Tired Heroes

Bodnar lay sleepless in bed, Laura sleeping peacefully beside him. His hand lay under the waistband of her pajama bottoms, caressing her soft, sparse down; it had a calming effect on him. He had been stunned when Wallner dismissed him and sent him into early retirement, just as he had announced. Even so, it came as a surprise, precisely at the moment the Frank Halter case was closed. He had gathered his belongings from his desk and left without a word. He walked silently past Rosenblatt, who had extended his hand. Laura had dropped her pen onto her homework book, crept into bed with him, and lovingly undressed him. She had become Bodnar's little wife days ago, a week ago perhaps, and had been making the most of every minute with him ever since.

But Bodnar's mind was far away. How had all this mess even started? Back when he was still with the vice squad, he had rescued Yvette from the mire; otherwise, she would have kicked the bucket on the streets. He liked the little one; she was the most grateful wife in the world, a lustful wildcat who challenged him sexually every night. He had to grudgingly acknowledge that he had also saved her lust. She masterfully feigned remorse and, without a second thought, began her next affair. He could beat her, punch her in the face. Her sexual desires controlled her life, even as she grew older.

Their child, Laura, always crept into her parents' bed, for her parents' lovemaking was the most exciting thing for the girl. She must have been 12 or 13 when the big fight broke out, and of course, it was Yvette's sexual desires that sent Bodnar into a rage. Blind with fury, he slammed his fist against Yvette's lips. She had defended herself by scratching and biting and was now wiping the blood from her mouth. "Go ahead and grope the child, you incestuous pig!" she shrieked, completely beside herself. "She's not even your own child!" Bodnar froze. Not his child?! The venomous serpent of suspicion, the goddess Apate, bit her tail and completed the circle. It explained why little Laura was so madly horny, why she absolutely had to be present when her parents made love, and why she always tugged his hand under the waistband of her pajamas. The realization sank in.

Since that row, he slept in the guest bed, the room adjoining the bedroom without a door; it had probably been the dressing room in more bourgeois times. Bodnar and Yvette now slept in separate beds, listening intently and sullenly to each other's sighs and moans. Siblings in adjacent children's rooms, who hated each other with a passion. Laura didn't have to choose; she naturally slept with her father, tugged his hand under the waistband of her pajamas, and drifted into girlish fantasies. Laura masturbated every night, and Bodnar was astonished the first night. Laura explained that she had learned it from spying on Yvette and had done it every night since early childhood. Bodnar was very surprised; he hadn't known this. Laura showed him what to do: to place his hand and fingers very gently on her vulva. Then she slipped her hand under his warm, large hand and vigorously masturbated her clit. He had never seen Laura like this before. Panting heavily and sweating profusely, she worked her clit for perhaps ten minutes, pressing one of his fingers against it during her ecstasy.

Bodnar kissed her forehead "You did that very well, my little one." Laura usually didn't fall asleep until after her third orgasm. Afterward, Bodnar's flat hand rested warmly on her mounds, and his middle finger lay calmly along the cleft, the "valley of the dolls." The mons pubis and the surrounding mounds were hot and round, and the soft, blond down tickled his palm slightly. She dreamed and fantasized vividly, but he felt how the purely platonic touch was beginning to form a previously unknown, yet intense father-daughter relationship. Yes, a delicate, soft, and innocent little plant was growing deep within the grumpy Bodnar's heart. No, Yvette's plant was broken, withered, and dried up, and Bodnar was learning to ignore his wife completely. Nevertheless, she was still his wife and looked longingly at her husband and daughter, the two of them nestled together in their sleep. Once a week, Bodnar trudged into Yvette's room at night and took her wordlessly, selfishly, and without emotion. Laura followed him and watched, her eyes wide with despair, envy, and jealousy.

