You Must Remember This
Copyright© 2008 by Freddie Clegg
Chapter 13: Smoking Is Hazardous To Your Heath - Lisbon, January 1942
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 13: Smoking Is Hazardous To Your Heath - Lisbon, January 1942 - Before today's Freddie Clegg there were others. After the chaos of the German invasion of Paris in 1940, one man finds himself standing up against the Nazi threat. Oh, yes, and kidnapping women along the way. Freddie Clegg finds his skills in demand for the British war effort.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa NonConsensual Heterosexual Historical BDSM MaleDom FemaleDom Sadistic
As Ilsa passed him the glass Clegg noticed her cigarette case on the bedside table. It was identical to Tereza's. Clegg wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed it before. The bright red enamel shone like a beacon. Then he realised. When he had left the room it must have been face down, its gold, engraved face lying upwards. Ilsa had obviously moved it for some reason. As he lifted the glass of champagne towards his lips he suddenly realised why. He looked across at Ilsa and saw her watching him closely.
He threw the champagne in her face. She yelled, falling back on the bed. Clegg dived for his jacket, wresting Ilsa's pistol from his pocket.
Ilsa, wiping the champagne from her eyes, blinked as he threatened her with the weapon. "Please put your hands up, Mrs Lazlo," he said. "Or should it be Miss Lund or perhaps, even, Irena Lanz?"
Ilsa glowered at him.
"Out of bed, please," he ordered. Ilsa got up from the bed, completely naked, her hands raised. Clegg walked behind her, picked up the cigarette case and thumbed it open. Inside the two halves of a false cigarette, identical to the one in Tereza's case, betrayed Ilsa's intentions. "I don't imagine that the poison was in your drink, was it?" Clegg asked rhetorically. "Let's go through to the lounge," Clegg suggested with a wave of the pistol. "Somehow I'm not thinking of going to bed just now."
Ilsa walked ahead of him across the room. Clegg watched the perfect smoothness of her back and the exquisite line of her buttocks, cursing his luck. "She might have let me fuck her first," he thought. He followed her. "On the chair, here, please," he said picking up Ilsa's discarded dress and underwear. She sat down.
Cleg tied her wrists to the heavy arms of the chair using her stockings. She yelped as he pulled the knots tight. Clegg was less than sympathetic. He pulled them tighter still.
He tore two strips of cloth from her dress and used them to fasten her ankles one to each of the two front legs of the chair. With Ilsa helplessly bound, Clegg turned to pick up her handbag. He emptied out the contents on to his desk.
"My, my," said Clegg as he picked out an airplane ticket. "And I thought you were leaving for America by boat with Vitkor. Where does this take you, I wonder? Back to Paris?" He opened the paper folder. "Ah," he said, "to Prague. Does this suggest that your Gestapo masters are intending to rebuild Herr Strasser's operations, I wonder." Ilsa glowered at Clegg. He hadn't really expected a response. All she did in answer to his remarks was to struggle fruitlessly in an attempt to free herself from the chair.
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