The young man could barely contain himself the moment she stepped through the door. At last, a moment of privacy.
Quickly the two individuals melded together, their bodies separated only by the contrast of their outfits.
"I love you," he whispered into her ear.
Gasping, she replied in kind.
His lips found hers and breathlessly they would crush them against one another, softer flesh giving to solidity of the teeth beneath. It was not gentle, as it bore two years of need behind it, but there was no cruelty in it either.
Her body would stiffen as his hands moved from the customary replacement on her hips to the firm smooth curvature of her buttocks. She was not used to this forwardness, but now they were wed and her body belonged entirely to him. His hips pressed into hers and she felt the familiar tension beneath. He wanted her, as he always had, and she was glad.
The young woman's well arranged coif fell victim to one of his wandering hands and soon her locks fell freely round her face. But the passion of their kiss denied any thought for appearance or for dignity. He was rocking against her, pressing his erection against her stomach, his desire urgent.
Already he tired of his new found hold on her buttocks. There would be time later for such attentions and exploration. Now he just wanted to fulfill two years of denial and constraint. His hands began to gather and bunch the layers of her gown, pulling it upward, foot by foot, until his hands took hold of her hips, bare skin on bare skin for the first time.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes glowing with excitement. He found her face blank, and tense, and filled with nervousness. He remembered his father's words. Make your wife love consummation as much as you that first time, or she never will, he had relayed to him. Obeying his father's instructions and remembering the aged photographs that he had been shown, his hand moved swiftly to the apex of her thighs, where her undergarments were the only covering.
The moment his fingers pressed into the space, she gasped and pushed herself up on the tips of her toes. But he was unrelenting. His urgent fingers pressed and probed, stroked and rubbed, and soon her whole body was tensing as a new feeling swept through her. She had felt its inkling before, but always fled from it, unawares. Now with his fingers pressing her silken panties against her flesh, she realized what she had been denying.
She did not care that his eyes watched her, a curious expectation and a bestial intent upon his face. All she could think of was the stars she was seeing, how the room had suddenly gotten much warmer, and how moist her womanhood was feeling. Such was a truly foreign sensation. Occasionally, in her youth, this thing had crept upon her but she had pressed her thighs together and denied its sinful pleasure, but now, with his fingers pushing deeper and harder against her, there was only enjoyment of it.
"Oh, Jans," she whispered to him, her voice ragged.
He did not reply, just pushed aside the thin wet material of her underwear and pressed one finger into the tight hole which he had been long denied.
"Oy," she cried at the surprise of such an intrusion. Could this be what sex was? Why would such a pleasure be denied? Again she cried out, interrupting her thoughts, as his finger withdrew.
The finger probed upward again, and than downward, in a steady stroking motion. It was as if she were some part of a machine and his finger the driving mechanism. Her whole body was trembling and her face was flushed with the embarrassment of her desire as well as its power. Any minute she felt as if she would explode, as the burning heat within her expanded and filled every portion of her body.
But just as she neared the edge of her first orgasm, a loud pounding on the door echoed through the small room they had retreated too.
"Jans, Margrit, come quickly! It is late and we must get to the hotel!"
It was Jans' father. There honeymoon would be across the dividing line, in the West. It was nearing half past eleven in the night and they both knew that they would have to reconvene later.
Quickly the young lovers attempted to straighten their clothing, but Margrit was incapable of dismissing the heavy burden of her lust. For a moment, she thought to act out of character and pull her husband back to her. But shaking of the urge, she smoothed her skirts and followed him into the hallway.
Jans' father stood just outside, a small knowing smile on his face.
"Sorry to have bothered you, but we must get across to the hotel. They have said that they will release your room if you are not checked in before the day is out."
"Alright, lets be on our way then," Jans regretfully admitted. "Where is mother," he asked. His parents were to be staying in the hotel with them the first two days, but would be going to Belgium afterwards.
