[spunkjunk]

Letter from Smolensk

This is a work of fiction.
Don´t read if you are under 18.
This Text includes rassism and ressentiments as were usually in that period
In no way its the opinion of its Author! Rape and other crime the author refuse absolute!
All characters are 18+

The original was written by me in a way old german language of the 19th century,
translated by myself and deepl and run over a grammar program.
There may be some kinky wording left. Enjoy.
            


Smolensk, September 12 AD. 1812

Dear Lorenz,

I hope this letter reaches you safe and sound!
You may be disturbed by the strange handwriting, but soon discover the spirit of your brother in it.
So that you can be sure of my authorship, it should be mentioned that only I can know what you did
to Magdalena in the ruins of the aqueducts on St. John's night in 1802 AD.
Aim my greetings to our beloved sister.
But back to more important: ´
                             For me, the war has come to an end!
Thunder and lightning!
It's better an end with terror than terror without an end.
I let write for me because I'm wounded. A young Jewish named Chaja takes this on, forgive her mistakes.
By God! I have to dictate every word letter by letter to this child because she does not understand our language.
If you only could see her! She would be forgiven for anything!
                            She´s a real and truly Lotte!*

 

I´m not kidding. Never thought those women exist!
Kindly to die for, blessed with the face of an angel, with a delicate bosom and dreamlike waist, she is.
Purposely I pretend to be weaker than I feel, whisper to enjoy her scent as she leans towards me, listening.
Apart from my pain, you would surely be envious if you could see the girl lingering here at my camp,
clumsily scratching my words on the paper with her delicate fingers. I wished myself in place of this feather
in her gentle hand instead of ink splashed my ejaculate.

Surely the sweet Jewess has never been fucked; otherwise, she would take from my hungry look what I intend
to do with her as soon as I get my strength back.
Unsuspectingly she writes this down. So gently endeavoring. "Not so fast, sir," she says, eagerly curling her lovely Lips.
You will fall in love either way if you could hear her soft, soprano Russian Jewish Polskiego, which she teases me with.

The first paragraph was yesterday. I was spent of my lustful thoughts.  Today I dictate to Chaja what else you should
hear from me.
She takes an understandably long time.
I hope my last letter from Kalisch reached you. The Poles are very euphoric because they want to believe that Napoleon
will give them a new Greater Poland. This riffraff living in filthy huts. Their nobility, however,
has gorgeous women who shamelessly showed themselves bare-breasted at the windows during our parade.
Of course, everyone is impressed by the Grande Armee. It is almost picturesque to see how this armyworm winds
through the landscape. It's called the army of 20 nations.
On June 24, our Corps crossed the Niemen River at Bialystok.  It was 326,000 men and 984 cannons standing on Russian soil
a day later. You don't get the picture of the chaos.
The worm suffers hunger, dysentery, and typhus. Horses perish by the thousands. That's why the supplies don't arrive,
although the magazines are overflowing, they say.
The villages on our way are mostly deserted; there is hardly anything to loot. Even more seldom, we catch a
pretty maiden during our foraging.
If it happens, God help her if a dozen or more hussars fall upon her body!
Under mostly adverse weather conditions, we were on the trail of destruction towards Smolensk,
where the Russian General Barclay had retreated.

On August 17, at 9 o'clock in the morning, the slaughter began outside the city walls.
Here everything had gathered to give the Emperor of the French his longed-for rendezvous.
Chants to the sound of drumming artillery and rattling sabers rang out lively on both sides.
But when the old guard starts up to the Marseilles', everyone falls silent, and even the Russian gets goosebumps.
Make no mistake. Up to here, I had already fought many a skirmish on our way. But the worm moves on, always on.
If you survive, you're tied up in your business. Bivouacking, eating, washing, horse care, etcetera pp,
you care little for the wounded and dead who remain behind.

