belgian wine had long since run out, the glasses were scattered on the floor, and the dim light from the table lamp made their long, muscular shadows dance on the walls. Clothes were no longer an obstacle—only skin, sweat, and heavy breathing.

Femke de Wit, the Tulip Captain, lay on the couch, her 193-centimeter body like a muscular but supple mountain. The muscles of her arms rippled beneath her fair Dutch skin, and her firm breasts rose and fell with each breath. Her blue eyes were darker now, full of lust. He had pulled Peggy against him, his giant hands gripping her slender but strong waist. Peggy, with her brown hair tousled and her lips red from Femke's kisses, sat on Femke's powerful thighs, her body bent forward, her breasts pressed against his.

"Femke... God, you're strong," Peggy whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. She reached down, her fingers sliding over Femke's smooth, muscular stomach, until she felt the heat between her legs. Femke let out a deep groan—a sound that seemed to come from deep within the earth—and raised her hips, pressing Peggy closer to her. Peggy's fingers were now inside Femke, slowly but surely, like a precise mission. Femke threw back her head, her blond hair spilling onto the couch, and with her free hand, she grasped Peggy's breast, squeezing the tip between her fingers.

Didier Dukas, the Belgian captain, approached them from behind. Her supple body coiled around Femke like a snake. She was on her knees, her lips dancing on Femke’s waist, wet, hot kisses that reached lower, to Femke’s firm buttocks. “Let the Belgians wreak some havoc,” Deide said with a mischievous laugh, and then she put her tongue to work—slow, wet, and cruel. Femke let out a strangled scream, her body shaking with intense pleasure, the muscles in her thighs tightening. Deide wrapped her arm around Femke’s thigh, her fingers joining Peggy’s, and now both women were driving Femke to the brink of madness in a synchronized rhythm.

“Deide… Peggy… I… can’t…” Femke gasped, but Peggy pressed her lips to Femke’s, a deep, rough kiss that smothered every word. Deide was now on top, her body pressed between Peggy and Femke. He pushed Peggy back, so that Peggy lay on top of Femke, and then he on top of them both. The three bodies were now one—sweaty, hot, and restless. Deide put her hand between Peggy’s legs, her fingers now possessing Peggy with the same skill she had used in infiltrating Nazi bases. Peggy moaned, rubbed her hips against Femke, and with one powerful movement, Femke lifted them both—as if they were weightless—and switched places.

Femke was on top now, like a war goddess. He placed Deide beneath him, spread her knees, and thrust his strong fingers into Deide—deep, fast, relentless. Deide screamed, her dark hair spreading to the floor, and her legs wrapped around Femke’s waist. Peggy was teasing him, her hand between her legs, but Femke pulled her up and placed her on Deedee’s face. “Sit down, Commander,” Femke said with a wild smile. Peggy obeyed, and Deedee licked her with a greedy tongue, while Femke drove Deedee to climax with her hands and hips.

The room was full of sound – moans, screams, the sound of skin on skin. Femke was now bringing Deedee to orgasm, Deedee’s body arching as if she had been struck by lightning. Peggy was close too, Deedee’s tongue and Femke’s fingers now reaching her, driving her crazy. And Femke? She was the last, when Peggy and Deedee attacked her together – one with her tongue, one with her fingers – Femke exploded like a volcano. His huge body shook, he let out a loud scream that seemed to wake all of London, and then he fell on them, panting, sweating, content.

Minutes later, in silence, the three women were intertwined. Femke in the middle, Peggy and Deedee on either side. The rain was still falling, but now it was like a lullaby. Deedee laughed, a tired but happy voice: “The best sabotage of my life.”

Peggy stroked Femke’s hair. “Mission successful.”

Femke just smiled, her blue eyes closed. The war was over, but this battle—this love—had only just begun.