For a whole year, Laura fantasized at the warmth of her father's hand. Every night, she masturbated intensely, pressing his flat hand against her clit in ecstasy. She took his fingers and let them glide over her clit. She let his finger plunge into the "valley of the dolls," guiding it over all the wrinkles and dimples to her clit. Her father kept his eyes closed and growled like a bear as she guided his finger in and over her clit. Bodnar knew how innocent and pure of heart these excursions were that Laura undertook with his finger, and he passively allowed it. The little girl put her lips to his ear. "I always do it, just like Mommy does, Daddy," she whispered in his ear. But it took weeks before she could definitively place her father's finger firmly on her clit. "Mom does it every night, just like me," she whispered, but Bodnar simply wasn't listening. The hunt for Frank Halter wouldn't leave him alone. "Yeah, yeah," he growled absentmindedly, "everyone does it, especially the promiscuous women." He didn't care that Laura was working sweating on her bud next to him, panting and sweating heavily; his thoughts were elsewhere entirely.

Like Rosenblatt, he too had fallen for Rachel Kerzendocht. Kerzendocht was a special kind of woman. An ordinary housewife, a shy and devout Jew without any particular charm, a wallflower. But with her clumsy striptease, she revealed her womanly, curvaceous, truly sinful body. And Bodnar succumbed to every woman who was lustful and driven by desire. Yes, this went against everything that simply shouldn't happen to a detective, but it did happen. It didn't bother his conscience in the slightest, since Rosenblatt felt the same way.

Laura continued, unwaveringly carrying on step by step. She now took his finger, intending to do the same to herself as her mother. This was too much for Bodnar, the self-appointed moral guardian, who beat his conscience black and blue. But he couldn't undo Laura's actions. Bodnar's heart stopped for a moment as Laura took his finger like a pencil and drew circle after circle on her clit. Her tongue, tightly tucked between her lips, she diligently continued drawing the picture, panting and sweating. The child left no spot untouched, meticulously filling every empty space with color. Laura guided his fingertip along the moist path, letting it dance on her clit for many minutes. Her fingers gripped the pencil tightly as ecstasy made her tremble and twitch and after the ecstasy, she wrapped her girlish arms around his neck. She sighed deeply and whispered in his ear, "You must pound me like Yvette, please, please!" But now he firmly rebuked her. "Never, Laura, never! You are my daughter, and I am not a child molester!" But Laura merely shrugged and continued her whispered begging relentlessly, every single night.

Laura wept silently, for with tears she could achieve anything with Papa, anything at all. Bodnar's eyes grew restless; he could not bear to see Laura cry. Of course, Yvette followed all this with unease and vigilance, as she did every night; she could hear even the faintest whispered word. "If you don't want to pound me like Yvette," the little girl whispered calculatingly, triumphantly sizing him up with veiled, tear-filled eyes, "then at least do the finger game for me, Daddy, please! The way Yvette does it, the real finger game!" Bodnar's heart softened, as did his brain. "Very well, then soften up like Yvette does when she needs it badly. You must have spied on her," Bodnar grumbled, with the queasy feeling of a loser. Laura nodded in a whisper, "Yes, Daddy, she does it every night when you're asleep." Laura pulled her pajamas all the way down and spread her thighs, bent like frog legs. She had won again, and it felt divine, simply goddamn divine. Bodnar's fingertip found her clit, of course. He had carefully remembered how Laura had guided his finger and did the same, painting the colorful picture with a steady hand. He watched Laura's sweaty face, full of affection, and poured all his love over her bud and rose until she trembled and twitched. It was a small price to pay to avoid having to pound her, he defended himself against the miserable vice squad officer inside. And from then on, Laura demanded his finger play every night.