Under Prince Poniatowski, we were riding that day, an ambitious Pole, when our Corps came under fire from enemy artillery.
It is an infernal concert the bursting of the cartridges and the howling of their splinters slam into bodies with this dull clap.
The screaming of the hit, man or horse! Nothing harder not to run, to stay, awaiting orders.
In the midst of, it caught me!
A cartridge burst very close, killed comrade Frieder in the square, tore off Adam's leg, and seriously injured me
and my warhorse when it buried me under it!
Believe me, Lorenz. There is nothing to compare with the numbness when life slowly drains out of you.
As the battle goes on, the silent symphony of death begins.
Numb from the blast, you lie shattered on the ground, see dying steeds and men in silent screams mouthing
their distorted faces. By the thousands!
Helplessly you look up to the sky, and instead of the Lord God, you discover only spread smoking bullet traces
like fingers of hell reaching for you.
A three-legged steed tramples its rider in an attempt to escape death. But where to?
All around you, bloody bodies writhe like gutted intestines. It stinks of blood and sulfur-like hell.
I couldn't tell if the night was coming or if I was blacking out.

With nightfall come ragged ghouls. Crouched, they scurry through the smoke of the burning city.
I awoke from my infirmity as someone tugged at my clothes. One figure held a torch while the other tampered with me.
This creature stank of the dead from whom it snatched their last belongings. So it does to me.
I did not feel my arm been pulled out from under my beloved steed to take my rings.
Even the expensive buttons of my dolman were cut off with the skill of a butcher. Shall this be your last view
before you leave this world?
When the lumpy figure let go of me, I took what little life was left in me and grabbed the propped-up wrist!
With the last of my strength, I hoarsely pleaded in clumsy Polish:
"Save me! My family is rich!"
It was vain. A patrol scared away the ghouls, and I sank into agony.
I cannot tell if it was those who came back and finally recovered my shattered body. I lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes in feverish delirium on a dry camp, I saw the face of an angel! Chaja!
Believe me, brother, I could not imagine a more beautiful reason to stay alive!

Today I know that I was taken to Jews near Smolensk.
The city itself is in ruins. Its palaces burned down.
You know the business sense of these people. Trade in these areas is entirely in their hands. So I was lucky.
The city is full of wounded left behind while Napoleon rushes to Moscow. In the military hospital, there is hunger and epidemics.
The family suffers like everyone else in the city. They share what little they have. Possibly they buy it with the money from my rings?
Fortunately, they are clean. The women wear clean bodices, shirts, and skirts. The fashion is a little different here,
still belted at the waist, but the beautiful ones know how to make something of themselves, as everywhere.
There are only two of them in this household: Chaja and her mother.
That is why I often have the younger one because her brothers are engaged in the trade that is allowed to the Jews here.
In such good hands, I feel better than I reveal.
Dear Chaja is so clueless. She does not notice that I scratch my wounds so that I can feel her cold hands.
At night I torture myself with my horniness until I sweat. Then I scream, only for her to rush over to dab my face.
Then I sweat the more when she hastily throws on her colorful embroidered scarf in her thin night robe and bends over me;
her braid caresses my hot chest, and her scent gads around my nostrils. You can imagine what overcoming it costs not to drag her to the camp.
For the day, I feel strong enough my plan is fixed.
When you read these lines, the maiden is certainly no longer a virgin!

There she sits and waits for me to dictate further.
Yes, just blink, pretty child! Tomorrow I will reach for you!
I will press my heart against your bosom, embrace you, loosen your long hair, steal kisses from you, occupy you,
and plunder your soul like the French did this city. Out of pure gratitude, I will give you my seed!
Lorenz, you don't believe how my blood boils while the sweetness concentratedly chews these red lips and
writes down her own ruin for you to read. You may also still have fun with it. Close your eyes and sniff the paper her hand caressed.
For my sake wank at the thought of your brother fathering a child in the distance!
Tomorrow...

With brotherly affection, Georg

P.S.
Once I have her submissive, I plan to blackmail this girl into providing the means I´ll need for the return trip.
 I hope to see you again soon. Until then, farewell.

                                                               -----------------------

(*Lotte= Name of the female hero of Goethes “The sorrows of young Werther”, once so famous Georg assume his brother knows what he means)

Very Original  and a pleasure to read.  Good luck in the up coming contest and please accept this merit from me!

[Seeker]

That was amazing, creative, historically fascinating. Well done, the tone and tempo were great, but I would love to read the follow up letter after the deed is done, obviously through her own hand...

[spunkjunk]

That was amazing, creative, historically fascinating. Well done, the tone and tempo were great, but I would love to read the follow up letter after the deed is done, obviously through her own hand...

