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A daughter of Siberia, it wasn’t the resistance of the depleted Wehrmacht that troubled Svetlana during the 3rd Guards Army’s advance on Brest – it was the tortuously wet July heat of the Pripet marshes.
Her Sveta didn’t work more often than not, the wiring on the rifle squad’s radio failed and the truck carrying their munitions got caught in the mud and had to be abandoned. But for Svetlana, it wasn’t her failing equipment, the spoiling food or the warm vodka that made the march through the marsh such an ordeal.
It was the sweat matted through her long, brown hair. It was the suffocation of her uniform, the sweat pooling beneath her full breasts, rolling down the small of her back into her into her undergarments, turning her crotch into a swamp rivalling the one she was forced to trudge through day after day.
Her socks were soaked with her perspiration, making her doubt whether the squelch of her steps came from within or without her boots.
Ah, those boots. Tall, black leather boots taken from a Nazi she’d shot, who just happened to be her size. Finally, she’d thought in the heady days of March, something to replace her own wafer-thin, hole-ridden army issue shoes that did nothing to keep out the melting spring snows.
And while she could hardly deny that the shoes were a gift from God as she navigated the sticky Pripet mud, she couldn’t help but despair that well-lined boots were equally good at trapping heat as they were keeping it out.
Her boots, boobs and stuffy uniform (that her lieutenant strictly refused to let her loosen in any way) all combined to make every step forward a struggle as the remorseless humidity enveloped her.
Swatting a mosquito away from her open lips, she offered a silent prayer to God to keep the bugs crawling across her uniform, if only they would abandon their plans to fly into her mouth, up her nostrils, and crawl across the back of her neck, slick with sweat.
As so often happened when facing awful circumstances so thoroughly out of her control, Sveta’s heart was torn between the nihilistic depression such a situation aroused, and a powerful frustration which sought to give her the energy to rid herself of the malaise.
And for Svetlana, frustration could never exist on its own, it was always accompanied by that special itch.
Part 1: Scratching That Special Itch
Since her childhood, Svetlana had been cursed with a unique coping mechanism for moments of frustration and adversity – a sudden and undeniable sexual arousal.
Distinct from any other moment of excitement, that special itch came alive in her clit alone, a burning energy which demanded she rub it, hard.
Harder than hard.
Svetlana liked to think of herself as a sensual creature, and found herself bored by one-note lovers who idiotically, or arrogantly, thought sex was just one act repeated until satisfied.
But when overcome by the itch, which began as a minor but unceasing distraction and rapidly escalated into an all-consuming need to thrust her clit against the hardest object she could find, Sveta was reduced to that barbaric sexual-simplicity that so regularly left her disappointed.
Now, when she was alone, facing a private frustration, she recognised that the itch was honestly, a God sent gift. It focused her mind on the simplest possible task when overwhelmed by life’s problems.
And its earth-shattering orgasm calmed her the fuck down afterwards, giving her the mental clarity to get her problem solved.
But when faced with an implacable foe like the wet heat of the marsh, her physiological defence mechanism became a curse.
Unable to solve the problem, she found no escape from the itch, which haunted her day and night, barely giving her rest after each unsatisfying orgasm to focus on anything other than the burning desire intermingling with the perspiration-matted hair covering her crotch.
The entire area was a disaster and it was all she could do not to march the entire day with her strong fingers stuffed down her panties, despite her heat exhaustion.
A week ago, güvenilir bahis she’d been covering a pair of rifle squads as they advanced on a farmhouse and barn the Germans were occupying. Lying flat on the driest patch of earth she could find, she’d become so pathetically distracted by the itch that she used a piece of wood to balance her SVT-40, freeing a hand to furiously push against her clit.
Her concentration slipped and she closed her eyes to focus on the feeling of her fingers pushing against her nub as she pressed down harder on her hand. Eyes tight shut as she struggled to keep her fingers, slick with her sweat and arousal alike, pressed tightly against her clit, she had no way to know that a Nazi had appeared with an MG-42 in the barn window.
In the window she’d preemptively pointed her rifle at, anticipating this exact possibility. She was so far gone, she didn’t even notice the sound of the 42 spraying bullets at the advancing Soviet guards.
Indeed, if the force of her orgasm hadn’t torn through her body and caused her to accidentally pull the trigger, sending a bullet into the chest of the man on the MG, the action might have turned into a massacre.
As her eyes snapped open, she knew this represented a low point, even for her notoriously weak self-control, although damn if it wasn’t one hell of an orgasm.