He had been whispering with Rosenblatt in the coffee corner. Rosenblatt was a good friend, and had openly and frankly described his relationship with Elli to him. For Rosenblatt, it was the most natural thing in the world; he didn't allow rules or laws across the threshold of his bedroom. That was his privacy, his private kingdom, and the princess had gotten the king. It sounded so simple when Rosenblatt talked about it. With glittering eyes, Bodnar slowly leafed through the slut's nude photos. Of course, he recognized her lustful nature immediately; he knew all such women from his time in the vice squad. Greedy harpies who weren't just after the suitor's money, but who also greedily devoured everyone to stuff them into their great, insatiable emptiness. He understood perfectly now why Rosenblatt called her nothing but the slut. But Elli, posing obscenely, almost took his breath away. The daughter was just as much of a slut as her mother, and he wasn't at all surprised that Rosenblatt had taken her. Elli still had plenty of baby fat, but her breasts were gradually taking shape, like the big slut's. The pointed nipples stood out boldly, aggressive and by no means innocent. Her femininity, too, was already a weapon, ready to devour foolish fools. Both the slut and Elli burned themselves indelibly into Bodnar's retina.

He reluctantly handed the phone back to Rosenblatt, the big slut and the little slut dancing the cha-cha-cha in Bodnar's brain. "No, Rosenblatt, I'll never sleep with my Laura, not in a million years!" He handed his iPhone to Rosenblatt only reluctantly; after all, he had plenty of nude photos of Yvette and Laura. Rosenblatt commented with a connoisseur's eye. "Yvette, well, maybe not my league, Bodnar. More breasts and more hips, that's what I'm lacking. But Laura, she's much slimmer and more delicate than my Elli. Those small, girlish breasts, magnificent and like the finest porcelain! And the soft, light blonde fuzz enhances her girlishness even more. Elli already has to trim her bush with scissors, my old champ. Laura will probably challenge you more and demand more from you than Yvette!" Rosenblatt's eyes caressed Laura's beautiful, girlish body for minutes. "One day, when you're ready, Bodnar, we'll have to share the girls!" But Bodnar shook his head and said firmly, "Not in a million years, Rosenblatt!" At the same time, something inside him screamed, screamed with desire for Elli, the little hussy. Yes, a sultry friendship developed between them, and they giggled and exchanged nude photos like schoolboys.

Bodnar let go of Laura's bud as her ecstasy began to flow. Yvette coughed like someone with lung disease, but Bodnar ignored his wife; this wasn't her problem, it was none of her business, damn it. Rosenblatt came up with the idea. "Bodnar, what's one of Frank Halter's weaknesses? His mother, yes, his beloved mother. It would cut him to the core if we stopped treating his mother with kid gloves. If we used her like Kerzendocht, cheekily and quite indecently. It will cut him to the core, shatter his twisted masculinity, if we use her for our own amusement. It will drive him crazy, and he'll make mistakes. What do you think?" Bodnar had to agree; Rosenblatt understood something about psychology, not just the Morgentau. Bodnar objected that the old woman was truly old, wrinkled and withered, and only in the arms of Kerzendocht did she still awaken. Rosenblatt nudged him in the side. "Pull yourself together, old friend! For God, the King, and England!"

Bodnar had been performing the fingering on Laura for months now, and she finally stopped talking about thrusting and being thrust. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, "I learned how to do it to boys at school." Nothing more, just a casual remark after the fingering. Laura sat up and pulled Bodnar's pants off. She knelt between his thighs, pulled back his foreskin, and exposed his manhood. Once again she clamped her tongue between her lips and striked him, quickly, expertly and covered in sweat, until the happy ending. He later slipped his hand under the waistband of her pajamas and fell asleep almost immediately, while Laura was intensely masturbating.

