Before I was allowed to get dressed, the major fondled me again, and asked me if I had changed my mind about becoming her concubine. Of course I hadnâ??t changed my mind; I wanted to live as much as the next woman!

How did my beautiful Mistress get me out of a Gestapo prison and into her quarters? Easy; I was to be put on a train, and shipped off to Ravensbruck, but I never reached the station. I was led away from the headquarters by the major and a guard. She dismissed the guard to prepare the decoy, and put me in the trunk of her staff car. The trunk was cold and dark, and I was in there for several hours. However, I stayed very quiet as I lay there, shivering in the dark and the cold, because the reward was worthwhile.

A convenient body was produced, and I was â??killed attempting to escape.â?? Apparently I fell down a flight of stairs, and according to the official record, I jumped out to run around a train. However, I slipped and fell, or I got pushed by someone chasing me. Either way, â??myâ?? body was an unidentifiable, mangled mess, and I got quickly buried in an unmarked grave.

I didnâ??t ask where the body had come from; I didnâ??t want to know who the unfortunate woman was, and whether she had been killed, deliberately, to take my place, or if sheâ??d just been conveniently dead. With what I had seen of Mistressâ?? personality, I didnâ??t think sheâ??d have killed an innocent, but I couldnâ??t be sure. I donâ??t suppose that it mattered greatly in the long run, because survival is a very strong instinct in the human mind, and call me selfish and callous, but I wanted to survive.

Why did the guard allow the major to do it? I asked. The major knew that the guard was a practicing homosexual, and could prove it. If he didnâ??t do what Mistress demanded, she told him that sheâ??d turn him in! Therefore he did what he was told to do by the major. He didnâ??t want to end up in a penal camp any more than she did, so the two of them reached an â??understandingâ??. The major kept the guardâ??s secret and he kept hers. In all fairness, that put the major in the guardâ??s pocket, in a way. She had to protect him, in order to protect her secret. Of course, that put the guard in the majorâ??s pocket, in exactly the same way.

When we reached her home, I was bursting for the toilet, after being in the trunk of the car for so long. After I answered natureâ??s call, Mistress turned me loose in her little kitchen, with the instruction to prepare food for the two of us, after apologizing for the fact that her culinary skills were dreadful, and the range of supplies to cook werenâ??t much better. She told me that if I wanted good food on a regular basis, Iâ??d have to cook it myself, because if I let her do the cooking, my taste buds would certainly regret it. Mistressâ?? ability to cook didnâ??t go much further than sandwiches and toast, and the sandwiches would usually only be any good if the filling came out of a packet or out of a tin. It was uncommon that Mistress had meals at home; she preferred to eat out, rather than give herself food poisoning with her cooking. She said that she could burn a pan of water given half a chance.

As I prepared food, Mistress threw coal onto the fire and stoked it up, to heat up the house as best she could.

Mistress was keeping me alive, so I didnâ??t really care how she spoke to me, just as long as she fed me, and didnâ??t beat me. In virtually every occupied country down the centuries, a proportion of the women sold out to the occupying forces. I wasnâ??t the first Frenchwoman to shack up with a German, and I didnâ??t suppose Iâ??d be the last; even if most of them shacked up with men. Some even took husbands from the occupying army and had their babies. At the very least, there was one major advantage of being Mistressâ?? concubine; I couldnâ??t end up with an illegitimate child, or several of them, the way I might otherwise have if Iâ??d been a conventional officerâ??s bit on the side.

I knew, when my Mistress led me into her billet, that my virginity wouldnâ??t last the night, yet what choice did I really have? In order to continue living, I had to basically prostitute myself to a representative of the occupying powers on a daily basis, and considering how badly I wanted to live, I knew I had to do it, and I knew that I would do it.

However, I learned to appreciate the gentility that Mistress showed me, for as long as I obeyed her, and pandered to her whims, and I grew to enjoy the pleasure that she gave me in bed.