"I do not know. I have looked for her and been unable to find her. I am sure she is off weeping about the loss of her lovely boy," he gently teased his son. Everyone shared a smile.
"Why don't you and Margrit go on ahead. The rooms are registered in your name and I wouldn't be able to check in. I will find her and drive on after you."
Margrit looked like she was about to cry at the thought of parting with her husband for even a moment. But she kept quiet, as she knew she should in a man's discussion. Jans' father, Rudolf, nodded his head in agreement.
"Where are your bags? I will bring them on with me, in hopes of speeding you along," Rudolf answered. "Come Margrit," he said taking hold of a few luggage pieces that had been indicated by Jans. Together, Jans' father and his daughter in law moved to the doors and into the darkness towards their waiting automobile.
Jans, eager to rejoin his bride, went searching for his mother. His erection pushed firmly against the front of his trousers and out of propriety he adjusted his coat to cover the bulge.
He would find his mother fifteen minutes later, standing on a balcony overlooking the heart of Berlin. She seemed a little forlorn and did not turn to him when he stepped out to join her.
"Yes, Jans," she replied without turning. Her voice wavered with the significance of her loss. Jans and Margrit had intended to move from the GDR and into the West part of the country after they were married. The thought of losing her only son had broken her up. Her husband was not there as often as he had been, now that he had advanced so far in his career. Without her eighteen year old Jans at home, she feared she would be more lonely then ever.
"We must go, Father and Margrit are already on their way, and I am eager for time with my wife. It has been a long day," he explained carefully.
"If we must, then let us be on our way," she said finally abandoning her clutch on the railing. When she turned towards her son, he could see the smear of her makeup around her eyes and the bloodshot of her pupils. She had been crying.
Jans felt guilty for hurrying along, but his desire for his wife and the consummation of their marriage grew with every minute. He was getting quite desperate to discover the forbidden joys that only married individuals were allowed to savor. Already his erect member ached from excitement.
Together, arm in arm, they would walk to their waiting vehicle and begin the short drive from Soviet occupied East Berlin to the Western bloc, which was operated by the three remaining Allied powers from World War II.
As the son and mother slowly drew nearer and nearer to the open square which acted as the primary gate between two different worlds, they began to realize that something was horribly wrong. Giant spotlights shone in a long strip across the boundary between the two, and the simple traffic gates that had marked the official cross were now surrounded by armored vehicles and barbed wire. Heavily armed soldiers stood guard. The cars in front of them were turned away and sent back into city.
Jans pulled his car to the side of the road and parked against the sidewalk. He jumped from his car and hurried towards a man whom traffic was being averted by.
"What is going on here?!"
"Go back to your car. The government is closing the border," came the stern reply.
"Closing the border?"
"Yes, too many problems with the Americans."
"But my wife, my wife, we were going on our honeymoon. She went on ahead with my father," Jans tried to explain, incredulous that something like this could happen.
"If they are across then they are stuck. I am sure the state will arrange for them to return in a few days."
"A few days! I was just married! I cannot wait a few days," the young eighteen year old grumbled loudly.
The older man snorted giving him a once over. "If you can't wait a few days, why don't you go visit the brothels."
Jans grabbed him by his sleeve as he turned from him. The old soldier, contemptuous of the young sapling, swatted him upside the head. "Go back to your mother boy. You don't want your wife to miss you entirely."
Dejected, the young man returned to his car, where his mother stared out concerned.
"They've closed the border. Some sort of problem with the Allies. We can't get in."
"Maybe your father and Margrit are stuck as well. We could look for them," his mother whispered.
Jans eyes lit up at the possibility and he eagerly started up the small car and wheeled back into traffic. An hour of driving later and he had found no sign of his missing partner and his father. Another border guard had told him that the barriers had only shortly since been erected, and that they were probably across before they were laid.
