Cold Reception

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Springtime in Paris. It was a lovely evening filled with promise. Danuta sat on the balcony to her apartment, watching the couples as they strolled along the Rue de Ville. She wore a long burgundy gown that fell to her ankles and button up boots. Her dark hair was piled high on her head and her pearl necklace looked stunning on her long, slim neck. It was still late afternoon and the club she planned to attend in the underground would not open for several hours yet. As she watched the soft rays of a setting sun illuminate the city she sipped tea from a delicate china cup.

It was 1947 and the horrors of war were behind her, but still not so far removed that she didn't occasionally wake screaming. The allies and the Soviet Union had already begun the cooling of relations that would lead to the cold war, but Danuta knew little of such things and cared even less. Her life revolved around sleeping late, eating well, the Paris nightlife and women. Now that things were returning to a semblance of normality she found herself lonely and pursuing that perfect girl again.

Thinking of that perfect girl reminded her of the only one she had ever found and that dark evening on a crowded dock where they had parted. She had been very lucky to have her, even for that fleetingly short time she mused. The Russian's final words had been a promise to meet her in Paris, but she had long since given up hope that it would come to pass.

I've been very lucky all around, she thought. Her parents had survived the years at Mauthausen and lived just up the road. Her father's Swiss accounts had remained intact throughout the war and they had faced none of the problems getting to them that many were experiencing. Her parents had found obtaining French citizenship easy with their reputations among the remains of the intelligentsia and once they had become citizens it had been easy for Danuta to obtain hers as well.

A gentle breeze fluttered the gauzy drapes of the open doors behind her and Danuta rose and moved inside. It was warm, but the breeze carried on it an unseasonable chill and the expatriate Pole had developed an intense dislike of the cold.

The interior of her home was tastefully decorated with antiques and expensive furnishings. She had all the money she would ever need and despite her expensive tastes she actually lived rather frugally. Glancing in the full-length mirror she had to smile. She was still young, still beautiful, but her eyes were far older than her body. The look in them was common in those who had survived the horrors of war; she saw that same quality in the eyes of many of the people she passed on the streets.

In some ways that look even helped. She was still young, but more and more often she was able to bring home the soft and pliant kind of bedmate she wanted. Of course the trade off was that they expected her to be older and wiser out of bed as well. Her youth and beauty still attracted those women who made her feel safe and secure out of bed, but inevitably they also wished her to play the innocent in bed. Her life was full, but not complete. She could have all she wanted, but the trade off was having to have multiple partners and she knew she longed for just one. One woman whom she could call her own who would be her husband out of bed and her wife once the lights were dimmed.

She moved gracefully to the sideboard and poured herself a tumbler of brandy. The air had not been that cold, but she felt a chill that she could not seem to shake. There was a discreet knock at the door to her apartment and Danuta went to open the heavy door, wondering as she did who it might be.

"Yes Pierre?" she said when she opened the door and recognized the old doorman.

"I am sorry to disturb you Mademoiselle, but there is someone at the door who wishes to see you,"

"Who is it?" Danuta asked curiously. She had not invited anyone over and Pierre knew her parents and small circle of friends well enough to admit them without calling on her if she were in.

"I do not know, she refused to give her name. She looks like a vagabond and spoke with such a barbarous accent that I could barely make out her words, should I send her away?"

Danuta paused to consider that. You met all kinds in the underground and occasionally one of the seedier types would try to attach themselves to a person of obvious means. She had been careful to be discreet and had only brought home women of obvious refinement; her first inclination was to have the aged doorman send this stranger packing.

On the other hand there were many people moving about now, detainees released from camps, displaced citizens returning home or looking for lost family. With her family's connections and reputation it was not infrequent that an exile Pole came hoping for assistance. Danuta still carried her mother's name and not infrequently some poor soul would find her, thinking she was her mother. Danuta was invariably kind to such people and sent them to her parent's house, where they would receive a warm welcome and help if it was within her father's means.

"No, Pierre, please send her up," Danuta said graciously. The old man smiled and nodded.

"You are such a gracious young lady, and your father's help to his countrymen is well known. France gained so much when you came to us to escape the Russians, but be wary mademoiselle, this woman I think is sick," he said then departed.