So good, in fact, that she enjoyed a full half-hour’s shooting before the itch crawled back into her life, complicating her squad’s subsequent attack on a lumber-yard.
Feeling guilty over her profound lapse and with a seemingly unquenchable thirst, she’d resolved to find a release so powerful that it would vanquish her indomitable companion once and for all – or at least until she emerged from the torture of the summer marshes.
On one day’s march, she’d snuck away from the rest of her squad to find a lonely spot to give her clit a good thrashing, when she happened on a tree stump surrounded by tall reeds. The stump itself was a chaotic mess, doubtlessly the result of an artillery shell destroying the trunk it once supported.
Inspired, she managed to wedge her SVT into the mangled stump so tightly that when she stood back, the rifle continued to point skyward unsupported. Feeling more than a little satisfied with her modest ingenuity, she unbuckled her belt and forcefully wriggled her ample backside out of her tight-fitting, mud-caked and damp-as-hell pants, which she forced down to rest on her boots.
Wasting no time, she peeled her white (albeit stained) cotton undergarment away from her crotch and let it rest atop her pants around her shins. She waddled over to mount the tree stump, rubbing her entire groin with all five fingers of her filthy hand.
Like her hand, the rifle’s cold metal surface was filthy, but Svet was too far gone to really care. Standing with one foot rested on the stump , she grasped her rifle and pressed her clit against its barrel.
With a satisfied sigh, she began to thrust against the erect rifle, pushing her clit up and down the welcome cold of the steel barrel.
As she caught up with her patrol, she suddenly panicked, imagining that one of her compatriots might smell her orgasm dried onto the rifle’s surface.
But then, as she resumed her place in the march, she remembered that the overpowering odour of the 3rd Guards, having advanced for several months without encountering a clean river to bathe in, would mask her passion.
It had been good – but it wasn’t good enough to satiate her damp frustration at the stinking heat of the marshes and it wasn’t long before the itch returned to her.
It begged her to give up the hideous trek, collapse limply into the soft, wet ground beneath and lie there, frantically fingering herself over and over until she withered away and perished in the Pripet.
But she was stronger than that – or so she thought.
Part 2: In the Foxhole
Later that day, a battery of German howitzers opened up on the company and didn’t let up for a few hours. Normal procedure was to advance close enough to the German lines to türkçe bahis stop the shells, but this kind of rapid advance under pressure proved impossible in the marsh and the company did its best to dig in.
Together with an older rifleman, she cleared enough mud to create a small foxhole, albeit one with malleable walls that kept closing in on the two of them, forcing them to stand up and excavate during lulls in the ground-shaking impacts.
Exhausted, she slumped down and watched the man dig, both filthy with mud and perspiration. As she watched him continue to shift huge shovelfuls of mud from the hole, she allowed her mind to wander, imagining his rough, strong hands cupping her bucking crotch, those thick fingers pressing hard against her insatiable button. Once again, her passion mixed with the sweat of physical labour, turning her undergarments into what she imagined to be a morass.
As she was lost in these sensations, the man stopped over her to shore up the wall she was leaning against. She looked up at the man’s groin, fancying that she could see the outline of his manhood through the uniform pants.
Unbidden by any formal decision, her hands climbed up to the buckle of his belt and with a practised skill, pried it open. The man scarcely had time to look down before his pants and under-thing alike were pulled down enough to expose his soft form before her face.
Before she had even the time to admire the form of the man in front of her, Svetlana was struck by his thick scent. Gripped by the madness of the swamp heat, she found the scent irresistible.
Without even looking up to see the man’s bewildered face, she leaned forward and began lashing her tongue across the foreskin of his still-flaccid penis.
As it hardened, she gently pulled back its foreskin and drunk in its scent. Her clit longed to be touched and she reached up to drag him down, but before she could get a good grip on him, she felt his strong hand on the back of her head, guiding her onto his now-firm manhood.
Even as overheated as she was, she welcomed his warmth into her mouth, swirling her tongue around his head, delighting in the salty taste of the smegma collected beneath his unwashed foreskin.
As she continued to suck on the soldier’s hot, filthy dick, herself covered in mud and drenched in sweat, her arousal escalated until she was desperate for something, anything to press hard against her clit and push out against the impossibly empty walls of her canal.
When the man’s rough hands pushed her further and further onto his dick, Svetlana tried to find a release for her craving by clenching her legs, but it was to no avail. Her drenched undergarment needed to come off.
She was drunk on the stinging, salty taste of the precum seeping out of her soldier’s unclean cock and there she wanted to keep sucking on it more than anything else in the world.