Laura whispered, "Is it really okay to swallow it, Dad? The others say it's delicious." Bodnar was too tired to correct her. "Fine by me, Laura, it's not poisonous," he whispered wearily. Laura's lips descended over his glans wrapping the lips around his cock for the happy ending, so his semen was spurting into her mouth, and she swallowed it all with a pleasurable shudder. Yvette looked over from the other side and coughed loudly and emphatically. Her Laura knelt between his thighs, eagerly milking his semen, her tongue clamped in the corner of her mouth by her lips, and now she leaned forward to drink and swallow Bodnar's semen like a cheap streetwalker. Yvette held her breath until Laura had slurped and swallowed everything; she could do nothing but express her disapproval with loud coughs. Laura completely ignored her cough and cleaned Bodnar with the sleeve of her pajamas. He had to swallow hard. Laura had taken him by surprise, without warning, without any fuss. Her comrades had instructed her precisely how it was to be done; perhaps they had even given Laura a demonstration on a live subject. Yvette had sat up agitatedly in bed and coughed emphatically and very disapprovingly. Bodnar jumped up angrily and stomped over to Yvette. He threw her brutally onto the pillows and took her roughly and brutally, panting and sputtering like a bull. She is and was just as much of a slut as Rosenblatt's ex; she had no right to cough here!

It was clear that neither Hofstätter nor Morgentau approved of his and Rosenblatt's actions. Ron said, "Frank Halter will be annoyed, yes. But he's not stupid enough to make a colossal mistake over this. He thinks like a killer, not an altar boy, folks. He'd drown his own mother if it suited his purposes." But Bodnar remained unmoved. He met Morgentau's reproachful glare. "No, we're not the idiots, not us!" he snapped. "Your father was a rabbi, and you're still the sweet little pastor's daughter, Doctor! There's no such thing as the perfect detective, in shining armor on a snow-white stallion. Wake up, Rosa, we have to deal with the lowest scum of this city and get our hands dirty! It's not us who are delaying the arrest. It's you who lets him rape you regularly, God knows what good that's supposed to do! You just let him screw you over like crazy instead of putting a bullet in his brain!" Bodnar simply left them standing there. Ron said laconically, "There's something to that, Rosa!"

Bodnar had returned from his bar crawl. He was quite tipsy, but not drunk. He had the feeling he'd only been sent to the bars so he wouldn't annoy everyone at the office. Laura lay half-naked on his bed, her bare legs spread like a frog, rubbing her clit with strained sweat. She smiled sweetly; she had been intently at it for hours. He threw himself onto the bed and watched her performance with a warm shudder. He watched approvingly for a while and then undressed. He placed his penis on her thighs. Laura paused only briefly, pulled back the foreskin, and took the tip in her mouth before grinning as she continued to rub her clit. Yvette was also lying on her bed, giggling and laughing on the phone and caressing her breasts. Bodnar couldn't help but grin; all that was missing was for him to join in. But it didn't occur to him. Laura panted and sweated; she was far from finished.

Laura's ecstasy made her tremble and twitch wildly. She grabbed him and, with a mischievous smile, pulled him between her frog legs. The tip of his cock touched her moist clit. Bodnar grinned through the glittering curtain left behind by the drinks and aperitifs. "I think you're going to push me over the edge today, my little one." Laura wiped the sweat from her face and continued with rubbing her clit. "No, Daddy, I just want to feel you very close, really close." Tiny beads of sweat detached from her forehead and ran down her heated cheeks. She had already progressed so far that she only needed a few moments to reach the next ecstasy. Bodnar's loins continued to heat as his buddy touched her dancing clit. "You're about to make me, my love," he gasped helplessly, his passion blazing.

A heavenly light shone across Laura's face. "Thrust me, really thrust me like Yvette?" Bodnar nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe today is your big day, your lucky day." Laura looked at him with wide eyes. "Yes, Daddy, today is my lucky day. You want to take me like Yvette, finally!" He shook his head. "No, child, I want to be gentle and tender with you, not rough and brutal like with Yvette!" Heat spilled down from his navel. "It'll sting the first time, princess," he murmured. Laura smiled knowingly, worldly. "I know, Daddy!" and pulled him forward impatiently. "Well then, in God's name!" murmured our good Bodnar and thrust forward. Laura only flinched briefly, but she didn't make a sound. She looked wide into his eyes, amazed like a child before a Christmas tree. He took her gently until their both's happy ending and slid to the side. Laura snuggled against him, her lips on his neck. "Dad, how many times can men actually do?" she asked. He was still drunk. "Depends. Once, twice, or three times, if you ask me." She pulled him between her thighs, and he did it a second and a third time. Freed from all his inhibitions, he carelessly ejaculated inside her, once, twice, and three times.

