The Airman and the Farm-Girl

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There was a terrifying silence from the engines. The deafening, comforting roar was suddenly missing, replaced by a whistling wind and incoherent yells on the intercom. Acrid, choking smoke was thick in the air and the aircraft was now at an unnatural angle as it dived uncontrollably.

He had heard the skipper’s shout to bail out, the order that he’d hoped would never come. At this point he wasn’t about to argue, he was already buckling on his parachute as he made his way along a narrow passage to the emergency exit. Adrenaline generated by pure terror made him fumble briefly as he clipped the line onto a hook, twisted a handle, threw open the hatch and climbed out into the slipstream. Immediately he was snatched by the wind, into a freezing, suddenly silent blackness.

The jolt as the parachute opened was vicious but welcome. He wasn’t about to drill his own grave at 200 mph after all. The young airman hung in the harness, waiting, waiting. He heard an explosion, perhaps the end of the bomber. He wondered if any of his mates had made it. There was a familiar drone of other aircraft in the distance, he recognised some of the sounds as Lancasters, others were single-engined fighters. Then the peace was broken as through the shadows he saw trees rushing up and there was another crashing jolt and a gentle swinging. Apart from a creaking sound from the tree branches snagging the ‘chute, all was peaceful.

Where the bloody hell was he? In both senses, he thought. Was he 50 feet in the air or 5 inches? Was he in Germany, France, Belgium, Poland?

He was fairly sure he wasn’t in Britain. He tended to be unconcerned with the route of the operations during briefing, he was a passenger in the back – let the pilot and navigator worry about where they were going, instead he listened to the bits about air defences. That was the bit that concerned him, night fighter squadrons waiting to intercept. So now he was in occupied territory, for sure.

He decided to wait. At least he was still alive whilst he waited – and didn’t have a broken back or something perhaps even worse.

“Tommy.” He woke with a start – he had been sleeping, how long for? “Tommy.” The word came again, insistent.

He was cold and he struggled to get his brain working. He opened his eyes and found that dawn was breaking. He was about six feet from the ground, frost was on the grass around and a woman was calling softly to him. She was hiding in a bush several yards away but clearly visible to him. Not young, maybe in her sixties or even older, wearing an old worn-out overcoat and boots. “Come, hurry.”

He weighed up his options and staying stuck in the tree felt like the worst of those available.

He punched the release button and the harness fell away from his shoulders allowing him to fall forwards and land clumsily head-first on the ground. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards the woman, abandoning the parachute still entangled in the branches.

“Hurry,” she called and walked quickly in front of him, leading him through the trees until they came to a field, which they skirted until they came upon a low stone hut. She pointed inside. “Stay. Quiet.” She was insistent, so he entered. It was possibly a shelter for animals, he surmised. It was dry inside but not very clean; it had a thick scattering of dung on the floor. “Hide.” She was gone, vanished into the woodland.

Hide? He was happy enough to stay in the shed or whatever it was, he had no idea what else to do. Besides, his wrists were now both hurting after his fall from the tree. He sat and waited. Really, this game was much like his experience of the air force, hurry up and wait was the saying. Rush to Parade and wait to be inspected. Rush to the aircraft, wait to get shot at.

Eventually he heard male voices, German. Panic-stricken he shrank into the deepest, darkest corner and tried to move a loose rock to hide behind. Luckily it shifted and he pressed himself into the dirt and shadows behind the dung heap, turning his face into a crevice in the wall where some air entered to dilute the stench of ammonia. Presently a person came to the shed entrance and hesitated briefly outside. The person shouted something and then moved away. Surely he had been seen? Apparently not, he could hear the voices becoming fainter.

He remained motionless for perhaps an hour until he dared to peer out of the shelter. All was quiet. His wrists were agony now, throbbing, making movement of his hands impossible. He waited again.

Darkness came at last and he was hungry. Then suddenly, the woman was with him at the entrance. “Tommy, come.”

