Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Urotsukidoji - Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.	By : Nickamano Category: +S to Z > Urotsuki-doji Views: 1508 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Neither Urotsukidoji or any related materials are owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter 2.
Poland.
1 mile east of the village of Slublisz.
2 miles from Slubice on the Polish / German border.

The drop had been clean and smooth. Cloudy but dry with light crosswind conditions made for plain sailing, so to speak.
No one had been lost, no one had been injured and no one had been swept miles from the landing zone. They had landed within a square quarter-mile of each other and had regrouped in the woods at the edge of the field, according to the Lieutenant’s orders. It took almost an hour before everyone had made it to the rendezvous point. And while the squad waited, they all double checked their equipment, the Lieutenant and the Sergeant assessed their map and orders one last time. And then they were quick-marching their way through the woods, though neither as quietly nor as carefully as Private Brooks, personally, would have liked.
Brooks had always a worrier. At present he worried about his equipment going missing or failing him at the worse possible moment. He worried about the predawn pitch-darkness and the woods, and what the two elements in combination could be concealing, waiting in ambush. He worried about his comrades, though mostly about Private Clay, who was the only other Negro in the Platoon. Not that they were particular friends or knew much about each other, beyond the usual lives of blacks in the US. and black soldiers. Clay hailed from Kentucky whereas Brooks was born and raised in Washington State. While the others had been only slightly more accepting since he had proved himself on the battlefield. There was still the expected subjugation and prejudices, he and Clay invariably were given the shit jobs, latrine digging, the worst watch duties, the fetch and carry. All of it.
However, right now he was in his element. Doing the job of a soldier. When the rules were clear and the enemy was plain, even going so far as to dress in such a way as to identify themselves for him. He could shoot a rifle well, better than most. He could follow orders and he wasn’t afraid. Or at least he knew how to control his fear, to carry on despite it.
He felt the weight, the smooth warm wood of the stock of his M1 and he found comfort in it. His lifesaver and soul-taker. His large brown eyes scanned the almost black silhouette of the all-surrounding woodland. The low-down knee-high shrubs and bushes, thickets of brambles and ferns, twigs and saplings. At eye level, the woods themselves, trunks and limbs resembling loosely bundled sticks, spread and scattered yet upright, like countless prison bars. And then above them, pitch black against the misty blanket of the backdrop of pre-dawn clouds, the countless interconnecting crowns. A multitude of umbrellas forming the mass-canopy of the forest, overlapping, duelling for space, for the brilliance of the sun, to spread wide and absorb its nourishing radiance.
Brooks quickly brought his attention back down to knee height, scanning the lay of the land ahead, the thickets and saplings and shrubs. He searched for tell-tale movement, listened for noise, for glints of the dim night’s meagre moonlight reflecting off metal - a button or buckle, a helmet, a rifle’s receiver. He saw nothing, heard no movement, no sound, no traces. Somehow aware of the position and proximity of the rest of the rifle squad, Brooks continued onwards, advancing slow and quiet toward their eventual location. And yet relying on his officers to tell them when they had reached it.

The first predawn grey was seeping across the horizon, as the squad emerged from the wooded edge of the hillside to look down into the valley, elevating the wet iron of the clouds to wet concrete and the sky itself from pitch to coal.
The squad knelt against the last few sparse trees that dotted the edge of the woods and looked down into the valley toward the little village of Slublisz. Looking down from above, the village resembled an Egyptian Ankh. There was a crossroads that circled a white stone church at the north end, essentially filling the oval shaped tip of the ankh. Beneath it were four small clusters of whitewashed and grey slate-tiled buildings at the four segments of the cross, framing the central crossroads that the church overlooked.
“Okay, that’s definitely the place. But the location of the rendezvous is a small farm east of the village…” Kahn muttered, squinting down into the valley below.
The cluster of white buildings forming the village was a blurred dull grey in the pre-morning non-light and Kahn found it less than an easy thing to see them, or keep them in sight. So, he started to think that picking out the farm rendezvous was going to be a real challenge, unless they waited until there was more light to see by. And that, of course, would put them in much greater danger of being spotted out in the open by the enemy.