Frustrated and angry, the young man headed back to the Hotel Von Croft, which stood silently along the boulevard that led into West Berlin. He and his mother checked into one room, having little money immediately available. The first night he would not leave the window, even for a moment, his bright blue eyes watching that crossing.
He would interrupt his silent reverie only to eat and perform necessary functions. His mother would often stand behind him, one hand on his shoulder, while the other lazily petted his hair.
Slowly the darkness faded as the sun rose. Sadly, the day did not bring happier times for the young man and his dreams.
There was little news available throughout the city. All people knew was that during the night the government had suddenly decided to erect a barrier to restrict movement. Too many citizens had been fleeing and the economy had suffered greatly as workers disappeared and the wealthy evaporated with their money.
All he could do was clench and unclench his fist, his anger and frustration building. He desperately wanted to join her, but he could not leave his mother behind in the severe uncertainty of the times.
She, in turn, would only watch him, exasperated by his plight. She knew how much he wanted to be with his bride, how useless he felt with her across the great divide. Hoping to provide some comfort she would constantly reassure him with her touch. Almost as if he were the ill little boy that had stayed home from school.
Weeks would pass into months and still no word of an impasse. He became haggard looking and was not eating much. Always he would stand at the window. The family fortunes supported them, kept them attentive at the borders and not distracted by other needs. The connections they had allowed them to eat well, despite the shortages and rationing taking place through most of the city.
His mother and gradually come to adore him as a statue, a sculpture. She had loved him as her son, but slowly he had seemed to fade from reality until things only seemed abnormal if he wasn't by the window. She would sometimes forget that he was there. Moving about, performing her daily functions and duties as if she were alone in the room. She too desperately missed her husband, but had given up on the futility of seeing him without some change in the government.
One day, as she exited the bath room, she ignored her normal semblance for decorum. Wearing only a towel she slipped from the chamber and moved silently through the main room. She neglected to even close her bedroom door as she let the towel fall to the floor. Instinctively she dressed, her tasteful and practiced habits allowing her to operate automatically. This, would give her a moment of insight. Out of the corner of her eye she caught movement at the window. In her peripheral vision she could see her son, his head turned from that dreadful glass doorway.
He was studying her as she slipped her panties over her bare thighs, watching as she restrained her breasts beneath her undergarments. For those few seconds, his focus was solely on her- nothing outside.
Slightly embarrassed she moved deeper into her room and found herself short for breath.
She had seen him, knowing what he was looking, and had not moved to cover herself. But was that such a crime, she asked herself. Hadn't she wanted him to be distracted. Hadn't she wanted his hypnotic gaze to be broken. The realization that there may be a way out for him, caused hope to spring anew within her breast.
The next day she repeated the daily ritual. She woke early, and slipped from her bed. Cautiously she opened her bedroom door and peered into the grey gloom that was the living area. Sure enough, her young son stood staring out the window.
Wearing only her nightgown she padded across the carpeted floor to the restroom. The door creaking slightly, she pushed it shut, until a small gap remained. Trying to focus on the good she was doing, she pulled the robe over her torso and dropped it to the floor. Within a few moments she found herself consumed in the mists of hot water. She tried to ignore the strange sense of taboo that reveled in the pit of her stomach. Trying to convince herself that it was only for his good was a lie. And quickly she came to know it. So she validated it to herself in a different way. Her sin was worth it. If she could turn his thoughts from that damned window and wall, perhaps she could restore some sense of life to him.
Once more her toweled walk to her room was repeated. And once more she allowed her naked profile to be displayed as she clothed herself. And once more, his eyes burned into her back.
Day after day this process would repeat, each of the two growing more bold in their violations on propriety. Some days he would be farther from the window and closer to her, his mind baited and hooked by the delicate femininity of her body. Others, she would not bother covering herself as she moved to her bedroom.
Each slowly surrendered more and more to the other. Soon he was having difficulty remembering why he stood at the window. All he could think of was the ache in his groin and the desire to have her shower for a second time that day.