A very humiliating idea  , merit
I´ll think about...

[spunkjunk]

The 500th of my humble mental effusions
dedicate to all who write feedbacks on this board!


Our family Bible has always shared the fate of its owners.
Generations edified by its contents before and while it emigrated with my ancestors to Russia to the beginning of the 19th century and returns hundred years later.




2nd letter from Smolensk

Epilogue

It contains some private testimonies of the era, among other things someone has pasted in two old stained letters.
This fact and the Sütterlin script, no longer used today, written by an untrained hand, protects unsuspecting child eyes from their piquant texts!
As her guardian, my grandmother's refusal to read these letters to us has always fired my imagination.
Inheriting her responsibility after decades, first, I had to learn to read Sütterlin and spend nights deciphering until a window opened back into history.

The easiest to decipher was the simple dedication written underneath, in solemnly neat handwriting of the person who had pasted these letters:

                    May God forgive them
                    With love, Magdalena
                   Mayence at Christmas day, in the year of our Lord 1812

Of the two letters, the second in particular is very difficult to read. Some drops apparently washed out the still fresh ink while it was written.
The moving content, a confession of two rapes, corresponds to the spirit of the times.
Its author lived in the era of storm and stress, the Weimar Classicism. As a result of the age of Enlightenment and Revolution,
people saw themselves as individuals who could react to external influences with their own actions.
Driven by the heroes of novels, youth rebels against old traditions, suicide becomes popular among unhappy lovers, now the 2nd letter:


Smolensk,  20. September   A.D. 1812

Dear Lorenz,

Forgive my many lines brother, they may be my last.
By the time they reach you, their author will have long since gone to hell!
The bells of our Mainz cathedral will call for me in vain.
Battlefield fever! The touch of hell rises from my wound.
The arm must be sacrificed, the surgeon says. Life isn't worth living as a cripple.
Devil! There he sits, waiting for the soul that has been prescribed for him since I ignored our sisters' pleas under the aqueducts!
Instead, I watched spellbound as you tampered with her immaculate purity!
Since that night of St. John, guilt and desire likewise have sat as thorns in my soul.
Mephistopheles* is an evil fellow, tempting us to forget all nobility, to use rough superiority for taking possession of the delicate creatures?

It is done!
The Violation of my sweet Chaja shall have been my last misdeed on earth.
In death-defying youth, I strained my freshly healed wounds. The pleasure seemed worth every risk! Honestly, there seems hardly a better reason to die!
Her blood is on me, I'll take it with me on the pyre.

Fortunately, we have made our peace.
The good soul thus protects herself from ill repute, and me has nothing to forgive.
So I could persuade my belle to write this for me by claiming it to be my confession. 
I promised my family would show her gratitude if she would only post this letter.
The girl is nowhere near as naive as I thought of her.
The pure soul doesn't even look up from her writing as she explains:
She is not doing this for me but for YAHWE and my dear, caring ones at home!

Oh, Lorenz! I was blinded by desire and did not see her love. Instead, I became a victim of my own baseness.
WHY? As a consequence of my misdeed, my fallen angel asked, why I took from her by force what she would have lovingly given me had I only was more well?
Nothing more bitter than to have lost her heart in exchange for simple pity and eternal damnation.
Who but you, brother, could understand me better?
You may have your déjà vu as you read my detailed account:

After the letter sent to you in advance had been sealed and posted, Mephisto gave me the opportunity I had longed for the very next day!
The French city commander of Smolensk had obliged all healthy men to do regular clean-up work. This included Chaja's brothers.
Consequently, the mother had to do their business. In the morning, I watched her pack up supplies and take over the sons' business, setting off with a pannier full of trade goods on her back.
That gave me a few hours alone with Chaja!
I could hardly wait for her mother's footsteps to fade away when I was already calling for my Samaritan!
You can hardly imagine how it was in my gloomy chamber, which was previously the mother's bedroom.
Their huts are made of simple wood and are not painted. Over the years, it becomes completely dark inside from dust and smoke.
Sparse daylight penetrated through a covered window frame. The family had to save on candles as much as possible.
Here the girl came flying in with a light heart, like once our blossoming sister, and with her charming appearance, she immediately put the sting of desire into my loins.
Her fresh scent, which followed on her heels, made her all the more desirable!
Since I was feeling better, she had made it a habit to take off her apron first.
She was probably also biting her reddening lips. I wonder if she was helping the appearance of her big eyes with coal.
So I immediately explained to her my plan to get up and use the pot myself.
I will never forget the sweet joy that alternated with concern on her lovely face.
Just like a caring mother! Just you wait! I want to give you a child!

