Semper F***

When she stood up, I saw she was moderately tall and slender. She wore a miniskirt with what was left of her shirt, and her thighs were youthfully thin. Her slender calves led to a pair of pink canvas shoes, eastern bloc knockoffs of old Chuck Taylors. Her belly was flat, but her hips had a very appealing curve to her cinched waist. Her breasts were smallish but stood out proudly with the firmness of a woman that has just reached maturity. She had one hot little body.

I'm not entirely positive of what happened next, but I think it went like this. I saw that there was a load stuck to the back of her skirt, and tried to brush it off with downward strokes of my hand. Not able to see what I was doing, she thought that I was tugging down on her skirt. She was of the mindset that the only way she was going to live through this was to let the soldiers do whatever they wanted to her, and so she interpreted my brushing as trying to tell her to take her skirt off. Next thing I know, she undoes the button and zipper on her skirt, tosses it to her knees, and drops her drawers as well. "No, that's not..." I started to say, but she never looked at me—she just dropped to her knees and unzipped my pants. "No, stop..." I said—but at the same time, my dick was erect from the sight of her body. I reached down to guide her hand away from my penis, but she interpreted it as my helping pull my pants out of the way so as to free my penis—and when she got my drawers down, it sprang out from my zipper like a jack-in-the-box. Without hesitation, she wrapped her lips around my junk—it was just another dick to suck. Half-panicked at the thought of how many germy knobs had just been in there, I pushed against her shoulders to get her mouth away from my dick, and in my alarm pushed harder than I intended. Still not looking at me, she again misinterpreted my action, thinking I was telling her to lie on the floor and be quick about it, so that's what she did. She rolled onto her back, lifted and spread her legs, and began to rub herself. I imagine she was trying to get herself at least a little wet to minimize chafing, since she expected to be imminently penetrated whether she was ready of not.

I tried to speak, but conflicting thoughts prevented anything from coming out. Part of me still wanted to say "no, I'm not going to rape you." But another part of me was now beside itself with lust. It had been a long time since I'd last had sex, and now this woman was laying naked on the floor before me. Cognitively I knew she wasn't rubbing herself because she wanted me, but at a deep physiological level I couldn't help but respond as if she did. Torn between logic and lust, a series of almost evil thoughts ran through my head. One, her box had not been fucked yet; I could fuck it without being exposed to the collective germs of the Third Army. Two, officially I wasn't here. Even if this girl told everyone in the world she'd been raped by an American, no one would believe her, because there were no Americans here! I'd been asked once, hypothetically, would I rape a girl if I was sure I could get away with it—I never imagined I'd actually be in that situation. As I fought with myself, my eyes remained transfixed on the girl she rubbed her clit with her fingers.

She was just so sexy lying there... I REALLY wanted to fuck that slender belly, and there wasn't a damn thing in the world stopping me except myself. Hell, she was totally expecting it. I rationalized to myself that if I had sex with her it wouldn't be rape because (1) she expected it, (2) she was masturbating in preparation for it, and (3) she had done nothing to communicate that she didn't want to have sex with me—well, except for the fact that she never looked at me even once. Without consciously making the decision, I found myself loosening my buckle, pulling down my pants, kneeling between her open thighs. I was literally trembling as I lined my dick up with her slit—not from fear, but from excitement at the thought of penetrating those milky white thighs. My dick brushed against her hand; she responded by lifting it and lying it next to the other above her head in a submissive posture, as if saying "do what you have to do." And so I plunged in and fucked her, half-mesmerized by the exquisitely female body before me. It almost felt like it wasn't me, like I was watching someone else fuck her, even as I tensed up and filled her belly with jizz.

I rolled off her quickly as soon as I was done and zipped up, hoping that no one had seen my indiscretion. I pulled out the bottles and repeated the speech I'd given the two girls earlier—only she didn't understand English like they had. Her eyes widened at the "International Observer" emblazoned on my chest, but although I tried every language I knew, I could not convey to her what I was trying to give her and why. I tried to mime being pregnant and then crossing it out, but she had no idea what I was trying to convey. I was only successful at getting her to understand that one was "Mifegyne" and one was "Penicillin." I could only hope she had some way to figure out what they were for, but really, why wouldn't she just throw them all down the toilet? I had just screwed her; for all she knew, I was trying to poison her. She definitely was just wanting me to go away, and I didn't blame her.