We ate a meal in the kitchen and then we shared the clearing up. I washed the dishes, and Mistress dried them. I wasnâ??t expecting her to help me tidy up, but I didnâ??t object. Mistress told me that sheâ??d brought me to her home as her concubine, not as her domestic servant, so she would take her fair share of household tasks; I wasnâ??t expected to be her housekeeper. She made cups of tea and we retired to the living room to enjoy the heat from the fire. In the warmth of the living room, Mistress got me out of my clothes, and instructed me to lie on the carpet in front of the fire, so that she could kiss and fondle me the way she had in my cell.

It was clear to me that despite her youth; I was not Mistressâ?? first lover. Someone else had taught her how to please a woman, sexually, and despite how little I thought I was going to enjoy the following few years at Mistressâ?? hands; the first time I felt her fingers gently exploring my nubile, innocent young body, I began to understand how much pleasure I could derive from her attentions.

I had, on occasion, read a couple of erotic books, and I could remember the descriptions of the sensations experienced by a woman who is being aroused by her partner. As I lay on the carpet in front of the fire, enjoying the warmth radiating from it, I felt the same sensations going through my body, as Mistress teased me to full arousal for the first time in my life.

They were feelings I was sure that I shouldnâ??t have been having, but I couldnâ??t deny the warm feeling in my sex, and the way my breasts tingled, and then throbbed as my nipples hardened under the caress of Mistressâ?? lips and fingers. I couldnâ??t deny to myself that I was enjoying the sensations that Mistress was causing within my body. I knew that I was leaking lubricant out of my sex, and when Mistress slipped two fingers inside me, I couldnâ??t help but respond with a quiet whimper of pleasure. Iâ??ll probably never forget the express on Mistressâ?? face as she heard me whimper. "So, you liked that?" she asked, with a smile, and she pushed the fingers a little deeper the second time, smiling again when I whimpered a little louder.

After that, we kissed again, and on Mistressâ?? instruction I turned over, positioning myself on my hands and knees, on the rug in front of the coal fire, and she gently ruptured my hymen with a length of brush handle covered in a condom, and coated with Vaseline. As she pushed the handle up inside my body with one hand, Mistress stroked my clitoris with her other hand, and whispered to me that I could cry out if I wanted to; she wouldnâ??t think less of me if I did. She said that if it made me feel better, she had cried when her first partner ruptured her hymen, also with a bit of brush handle, when she was merely seventeen, and shy and innocent, but she promised that sheâ??d try not to hurt me too much.

As I knelt there, much to my surprise, I didnâ??t feel humiliated. I felt hungry for pleasure. Mistress had induced my first orgasm with her fingers and I wanted more! So as I knelt on the rug, I willed her to induce my second orgasm, regardless of how she did it. If I had to submit to a little pain, the way I knew I would have had to put up with, if Iâ??d been married, and taken to bed by a husband, then Iâ??d submit to the pain, knowing what it would lead to.

My deflowering wasnâ??t exactly fun; it did hurt, and I did bleed some, but I got through it without crying out, and Mistress kissed me, and promised me lots of pleasure from the â??wooden cockâ??, in return for the pleasure that I was going to give her with my tongue and my fingers. Then, Mistress lay down on the floor in front of me, pulled her panties down, presenting me with my first ever female sex to lick, and taught me how to perform oral sex on a woman. The taste of female sex was new to me, but I figured Iâ??d get used to such a strange taste. I even thought that I could come to enjoy hearing Mistress moaning in her pleasure.

After that, I was allowed to get dressed, and Mistress and I sat on her couch, kissing, cuddling and fondling each other like young lovers, as we talked about ourselves. I couldnâ??t resist the urge to put my hand down Mistressâ?? panties, and push two fingers inside her sex. We each ended up with one hand down the otherâ??s panties, fingers in her sex, as our tongues dancing around each othersâ??, and I was shocked to recognize just how much I was enjoying it. When it got late, we went to bed and after Mistress spanked me, we made love again.
I knew I could never convince a man that I was a virgin, because after the way Mistress said that she intended to use me for the following few years, I wouldnâ??t bleed the first time he made love to me. With the state of the country, maybe I could pass myself off as a war widow. Perhaps I might claim to be the victim of a drunken soldier during the victory celebrations in nineteen forty, even if there were very few victims, due to the decent behavior of the victorious soldiers on the western front. It had been made clear to the occupying forces that the young troopers were required to behave as they would have done so anywhere in Germany. It was also made clear that looters and rapists would be shot, and I could think of a couple of instances where we actually saw that sort of creature publicly executed for their crimes.