A few minutes passed and she wondered if perhaps the woman had decided her mission, had been a failure and departed while she spoke to Pierre. There came a knock at the door then, so gentle and hesitant she would have missed it had she not been expecting it. Danuta put on her best smile and opened the door, the least she could do would be to try and put this person at ease.

The woman at the door was tall, but bent and obviously ill. She wore ill-fitting boots and a man's trousers with a tattered gray coat that was obviously military surplus. A ragged cough that seemed to coming from lungs filled with water burst from her lips and Danuta involuntarily stepped back, her smile frozen on her face. The woman looked up then and tired to stand erect. She wore a scarf over her face that left only her eyes and part of her nose visible. Her hair was greasy, unkept and hung like rope from her scalp. The eyes were bloodshot and fevered, but somehow familiar.

"I promised I would meet you in Paris," she said haltingly in Russian.

"Annika?" Danuta mouthed. No words would come, but the eyes were unmistakable.

"I came, even if…it is only to say goodbye," she wheezed. With that she fell to the floor in a heap.

"Pierre!" Danuta screamed as she rushed to the fallen woman's side. He came pounding up the steps with two of the other bellmen. The three of them stopped and stared.

"Get her to my room, and fetch Doctor Roquefort," she snapped. While Pierre hurried off to get the Doctor the two others lifted Annika's body and deposited her on Danuta's bed. They both looked uncomfortable and she excused them both while she removed the scarf.

The Russian girl's brow was burning hot to the touch and her skin was flushed. Danuta unbuttoned the worn coat with shaking hands and stared in horror. Annika wore only a thin cotton shirt underneath the coat. Danuta could see every rib, her pelvic bones stood out and her shrunken stomach seemed almost to be collapsed. She pulled the dirty ragged shift off and tossed it to he floor. A jagged tear in the girl's side oozed yellow-green puss and the stench was so horrible Danuta fainted dead away.

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She paced nervously back and forth in front of the bedroom door and chain-smoked the expensive Turkish cigarettes that she usually only smoked when she was drinking at the clubs. She started at every sound from behind the closed door and it was all she could do not to disturb the doctor. Eventually the trim, bespectacled, white haired old man came out and poured himself a drink.

"Well?" Danuta burst out.

"I have lived though two world wars, but I have never seen anything like this. How the poor creature managed to get this far I will never know," he said slowly and took another slug of the cognac. His face was pale and he looked disturbed beyond words.

"What is it?" Danuta said after she allowed him to collect his thoughts.

"She is on the very edge of starvation, has pneumonia and the laceration in her side has become gangrenous,"

"Oh my God," Danuta said in a strangled voice and clutching at her throat.

"There, there child," the old man said, recovering some of his bedside manner.

"Will she live?" Danuta asked in a much firmer voice.

"Only God may answer that question, I have done all that man can do. I have cut away the diseased tissue and sutured the wound, if she survives there will be some scaring, but I fancy not as much as one would expect from such a wound. I can leave medicine for the infection if she means anything to you, if not I will have the city hospital send orderlies around to fetch her," the old doctor said uncertainly.

"She means a great deal to me, I will tend to her myself," Danuta said. "Very well, I will have medicine brought around. If she wakes she will be very thirsty, make sure you do not let her have more than a glass of water. She will want food, but she must be given only a small amount. Under no circumstances should she be allowed to eat more than a cup of rice,"

"Thank you doctor,"

"Her chances are very slim Mademoiselle, do not get your hopes up," he said as he left the apartment.

----

Men shouting, women screaming, fire, bullets, gnawing hunger, unendurable pain! Annika sat bolt upright. The images from her dream slowly faded and she collapsed back onto the soft bed. Bed? Where am I? Her eyes restlessly scanned her surroundings. Even in the semi darkness she could tell she was in a woman's bedroom. The appointments were rich beyond her wildest dreams and unmistakably feminine.

"You're awake at last," a softly accented voice said. Annika located the speaker in a wingback chair in the corner, but could make out no features in the darkness.

"Where am I?" she asked. Her voice sounded weak and tremulous.