However, the Sergeant was aware that if you used your peripheral vision then contrasting colours tended to stand out even in the dark and using this technique, he managed to pinpoint another small gathering of whitewashed, slate-tiled buildings way off to the east of the village. He could also just about make out a narrow little track that led from the separate cluster of buildings and met up with the main north-south road leading into the village.
He tapped his Lieutenant on the shoulder and pointed. Kahn peered into the gloom, not quite seeing anything until he squinted, straining his vision. However, the vague impression of buildings was there, Lines of grey-brown, among the grey-green polygons of the fields, signifying tracks and paths and demarcations of land, which was slightly easier to make out for Kahn. At least it gave him an easily pick-out-able marker to head for and by the time they were approaching the farm there should be light enough to see by. He passed on whispered orders and the squad started to emerge from the cover of the hilltop treeline and start down the hill in the general direction of the farm.
<><><>
Royal Engineers and SOE operatives Lewis Bodie and Raymond Shaw felt comfortable in amongst the half-dozen members of the Polish guerrilla cell. They were certainly far less comfortable with the young brother and sister team who had joined up with them. However, the siblings had absolutely and unquestionably proved their worth and talent on a number of shockingly impressive if not rather horrifying occasions. A number of those occasions ran through Shaw’s mind unbidden as he sat in front of the sitting room fire. It was a comfortable room, spacious and homely. The centre of the farmhouse they had been using as a base of operations for the last month, while his British colleague slept soundly in a goose-down bed upstairs.
Shaw sat opposite Rangel Piszczek, the senior-most member of the Polish resistance group. Both men occupied beaten and patched wing-backed armchairs, that faced the dwindling fire at angles. The British Warrant Officer’s tired, glazed eyes floated unfocussed at the gently ticking carriage clock on the shadowed mantle, while he absently drew on the warm and worn mouthpiece of his clay pipe. The clock had to be carefully wound each morning, to ensure accurate time. It was a duty Shaw had taken upon himself to complete as part of his habitual breakfast arrangements. Piszczek was sitting in the other armchair gazing into the fire, stub of a forgotten cigarette in one drooping hand, half-empty tumbler of Schnapps in the other.
The two men were on last alert, though it didn’t stop them drinking schnapps and smoking in front of the fire’s dying embers. They were essentially on stand-by, ready to rouse the others quickly should the alarm be raised by Clonek who was outside on patrol. Piszczek, the thirty-something Pole silently rolled another cigarette, illuminated by the warm orange glow of the fire while Shaw chewed absently at his pipe. The schnapps was only to warm them, they did not allow themselves to get anywhere near drunk.
There was only the three of them, Shaw and Piszczek with outside Clonek on watch - keeping eyes and ears peeled for patrolling Germans as well as the American paratroopers who, they had been informed by radio, were being dropped tonight and that they should be expected around dawn. The others were all asleep upstairs. It should really have been two outside patrolling and one inside. However, it was a cold night and they were all tired, so Clonek had given the thumbs up to Piszczek, technically his superior, to remain indoors. Shaw hadn’t thought it a good idea either but he had no real authority, only cooperation and mutual respect with the Poles. So, he had kept his mouth shut.
He had felt better when he had spied young Miss Segen descending the staircase about an hour earlier. She had moved with her usual silent grace that, he judged to be closer to phantom than feline. In utter silence, each caught the other’s eye and exchanged polite nods before she slipped out into the night. Shaw assumed she was intending to help with the pre-dawn patrol. He had personally witnessed the youngster’s almost preternatural ability to sense intruders. He had even seen her enigmatically sniffing their air like an animal, raising the alarm a good ten or fifteen minutes before a patrol made itself visible to the rest of them. Her talent had already saved them from discovery innumerable times; however strange, unnatural and, to be honest, frightening it was.