The following morning, Mistress arose early and went to work, as if she had an everyday job. She referred to her place of work simply as â??the office,â?? and tried to pretend that it was just an office, so as not remind the poor concubine of what it really was, because I had nightmares for months about being back in that building.

I made Mistress her breakfast, even though Iâ??d been told I didnâ??t have to, and kissed her goodbye as she opened the inner door. Strangely enough, I enjoyed that kiss as well. Then I stayed in the house on my own. In earlier years, Iâ??d have considered that excruciatingly boring, but after two weeks in a Gestapo cell, it was quite pleasant, I can assure you. I could watch television, or listen to the radio, as long as I kept them on a low volume setting so as not to draw suspicion. I could also raid Mistressâ?? book collection because a good proportion of them were in French.

I never even considered leaving the house, even though it would have been so easy to just walk away. I had no ID papers, so the first policeman to ask me for them, would arrest me for not having any. While I was less than a thirty minute walk from the railway station, and the bus station; without papers I couldnâ??t buy a ticket for either a train or a bus, despite having found a few hundred Reichmarks in Mistressâ?? apartment, and again, Iâ??d be arrested. I didnâ??t want to get arrested, because I may well have ended up right back where I had been the day before, and Iâ??d have no nice major to look after me because sheâ??d probably have been in the next cell to mine, getting much the same treatment that I would be getting.

Iâ??d be in the hands of the men, and I knew exactly what they wanted to do to me a couple of weeks earlier. I knew that if I left Mistressâ?? house, Iâ??d be risking my life. While Iâ??d consciously decided to risk my life, as I got into the converted bomber on the airfield on the south coast of England, Iâ??d be risking Mistressâ?? life, too, if I stepped outside of her billet, and I had no right to do that. Sheâ??d risked enough in â??rescuingâ?? me in the first place, and I didnâ??t want to repay her kindness by getting her shot for it.

No, I would stay quiet in Mistressâ?? house, and wait patiently until she came home and wanted to make love to me again. Iâ??d only spent one night in Mistressâ?? bed, yet I knew how she made me feel. Mistress made me feel like a very desirable woman, especially when I considered the risk that she took to save my life; sheâ??d risked her career, and perhaps even her own life, and all because she thought that I was pretty!!! If I hadnâ??t been pretty, I wouldnâ??t have been worth the risk of saving, and Iâ??d be in a concentration camp, if I was still alive.

When Mistress returned that night, she was carrying a bag of shopping and a cookery book, as cover. Clearly sheâ??d thought things out over the past couple of weeks. If she was going to stop eating out, which would be necessary if she wanted to be with me, and feed me, she needed to learn to cook, even if only for show. Of course, if her friends learned that she was trying to cook, and popped over some day, it would be nice if she could cook, so I became her cookery instructor. Mistress actually did learn to cook, too, and made the odd meal for us on special occasions like my next birthday, but generally, cooking remained my task because I was better at it.

Late in the evening, Mistress took me into the bedroom, and before we made love, she spanked me again. I quickly became accustomed to the almost mandatory spanking on a night, and I just as quickly accepted it as something Mistress enjoyed doing to me. My spankings were merely symbolic though; Mistress never spanked me hard enough that it hurt. Sheâ??d promised never to hurt me unless I deserved it, and I promised her that I would never deserve it. I always knew where Mistress kept her service pistol, and at any time of the night, I could have gotten out of her bed, grabbed the pistol, and murdered her out with it, yet why would I? All Iâ??d achieve would be to draw unwelcome attention to myself, and I didnâ??t want to do that.

Mistress had a decidedly kinky side, and sometimes liked to tie me up, or tie me to her bed, while she wore her full uniform, and pretended to interrogate me, while feeling me up and turning me on. My interrogation always seemed to end with Mistress kneeling astride my body, pushing her sex in my face, and pushing the brush handle deep inside me, while I licked away at her sweet-tasting sex.

It didnâ??t take me long to recognize the fact that while I might have originally been no more than an attractive piece of French meat; one that Mistress could use to satisfy her hunger and her desires, in a way she otherwise couldnâ??t satisfy them, she was beginning to care about me as a person.

