Medical matters and a deepening involvement with Mundt

My work continued despite my involvement with Ilse Mundt. I delivered messages between members of our resistance cell, left messages which I had encoded myself for our radio operator in pre-arranged concealed places. It was vital we knew as little as possible about our colleagues. That way, were we arrested and interrogated we could not reveal other’s identities.

It was lonely, always frightening and the temptation to talk, simply to share the burden was sometimes overwhelming. My cover as a nurse and midwife meant I could travel within the local area and I soon became well-known to the German’s night patrols and was rarely challenged with more than a ‘Gute Nacht, Schwester.’ Even that made the heart race.

Ilse worked shifts, so quite often it was impossible for her to demand my attention but whenever she could she had me call on her. One Saturday afternoon she had called at the surgery and demanded that I go to her cottage when I had finished. I cycled there, bare legged and still in my uniform because stockings, especially of the sort she gave me, would have screamed ‘collaborator’ to the townspeople.

Also because clothing was in such short supply that to wear the uniform placed less pressure on my very limited wardrobe. On arrival at her cottage, she’d send me to the small guest bedroom to change into what I felt was my whore’s uniform; stockings, suspenders, expensive silk knickers and a long nightdress or something similar.

That evening was no exception and, once changed, I joined her in her sitting room where she sat, naked.

“Better. Pour us both wine. Both of us.”

I was always careful not to drink any more than I absolutely had to. Loosened tongues had been the death of many operatives. Ilse believed I had a low tolerance of drink, since early on I had feigned falling asleep which had angered her but paid the dividend that she no longer plied me with too much drink to get her way. I pretended always to enjoy her company and it was not necessary to fake my sexual arousal. Her body was firm, strong and beautifully proportioned.

Ilse could be very demanding, sexually. Sometimes she would expect me to pleasure her with tongue and fingers for protracted periods then dismiss me but at others, she was gentle and loving and used her body to bring me to welcome climax; even if my mind resisted my body could not.

She had clearly had wine before I had arrived. She drank her glass in one deep swallow then pointed at the carpet between her feet. Shuffling her arse forward she reached for my hair and gripped it, pulling my face to her cunt. I licked and kissed her there, my tongue swirling over her, her clitoris, her lips and delving into her. She held me to her, issuing her customary commands, occasionally strumming her clitoris with her finger as I paid attention to her lips and hole. She was often quick to orgasm and this was no exception. She was not, however, satisfied.

“My little French nurse is so good. You love treating me like this don’t you?”

What could I say?

She smiled. “Come to bed now. Do it again, push your tongue and fingers further into me. I will be slower this time and will enjoy you more.” She led me upstairs to her bedroom and reclined on the bed with its thin mattress and slightly grimy bedclothes.

Kneeling between her thighs I slurped between them, her cunt wet and sticky from her previous climax. Her knees were bent and I slipped a finger into her and she moaned, loving the intrusion. I curled it and tried to think of Eloise or Naomi and the pleasures we had shared to be more inventive for her, to make her cum more quickly so that I might get away.

She was getting close. Her passionate cries were more frequent, louder and her body was writhing. I allowed one finger to stroke down between her lips around that which was curled inside her, down over her perineum and to circle her arse.

You’d have thought she’d been stung. She sat bolt upright and pushed me away.

“What do you think you are doing? That is disgusting. First, you stuff me with medicines there, then you want to make love to me there. You are depraved, like all French women. You have ruined this for me. Get out, leave!” She was beside herself and I was genuinely scared. Apologising I stood up and made my way to the bedroom door to return to her guest room to re-clothe myself and go.

Dressed again in my uniform I went back to the bedroom. “I am sorry, Fraulein Mundt. I meant no harm.”

To my surprise she acted like a young girl, her voice soft, almost whimpering. “Do some women like that?”

“They do. Not all, but some. Some find it hurts, others enjoy the feelings it creates.”

“And you, do you enjoy it?”

I nodded. “At first, I was appalled like you but I grew to love it.”

“Who taught you?”

“She was a teacher.” Keep as close to the truth as possible. Never reveal more than you have to. The fewer words you speak, the fewer opportunities for mistakes, contradictions.

“Did it hurt?”
 

“A little at first but we become used to it, learn that to enjoy our body, all of our body is a wonderful thing. I am a nurse, I’d never do anything that might harm you.”