Eventually I decided that the best I could do for her was relieve the stress of having to deal with me. I wasn't very proud of myself as I went out to search for the command post. I had come bringing medicines with the intent of doing a good deed, trying to erase a little bit of very large wrong. As I trudged, I couldn't help but feel like I had caused more harm than good.

---------------

Next morning, the offensive resumed. I was in a foul mood after what had happened last night, fueled by guilt over my role in it. At first it was the same stalemate as before. I did some digging in my 3-D maps of the area and found there was a railroad bridge about five miles down river. We sent an expeditionary force to it and did an end-around, allowing us to attack the flank of the city defense. Momentarily caught off-guard, we were able to take about another quarter of the city and wrest control of one of the three city bridges. The last corner of town, however, was built up the side of a hill, and they were able to regroup their defenses using the advantage of altitude. By mid-day, we were stalemated again. And so that I night I was patrolling the city again, seeing what the soldiers were doing to, um, amuse themselves. We were now occupying positions north of the river, but since the entire zone was easily viewed from atop the hill, there was no open looting like the day before. Instead, clusters of soldiers went from building to building, breaking and entering individual residences, helping themselves to whatever and sometimes whomever, they found along the way.

I made my way down the street, heading in the direction of a large, glass-encased apartment or condominium building, one of the tallest in the city. It helped nullify the altitude advantage to be in the building, but mostly tall buildings usually equal high rents, so I was pretty certain it would be swarming with our guys looking for good stuff among its units—and residents. As soon as I entered, I could tell the buzz was coming from the 12th floor. Eerily reminiscent of the night before, there was a stream of guys coming and going from the third door on the left. When I went to see what was going on, I experienced a major déjà vu. A group of men were huddled in a circle around a beautiful blonde woman who was sucking dicks as fast as she could. I panicked for a moment, remembering how the previous night had ended, but I quickly realized that this scene wasn't quite the same. She was neither tied up nor blindfolded; she was willingly sucking one man after another, although with no sign of any enjoyment. She wasn't as young as the girls the night before, but she was more beautiful and wore makeup that suggested she knew how to capitalize on her appearance. She reminded me immediately of Zasha; she wasn't as tall, but she was just as lean, just as beautiful, and had much bigger tits. The Zasha/Jamela connection was reinforced by the girl's provocative attire—she had been wearing a halter top, now pulled aside reveal lovely full, round breasts, with a very short, tight miniskirt and towering heels. It also struck me that maybe this girl had experience at sucking multiple dicks simultaneously. She didn't wait for someone to stuff their dick in her mouth; she took control instead, moving quickly from one cock to the next, keeping all of their dicks aroused with just her one mouth and two hands, almost like a plate-spinner trying to prevent any plates from falling. I thought about Major Wood's comment that porn was a big source of income in all of these countries. When I realized that all of the soldiers seemed to be addressing the girl by the name Aleska, it seemed a pretty safe assumption that this girl was a porn star, too.

There was another, more pressing problem though."You idiots!" I screamed in their language,"you're in plain view of the picture window! Easy targets for a sniper!" They all turned at once—and lo and behold if one of them wasn't Sergei Stovlich.

"Go home, you stupid American," Sergei challenged, in English, walking in a broad circle away from the others, zipping hastily. "You are afraid of a stupid WINDOW? With blinds closed?"

"All they would need is for one of them to have an infra-red scope..." I seethed. My words were cut short by a powerful explosion right outside the window. Everyone hit the deck while I scurried back into the entryway from which I had come. I knew immediately what had happened"Oh yes...they might have rockets, too. Aren't we lucky, they shot a little low and it detonated on the outside wall. If it had hit the window clean, it would have sailed right through and detonated on that wall," I said excitedly, pointing to the back wall of the apartment,"and we would all be dead. Now does anyone else have any stupid questions?"