Mistress told me that to be a lesbian, openly, in her position, was a punishable offence, for which she could end up in a hell-hole penal establishment with hardened, violent criminals; thieves, rapists and murderers, and all sheâ??d have done was loved; which in my mind, and in Mistressâ?? mind, was not a crime at all.

That was why sheâ??d offered me my life, if I agreed to become her concubine. I could tell that she cared for my wellbeing, just from the way she looked at me, the way she touched me, and the way she spoke to me. At the start, she was clearly domineering, telling me what I was required to do, but that slowly disappeared, to be replaced with a more even, fair treatment of me, the more I began to enjoy Mistressâ?? carnal attentions, and the better I became at pleasing her sexually.

I began to feel that she was treating me like a lover, and I learned to judge her state of mind, and tell when I could be awkward, and on rare occasion, even refuse to do what I was told, if I really didnâ??t want to do it. Given the alternative of being thrown into the gas chamber at Ravensbruck with the other undesirables; which is exactly where Mistress told me I would otherwise have gone, I can assure you that I was obedient and that I served my Mistressâ?? needs very well.

Despite the strange way that our relationship started, I began to enjoy the nights spent in my Mistressâ?? bed, even looking forward to weekends, when we could simply spend hours in the bedroom, and I missed her when she had to go away under orders, or stay out all night. It got to the point where I felt less like a collaborator and a traitor, and more like a young woman in love, as I developed feelings for my Mistress.

The only problem was that I was house-bound. I could never leave Mistressâ?? billet, and I had to be quiet when Mistress wasnâ??t in, so as not to arouse suspicion. On the rare occasions that Mistress had visitors I was confined to the bedroom with a book, when it was light enough outside that I could read, and a bucket to relieve myself into, if I needed it, and I was under strict instructions to be very, very quiet, because weâ??d both be in serious trouble if I was discovered. If whoever discovered me figured out who I was, weâ??d probably both be taken out and shot; me for being a known spy, and Mistress for faking my death and harboring me.

Food was good for the pair of us, courtesy of a black market racketeer who Mistress had in her pocket. His brother was in a local prison, and as long as the racketeer did what Mistress wanted, she promised to take good care of his brother. Mistress had him well and truly over a barrel, and tended to blackmail him into getting her most of the things she wanted, often refusing to pay for them. That included, much to my surprise, nylon stockings from America, for both of us, although Mistress rarely wore hers. I lived well; better than most people in the area, and sometimes I felt guilty for that. I was worried about what might happen to me if our side eventually won the war, but that was a worry for another day.

I had more important things to worry about; such as what would happen to me if I ever upset my kind Mistress. I could worry about being shot as a collaborator, later; if Mistressâ?? side lost, although that looked unlikely. Even if they did lose, it wouldnâ??t be for a few years, and I would have that many years more life, than if I would have had, had I refused Mistressâ?? offer, and was pushed into a gas chamber. Perhaps I could even get away with what I had done if I could create a little fiction.

If Mistressâ?? side lost the war, then perhaps Mistress could be honest about liking other women instead of men, and might be allowed to keep me, openly, as her lover. I was willing to stay on with Mistress, wherever she ended up. I already knew that Iâ??d be willing to go into a prison camp with her, if it meant that we could be together, even if only platonically and just for a few minutes every day. If the alternative was going home to explain how Iâ??d ended up in a Gestapo agentâ??s bed, a female agent at that, for three or four years, I might be better off leaving France along with Mistress.

Unlike a lot of civilians, I was well fed and looked after, despite the rationing, at least as long as I obeyed my kind Mistress. I knew that I was completely at her mercy, with no say in anything that happened to me, but she was kind and she was gentle. Sometimes, after a particularly â??bad day at the officeâ??, as she called it, Mistress needed me to soothe her sensibilities, and make her feel better, but I was good at that. The first time I saw the effects of a bad day, Mistress came home, literally threw her greatcoat at me and snarled at me to, "Hang that up, and make me a cup of coffee; filthy French tart!"