"Paris," the voice said.

"How did I get here?"

"I thought to ask you the very same question," the voice replied with gentle amusement. Annika thought a long time before replying. Her words were hesitant and she was unsure of herself.

"My last clear memory is of escaping from a prisoner of war camp in Rumania. I was shot, or at least I think I was,"

"You were," the voice said.

"It's all cloudy after that. I ran…from who I'm not sure. I hid wherever I could and stole food when I was able. I…I had to get to Paris..I had to find someone," she said haltingly.

"You have found her," Danuta said moving into the weak light. She was beautiful beyond belief, but seemed terribly tired. She gave Annika a glass of water and the Russian found she suddenly had a burning thirst. Danuta started to speak, but Annika only closed her eyes. She had made it. She was there. Knowing that she surrendered to her body's demand for rest and slept.

-----

Summertime in Paris. The night was sultry and it's velvety darkness seemed filled with potential. Danuta sipped chilled wine from a crystal goblet and cast glances at her companion on the balcony. Annika sat across the table from her, drinking schnapps from a tumbler. It had been three months since the day she had shown up half dead at Danuta's door. The doctors were amazed at her recovery, but Danuta wasn't. She knew enough about Annika to know she was like iron, or more correctly, like tempered steel. She had come though fire and ice and her strength gave Danuta comfort.

Her recovery had been swift and like the Doctor predicted, there was only a small scar on her side. Three months of good food, bed rest and tender care had done wonders. Her lithe body had filled out again and was, if anything, more succulent than Danuta remembered. She had fought the impulse to make love to Annika for over a week now, but she knew tonight she would fight it no longer.

They had spent many hours talking, just getting to know one another again, but of the time after they parted on the dock Annika would not speak. Danuta had not pressed it, there were memories that she refused to dwell on too. Mostly she had talked of herself while her lover just listened. They seemed made for each other, not opposites, but complimentary parts. Danuta loved to talk and Annika loved to listen.

The Russian was raw, coarse around the edges and she had much to learn about society, but she was undeniably a presence that people respected. In time she would become as masterful in dealing with Paris society as she had been in the woods with a rifle, of this Danuta had no doubts. Already she had caused a stir, wearing a man's trousers and coat rather than a gown. Annika was so strong and confident that people accepted this peculiarity with only a second glance and perhaps a shrug. Her society friends and parents were easily convinced it was a Russian tradition and her reputation for killing Germans had earned her the respect of many of the citizens in Paris.

Danuta had tactfully let it be known that Annika was the famed Snow Witch, never being loud or obvious in her desire to have the word spread. A visit from members of the Allied Control Council and some carefully greased palms in the press had turned Annika into a minor celebrity. Danuta had engineered this quietly, working to assure Annika of a place in Paris from which she could be herself without facing any of the conventions that bound most women to a subservient role in society. Danuta had carefully crafted this position for Annika. A position that allowed her to be exactly what they both wanted. Annika would be her husband, her protector and shield from life's unpleasantries. It was a role that suited her well and one that the Russian woman was proud to take. Tonight Danuta planned to begin molding Annika into what she wanted behind closed doors. The dark-eyed young Pole relished the thought.

"Let's go inside," she said with a coy smile. Annika smiled and drained her tumbler of Schnapps before rising and following Danuta into the apartment. Danuta had intentionally slept in the guest bedroom once Annika was past the danger point and on her way to recovery. She made every effort to titillate her lover, but had thus far not allowed it to get physical. When she turned and saw the hunger in Annika's eyes she felt a shiver of excitement pass through her small body.

Annika was precious, obviously in heat, but still too shy to do anything other than stand there, looking delicious. Danuta stepped forward boldly and dragged her lover's face down to her own. The smaller woman thrust her tongue against Annika's soft, yielding lips and felt a thrill when they parted. She tangled her hand in the Russian girl's hair and began to explore her mouth. She felt the girl's soft lips against her own and tasted the warmth of her mouth. Annika tasted of schnapps and Danuta thrilled at the softness of her tongue when it hesitantly caressed her own. She felt the girl's small even teeth, the roughness of the roof of her mouth and the silky softness of her inner cheeks. Annika's tongue stroked her tongue, slithering over it and under it, but never once did the Russian attempt to enter Danuta's mouth with it.