She led him back into the woodland and eventually to a farmhouse. They entered and he saw that it was plainly furnished. A girl was waiting there. She was maybe 18, 19 years old, may have been pretty with her blonde hair if she hadn’t been so poorly dressed and unkempt, wearing a thin plain dress which showed a healthy pair of jutting breasts and wide pendik escort child-bearing hips.

She spoke, with marginally better English than her elder. “Boche find sheet in tree. They come, search. Find nothing, they gone now, everything is good. You eat.” The old woman handed him a bowl of watery soup containing some potato, cabbage and some bits of sausage and fat.

The girl continued “Boche kill my father, my mother taken to work in factory. Maybe she dead also. This my Grandmother, we live here.”

The old woman took off her overcoat but kept her boots on. She was clearly active for her age and carried no spare weight except for her sagging large breasts. The pitiful diet probably helped with that, he thought.

The airman tried to hold the bowl but the pain stabbed through him and he set it down quickly on the wooden table with a splash. The women looked at him with surprise, so he showed his arms in explanation. The older woman held his hand and turned it, causing him to yelp. She tried again more gently, examining both wrists. She spoke briefly to the girl who translated. “My mother not speak good English, your hands not kaput, they better in some days. Now you rest hands until better.”

Yes, that’s what he was thinking. His wrists were sprained but thankfully not broken. She handed him a wooden spoon but he found he could not handle it to eat the soup. The woman fed him with the spoon whilst he rested his arms on the table. A feeble log fire flickered in the fireplace and a candle provided a poor light. The girl spoke again “You come to kill the Boche, you hero, you our friend. You safe here, we look after you.”

The woman finished feeding the airman and led him to a bedroom. “You sleep, safe here. If any problem, you hide here.” She pointed to a cupboard under the bed, which looked tiny but was deceptively roomy and looked just about big enough to hold him.

He tried to remove his flight jacket but he had no strength in his arms. The old woman helped him with the thick garment and then left the room. She returned with strips of sacking which she used to bandage his sprained wrists. She unfastened and removed his trousers and boots, then indicated a pot in the corner of the room for use in the night. Then he was left alone to sleep. There was a rough blanket but precious little else on the thin mattress. He covered himself, the blanket was generously sized but not effective against the lack of heating. However he was a country lad himself and soon he was dozing.

He was awakened by the door to his room opening. Someone was approaching in the dark, someone who knew their way around – not a stranger. His blanket moved, then a person was getting in the bed with him.

She was wearing a thin night-dress which she held raised to her waist and her warmth spread easily to him. She turned and spooned her bare backside into his lap. It was the old woman, her hips were not wide and padded like the girl’s. Despite himself he could feel an erection coming on with the proximity of uncovered female flesh. She was surprisingly soft and compliant as she snuggled against him.

Back home he lived in his parents house, which also served as the village shop. He had little real experience of women; there had been village dances of course and once a local girl had given him a kiss when it had been announced that he was leaving for the war. However the attentions of the opposite sex had largely escaped him. He had listened to tales of bravado in the barracks but sometimes felt that he was destined to die a virgin. From sly glances in the bath-house he knew that he was not under-endowed, indeed some of his mates were considerably smaller – not that he had seen many whilst erect.

This woman did not recoil from his hardening, nor did she turn and smack him in the face. To his confusion she even snuggled further back and reached behind her to hold his penis, releasing it from his military-issue underwear. She moved it down and under her bottom, into the space between her thighs where it was more comfortable.

Then she was holding his penis with her hand between her legs and pressing it against her soft flesh. Her body was rocking and she was rubbing against him. He could feel rough hair, then an unfamiliar moistness as she parted for him. He found himself within a place that was much warmer and more pleasant than his fist, which was all that he had previously experienced. She sighed and continued the rocking motion.

He tried to move position but she held him still, making sure that all the movements were made by her alone. With a regular rhythm she moved and swivelled her hips, pressing the underside of his penis with her fingers, holding him in place to make sure that he didn’t escape from her body. Soon he stiffened and groaned as he expelled himself into her.