Yvette had finished her phone call and stared in disbelief at the goings-on in the guest bed. "You did it, you monster!" she shrieked, the first words she'd uttered in months. Bodnar simply held out his hand, his index finger extended. "Shut up, I'm telling you!" But Yvette continued to shriek, calling him the most obscene names. He stopped the fourth round with a growl and climbed out of bed, cursing. Naked and broad-shouldered, he stomped over to Yvette. She continued to shriek, accusing him of raping the poor child! That was the last straw. He slapped his wife, the likes of which she'd never been hit before. Saliva and blood flew from her mouth and onto the carpet. "Shut up, I said!" he said in a voice that seemed to rise from the depths of his soul. He felt the blood rushing to his groin. He grabbed Yvette and took her as roughly and brutally as he hadn't in a long time. Yvette curled up on the sheet afterward. Bodnar lifted one of her legs until her genitals were open like a ripe fruit, defenseless, and slapped her buttocks several times, hard and roughly. "I don't want to hear another word, do you hear me? Run and get her the pill if you have any decency left!"

Bodnar had slept off his drunkenness; Laura was still fast asleep. He heaved himself out of bed and stepped into the shower. There he woke up, more sober than ever. He had done the terrible thing; he had thrown away his honor like a used handkerchief. A policeman, a vice squad officer, a detective never did such a thing. Not in a million years. He crouched down on the shower tray under the spray. He would have to go to the president and submit his resignation, six years before retirement! The water was now ice-cold; he turned it off. He stood up with difficulty, a Hercules carrying the heavy globe on his shoulders.

Wallner had almost laughed at him and ordered him back to work. The president didn't want to hear anything about resignations, not when you were in the middle of a case! Bodnar told Rosenblatt about Laura, his voice trembling, as they stood by the coffee machine. Rosenblatt just gave him a friendly, buddy-like pat on the shoulder, then left. Bodnar wasn't sure if Rosa had heard him. Actually, it didn't matter anymore; he had become a miserable worm, a worm like Rosenblatt. Ronald looked him in the face and ordered him to go through all the documents from the beginning and check whether they were correctly labeled and numbered for later archiving. Bodnar was grateful that he could make himself useful with a dull, routine task and distract himself.

Bodnar went home earlier than usual. Yvette had dragged Laura to the gynecologist, had her thoroughly examined, and then went to the pharmacy with the prescription. When Bodnar got home, Yvette was sitting at the table with a sulky Laura, explaining everything about the pill, menstruation, and the catastrophe of an early pregnancy. The two of them were speaking to each other for the first time in months. He gave Yvette a quick wink, and she retreated to her bedroom. Laura immediately hugged him, pressing her face against his upper arm. "Dad, the doctor touched me down there, shone a light inside, and rubbed my clit really hard until it was completely stiff. But he didn't finish, the stupid guy, he just stared at it through a magnifying glass until it was soft again. I felt like a brightly painted circus horse." Bodnar reassured her. "He has to do that, otherwise he can't prescribe you the pill, but you need to start taking it right away. So there's no pregnancy if we're stupid and do it again." Laura nodded, reassured. "That's okay, Dad."