Obediently, and with tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, I headed into the kitchen, where Mistress had a jar of real coffee, courtesy of her pet racketeer. Iâ??d become accustomed to nice, kind Mistress, and not to being addressed so rudely, when I hadnâ??t done anything to deserve it. If Iâ??d done something wrong, I could have understood such nastiness, but I hadnâ??t done anything wrong. There was no need for Mistress to be nasty to me!

As I waited for the water to boil, determined that I was not going to cry, Mistress walked up behind me and put her arms around my waist. "Iâ??m sorry," she whispered into one of my ears. "Iâ??ve had a bad day, but I shouldnâ??t have taken it out on you, and called you a filthy French tart. My mood isnâ??t your fault, and youâ??re not a filthy tart of any kind.

I know you donâ??t really want to share your body with me; I just havenâ??t given you any choice, and sometimes I feel guilty for being so selfish that I brought you here to serve my needs, without really thinking of you. Can you forgive me for my temper, and for being such a selfish bitch?"
"Of course I can forgive you, Mistress. If you hadnâ??t thought that I was pretty and taken a fancy to me, Iâ??d have been roughly raped by many men, tortured for what little useful information I had, and then killed. Perhaps I should be thanking you for saving my life, even if you did it solely for your pleasure. At least I have a life to live, even if I am your concubine," I replied. "Iâ??ll stay with you, and Iâ??ll love you, for as long as you want me to. I enjoy the nights spent in front of the fire, or tucked in under the bed covers, and I donâ??t want to leave you, even if I could."

I wasnâ??t accustomed to hearing Mistress apologize to me; in fact I think it was the first time she ever had. I felt her take one arm from around my waist, and push it up my skirt. After the first night, Iâ??d never been allowed to have underwear on, so that Mistress could touch directly whenever she wanted to. I parted my thighs as Mistressâ?? hand ran up one of them. One finger slipped gently inside me, up to the third knuckle, and Mistress slid it back and forth a little, before taking it out again, turning me around, and lifting my jumper to get at my breasts with her mouth. Then the hand was pushed back up my skirt again.

Mistress admitted liking my breasts very much; she told me straight out that aside from my very pretty face, they were my best feature. She said that I had, "Such a nice pair of tits," and she quite liked sucking them. Mistress could play with my breasts all night, tweaking my nipples, and letting her fingers wander over my body, until all I wanted; all I could think about; was Mistressâ?? condom-covered brush handle, and what she was capable of doing to me with it! As we stood there in the kitchen and Mistress sucked each nipple alternately, she put two fingers as deep inside me as they would go, and slid them in and out.

I put my right hand up Mistressâ?? uniform skirt and said to her, "You donâ??t need coffee Mistress." I then rubbed my fingers over the crotch of her panties, and added, "You need your French tart on her knees, with her tongue out, as soon as possible." I was taking a chance, by being so bold, but I thought that Iâ??d learned enough about my Mistress by then to know what would make her feel better.

Mistress released the breast that she was sucking, pulled her fingers out of me and sighed. "Yes, that is probably exactly what I need. Get down on your knees," she told me. Obediently, I knelt down, and Mistress bared her sex for me to lick, before asking, "Would you, please?" Mistress had never asked me before; sheâ??d always just told me what I was required to do. As Mistress leant back against the kitchen table, I performed oral sex on her, the way she had taught me, until she orgasmed. Then she turned around, asked me to pull her skirt and panties down to her ankles, and give her curvaceous little bottom a hard spanking, because sheâ??d been a naughty girl that day.

I didnâ??t ask how naughty sheâ??d been, because I never asked personal questions of Mistress. If she wanted to tell me, sheâ??d tell me, and if she didnâ??t, Iâ??d leave well alone. I just gave Mistress the spanking she wanted, telling her what she wanted to hear; that she was a nasty, dirty, little bitch, and hitting her harder and harder when she encouraged me to, until her bottom was cherry red and clearly sore. I spanked Mistress considerably harder than Mistress ever spanked me.

After which, she took me into the shower, and played with my sopping wet sex, licking me out, and then kissing me straight away, allowing me to taste my own juices. That was the first time that I had been on the receiving end of Mistressâ?? tongue, and clearly it was the beginning of a change in our relationship.