Segen von Himmel was a strange girl. Scintillatingly beautiful, and though only a girl she was somehow insurmountably alluring. Even Shaw could admit as much to himself, though he was long and happily married to his Sally - and yet had always preferred to meet men in secret on the common at midnight – he could see how intensely attractive the girl was. Her huge, unearthly sky-blue eyes, the full emotive lips, the short, cropped hair that was black except in certain lights when it took on a strange though somehow altogether natural blue-hue quality. And there was something else beneath that almost adolescent allure, that honey-sweet seductiveness and intoxicating energy that seemed to surround her. Something that made him uncomfortable, even mildly afraid. Shaw couldn’t really put his finger on what it was about her that scared him. It was like some kind of power beneath the surface of the barely teenage girl. Flowing conductive energies. As though beneath the surface she was like coils of conducting wire housing all the energies of a lightning storm.
And Segen’s older brother Teufel was just the same. He had the same allure, the same natural seductive nature. Shaw recognised it especially, feeling as he did about men - not that he would ever dare to admit it. Young Teufel possessed that same untapped potential power as his younger sister. And it had the flavour of something unearthly.
Of course, it was silliness, childish fantasy. Like peasant superstition. They were just two young teenagers from a foreign land, slightly strange because they were, literally, strangers. However, as physically alluring and impressive as they were - what they could do, what they had already proved they were capable of accomplishing - was scariest of all.
Despite his secret, never-to-be-mentioned attraction to the brother. Shaw had to admit the fear and disconcert they had bloomed within him outweighed any form of desire. They scared him.
Though his unease was nothing compared to Bodie’s feelings about Teufel. The Lieutenant actively detested the boy. Though with a more understandable and down-to-earth reason. He was jealous. Insanely so.

2nd Lieutenant Lewis Bodie was pissed off and as usual, couldn’t sleep. The incessant, muffled din of that ‘chink’ kid or ‘slope’ kid - wherever he came from, fucking his - Bodie’s - girlfriend grated on him, and so much so that he felt like a hand-grenade with the pin pulled out and in the midst of those counting-down seconds before it detonated. His whole being was wound up, tense and overflowing with a red-hot fury. And when he heard them fucking which seemed to be every spare minute, the red-hot fury intensified until it was a white-hot furnace.
Just tonight he had been pacing up and down his room listening to Zofia, his Zofia, gasping and groaning, and then squealing in orgasm - time and time again for goddamn hours. And of course, it filled his mind’s eye with images of her naked and writhing under the kid. How could she push him aside for some shitty little Oriental kid? How could she?
He had tried to roll a cigarette, not really wanting it. Of course, his rage-shaking hands had inhibited him anyway. He had tossed the paper and tobacco mess to the ground in frustration. Instead he snatched up the Walther P38 from his nightstand and stomped over to the door. As his hand had closed on the door handle, his mind made up to just storm into the next room and empty the pistol’s magazine into the two of them. Fuck the war and fuck the resistance.
However, just as his hand twisted the door handle, the lovely girl in the next room had given a long, satisfied sigh and the heady rhythmic thudding of the bedstead against the dividing wall came to a halt and silence reigned at long last. It was the sigh that did it for him though, that took him back to the time when it had been Bodie himself who had caused her to utter that same delightful sigh.
It had been love-at-first-sight between Bodie and Zofia Wyrwal. She was an angel-pretty little blonde piece. Seventeen, slender, smart and capable. Cool headed in a bad situation. And happy to allow Bodie to bed her whenever the chance alluded itself. Of course, she had already been in the resistance and had seen things and been forced to do things she never wanted to talk about or remember. Which was how Bodie had caught her eye - he had treated her as one of the team and not a female member of the team. He had neither tried to wrap her in cotton wool, underestimate her, or abuse her due to her femininity, or force her to use her sexuality to gain an advantage on missions - though she used it herself when he she felt like she needed to without a second thought. She had seen an acceptance in Bodie; plus a helpful moment of mutual saving from German pursuers, had pushed the two of them together like they were magnetic.
He had marvelled at her prettiness, her blonde, innocent, youthful beauty that made her such an easy target for the German marks she had to disarm and at the same time, gave her such an ease of opportunity to take them down when it was required.
That first night had been under the stars by the railway line that they had wired with explosives. It had been a hurried, desperate screw. They had slid down into a grassy rut in the slope at the side of the railway line, mouths and tongues locked together; guttural gasps and groans filling their ears, while hands blindly dragged at clothes, fingers scrabbling desperately at buttons and buckles. And it wasn’t just him, she had been just as excited and desire-filled as he. It wasn’t just his lust for her beauty and her body but also his solid, tingling cock demanding he put it into her. And it was her body too, insisting that she open herself to him, wanting him inside her and it energised him and slammed his desire into overdrive.
