Pursuit by Robert L. Fish Read Free Book Online Page A

cared for the way they looked at him. But tonight they were safe; the colonel’s thoughts were on the girl in his villa, and particularly on the doctor’s reaction to her.
    Schlossberg wet his thin lips and tried to sound noncommittal, as if he were merely making male conversation.
    â€œWhat’s she like?”
    â€œYou obviously mean in bed.” Von Schraeder gave him a lewd wink. “She’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced! She comes to bed like a statue, resolved each time to lie there like a broomstick and not give me the slightest satisfaction. Everything about her is limp. I take her hand and put it between my legs and she makes no attempt to either resist or comply; she just lets her hand rest where I put it, neither holding me nor squeezing me, and for some reason this excites me more than if she were all over me with her hands or her mouth. She simply lies there, those marvelous breasts of hers as soft as pillows, and when I touch them and rub the nipples gently, and then run my tongue around them and find the nipples with my lips, they get hard as rocks, swelled out like grapes. I know she hates herself for not being able to control them. And when I slide my hand gently over her belly and run it down her legs, I do it very gently—not like that bull Mittendorf coupling with one of his cows down at the brothel.”
    He glanced across at the doctor. Schlossberg was breathing more rapidly, his eyes slightly glazed, his mouth a bit open. Von Schraeder bit back a smile and went on.
    â€œShe’s quite hairy between her legs, you know, and I like that. It’s not the wire you find on some women; it’s soft, like thick moss. When I part the lips and start to stroke her there, I barely touch her. I just barely run the tip of my finger over her little button and she shivers and starts to breathe faster, and then she begins to cry, as silently as she can, and I know she hates herself more and more—more, I think, than she hates me. And she hates me, believe it! But she can’t help herself; she gets wetter and wetter and she twitches every time my fingertip slides up and down her slit. It’s like rubbing your finger in jelly. And when at last I finally get on top of her and go into her, it’s like being dipped into a pot of hot honey. She does her best to lie still but she can’t help responding, and before we’re done she’s panting like a mare in heat, using every muscle she has to suck me deeper and deeper inside of her. And when we finally explode together—because she can’t help exploding any more than I can—she lies there, still pulsing inside, and bites her lips until they bleed.” He looked over at the doctor. “You’ll find her everything you’ve dreamed about, Franz, I’m sure.”
    Schlossberg wet his lips and tried to act as if the picture of the girl writhing sensuously beneath him in bed was not all that was on his mind at the moment.
    â€œAnd what will happen to her after tomorrow, when you leave?”
    Von Schraeder shrugged.
    â€œWhat difference does it make? As you said, she’s a Jew. Maybe Mittendorf will take her, just because he thinks it will get back at me somehow—although I have a feeling he’ll be a little busy these next few days to spend much time worrying about women. Or he may send her to the ovens, just because I enjoyed her. Or, if she’s lucky, she still may be alive when the Russians get here.”

Chapter 3
    They left Maidanek at dawn the following day, with the windows of the heavy military limousine drawn up against a rather unusual chill morning breeze, driving through Lublin when the ancient city was just beginning to show signs of life. They passed the square, avoiding the market that was beginning to be set up blocking traffic, swung past the railroad station deserted in the early hours, and drove swiftly through the empty streets past the university and