Then she told me why she had been in such a mood when she got home. In her position, she did, occasionally, have to participate in â??rigorous interrogations;â?? Mistress never used the word â??torture;â?? however much she hated using violence against people. In her heart, Mistress knew that she was in the wrong line of work, but until the war was over, she was stuck with it, whether she liked it or not. Once I learned to recognize her moods, I always soothed her feelings when she had a â??day at the officeâ?? like that. It was rare that she didnâ??t get spanked for it, and as time progressed, the spankings grew harder and heavier, as she began to feel more and more guilty for what duty made her do to other human beings.

When we were in bed that night, for the first time ever, Mistress thanked me for the pleasure I was giving her, and asked me what I wanted in way of a reward. Iâ??d have loved to have been able to go outside, into Mistressâ?? little garden and sunbathe, even if just for one day, but I knew it couldnâ??t be, so I asked for something I hadnâ??t seen in months; a big chocolate bar. Mistressâ?? pet racketeer delivered a box of thirty American Hershey Bars within a couple of days, and I gorged myself like a pig for the rest of the week. I noticed though, that Mistress didnâ??t take any of my Hershey Bars, even when I offered. She said that she got them for me, and if she wanted any, sheâ??d have gotten a box for herself. My bars were a present, and she simply refused to take any of my present away from me.

I never asked Mistress how she could afford all the nice things she got from her pet racketeer, but I got the impression that she must have been doing something illegal, apart from bedding me, of course. Mistress must have been involved in some kind of racket, herself, just to be able to afford the life she lived. I had begun to get the impression that she was taking money from people for something, but she never told me what it was. Maybe she was forging travel documents, or identity cards.

I could remember one evening, standing in Mistressâ?? kitchen when Mistress slid up alongside me and put her arm around my waist. What I remember most about that evening, though, wasnâ??t anything that Mistress did or said, but the feeling of Mistressâ?? service pistol pressing into my side. It was a reminder of what Mistress was, and of what she did, and it made me feel uncomfortable. I must have been feeling brave that night, because I told Mistress how uncomfortable that gun made me feel and asked her to take it off, so she opened the buckle on the belt, and allowed the pistol holster to fall to the floor, before pulling me close and hugging me tight.

On the night of Mistressâ?? twenty-fifth birthday, she introduced me to a new sensation; the â??double penetration!â?? I was kneeling on the bed after my regular spanking. Mistress had the usual brush handle deep in my sex, sliding it in and out and listening to my whimpering. I was surprised when she released her grip on it, and produced a second toy, already covered in a condom, and began to rub Vaseline into it.

Instinctively, I knew what Mistress was going to do with it. I had read about that in one of the dirty books that had come into my possession, and remembering what was written about how much it could hurt an unprepared woman, I was a little afraid. I had earned Mistressâ?? respect by then, and I didnâ??t want to lose it, so I didnâ??t do anything silly like beg her not to do what I knew she wanted to do. I can remember catching her arm, just before she began to ease the toy up my bum, and asking, quietly, "Be gentle, Mistress, please?"
"I will, I promise. Once you get used to the feel of one of these in here," she stroked my bumhole, "youâ??ll enjoy it as much as I do. Tell me if I hurt you too much, and Iâ??ll stop."

At first I was too tensed up, and Mistress was unable to achieve penetration, but as I managed to calm down, with a little pressure on the other toy, Mistress managed to get the tip inside me. It did hurt a little at first, but as the sensation began to build, and I felt the two toys touching each other, through part of my body, I began to whimper quite freely, and quite loudly. Mistress stopped pleasuring me; although just long enough to gag me with a rolled-up nylon, because she was worried that Iâ??d make too much noise, and draw attention that we didnâ??t want. Then she returned to pleasuring both of my sensitive orifices, with her two little toys, and I was in sexual heaven, as I toyed with my erect nipples the way Mistress had shown me. Iâ??d never known an orgasm as intense as the one that crashed through my body as I knelt on the bed, and when Mistress told me that I could remove my gag, I thanked her for the pleasure.

Then we changed places, I gagged Mistress, and then plunged both toys inside her body, intermittently releasing one toy or the other and gently spanking her plump little bum cheeks.

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