He exposed her sweet young breasts; pale creamy flesh, topped by strawberry pink nipples, and hurriedly fastened his lips to them, sucking hard. He pulled the nipples with suction until his mouth was filled with her sweet flesh; while his hands blindly yanked at her canvas trousers. He loosened the waistband, gripped the garment by the pockets and tugged it down her long slender legs, taking her cotton knickers with it.
She mirrored him, her fingers moving dextrously on the buttons of his slacks, then flicking the braces from his shoulders. Her tiny fist slid into his underwear and encircled the truncheon of his iron-hard erection, bringing a hoarse groan from him as the feel of her night-cool flesh gripping and squeezing his hot, solid member. At the same time his palm slid across the soft curly patch of her pubic mound and he felt the damp heat awaiting him.
Her boots along with their mutual impatience to screw, prohibited every attempt to yank her trousers off, so he ended up flipping her over onto her front with her trousers caught around her knees and her legs unable to spread. It was enough though, her grabbed her smooth, soft buttocks; marvelling at the firmness under the soft surface and parted them, leaned in so his hardness slid into the cleft. And finding her damp, pouting lips, he drove hurriedly into her.
She had to stifle her own high-pitched gasp as she was penetrated. And the speed and desperation that fuelled the fast-paced and deep thrusts he used to fuck her, appeared to take her breath away. One hand over her mouth to quieten herself, Zofia tried reaching back with her other hand, maybe to try and slow him down, or quieten him, maybe just to feel his body, but it was all no to avail. He was already on the home straight and there was nothing either of them could do to slow or ease his driving pace and he came abruptly, an earth-shattering gut punch of sensation as his cum burst into her tender young pussy in big, plentiful eruptions of heated, undulating passion.
It wasn’t until afterwards, when he saw as she slowly dressed, that there were cruel looking welts on her breasts and buttocks and even her throat. He had no recollection of clawing at her or treating her in any way roughly, however the evidence was proof enough. She didn’t show any sign of reproach, in fact she seemed most put out by the quickness of the experience. He protested, saying it was her fault for being so damned alluring and he had been unable to hold himself back.
Zofia seemed to forgive him. And their physical interactions had continued once they got back to the farmhouse and were allowed to go and rest following the usual debriefing. He had followed her to her bed, she had seemed mildly surprised at first but then accepted the situation readily enough when he helped her undress, stripped himself and then slipped under the sheets with her. He didn’t last much longer the second time either, but she was so sexy, so beautiful and sweet and innocent looking, he felt too consumed with his own lust to focus on much of anything.
It had lasted for two almost weeks, during which they had screwed on three more occasions. The first had taken place as a way to pass the time, while they waited for one of their targets to arrive at a planned rendezvous. The second had been a snatched quickie in the farmhouse kitchen while she cooked the group’s evening meal. And the third had been an aggressive angry affair that Bodie had regretted afterward.
It had taken place following a botched operation. Zofia, under orders, had made a date with a young German officer, across the border in Frankfurt an der Oder. The operation had been to assassinate the German officer and take his equipment for their own. It had meant to have been Klich, as her back-up and protector but he had been laid-low by food poisoning so Bodie had volunteered to take his place. Bodie had been late, he had been forced to take another route to get to the alleyway they had chosen, where Zofia would take the officer under the pretence of sex. The plan had been for Bodie to use a lead-filled leather cosh to kill the man without spilling any blood, so that they could strip off his uniform and all his equipment cleanly.
Unfortunately, Bodie’s delay by a random German patrol, had ensured that the German target was already busy viciously sodomising poor, terrified and sobbing Zofia. The girl pressed face-first against the damp bricks of the alley wall. The officer with his pistol pressed in tight beneath her ear. For safety’s sake Bodie could do nothing about the Officer until the pistol was no longer pointing at the girl.
