So, my pretty French tart, my bed, or the concentration camp?”
“Your bed, major; I don’t want to die. Sex She even gave me a set of clean clothes out of her own wardrobe. “Yes, major,” I mumbled. I wasn’t the first Frenchwoman to shack up with a German, and I didn’t suppose I’d be the last; even if most of them shacked up with men. However, they were both dead, so she couldn’t ask them. While I was in the lorry, I thought that I should have tried to provoke the young soldier into shooting me; that way I could have had a quick, clean, and relatively painless death. I don’t think that you’re stupid enough to let me fail, because you know what that means, and you don’t want to experience their methods of interrogation. In all fairness, I’d been picked up with the survivors of my entire resistance cell anyway; therefore I didn’t really have a great deal of valuable information to give away to my interrogators. So as I knelt on the rug, I willed her to induce my second orgasm, regardless of how she did it.