Bodnar asked what else was on her mind. Laura looked at him uncertainly; Yvette certainly wouldn't approve if she told him. "Yvette apparently knew the doctor from before, and she nodded when he asked if he could take pictures. He must have taken a hundred pictures of rubbing my clit until it was stiff. I'd never seen it so clearly before; my clit got completely stiff and red and it suddenly popped out from under the hood like a spike. But he didn't finish, the bastard. He kept taking pictures and licking his lips until my clit was soft again and finally disappeared. And suddenly his cock was inside me, so thick and fat, it almost burst me. He only thrust in and out briefly and squirted immediately inside. Yvette screaming pulled him out and scolded him, he could have her, but not me, damn it! She lay face down over the desk, hiked up her skirt, and pulled her panties aside. She grabbed him and shoved his semi-soft worm inside her. She forced him to do it to her, and then again right away a second round. They were barely half a meter away from me, and then I stopped crying and watched. He had to pump her for ages until he finally managed it a second time. She scolded him because he was doing much worse now, this Lothar. Then we went to the pharmacy."

When they lay in bed that evening, Laura snuggled up to him. She never wore pajamas again; now they both lay naked, skin to skin. "Daddy, I always wanted Yvette's place, I always wanted to be your little Yvette." Bodnar didn't say anything for a long time. "I've been a man of honor all my life. Yesterday I threw my honor away. It wasn't right that I made you my little Yvette, Laura. I'm your dad, not your lover. That's Jan and Freddie and who-knows-who else. One of your friends should have popped your cherry; that would have been the right thing to do. As a dad, I'm not allowed to touch my daughter, and certainly not pound her. That goes against everything we believe in. Can you understand that?" Laura understood, but she didn't grasp it. And so, in the end, they did it every night, filled with shame and pleasure, and Yvette buried her head in the pillows; she didn't want to see or hear it, she didn't want to be beaten anymore.

For Bodnar, early retirement was like a blow to the head. He lay on his bed, watching television without really watching. Yvette had come up beside him and said she was moving out, that she was moving in with Waltraud temporarily until she found an apartment. Bodnar nodded absently. Yvette said she simply couldn't bear to see him and Laura infighting anymore. Bodnar didn't take his eyes off the screen. "I can't undo anything, Yvette." She turned to leave. "I'm going to file for divorce, Saul." She hadn't called him by his first name in years, not for 15 years. Bodnar took hold of her fingers. "Lie down with me, Yvette, before you go." She was completely surprised, but she lay down next to him. They treated each other gently and tenderly, just like at the beginning of their relationship. Then he took out his iPhone and showed Yvette the pictures of Rosenblatt's big and small slut. Yvette's eyes widened, she became incredibly aroused, and wondered. "Rosenblatt's?" Bodnar confirmed, yes, that was them. Yvette stayed for another hour; the nude pictures had made her even more aroused, and she demanded a second round, then she left. For good.

Bodnar gazed at the two sluts for a long time. Rosenblatt's suggestion of exchanging the girls simply wouldn't leave his mind. Yes, maybe, but he wouldn't leave Laura alone with Rosenblatt for a single moment. A dinner together? Suddenly it flashed through Bodnar's mind: Yvette wouldn't be there, she wouldn't be cooking. Perhaps they could bring some Thai food. Another thought intruded: thick, broad, and overweight. He needed a replacement for Yvette just to ensure Laura had a proper diet. Yvette, who was now in Waltraud's arms. Waltraud was just as lustful as Yvette, both were bisexual, and he had frequently had threesomes with them many years ago, very enjoyable ones at that, Bodnar smiled to himself. Cooking, doing the housework. Breathlessly, he mentally ran through the address book of his flings. Yes, maybe her. Or her? No, she had a family, a husband and children. Another one came to mind. She only came to mind because he'd had a wonderful fling with her years ago. Or — maybe her? Yes, he'd make contact. A childless widow, sexually driven, and just scraping by. She accepted money from her lovers, but she wasn't a skilled clandestine prostitute. Shy and ashamed, she'd ask her lovers for money. Yes, he'd fish her out of the pond; in her late thirties, she could have a positive influence on Laura and be his young and cuddly lover at the same time.