More than anything except feel its rock-hard, white-hot form against her clit, that was.
With two hands against his hips, she shoved the soldier, sending him toppling down into the mud with a cry. She pounced atop him, digging her hands beneath the buttons of his coat and tearing it off with all her pent up sexual frustration. Beneath the brown coat was a striped sailor’s shirt, which she rapidly rolled up to his neck, leaving his hairy chest bare for her.
She leaned down and licked his right nipple, eliciting a gasp as she enjoyed the rough sensation of his tangled hair and that familiar salt-tang of perspiration and dirt. She dropped her own pants seconds later, somehow shuffling out of them entirely without losing the grip her legs gave her on his prone form.
Glancing at his face for the first time, she shot him a quick smirk as she grabbed his hand yanked it across to her cunt. She leaned in and began to bite at his left nipple – however, she quickly grew impatient at his confused fumbling with her equipment. She reared up again and pulled his hand away, deciding to rub her demanding clit against his hard cock instead. She flattened it against his belly and pressed her güvenilir bahis siteleri full weight down onto it, rolling her hips back and forth to slide her lips and clit along the rigid pole.
Closing her eyes, she kept one hand pressed into the soldier’s hairy chest and held him down, while the other frantically and ineffectively squeezed her left breast through her uniform. She was holding herself up with her knees, the strain of which fed ever more tension into her groin as she furiously rubbed back and forth against the older man’s rock-hard dick. He moaned loudly, unable to control himself under such a determined assault.
Suddenly, the world shook around them, as the German battery opened up again. But fear didn’t have time to creep into Sveta’s heart, for she was immediately shocked by the way the powerful impact shook her man, giving his penis a life of its own and as it vibrated against her forceful thrusts. Pressing herself harder against him, she continued to ride along the top of his strong cock, grinding herself against its bucking, vibrating form and shouting her lust to the skies, confident that the shelling would drown her out.
She could feel the orgasm she needed to banish her itch fast approaching.
Then, a warmth and a cry as the soldier came onto his stomach, semen caught up in his mane of chest hair. She pushed harder against the cock, but it was no use, as it immediately softened, its load spilled. Any other time, she would have delighted in the great warm spurts it had unleashed, but the man’s orgasm had left her bereft of anything to grind against.
She reached out to grab his hand, but the man had been utterly useless even when the Germans weren’t firing on their position.
Devastated by the loss of the release she do desperately needed, her mind kicked into overdrive and gave her what she needed.
She grabbed her rifle and quickly attached its bayonet, which she stabbed into one side of the collapsing mud of the foxhole, not 20cm above the terrified soldier’s face. Then with a strength she could only muster in moments of passion, she dug the rifle’s butt into the adjacent wall, buttressing it in with extra mud. Another shell hit nearby, causing the mud to collapse further inward and embedding the rifle in the two walls.
Standing up in the midst of the bombardment, she swung one leg over the rifle and lowered her cunt to rest on the top of the smooth, cold metal of the barrel. An explosion to the left sent violent vibrations through the rifle and into her clit. She gasped loudly and began to thrust her clit back and forth against the hard, vibrating gun.
With two hands steadying herself on the muddy walls of the foxhole she forcefully slid herself back and forth along the bucking barrel, leaving a trail of her juice as she went. Another explosion caused the mud to shift again, covering her hands in mud and trapping her boots in the quagmire, on either side of the quaking guardsman.
She didn’t care, for it didn’t take one iota of strength away from her hips as she fucked the top of the rifle. She leaned harder into the wall with her hands and even they became stuck, until her only power in the world was to shove herself back and forth against the incessantly vibrating metal.
Then, her dam burst and a spectacular wave of pleasure wracked her body, causing her to spasm helplessly against the now-slippery metal, hands and feet trapped in the mud. Juice gushed out of her, falling off the rifle and splashing down onto the chest of the soldier below her, where it settled among his hair, already matted with his sweat and cum.
For a few seconds that felt like eternity, she enjoyed the toe-curling waves of pleasure spasming through her body, limply held up but the vibrating rifle pushing against her lower lips. Then, as they died down, she made one last exhausted effort to wrench herself out of the mud, collapsing onto the chest of the now-whimpering soldier.
She let the explosions down out the sounds of his fear and lay there, contently licking their intermixed cum off of his chest, cradled by the warm mud flying around them.
She’d made peace with the marsh. Its overwhelming heat, the endless mud which trapped her feet, the feverish exhaustion, the sweat, the dirt, the stench.
Svetlana had made them all her own.
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