As quickly as they could, the men all grabbed their shorts, then their guns, and crawled out into the hallway and down the stairs. The girl didn't need to wait; as soon as I said "we would all be dead" she was up and out the door, bare breasts and all, at surprising speed given the size of the heels she had on. The men quickly followed her out into the hall. When everyone I could see was out, I peered around the corner to see if I'd missed anyone. I saw Sergei was lying face-down on the ground, his back covered in bright crimson from shards of shattered glass. In the process of trying to show me up, he alone was close enough to the blast outside to be hit by its full impact. "Sergei...do you need a medic?" I yelled out. There was no reply. He was either dead already, or too stupidly proud to admit to me he needed help. Well, I wasn't going to stick around—one way or another, his pride had been the death of him. I certainly wasn't going to weep for there being one less woman-beater in the world.

I peeked around the corner once more, and saw a second rocket in the distance and closing fast. No more time to wait. I leapt out the door and fell flat on my face in the hallway. It didn't even have time to register that I had landed on top of something when the hallway exploded from the impact, showering everything with a fine mist of plasterboard and propelling a large, modern stainless steel refrigerator halfway through the opposing wall. Again I was fortunate, as the apartment's firewall had directed most of the blast in a straight line and away from me—or should I say us, for by now I'd realized I'd partially landed on another person. I looked down to see who it might be, but as I did my brain had already processed tactile information that registered as the unmistakably soft press of female breasts. Aleska had been the first one out, so I was beyond surprised to find her still lying in the hallway. I suppose it had been her apartment, but still, why wouldn't she have just run down the stairs...

"No talk now," she replied in English, "follow. I know safe place." Standing, she quickly re-racked herself, then grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the stairs. She led me downwards, moving quickly but not letting go of her grip on my wrist. I could have broken her grip, but I was afraid they might aim a bigger missile our way and take out the whole building—if she knew a shortcut to a safe location, I was happy to let her lead the way. She led us down to the ground floor, but then instead of heading outside she turned down the hall and stopped in front of an ordinary-looking door. She proceeded to knock on the door in a peculiar cadence, like a code, then spoke some words, the only one of which I understood was "Aleska" before stepping back. A huge chunk of wall, including the entirely of the door and frame upon which she had knocked, swung outwards as a steel blast door opened.

"Cold war bunker," she told me knowingly, "my friends Gustav and Andrei live next door, in apartment that once belong to Communist party leader. They find entrance by accident." She chattered rapidly with a young, well-groomed, over-cologned, vaguely effeminate man with a short haircut before leading me down a long steel spiral staircase into the bunker proper.

"Where are you taking me," I asked her, shaking my hand free of her long-nailed grip, "and why?"

"You are American, yes?" she asked. I shrugged non-committally. I didn't want to let on that I was an American, but since Sergei had already ratted me out, there wasn't much point in denying it. Besides, I couldn't speak her language at all. "We must speak. I wish to make deal with you." I wasn't looking to make any deals with the enemy—even if the enemy was smoking hot and had unbelievable tits. But because she was all of these things, I allowed myself to be led into the bunker to hear her out.

The bunker had been built to house hundreds of people, but held only a handful of Gustav and Andrei's friends. I felt like I'd been teleported to Greenwich Village for a second, but Aleska pulled me past the communal rooms into a small hallway. There, to my surprise, was a private room with a queen-size bed and a small dresser in it. "Party leaders always get special treatment," Aleska noted. She led me be the hands now to the bed, where she led me to sit while standing before me. It was really my first good look at her, and man, she looked like a million bucks. She had blonde hair with even lighter blonde highlights; it wasn't clear if either was natural. Her large, proud breasts demanded attention; her stomach was flat and accentuated by a cute little belly-button ornament, and her hips and waist were curvy. Her legs were lean and shapely as she stood with them apart, defiantly, before me.

"You know who I am?" she challenged.

"Everyone seems to call you Aleska," I commented.

"Yes," she chuckled, the --s sounding more like a --z in her accent, "I am Aleska—but you not answer question. Do you know who Aleska is?"

"Um, no," I said, although I had a pretty good guess.