He'd mentally flipped through the pictures of the big and little sluts, and now Rosenblatt's suggestion of swapping daughters came back into focus. Two approaches presented themselves. He and Rosenblatt could take turns visiting each other and have a threesome with the respective daughter. Or they could go straight for it, all four of them together, and each would take their own daughter and the other's. And he'd take the little slut, again and again, until he couldn't take any more. Bodnar fell asleep smiling, his cell phone between his fingers.

✨

Rosenblatt smoked silently in bed, Elli slept softly beside him, his hand resting on her bare bottom. It was beautifully shaped, round and womanly, but Rosenblatt wasn't paying attention to its beauty now. Ron had been right back then; he had to get the pill for Elli. She was so young and fearless. She hadn't started her period yet and hadn't given pregnancy a second thought. The princess had to have her king; finally, he was hers alone. The evil queen had left after the king had conquered the princess's crotch. The bitch was just furiously jealous because Papa only had eyes for his Elli. He was quite happy that Elli was lying with him and not the bitch. There was no connection between his ejaculation and pregnancy; Elli never considered it.

Rosenblatt had to call the slut, and she came roaring across the bay. She didn't have a decent job and didn't need one; she picked up guys at the disco, and the money was enough to live comfortably, even saving a little for the future. She wasn't stupid; she avoided drugs and bad guys alike. Rosenblatt greeted her frostily; he hadn't invited her of his own free will. She accompanied Elli to the gynecologist and looked over her shoulder as the doctor examined Elli thoroughly. The slut hadn't seen it since she was a baby; Elli's was beautifully and femininely shaped. They left the prescription at the pharmacy; Elli would now be able to get the pill completely legally. Mother and daughter didn't exchange a single word; the gulf between them was unbridgeable.

The bitch simply pushed Elli aside when they went to bed that evening. "I expect compensation for my cooperation," the bitch growled, lurking like a female jaguar. Elli was stunned by how hard the bitch took her dad. From every angle, in every position, she collected his semen for each monthly prescription individually. It wasn't until around 2 a.m. that she finally took off in a taxi. Elli took her dad's head in her lap. "Was it worth it, just for the pill?" she asked anxiously. Rosenblatt nodded, exhausted. "Yes, Elli. I could never forgive myself for getting you pregnant. I'm only doing what's necessary, Princess." Elli caressed his head and whispered, "You must get a divorce, Papa, otherwise she'll be a burden to you at the worst possible time. Sooner or later, Mama will run afoul of the law and drag you down with her. She's been doing that her whole life; you're still paying off her debts. She's still officially your wife, Papa." Rosenblatt just wanted to sleep. "Yes, Elli, yes." Finally, he fell into a deep sleep.

✨

For Rosenblatt, who loved women's bodies more than a concoction of ice cream, whipped cream, and maraschino cherry, working in the Halters' house was a nightmare and disgusting. No, he had no problem with Kerzendocht, because once she'd taken off her miserable housewife clothes, she was actually quite attractive sexually. She was always clean, well-groomed, and lightly perfumed, which accentuated her very feminine curves. No, he enjoyed her. He now regretted having made the suggestion to Bodnar. Upstairs, in the bedroom under the eaves, old Halter quickly undressed to lie down next to Kerzendocht. Never had the difference between a woman's body in full bloom and an old, withered one been so obvious. Halter was very wrinkled, her breasts hung like sacks, and her sparsely gray-haired womanhood was anything but attractive.

