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Strange Bedfellows
By Taleya
He wasn’t supposed to be doing this
He most certainly wasn’t supposed to be enjoying it.
Bum-punchers, faggots, homos, he knew all the terms. The
effeminate pansies, the ones that were sick, the deviants, the perverts, the
ones they’d beaten up a few times, stuck the boot in, maybe even thrown into the
Thames once or twice.
This was wrong. So very wrong
But it felt so good
It had started with a routine meet. Once more, Newkirk had
been stuffed into hose and dress, with that horrible itchy old granny wig on his
head. Why the hell he always had to dress like the woman was beyond him. Louis
was the one who had the legs and face for it anyways. It was easier for the
little Frenchman to pass off as an ugly woman than it was for the
broad-shouldered Brit.
Carter completed the ensemble with tweed pants, a humble little shirt and a tiny
moustache perched under a pair of giant grandpa-glasses. His hat matched his
pants, and while they both looked bloody ridiculous to each other, no one looked
twice at the nice old couple enjoying coffee in the café of the local hotel.
Newkirk put his cup down and touched the back of Carter’s hand as their contact
walked past. With a little granny exclamation, he knocked his napkin off the
table, bending down to reach for it at the same time as their contact.
“Room 13.” A key was pressed into his hand. “Wait for me there.”
“You got it mate.” And then grandma was once more settled in her seat, smiling
and remarking to her husband about what a kind man that stranger was to help her
like that.
The first impulse he had on
entering the room was to tear the damned wig right off his nut. It was one he
fought down with difficulty, trying to pull the pantyhose out of the crack of
his bum as he made his way to the window. Carter picked up a paperweight from
the desk and sat on the edge of the bed, playing idly with it while they waited.
It was only because he was staring out the window that Newkirk saw the black
cars pull up. “Bloody hell!”
“Whaaa?” Carter dropped the paperweight. “What? What is it?” Newkirk ran to the
door, but it was too late, he could already hear feet thundering up the
stairwell.
“Nazis! Quick!” And Carter probably would have stood there forever, flailing
around in panic if Newkirk hadn’t taken the only opportunity available and
thrown them both on the bed, one hand hastily shoving the skirt of his dress up
a bit, and working at the buttons of Carter’s trousers, the other holding the
American down across him as the other man’s eyes got as big as saucers.
“Newkirk! What are you –“
Then the door was kicked in.
“Oh Haaaaaannsss…” Newkirk moaned
in a high falsetto, moving his hips in fake copulation against the other mans.
“Don’t stop, don’t-“ he looked over at the door and uttered a high pitched
scream. “Hans! Hans! My husband has found us!”
Carter stopped struggling and froze, panic-stricken.
“I-I can explain..” it was the only thing he could think of, and fortunately
blocked out by the sheer horror on the soldier’s face at the vision of what was
obviously a very elderly couple in the throes.
“You’re not my husband!” Newkirk shrieked suddenly at the soldier, with a
furious little wriggle that made Carter close his eyes and swallow hard, trying
to think of cold showers as certain portions of his anatomy stirred at the
stimulation. please don’t do that again…
“sorry“ the soldier stuttered, one hand shielding his eyes even as Newkirk
screeched and threw things at him. “We’re looking for….fatherland….traitors…..”
he couldn’t seem to form a full sentence, random broken words blurting out.
“Well you won’t find him here”
Newkirk crowed at him. “My manly Hans will beat any of those dirty schwinehund!
Beat them with one hand behind his back! Ohh you manful, manful beast!”
he growled, twining his hands in Carter’s collar and pulling him down for a
smacking great kiss. “Make love to me, make love to me now!” he gnawed on the
other man’s ear then hissed furiously into it “Move you bloody fool, he’s still
watching!”
Carter swallowed and moved, pushing his by now very obvious erection against the
other mans. “Oh.. um, Oh Brunhilda….”
“Ride me you stallion!” Newkirk crowed lustfully. “Ride me! oh you wonderful
BEAST!” he kicked his legs a little for effect. “Ravage me with your panzer!”
That did it. The soldier bolted,
one hand clapped to his mouth. “mein gott!”
Newkirk sighed in relief, then reached out to touch the other man’s shoulders.
Carter had his eyes clenched tightly shut, moving almost mechanically back and
forth. “‘Ere, Casanova, you can stop now, he’s gone.”
“I don’t think I can,” Carter murmured helplessly, and then he moved in a
certain way that froze all of Newkirk’s synapses in ice.
Blimey that felt good.
Especially for a man who’d been dry for three years. His hands, poised to push
the other man off, instead curled over his shoulders and pulled him down,
pulled him closer, harder.
He was dimly aware that they
should stop it as they furiously wriggled and humped against each other, but his
john thomas was so desperate right now it didn’t care if it was Carter or Hitler
himself right now just as long as it didn’t stop. His penis pushed against the
confining band of his hose and he grunted a little in pain, reaching between
their shuddering bellies to try and free it. The hose gave way with a tremendous
rip, taking a handful of Carter’s shorts with it and he growled at the freedom,
pushing harder and harder against the other man’s now naked member.
“Oh. Oh. OH HOLY CATS!” Then Carter was squirming and wriggling so
furiously against him that Newkirk came in self-defence.
Carter tightened against him, then
threw his head back before collapsing against his chest panting heavily.
“Bloody hell.” He needed a smoke after that.
Carter raised his sweaty head from the Briton’s chest and looked up into his
face.
Newkirk tensed. Ahh bloody hell, here it would come, the bloody fool would say
something daft, something like ‘I love you’ something stupid and pointless and…
Carter grinned up at him with a smile far older than anything he had a right to
wear. “That was fun. We should do it again sometime.”
Newkirk stared at him as he got off the bed and did his pants back up, tucking
himself in and straightening his moustache, stared as he himself lay there with
his stockings torn to shreds and his horrible grey dress racked up around his
waist.
Then he swore and got to his own feet, tugging down the skirt of the dress and
doing best as he could, feeling his own semen dry in a scale on his belly.
“Is my hat on straight?” Carter was peering this way and that into a mirror.
“Who bloody cares, mate.” Newkirk grabbed his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of
here, before they come back.”
* yes, I know hose in the 40’s
were two separate legs that were worn with a garter belt. But since the series
has them wearing pantyhose, I went with that =)
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