She was such a prefect woman, Danuta thought as her hands quickly slipped from Annika's head to her trousers. Annika's clothes thrilled her when they were out, but Danuta would have preferred her in girdle, bra and nylons now or even in a sexy corset. Perhaps she would try to convince Annika to wear such things under her suits, perhaps not. For now she wanted Annika naked and vulnerable.

Danuta's experienced hands quickly stripped Annika while never breaking the searing kiss. She reveled in the feeling of Annika's satin skin beneath her hands as they glided up and down the quivering Russian's flanks and hips. Her hands slipped around and gently cupped Annika's ass. The skin was warm and the cheeks felt so soft and heavy in her hands. A soft moan escaped the Russian's mouth as she threw her head back.

Danuta moved quickly to bring her lips to the Russian's exposed neck, while firmly clamping down on her ass. She licked and nuzzled, moving slowly from the nape of Annika's neck to the bottom of her chin. Her hands kneaded Annika's cheeks and when her finger dipped between them to her delight she found Annika's nether lips were already slick with her juices. Danuta managed to work her finger between those lips and into Annika's tight passage, causing the Russian to moan again.

Annika's silken interior walls gently clenched and relaxed on the polish girl's still finger. The exquisite sensation caused a spasm of pleasure to shoot through the little Pole and she licked down Annika's chest, into the valley between her breasts. Danuta licked wildly, coating the insides of those wonderful globes with saliva before she finally took a straining nipple in her mouth. Annika's hips were jogging now, unconsciously fucking herself on Danuta's finger. The polish girl closed her lips tightly, a little behind the puckered aureole and sucked hard, causing Annika to whimper.

"You like that don't you my love?" Danuta whispered after she released Annika's breast.

"Yes," Annika replied.

"Help me out of my gown," she said as she turned and presented her back to the taller woman. Annika quickly moved to help her disrobe. Beneath her gown Danuta wore only white knee stockings and her boots. Annika's eyes seemed move from her breasts to her pussy and back. Danuta took her hand and led the hesitant woman to her bedroom. Once there she gently pushed Annika back onto the bed

"Do you remember our first night? In the barn?" she asked as she climbed onto the bed and situated herself between Annika's legs.

"Yes,"

"Tell me what you remember," she said as she began to nuzzle the Russian girl's neck.

"It was dark and quiet. I remember the smell of hay, the gentle falling of the snow and the softness of your skin," Annika said before letting out a low moan as Danuta's tongue crossed over her collar bone.

"What else?' the polish girl inquired as her tongue slid gently down the slope of Annika's breasts.

"I remember your kiss, the sweetness of your lips, the smell of your hair. The way your eyes looked and the gentleness of your hands on my body,"

"Go on," she said before her mouth enveloped one of Annika's stiff nipples.

"I…Ohhh…I remember how good your mouth felt on me and the intensity of it all…why do you ask?"

"I just wondered," Danuta said as she playfully flicked her tongue over Annika's stiff nipple. The Russian girl tangled her hands in Danuta's hair and tried to pull her head down, but the pole refused to be guided.

"I remember how much I wanted you. How I wanted to fuck you," the Pole said quietly. Annika looked at her quizzically and cocked her head to one side, causing the smaller girl to chuckle.

"You did not know this could be done?"

"I did not think… I mean… can it?"

"Yes luv, it can. But we shall save that for another evening. Tonight I wish only to feel your skin on mine and to make you feel good. Would you like that?"

"I have dreamed of nothing else since the day we parted," Annika said.

Danuta smiled and began to kiss and lick her way down Annika's flat tummy towards her thick pubic triangle. She ran her tongue briefly through the delicate forest of curls before finding the Russian girl's slick lips. She could tell by the aroma that Annika was already ready. If she needed any other proof the bounty she found between Annika's silky lips was more than enough. The flavor was different than she remembered, less sweet and more musk, but it was still heavenly. Danuta curled her tongue between Annika's lips and scooped up as much as she could. Annika moaned and her hands went to Danuta's head as her back arched.