"I am big porn star in your country," she confirmed unashamedly. "On Internet zese are famous," she continued, pulling her halter top aside and gently caressing her breasts. She gently touched her nipples her long-nailed index fingers to ensure they were at full attention. "Aleska real, all natural," she continued with a little pride, looking at her own cleavage with satisfaction, juggling them lightly with her hands to prove, by their uniform consistency, that they were not silicone. They were impressive in size and damn near perfect; while maybe not THE largest breasts I'd ever seen, they were as big as any I'd seen on a girl that was so lean everywhere else.

"Very impressive," I admitted, finding it hard to take my eyes off of them, "but what does that have to do with me?"

"We know newspaper lies," she replied, not obviously at first relevant to the question. "We know we are losing war, and you being here proves what people have been saying—U.S. wants that we lose war." In her accent, "losing" sounded like "lou-zinc." "I want you to get me out of country."

"Look, Aleska," I protested wearily, "I appreciate that it's rough here, but I can't..."

"You no wear ring—you not marry, yes?" she interrupted. "You marry Aleska, I get out of country."

"Marry?!?!?!" I exclaimed incredulously.

"I know men," she said, bending over, putting her hands on my knees, and leaning into me in an uncomfortably provocative manner. I'm sure she did know men; it was hard to keep focused on her face with that prodigious valley of heaving flesh right under my nose. "I know your kind of man. You are career military. No wife. No kid. You want family, but you never stay in one place long enough to meet woman. You tell yourself someday, but deep down you know it not happen as long as you in military. Aleska is right, yes?" I was suddenly very, very uncomfortable—she had me pegged almost to a tee. My failure to deny was all the proof she needed. "See, Aleska know. If you have family, army no send you here. You are strong but lonely military man. When is last time you have sex you no pay for?"

Last night, I thought, but that really didn't count.

"Aleska very good at making man not feel lonely," she continued in a softer tone, now gently stroking my lower thighs. "Aleska know what man like. Aleska want make deal with you—best offer you ever get in your life."

"What's that?" I asked. Her stroking my thighs was making me hard, yet I wasn't stopping her. Those amazing tits, hanging downwards and swaying gently, were all I could think of. "America," she explained, "Aleska want to go. I have producer want that I come to America, have work for me so I can make big money. I have some money, but here nothing to spend on! And now my apartment is just hole in wall, yes? Ah, but there is problem...I no can get Visa. I think whole country no can get Visa—America want we lose war! Aleska stuck! But you can help. I not marry, you not marry. You marry me, I get Visa!"

"Aleska, I've just met you—I can't marry you," I said astonished.

"Of course I not expect you just say yes," she replied with a twinkle in her eye, "you just meet me. That is why we make deal. My end of deal, you marry so I get Visa. Your end of deal," she continued, "I give you what man want. Aleska make love to husband whenever he want... wherever he want... as often as you like. You want sex? Just say word, Aleska have sex with you. Two time a day, six time a day, twelve time a day, no matter—Aleska do. You want blow job on train? Aleska get on knees and suck. You want, how you say, butt sex? Aleska bend over and grab ankle. You want tie me up and spank? Is OK with Aleska, too. I give you sex any time you want, any way you want!" Her hands were now rubbing all the way up and down my thighs, reaching ever closer to my now raging erection. Then her voice turned very sultry, and she purred "I know what you thinking. You thinking I no love you, I no can marry you. You know what happen to man marry for love? Aleska watch, Aleska see. Everything good for year of two. Then wife have one, maybe two kid. Wife now mother, too busy, lose interest in sex. Man have sex maybe one, two time in year. Maybe wife get fat, too; she no look like she used to. Man unhappy, look for something else. Maybe on Internet. Aleska have website, full of men who once marry for love. They wish they could be marry Aleska. Aleska love sex, all the time—and Aleska no get fat!" She took one hand and ran it along the smooth, toned muscles of her belly for emphasis, "man who marry for love...all he can do is look at picture and wish he marry woman like Aleska. You...you have chance to do what others dream about—you have chance to marry Aleska! And Aleska NEVER say no to husband!"