As he watched the German fucking his young seventeen-year-old love up the arse, a powerful and possessive jealousy consumed Bodie. And once the opportunity arose and the pistol was lowered, after the bastard Officer and dumped his load into the poor girl’s pummelled guts, Bodie struck him hard. But immediately an insurmountable need to reassert his sexual possession of the girl overtook him and even as she squatted down in order to start to strip the dead German of his clothes and possessions, Bodie fell on her.
She begged him not to, obviously afraid of someone looking to the end of the alley and seeing the dead German, but he couldn’t control himself. He rolled Zofia on her back, crushed up against the already cooling body of the corpse. Her skirt was still hiked up around her hips and her knickers were already hanging off one ankle, so he had an unimpeded entry into her warm, sweet pussy. She wasn’t lubricated but he was so hard and mindless in his need to assert himself that he penetrated her and fucked away without concern for anything except rising to the peak of his own insistent pleasure.
They were lucky, it took him less than a score of hard, frantic thrusts into her hot clenching sleeve before he gushed his lust into her. And then it was all business, stripping and hiding the corpse, bundling up the uniform in a potato sack and then quickly and quietly slipping out of the town, across the bridge into Poland and then the long, three-or-four-mile traipse back to the farmhouse.
Halfway home, while moving through the woods, Bodie started to feel uncertain and guilty. He had tried to engage Zofia in conversation a number of times but she had been reserved and didn’t reply with more than a word or two. Though she did try to offer him a weak smile whenever their eyes met, which was encouraging.
To assess her viewpoint, he pulled her against a tree and kissed her. She didn’t respond at first and he felt and tasted tears flowing but after a few seconds she started to return the kisses, their tongues frolicking again. His hands squeezed her breasts and she moaned slightly, encouraging him further. He found one of her hands clinging to the tree bark behind her and pressed her palm to his erect cock. She obediently cupped and stroked him, but never tried to open his trousers or offer him any manual attention or drop to her knees and offer him the use of her mouth, as she had done on a couple of momentous occasions during the previous delightful week.
Sensing a lack of mood on young Zofia’s part, Bodie relinquished his grasp of her small, eminent bosom, withdrew his sucking lips from her proffered tongue and panting heavily, released her. They made their way silently back to the farm. He had intended to make love to her again after they had eaten and bathed. However, she had begged to share a room with Kasia Tomaszeski, the other female member of the resistance group and Bodie had to sleep alone for the first time in almost two weeks.
The next day they had rendezvoused with the brother and sister team, the Orientals, and everything had fallen apart.
The boy, Teufel Von Himmel - whoever heard of an Oriental with a German name? It was just weird. The Teufel kid somehow caught Zofia’s eye at once, the very next day. And Bodie had no idea what happened. First of all, they were being introduced to the team, polite, friendly smiles and perfect use of Polish, even down to the local regional accent, as Dominik Furman had gushed over later. Which was weird in itself. How could they do that when they were from halfway around the world? It had taken both himself and Shaw weeks, on top of their basic knowledge of Polish, to be able to speak with a semblance of fluidity.
After the introductions, Bodie almost immediately started to witness a closeness developing between the two teenagers. At first, he assured himself it was just the closeness of their ages. Teufel supposedly being only sixteen - though Bodie was dubious, he seemed much older somehow - and Zofia was only seventeen herself.
From the second day during kitchen-table briefings there were long looks between the two of them that Bodie not only noticed but became increasingly angry over. Then the looks descended to him catching them having hushed intimate conversations and sharing an obvious flirtation. Within two days of their first meeting they were fucking loud and long and energetically back in Zofia’s room. The room he had once shared with her.
Even though Bodie loved her and he had believed, or maybe assumed, that she loved him too. She had given herself to him, so why wouldn’t he think she loved him too? And yet he had obviously just been coldly tossed aside for some Oriental teenage kid.
Images of them filled his mind’s-eye, unbidden and unwanted. Sickening sordid images. Zofia on her back her lovely slender legs splayed wide, gripping her ankles as she offered herself to the boy. Her small luscious breasts shuddering to each of his rapid, impatient and energetic teenage hip thrusts. Her jerking on his erection while they frantically tongue-kissed. Her sucking him and swallowing his spend.