She reached out for my hand and pulled me to lie beside her, hold her to my breast. To my astonishment, she began to cry.

“In Germany to love women is to be a pervert. The authorities say that homosexuality is a crime. I have not been able to be me, to be free to indulge myself for so long. Before the Nazis, Berlin was free, women like me could find love, joy but now those places are banned and ‘offenders’ arrested.” I held her as her tears and words flowed. “I hate the Nazis. I hate the military. They are brutes and they have made me brutish. Everyone hates us. Do you hate us?”

I said, as I had before in different circumstances. “I don’t hate the Germans, but I do hate what they have done, are doing to my country.”

She nodded. “We are bad people.”

“No, you’re not but you are doing bad things. Not you personally but your people are.”

“I know. You have no idea what is happening to people at home. Are you Jewish?”

“No, I am Catholic.”

“That is good. It is a bad time to be Jewish in Germany, here in France too. My friend, Rebecca, was Jewish. I don’t know where she is now. She was taken away with many other Jews. I loved her, Jeanne, I loved her.”

My natural sympathy was tempered by the fact that she had almost forced me to become her lover with bribery and threats but her deep sadness was moving. It was also interesting. To reveal her feelings as she had put her at grave risk and my professional mind, as opposed to my humanity, wondered if there were ways I could exploit this rich seam of sadness and anger within her. You may think me callous but espionage is a callous business and winning the war was the sole objective for my own country and the rest of the world.

Her hand went between my legs and a finger slipped up the hem of my knickers and stroked me there. Her face rose up and she kissed me, her finger slipping into me as did her tongue.

“You are beautiful.” I knew I was not. “You are kind. It is why you have chosen your profession. I am a scientist and was made to become a communications officer and to come to France. The Reich,” she almost spat the word, “makes ordinary people do awful things.”

I stroked her back and she continued to kiss me, to stroke deep inside me.

“Will you show me how to enjoy my body, my whole body?”

“I must go. I will have patients to deal with.”

“Of course.” She separated herself from me and sat up as I got off the bed. “I am sorry I was so unkind.”

I left by the back door as I had arrived. I cycled through the dark, unlit streets back to my home, my mind pondering this extraordinary chain of events.

*

One night, later that week, I had been ordered to join a small group to collect an airdrop from a field a few miles out of the town. We were five, the others all men. I knew one of them as the cell leader, Martin. He was about fifty years old, tall and hard.

“We have five minutes to prepare, the drop should take place from low level and the containers must be loaded quickly onto the truck.” They all wore working clothes but, since my curfew cover was my job, I was in uniform. “You should not let them know you are the nurse,” Martin whispered to me.

“How do I get around after curfew if I am not dressed like this?”

“Wear something suitable next time. Think of a reason.”

In the darkness, we heard the roar of engines overhead and suddenly two parachutes, dark against the darker sky billowed and seconds later we heard the bumps as two large metal canisters hit the ground. We hurried to collect them, one man delegated the job of burying the ‘chutes. The goods were loaded onto the truck and it roared off with the men aboard. I found my bike and rode shakily along the lanes. I rounded a corner and came face to face with a patrol of Germans.

“Halt.” The desire to turn and flee was almost overwhelming but somehow my nerve held. I went through my cover story in my mind.

“What are you doing out after curfew. Where do you live? Show me your papers.” The orders were barked at me. I explained that I had been visiting a newborn child who had colic. I told them where. I told them that the Doctor and the farmer and his wife would confirm my story. My heart pounded in my chest as they scrutinised my papers.

“Go home, Nurse Lassainte. Ride carefully, it is dangerous to be out in the darkness.”

I had, I think, held my breath throughout. It was not unusual to be scared even if what you were doing was perfectly innocent. The Germans ruled by fear, expected it. I was shaking as I wobbled off on my bike.

The following morning I learned that Martin and his colleagues had all been arrested. On hearing this I went to the toilet and threw up my breakfast. People would assume someone had informed, maybe assume that I, the sole survivor, was that informant. I coded a message to London and, on my way to my first visit of the day, left it at one of the drops. It contained the information regarding Martin’s arrest as well as the account of my recent conversation with Ilse.

I was horrified when a German soldier called at the surgery, a large, open-topped Mercedes outside.

“Nurse Lassainte?”