I asked her to help me stand up.
I deliberately positioned myself shakily weak to clumsily grasp as many of her female forms as possible. 
Oh, Lorenz! Now I know what Magdalena's curves felt like for you.
My Chaja might have thought it was an accident as I shifted her bodice in search of support, managing to undo the loop of lacing on her slender back.
Call me a devil!
I gave the delicate girl her hands full, supporting the big guy rather than her worrying about this. Pretty rosy cheeks she got from her care.
Carefully she helped me to kneel down and handed me the pot before preparing discreetly leaving the room.
"Silly child! How am I supposed to hold the pot with my injured arm and at the same time urinate? Be so good and hold the pot!"
The unaware temptress blushed, embarrassed at my request after done so much discreet support before, but fortunately saw the need!
There she squatted in front of me and demurely averted her eyes while holding the chamber pot.
Her shirt had half-length sleeves, with a delicate frilled cuff at the bend.
I gazed devoutly at her bare, well-shaped forearm.
Following a diabolical inspiration, I directed the golden ray at her delicate hand!
Have you ever tasted such a thing, brother? Crude fun demands crude words:  I found it highly arousing to watch the piss dripping from her fingers.
Of course, she gasped in fright and barely managed to hold the pot in front of the bubbling fountain.
"Watch it!"
I played indignantly, forcing her to pay attention to my cock, which I bow towards her in all its glory!
Feigning relief, I accidentally pissed on her skirt before the wet blessing broke off.
There we were, kneeling on the floorboards, panting in front of each other.
The blood rushed in my veins and now drove the hard-on ticking up in front of her beautiful eyes.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as our eyes met, and she understood...

I did not give her a chance to escape!
Chaja squealed in fright when her supposedly weak patient was suddenly revealed as a ruffian!
The chamber pot flew with a thud as I grabbed and flung her onto the rumpled bed!
"By the Eternal! The wound, master! Careful of the wound!"
Had the child nothing else in her beautiful head?
Even before she could wriggle away, I threw myself over her!
I wanted to see the beauty of the creation I took possession of, just as you tore off Magdalena's clothes before you violated her, brother.
The longing for such a sight caused me many restless nights. Now it was payday!

"Nieee! Niet!"
Her plea fell on deaf ears.
The seams cracked, and her delicate skin got many a scrape as I ruthlessly tore off her clothes!
It is perfidious. Nature may have thought of something when it made the women so conquerable.
My Chaja bucked under me like a young filly, in vain!
How many hours had I gazed at her heaving bosom when she sat at my camp?
At last, my rough hands could feel her tender breasts! Lorenz, I felt what you felt then!
A woman's breast, tantalizingly soft and yet firm with cute teats to bite into!
"Will you stop scratching!"
One hand bravely packed on her throat, I pressed my girl by the neck into the pillow!
Deprived of air, she rolled her eyes.
"You are mine! Will you be good?"
What else could she do? She was already helping me because I was pulling her hair.
The girl trembled with fear as she plucked her braids apart for me.
In her watering eyes, I could see her fear that this ain't wasn't all.
Her thighs pressed against me in a futile desire to close her legs.
As long as I knelt between them, she couldn't do it!
After her hair fans silkily on the pillow, I took my time to admire Chaja's beauty.
 How much her petite body resembled Magdalena's, except our raven, my Chaja has sparse red-gold hair on her mons veneris.

While my hungry eyes memorized the sight of her feminine curves for eternity, the girl beeped and squealed unhappily beneath me.
Paralyzed, she stares at my quivering privates.
Fearfully measuring the size of this barked daimonic monster with its bulbous, appetite drooling skull.

