As with all of my stories, this is fiction.

The phone rang as I stepped into my black heels and attached my faux pearl clip-on earrings. Hugo put his watch on and picked up the receiver; the muted voices on the other end were speaking German.

“Wir haben bestätigt, dass Lotte eine Spionin ist. Bring sie herein.” (Tranlation: We have confirmed, Lotte is a spy. Bring her in.)

After putting the receiver back in the cradle, Hugo didn’t turn around but just said, “We have to stop by the office before dinner.”

If you could close your eyes to the swastika-clad red banners and the random luggage left in the street when a Jew was forced onto a truck, or the barricades and the destruction, then Berlin was a beautiful city. Everyone hoped it could return to its former glory after the war.

The cool night air made it an easy decision to walk the short distance to the Third Reich Headquarters. Hugo’s demeanor had tightened slightly; there was tension in his cheek, and he had started to bite his nails.

As we entered Headquarters, my world was immediately a blur of hands grabbing me, grabbing my bag, lifting me off the ground, and pulling me into a dark room, and 24 minutes after the phone rang in Hugo’s apartment, I was handcuffed to a table.

Within another 30 minutes, a mid-ranking official in the Third Reich had informed me that there was proof that I was a spy for the Allies. And that if I had any hope of getting out of here with my life, then I better answer every question the soldier asked me when I got downstairs.

Again, hands grabbed me and nearly threw me down the stairs. If the accommodations in the cell upstairs were raunchy, downstairs, in the deepest crypts of the earth, were beyond disgusting.

The brutish men shoved me in a chair, my right arm stretched out and cuffed in a chain attached to the wall, and then the same was done to the left. The ogres walked out of the cell, the last one sliding the metal door closed with a decided thud. The finality of that thud was like a book ending, like the “The End” of my life.

Seconds later, the door slid open less than a meter, and a figure slipped into the darkness of my cell. I caught the scent of the fresh soap that we washed each other with just over an hour ago, in stark contrast to the stench of dirt and sweat and other bodily fluids that made up the cacophony of smells in this small space. Hugo stepped into the light, so close I could feel his breath on my lips.

“Hugo, what are you doing here? You will also be arrested,” I pleaded with him to go.

“Lotte, was any part of us real? I must know. How could you do this to me? I loved you.” his voice nearly a cry from the pain.

“I am sorry, Hugo, and yes, everything between us was, it is, real. I love you,” I pleaded, needing him to believe me like I needed air.

I broke every rule in the handbook on this mission, and as a result, I had been caught. I knew that I was on my own. There was no question that I had used Hugo to gain valuable information and passed it back to the U.S. and Canadian governments. But I had also fallen in love with Hugo, choosing to ignore the consequences of being discovered. There would be no rescue. I was going to die alone, in Germany, and no one would know until I missed a check-in next week.

Finally, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. Slow and sorrowful at first, I could feel the pain seeping up from his soul. The vine-like angst wrapping around and around us until I could hardly breathe.

As I pulled back to catch my breath, Hugo pushed the kiss further. His pain became an impious passion. His lips pressed harder on mine with a bit of desperation. His hands worked roughly to pull my shirt up and grab my breasts. Then he unzipped my pants and stroked my pussy. The fever of it made me nervous but excited too. Hugo was a tender lover and had never approached me with this much hunger.

But this was a time like no other. This was our last time together. That made it more pressing than ever before; made the need to leave a lasting memory so necessary it held us both in its vice grip.

Hugo had me on my feet, my pants down, his pants down, and he was sitting on the chair in a few swift moves. He grabbed my hips and pulled me down on his lap. No romance at all as my barely wet pussy screeched to a halt on the girth of his cock, and I screamed in pain.

I reached between my legs and rubbed my clit hard to bring on my juices while Hugo finger fucked me until my tunnel was nice and lubricated for his rock-hard shaft. He pulled me down again, this time successful.

I still screamed, this time in pleasure, as his large cock spread my pussy wider than ever, pushing the walls and scraping over every tiny nerve ending.

Holy shit! I love this part!

When his entire shaft was finally sucked up into my canal, I started rolling my hips up and down, left and right, and in circles. Hugo moaned in delight right along with me, but he didn’t wait long until he started lifting me up and down fucking his thick rod over and over.


His animal instincts took over, and he slammed my body up and down on his hips, forcing himself up into me farther with each thrust. I cried out as he rammed into my cervix over and over. I cried louder in ecstasy when it felt as if he would break through my very stomach.


His pace quickened as if we were on a time clock. Up and down, up and down. He was an efficient engine that would be first at the finish line.

“Oh Hugo, I love your cock,” I screamed. “Don’t stop fucking me, please!”

His only response was to start pumping his hips upward as my hips slammed down on him. His cock hitting all my switches with every thrust. I felt his balls getting heavier each time they slapped my ass. He was close.

“Cum with me,” he murmured to me. We held each other tight as we both got lost in this massive moment of pleasurable discharge amid a day of horrific pain.

It was not the place for cuddling, so we dressed, and Hugo helped me back into the chair. Within seconds, several uniformed men walked into the room as if they had been watching, just waiting for us to finish. They did their salute “Heil Hitler,” and all started whispering. To my surprise, Hugo joined the men with no reprisal.

My torture had begun, and no one had even touched me yet. As the metaphoric knife stabbed me in the back, I realized that Hugo was not being punished because they had known that I was a spy all along. He had been giving me false information.

Hugo walked just to the edge of the light, not even coming close enough for me to take refuge in his scent this time. There was no love or passion in his eyes this time. His eyes were dead; a stranger that had used me as I had used him, and now we were done with each other.

I notice a folder in his hand. A chill ran down my spine at this second realization.

My lover had just become my interrogator.

“How did you first decide to target me?”

I looked him straight in the eye and started reciting song lyrics I had memorized just for this purpose.

Hugo asked again, and I repeated a little louder. This went on for about thirty minutes. Finally, Hugo flew over to me in a fit of rage, breathing fire into my ear as he whispered

“If you don’t answer my questions, it is going to get worse for you.”

I looked him in the eye, undeterred, “Heaven, I’m in Heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak….”

I knew my fate, and I knew Hugo would be the one to deliver the shot after hours of torturous interrogation. But I didn’t feel a thing. In my mind, I was dancing in a field of pink gerbera daisies, in a white cotton dress, with Fred Astaire as he sang

“…And I seem to find the happiness I seek when we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek.”


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright © 2021 lilcoffeeluvr111
All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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