1. The Wolves of Berlin


    Date: 9/17/2015, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Coercion, Consensual Sex, Cruelty, Death, Exhibitionism, First Time, Horror, Lesbian, Monster, Murder, Oral Sex, Reluctance, Teen, Author: BlackRonin, Rating: 0, Source: sexstories.com

    safeguard. It had started with a few hundred printed sheets in one city, and now they had workshops all over France, distributing 250,000 copies a day, printing the truth about the war, the occupation, the Germans, and most of all about Vichy's lies. They answered to the Special Operations Executive in England, but only Velin could contact them. The fascists obeyed orders because they were too stupid and callous not to, but the men and women in the print shop and the thousands of others all over the occupied countries obeyed orders because they wanted to live. Alone, they would falter and drown. Of course, they might anyway. Bethanie left the back way and guided her bike into the alley. Only Germans were allowed to drive cars anymore. The metro was out of the question too, since Germans rode for free and the trains were always swarming with soldiers. A bike was the best way. In the basket Bethanie carried her grocery bag. Frenchwomen took grocery bags everywhere these days, as one never knew when a rare opportunity to buy food might present itself. In Bethanie's case, the bag had a false bottom, in which she hid documents. Her gun was there too. She was rarely without it. Even before the war her aunt had put her in the habit of going armed. "You are a Chastel," her aunt told her, "which means you’re never out of danger." She rarely thought about those warnings now, though. Everyone was in danger these days. Being a Chastel no longer made any difference, or so she told ...
    herself. She reviewed her day's appointments. The work was mundane, but vital: passing messages, picking them up, dropping off or retrieving supplies. "Liaisons" these chores were called, small work fit for a girl, but crucial. Information and supplies were their lifeblood. And though she was not ambushing Germans or blowing up railway lines, it was just as dangerous: death or Ravensbruck prison awaited her if caught. The laundry job was her cover. She worked there a few hours in the morning, did her real job in the afternoon, went home at curfew and ate potatoes cooked for six hours over a heater until they were soft enough to chew, then slept a few hours and did it all again the next day. This was the way a French girl went to war. It was a hot day, and part of the heat came from too many people. Paris was a city of crowds, and a city of lines: lines to find out if there was food, lines to find out if there was fabric, lines to find out if there was word about a family member in prison. It was a city of fatigue and hunger, of blue-uniformed policemen and green-uniformed Germans and beautiful women and worn-looking old men. A city of empty, boarded-up shops, and yellow signs warning: "No Jews." A city where bicycles and pedi-cabs and even horses had replaced cars. A city of orders and propaganda, of fascism against Communism, of midnight shootings and daylight bombings and round-ups and executions. It was an old city, but in the face of a long, hot summer it was being born again, ...
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