I don't know how long we looked upon her, me and my menacing spit.
One hand rests brutally on her throbbing neck, ready to squeeze at any time if she didn't acquiesce my other feel her feminine curves.
Everything wanted to be touched and felt, even if it was the last thing one did. No circumstance drove me to haste, only my desire.
Blood gradually seeped down my arm from the opened wound. I noticed it as red streaks marked the paths of my fingers across her sweeps.
Chaja gasped in horror. All her efforts, in vain...
I, on the other hand, had long since been enraptured by her beauty. Nothing in the world could stop me from pouring my seed into her!

Sweat and blood draw a fantastic painting on the trembling, flawless girl's body.
Just as you had squeezed Magdalena's air back then, I persuaded my Chaja to spread her slender legs for me in this way while I tore my shirt off with my arm covered in blood.
Skin to skin, without disturbing covers, our hot bodies should nestle against each other. I wanted to feel my Chaja gasp and spasm as I drove into her.
 Like you did into our sister.
Oh, Lorenz!
Was Magdalena's womb the same heaven as Chaja's?
Her small soft pouch sucked hungrily, tickling my bursting plump glans!
It's as if nature was forcing her to reproduce against her will.
 I fought against the irrepressible desire to come, to no avail! The pent-up lust broke its way.
Chajas sweet mouth forms a mute O in horror as her virginity broke and my seed spurted into her in supreme lust!
My throbbing soul nail invaded so deep while my arms slang her back.
With all might, I pressed her against me, squashing her firm breast, leaving her nothing but to make her breath with her womb inhaling my semen!
I felt her kind heart beating so furiously.
My Chaja was buried entirely under my lust, showered with sensual kisses while my itching glans launches its brisant fireworks inside the girl!

Afterward, I rested on her sobbing body.
You let Magdalena run then... But I had not had enough by a long shot! For a whole day, I owned her, used her.
Consuming desire and the sensations of her skinny petite body beneath me soon made my privates swell again and again.
"Uhnn...niet..."
Sweet her plea as she felt my awakening in her womb. Ignoring a NO is usually over all nations.
Fresh on the next attack! My sweet Jewess!
Arms stemmed on the sheet against her waist; she couldn't escape. I started to fuck her in the sweat of my brow, like a lord of the manor!

My rude onslaught took her breath away while her fingers clawed the sheet instead of me!
With each of my intense impacts, I'd nail in the memory of me conquer her soul forever as a gift for her charity.
"Yes, my beauty! Just hold on tight for my spirited ride!"
I fucked her breathless, defenseless, so I could turn her upside and down till I was spent!
She was good faking her misfortune.
But more than once, she had her share, tensioning her fabulous tummy, clamping my bum.

Chaja will stay nothing of mine.
I do not like to be buried far from home.
That is why I made her promise to burn my mortal remains. This unchristian request is almost unbearable, especially for my beloved devout Jewess.
She presses her ears not to hear me saying I'll go to hell anyway.
I ask you, esteemed brother, to visit our sister and align her with my regret of not have helped her.
That's what was left.
 Chaja has to be my Opium; fever is rising by the hour...

Farewell,
George


*Mephistopheles or Mephisto: The Devil in a drama of J.W. Goethe

I hope god take a reason to discipline you for your actions- say a slow infection that zaps your strength then you will to live!

Don't get me wrong that was one hell of a hot account. super easy to envision in one's head from your words!

Merit awarded from me for this master piece!

[SoftGameHunter]

Damn, I see that I somehow didn't praise this one after the first part last month. So I'll do it double this time. That was a terrific idea supremely well-executed.

[spunkjunk]

Thank you both, I am pleased you enjoyed this and  that I have succeeded in formulating. Maybe I will think about a story in this era

[Petite99S]

I was so wrapped up in how tired of war and jaded Georg sounded that I actually forgot which site I was for long moments. I only know of Werther from what its fans did to themselves but just that thought made Georg’s nihilist and chilling way he saw Chaja and his world fit so well. I loved your framing device. I also kind of feel like I’m reading Wasteland at times, probably missing so many of your historical and cultural references. Though maybe that’s not news to anyone here..... Feels very richly interwoven to my simple mind. My humble merit!

[spunkjunk]

Thank you Petite99S for reading and commenting. Glad to hear my intentions worked.

[darklord]

Superb story.  Can not add to what the others have already said.  Excellent work.