She lay still for a while as he softened and slipped away from her, then she rose from the bed and left the room closing the door behind maltepe escort her. The airman adjusted his shorts and went back to sleep.

* * *

In the morning he was awakened early by noises from the two women talking and moving. He rose and relieved himself into the pot, then tried to pull on his trousers. His hands were stiff and it took a few attempts. Then the door opened and the woman beckoned him. She led him to an outside sink and gave him a razor. “Son. Dead now.” she explained.

He had lived all his childhood in a rural area, although not on a farm so he was familiar with the outside facilities and the rudimentary lavatory in a small shed that had a simple plank over a hole containing a soil-heap.

He ate a breakfast of home-made bread and brackish coffee, whilst the women spoke in their guttural language. “You stay here for now, we contact people who work with Resistance, then you leave.” The girl spoke to him. “No names, safer this way. We build escape hole, you not be seen.”

The woman gave him a coat to hide the conspicuous flight jacket and they walked out to the shed that passed as the lavatory. Nearby, she picked up a shovel and started to dig. The ground was soft and she was soon in a hole a couple of feet deep. She gave the shovel to the girl who went down deeper and then climbed out. The man grabbed the shovel and with difficulty he dug, his stiff wrists not hampering him completely. Soon by taking turns they had a hole easily big enough for a person to lie in. Then the two women crossed to the shed and picked the flimsy structure up completely in the air leaving a hole half-full with sewage. The shed was placed it over the new hole with some dirt scattered to conceal the gaps. The spare soil was used to fill the previous hole, covering the contents.

“No-one search there” smiled the girl. “We use old place now.” She led the way to the side of the house where there was a stone shelter full of firewood. They cleared out the wood, revealing a bucket. She placed a plank of wood into recesses in the wall so that it was over the bucket and the firewood was piled up to conceal the entrance from outside.

He spent the rest of the day following the women as they did chores around the farm, helping where he could. Another bowl of watery soup served as supper and soon afterwards they went to bed as the night came. He waited in the darkness but the woman didn’t visit and eventually he slept.

The door opened, awakening him. It was light from the morning sun and the girl entered in a rush. “Hide, quiet” she whispered, pointing to the cupboard. He swiftly climbed in and he was followed by his blanket and the clothes that he had discarded. The hatch was shut firmly, then he heard the room door close and he waited.

There was the sound of male voices and boots around the house, then the door to his room was opened. Shortly later the male voices were silent.

An hour later the door to the house burst open again and male and female voices shouted. His room was entered again whilst the women shouted in the background, then silence fell again.

Some hours later again, the girl opened his cupboard and allowed him out. “Bastards came back, searching.” she explained angrily. “Find nothing, I think someone in village say something. I don’t know, there is old man who look at me sometimes. Creepy. Maybe he want this farm, he not have any land.”

Then as he stood with his joints stiff from the confinement, she was suddenly in his arms, trembling. He held her tight and gradually she calmed. Her thin dress did little to conceal her body and as he held his arms around her and her hair was against his face, he could feel the ribs on her back and smell her natural scent. Soon it was he that trembled.

Her mouth found his and she kissed urgently as if she wanted to bruise his lips. He felt her tongue between his teeth and he parted them to allow her to meet his tongue.

Her arms dropped and then her hands were at his groin, touching his privates. Urgently she unfastened his trousers and felt inside his shorts, fondling him. Arousing, he slid his hands down her back until he was holding her strong backside. Then she was frantic, pulling her dress up and over her head showing her thread-bare underclothes; long knickers and a thin vest. Her nipples were erect and clearly visible, so he looked away from them so that she wouldn’t be embarrassed. He could almost hear his mother telling him not to stare rudely.

She pushed him back onto the bed and removed his uniform, his white cotton shorts tenting in front of her. Then she pulled off his underclothes so that he was naked, stiff penis sticking ridiculously in the air, before she discarded the last of her clothing.