This evening, he had been sat up in his room, which typically adjoined hers, and had been forced to listen to their incessant sexual din. It had been going on for almost four hours, starting not long after nine in the evening and they were still at it on the way to two a.m. Bodie felt just about at the end of his tether and he was staring hungrily at the captured Walther pistol in his hand. The fact that the majority of the sexual din was coming from Zofia’s lips made things worse still for Bodie. This strange boy, this Oriental with a German name was apparently giving his Zofia more pleasure than Bodie had ever managed to do, and it irked him terribly.
More sordid and sickening images developed in his attention. The body kneeling behind succulent and naked Zofia who was on her hands and knees while he took her from behind, pulling on her short blonde bob as he slammed into her ten-to-the-dozen. Her cute breasts shuddering beneath her in response to the speed of his exhilarated thrusting.
Even though the actual noise had abated, Bodie realised it had made no difference to his temper. And he found himself growling in barely supressed rage, feeling uncomfortably stifled and boiling with sudden unrepressed hate. Bodie paced the room, grinding his teeth, hyperaware of the feel of the smooth grips of the weighty pistol clenched in his aching grip. He stomped over to the window and slapped apart the curtains, then flung open one of them. Once again grinding his teeth, with echoes of that euphoric sexual din still thrumming between his ears, torturing him, Bodie grasped the old wooden balustrade of the foot-deep balcony that framed the lower half of the bedroom window and stared out into the darkness beyond. Trying to calm his frayed nerves and regain control.
He looked out across the silhouetted woodland and the fields stretching forth into the night filling the view beyond the house that had become his personal hell. He sucked in the lung-freezing night air.
And it was then that he realised he was actually hearing them screwing again. That it wasn’t simply an ongoing echo playing in his mind. He could actually still hear them going at it. And now it was worse still as it not only came from behind him in the room through the dividing wall but it was also coming at him from his left where their identical window was situated, mere feet from his.
Yet again, the images seeped into his attention, pictures to go with the loud though muffled sounds assaulting his ears. Zofia on top of the boy, riding his erect shaft with quick energetic movements, her hips rocking back and forth, the small intricate muscles of her lithe, creamy back dancing erotically under the oil-lamp or maybe candlelight, while she tossed her hair and he cupped and fondled her handful breasts in utter sexual joy.
As he stood there at the balcony window, silently fuming, his gritted teeth aching, Bodie slowly decided on a couple of choices that his enraged brain managed to formulate. From where he stood it wouldn’t be too much of a problem to make a small leap from his narrow balcony to the matching one at Zofia’s window. And from there he could kick the widow in and fill their copulatory bed with P38 rounds and kill the both of them. And then before anyone else came running, he could leap back to his own room and rush out into the hall, implant the suggestion that the Germans must have done it – “must have been some random patrol deciding to take wild pot-shots from the hillside or something”.
His second option was to go and find and fuck the Oriental’s little sister. A nice hard, rough revenge fuck, put one over on the little shit of a usurping brother and sate his own lusts at the same time. The girl was completely stunning, a proper little bombshell; she may only be fourteen but he was almost certain that at least two of the Poles had already screwed her. Besides, she had those same experienced eyes as her brother, eyes that seemed to betray a sense of age and wisdom that belied their meagre years. Yeah. Giving that sweet little trollop a good hard shafting might be the way to go.
Zofia’s cries reverberating through the wall, which and been elevating in pitch and volume for the past two or three minutes, finally subsided. There followed a few moments of nothing more than the bed’s rhythmic creaking and then, taking the form of a minor blessing to Bodie’s tortured ears, he heard the distinctly soft-toned accent of an obviously exhausted Zofia begging for a break. There was a softly muttered response from the boy and following a further few seconds of protesting bedsprings, the noise from the adjoining room guttered into an abbey-like silence.
His heart hammering anxiously, Bodie listened for the beginnings of a resurgence of their noise for a full five minutes. But nothing came from Zofia’s room.
His breath heaving in relief, the tension oozing out of him, Bodie finally threw himself down onto his own bed, only now realising just how exhausted he felt. The soft mattress enveloped him, pulling him deep into its comforting, supporting embrace and he fell almost at once into a deep slumber.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Urotsukidoji - Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.