Rosenblatt had taken to waiting for the pause between the women struggling in love, then he would ask Kerzendocht for a dance. It was a pleasure, for the eyes and for his manhood as well. With a heavy heart, he turned to Mrs. Halter after ejaculation. She trembled with excitement and fear. He took her with utter contempt, and she turned her face away, burying it in the pillows. She knew it was about Frankie, it was about dishonoring her. Tears of anger and humiliation glistened in her eyes, but she didn't want to give the guy the satisfaction of crying, of letting the tears flow simply from the contradictions of his own actions. Her thin body was jolted back and forth, as the guy was clearly having trouble coming. She fought against having an orgasm with all this thrusting and pumping, but far too often she lost. His eruption felt to her as if he were shooting her, shot after shot. But then it was over, and he took refuge in Kerzendocht's arms, who gently stroked his circumcised friend. Yes, Rachel whispered, yes. Doing it with a circumcised man felt right to her. He rested while Roxane and Rachel comforted each other and then made tender love. Then it all started again, until 2 or 3 in the morning.

✨

While Fatme was kidnapped, Rosa lay with Ron. She had time to admire him dozing peacefully during the breaks. Yes, she felt more than just sibling love for Ron, and even in the most beautiful moments, a terrible thought would creep into her mind, a truly terrible one. What if Frank killed Fatme and she could stay with Ron? But she quickly banished the thought; it would be dishonest. She didn't deserve such a cheap victory. No, she was Ron's colleague and friend, and she lay with him to give his tormented self a respite, to free him from the kidnapping for a few moments. Yes, she gave him everything, everything a lover would give her beloved. Yes, she knew perfectly well that she was surrendering to him because she loved him, somehow. At the same time, she knew she would return him to Fatme immediately and without hesitation should she be freed. Rosa's fingers stole their way to her sensitive nipples, for she could arouse them so delicately that she had an orgasm. She had done this all her life, these nipple orgasms. Ron was a very good lover, without a doubt. She got her money's worth every time, squeaking, squealing, and rejoicing in his arms. More clearly than ever before, she now felt how wrong and empty her frantic rushing from one adventure to the next was. What Ronald and Fatme had was right. The only right thing, the only true thing. It was time to grow up and reach for the right thing. She was no longer a girl; she had matured into a woman.

✨

Johannes Wallner lay listless and tired in Ludmilla's arms, his lips encircling her large, juicy nipples. Ever since they had closed the Halter case, he had felt utterly exhausted and weary. He knew this was his last case; he would be speaking with the Minister of the Interior and demanding his retirement. For over 50 years, he had been a police officer, body and soul. He had always given 150%, he had dedicated himself entirely to the service, he had single-mindedly worked his way up the ranks to become Chief of Police. His wife had become a stranger to him, and Ludmilla, well, she was Ludmilla. After the tempestuous beginning of their affair, she now demanded nothing from him, not even purely physical conquest. She liked the man, even though he was 25 years older than her. But he was an old-school gentleman, and that appealed to her far more than the bluster of the younger generation. Ludmilla was very proud of her large, magnificent breasts, and Johannes loved them especially. He often lay on her chest, his lips engulfed in her thick, juicy nipples. He loved suckling and licking them while his hands caressed the Czech lowlands, even though he knew every hill, every fold, and every dimple of this beautiful landscape.

Every Wednesday morning, Ludmilla went to the ice skating club and skated a few laps, just for the pleasure of it. She didn't do any tricks; she skated calmly because hardly anyone else was there at that time. Except for the athletes, who trained every day from morning till night. They nodded to each other; the athletes knew her and who she had once been. In the evenings, she was home, waiting for her Johannes. She wore only the thin, sheer veils he had given her, which accentuated her figure so beautifully. She was patient and never pressured him into erotic encounters, even though she loved to have them, of course.

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The Russian rooks had arrived and were now perched on the ledge outside the aquarium. Their only goal was to spend the winter in warmer Austria. There was plenty of food, and no one was shooting at them here. It must be Saturday or Sunday, they croaked to each other, nodding wisely, because there was no one else around. On weekdays, yes, there was activity and bustling activity at the aquarium and in the offices.

On Saturdays and Sundays, evil could flourish undisturbed; all the evil would be dealt with on Monday.

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