“Yes.”

“You are needed at the telephone exchange. Please come with me now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I was simply told to bring you.”

“I’ll go by bicycle, I have other calls to make.”

“Please, get in the car.”

Was this my arrest, the subject of my worst nightmares? I picked up my bag and got into the back of the open-topped car and he drove quickly to the exchange. There I was met with the sight of Ilse standing on the steps to the imposing doorway.

“Thank God you are here. One of my women is having a baby.” Shit! “Please, Nurse, she needs your help.”

I made my way through the exchange to a first aid room where a troubled-looking woman of about fifty stood beside another, younger woman who was lying on her side on a cot and moaning, her belly swollen, sweat on her face and neck. I called for towels and hot water. She had obviously been in labour for some time. She was exhausted.

“You should have sent for the Doctor, not me.”

“You are a midwife, no?” This was Ilse from the doorway.

“Of course, but she is in great distress, she might need a C section. Call the doctor.” She hesitated. “Now!”

I turned back to the poor, pregnant woman. Her navel was protruding and I knew this often meant the baby had breeched. I checked her pulse, temperature and dilation and examined as best I could. I sensed rather than knew that the baby had breeched. Jesus, what was I supposed to do?

I racked my brain and tried desperately to remember what I’d been so briefly taught. I got her on to her back, encouraged her to raise her knees and tried to speak to her. She was obviously in pain but she could tell me she was about a month short of her due date.

Imagine my relief when Doctor Legrande arrived, his bag in hand. He took in the scene and I said, “I think the baby has breeched, Doctor.” He nodded and moved me aside, kneeling to examine the mother on the low, narrow cot.

“You have done well, Nurse.”

I couldn’t think that was true but was glad he’d said it. At least my cover was intact. We told everyone to leave us and the Doctor explained he was going to perform a Caesarean to deliver her baby, not to worry, Nurse Lassainte will administer chloroform and she’d sleep through it. I used the mask from his bag and a few drops of the powerful-smelling anaesthetic and she dropped off. Swiftly, incredibly deftly, the Doctor performed the operation and extracted the infant. While I washed and held the crying child, he stitched her up.

Madame Goury, woke drowsily a few moments later and, when she was back with us, I gave her her baby daughter to hold. She was still exhausted of course but she was all smiles and gratitude. As I was leaving, she asked me my name. I told her.

“May I call my baby, Jeanne? To thank you?” I nodded and said I’d be honoured.

As I was leaving the exchange, Ilse stopped me.

“Nurse. Could you please call at my home at six? I would like you to give me some medical advice?”
 

“Come to the surgery and speak to the Doctor.”

She looked directly into my eye. “Six. No later.”

At six, I arrived as was now customary at the back entrance to her cottage. Naked but for a silk robe, she gripped my wrist and pulled me in and, slamming the door hastily, she embraced me and kissed me, hard.

“You were wonderful today.”

“Thank you.” She was undressing me as she spoke, almost ripping my clothes off me. Her hunger was obvious. She exposed my breasts and sucked them, her hand going up under my uniform dress to cup me, then in under the hem of my knickers and her finger started to stroke my cunt. She almost dragged me to her bedroom where she finished undressing me, pushing me on the bed. She knelt between my feet, lifted my knees and dived between my thighs. Her tongue lashed me, fast, hard, opening me and spreading my lips. She slipped a finger into me.

“I want you to orgasm. I have been selfish.” Well, she wasn’t being selfish now. Her fingers entered me, two together and began to pump in and out of my now wet hole, her tongue thrashing around my engorged clitoris. Briefly, she knelt back on her heels to throw off her robe, then she moved us into a tribbing position and ground her cunt against mine, her hands on my shoulders.

“Cum for me, Jeanne, cum with me. Her eyes rolled and her hips thrust and the orgasm she wanted from me rose unbidden, making me arch my back so my hips pushed against her and almost simultaneously, we climaxed. Hers was as noisy as always.

She held me to her body, to her large, firm breasts, stroking my hair and occasionally kissing my forehead, my eyes. “I love you, Jeanne. Could you ever love me?”

“Ilse, the curfew.”

“You could stay the night.”

“No, the Doctor will wonder where I am, maybe raise the alarm, especially if there is an emergency.”

Reluctantly she let me go. I dressed quickly and left by the back door to cycle home.