All she could think about was how his eyes adored her, how they caressed each shade and shift of her form as she moved. She had never felt so adored, so loved, so wanted. It was an indulgent action she now performed- there was no hints of saving him. He had started eating again, and spent more time talking with her and following her out into the cool German winter.
They had become closer, each gradually shifting their displaced emotions and needs to the other. Both sensed the rising tide of what was happening and both were too far gone to resist it. His mother's exposures become more deliberate, more sultry. His looks less hidden, his presence more felt.
It was on a cold, blustering Tuesday morning that she would find him, outside her bathroom door, waiting for her. She had gone entirely nude, as she had been in the habit of doing for several weeks. But she had not expected him to be right there, around the corner when she stepped out.
She had also not expected her reaction to the urgency of his embrace as he descended upon her.
"Jans," she had squealed as his hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her to him. She had not resisted his kiss, nor the invasiveness of his tongue. Instead she had melted into him. The wool of his suit scratched at her bare chest, but she could not care. Her own hands betrayed her and wrapped around his waist, refusing to allow a moment's thought to come between them.
They clutched one another in a desperate grasp. Perhaps they both understood to pause would be disaster.
And so the the heated exchange of their lips continued, their hands growing more bold and free in their movement. She found her hands clawing beneath his coat, wishing they could tear his shirt beneath their nails. And her smooth bottom had been discovered by his, a strong grip crushing her to him.
"Mmmmphhh," came her mumbled repose. He was thrusting against her, despite his clothing and she could sense the urgency in his movement. His hard member pressed towards her, stabbing at her nether region from within its vaulted enclosure.
Her hands were not fast enough. By the time his belt was undone, his urgency was to great to be denied. Barely was she able to slip one bare palm over the tip of his burning member before he erupted. His semen filled her caressing hand, coating it with a sticky warmth that she wished had been elsewhere. Quickly and urgently she stroked, keeping his erection alive as she moved them towards the bedroom.
It was awkward, stumbling towards the privacy and promise of their room. Her hand was caught in his undershorts, and he pants half undone still quivering from the release she had brought him.
When they stood at the foot of the bed, she had freed him of his pants and boxers and had finally released her clutch on his member. Her hand was coated still with the moistness of his pleasure and she took it to her lips as she reclined across the duvet. Enchanted Jans watched as her delicate tongue caressed his fluid from the chalice of her hand. Lick after lick tormented him as she took more and more into her. His cock, unable to fight nature's demands for flaccidity, melted away. But she was not finished yet.
A small flex of muscles at her waist and in her legs and slowly they drew up and apart, until her knees peaked between them and the pinkness of her center was caught in the sunlight. Jans, frustrated by his inability to finish off the last of his shirt buttons, was frozen there.
The hand that had been coated with his seed dipped between the arching form of her legs and began to rub the remainders of its prize into that holy core. He heard her tremble and gasp as her wanton lust was appeased and he wished he could contribute.
Finally free of his clothing, the naked young man eyed his mother for another moment before he slid across the bed to her side. His naked body pressed against her, his momentarily limp penis pressing into the soft underside of her thigh. His hands explored her, one cupping at squeezing at the full globes of her breasts while the other slid beneath her and pressed a digit into the split of her backside.
"Yes, Jans," she hissed to him. Her encouragement drove him on, his mouth watering and his muscles aching to do something, anything. She was shaking beneath her own touch and with the addition of his press, she found herself swimming in a strange half-reality, half-fantasy. She hungered for him, for more of his taste and struggled to free herself from his grasp long enough to fulfill them.
But once his member felt the touch of her soft lips and tongue, he was incapable to resist. He let out a loud groan of his own and thrust the suddenly aching cock towards her.
The full lips that had scolded him, chided him, and hurried him on as a child now embraced the pale flesh of his penis and sucked it deep into her throat. Her head bobbed on him, her hair falling forward to tickle at his groin, as her hand still pummeled her delicate flower.