She stood proudly baring her young but well developed breasts with areolae the size of peas, which he could see stood out from her gaunt body, carried high on her chest without any of the signs of the ageing that showed kartal escort on her grandmother. Her defiant nipples pointed firmly upwards and a luxuriant bush of pubic hair covered her intimate parts, dark brown curls contrasting with the milky white skin and the fair hair on her head.

This was the first time he had actually ever seen a nude female and the moment was over too soon. She moved close, bending over so that the breasts dangled loosely. Her mouth was kissing his chest before he knew it and then she was straddling him, groping for his cock.

Almost violently she manipulated him to full erection and forced him to the entrance between her thighs, pushing him inside her. There was a resistance at the start and he thought that he would snap with the force of her weight. Then he was inside her, with a cry that escaped from her mouth.

She sat still, recovering from the effort and pain with her knees either side of his body, hands resting on his shoulders. Then she moved up slightly on her knees so that he was partially withdrawn, before she sank again to repeat the sensation. She bent over to brush her pink nipples against his chest, before kissing him roughly again, bruising her lips against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gripped with every part of her body.

She felt completely different. Whereas the older woman had been an extraordinarily warm and welcoming space around his cock, the girl was tight and squeezed around him. When she moved, he felt her warm body move right along the length of his shaft. As she sank down his foreskin was pulled back by her tightness until the sensation was painful. A pleasant exciting pain that he was happy to suffer.

She started to fuck him, determined to relish every moment of the experience. Quickly the pace increased until she was heaving against him wildly, breasts bouncing. She suddenly orgasmed, which surprised them both. Slumping, she tried to regain her breath.

The airman sat up and hugged the panting girl, crushing her soft yet firm breasts between them. Then he shifted onto his knees whilst remaining hard and fully inside her. He leaned her onto her back and so he was able to start his own rhythm, screwing gently at first but building up to a climax whilst she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind him.

When he finished he collapsed into her embrace, coated in sweat and they both gasped for oxygen together. She kept her legs locked, pulling him closely against herself.

In another room of the house, the old woman listened to the primeval sounds and smiled to herself. She touched that part that she knew still had the power to produce such pleasure, both for herself and for others. She reached for a nearby candle and inserted the worn length of tallow into her body. She moved it in time to the noises from elsewhere in the house, thinking of the previous encounter.

After a long time the farm-girl released the airman, allowing him to escape from her body. He saw traces of blood on his privates and turned away from her to conceal the drying stains.

They dressed wordlessly and carried on with the day’s work. He was young and his wrists were healing quickly, he was a fast learner in the ways of the farm and able to help with jobs that needed more strength than was available to the women.

That night, the girl came straight to his room and climbed into his bed. She fondled him more tenderly this time and showed him where to touch her so that she shuddered with the sensation. In return, he encouraged her to stroke him in the ways that he enjoyed the most. When they finally coupled, they were both so aroused that they orgasmed together almost immediately and then lay restfully before sleeping.

Weeks and then months passed, and there was little talk of contacting the Resistance. Instead of struggling or asking a neighbour for assistance the jobs were now completed quickly without fuss. The airman became useful around the farm, digging crops and repairing things long damaged. A leaking roof tile, a gate between the fields, a coop for some chickens.

In the nights the girl always visited him. Their love-making became gentle and prolonged, filling the long dark evenings with joys that had evaded both previously. She now greeted each day with enthusiasm instead of endurance. She brushed her hair and pinched her cheeks to bring pinkness to them, found decorations for her threadbare clothes. The old lady looked fondly at the couple and remembered previous times when she had been a young woman with a life before her.

Early one morning there was a banging on the door that could not be denied. The old lady came to their room and spoke quickly to the girl. There was no time to run across the yard to the toilet shed hide, the Germans were already there. The airman dived into the compartment under the bed.

Even as the hatch was shut, the front door flew open and a man in uniform with a gun entered. He was followed by others and the house was searched. It didn’t take long for the airman to be found and with much shouting he was taken from the farmhouse and placed into the rear of a truck with armed guards. The lorry was driven away by the soldiers.

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