The Paris Murders

Leni had always slept with her parents. They were desperately poor, they only had one room that was bedroom, kitchen and living room all in one, the toilet was outside in the hallway. Her father was unemployed and had become lazy, they received a small state allowance and her mother earned a few Sous with sewing, knitting and embroidery, whatever came along.

School was often cancelled for days. Everyone was talking about the impending war, the French were afraid of a German attack. It would come soon, everyone said.

Leni's parents fucked twice a week after lunch. When Leni had a day off school and was doing her homework at the living room table, they fucked in bed, not two meters away. At first Leni found it exciting, but it soon became boring. For a while she had bent down low to see it up close. Daddy's thick cock was in her tight pussy and was fucking nonstop. Mom sighed, then moaned. She reached under her knees and pulled them up as high as she could. With her fat thighs and fat ass cheeks she looked like a fat pig's ass. She squealed like a little piglet when Daddy pumped his juices really hard into her.

In the evenings Leni lay naked on her father's chest and they both watched her mother masturbate every night. She had become fat and plump in recent years, she was no longer attractive and to masturbate she had to reach around her fat belly. She gasped with the effort when she masturbated; it was really hard work until she had fought her way to orgasm. She tore her fat legs wide apart to trigger the orgasm. Her whole fat body wobbled when the orgasm rocked her.

Leni lay on her back on her father's chest and played secretly with her clit while they both watched her mother's struggle to orgasm. Leni didn't dare to masturbate openly like her mother; the fat body was shaken like a sack of flabby fat during orgasm. Leni didn't find that very attractive, but her father's cock swelled during this orgasm. Little Leni was allowed to caress his cock, but not make him ejaculate, the mother had screamed years ago at the little girl. Most of the time, however, he had to squirt in Lenis hand. Mama gave her nasty, poisonous looks when little Leni took hold of Papa's cock. Mama didn't miss a thing, not the slightest thing, she watched like a bloodhound. Leni loved to let his foreskin slide over the glans and then flop back out again, again and again. Dad grinned conspiratorially because he knew that this would lead to squirting. She simply held his cock while he squirted and he smiled gently and contentedly. She would grip his cock tightly when she had an orgasm from her secret clit play, her hand would shake while she masturbated with the other one and he would always sprinkle in her hand. She guided his cock towards her childish pussy because she really liked it when he squirted his warm juice over her inner thighs and especially over her childish pussy.

But she had herself well under control and didn't let her orgasm shake her much. Maybe Dad noticed, but he never said anything. Dad was her great hero, she loved him with all her heart, unlike Mom, the fat woman who was always nagging and criticizing everything he did. Leni loved her father, her hero in her fantasies and dreams. She knew every inch of his chunky cock, she knew exactly how to discreetly rub his foreskin, she knew exactly when he would squirt all over her inner thighs and her childish pussy, because she had been doing it for long years.

Dad often argued with Mom, he found her unappetizing and didn't want to fuck her anymore. He would much rather have fucked Leni, after all her breasts were budding, a soft fluffy down covered her mons pubis and besides, she was almost 12. Her mother hissed at him, saying he was a damn dirty pig! The negotiations dragged on for days. Her parents never asked Leni if ​​she wanted it. She would certainly have refused.

One evening Dad had made up his mind. He parted Leni's thighs with his hands and stimulated her clit. Leni became more horny and hot than ever before. Dad lay on top of her and positioned his hard cock with one hand. He thrust in, with a single jerk he pushed through the hymen. Leni flinched at the unexpected prick, but only for a moment. It felt very strange to feel his warm cock "down there". Leni knew how fucking worked. He thrust in and out for a long time, and at the end Leni pulled her knees up with her hands, just like she had seen her Mom do. Leni noticed that she almost came to orgasm in this position, or at least close to it, like her Mom. She now always let herself be fucked in this position, it at least made her hot enough to masturbate later. Leni was slim and slender, which Daddy liked a lot, he arched his back, grinning, and shot his full load inside. Leni didn't find it particularly hot, he rolled off her and gasped for air. No, she didn't like the fucking at all. Dad was no longer her hero, what he did every night was simply disgusting.

Mom had watched in shock, now she was loudly cursing him. Leni felt guilty and cried a little bit. He cursed back, saying it was her fault, she, the fat ugly pig! They fell silent, Mom masturbated for another quarter of an hour like every day and then turned off the light. From then on, Dad fucked Leni every night, he was very satisfied and Leni was disgusted, the fucking was not at all nice. There was no foreplay, absolutely nothing. From now on, Papa fucked Leni every night. The fucking was not nice, but dirty and humiliating. He lay on top of Leni, he fucked her for no more than 5 minutes and she pulled her knees up really tightly and up high, so she could feel the fucking and the squirting very clearly, then he squirted powerfully inside her. He had long since stopped hearing Mom's bitter nagging. If Leni got a little hot during the sex, she would wait until the parents were both asleep, then she would masturbate.

Two years later, Dad slammed his face into his plate of semolina pudding, he was dead. Mama cried at the funeral because she had poisoned his semolina pudding. Leni stood at the grave with a stony face, she didn't shed a single tear. She had always liked and loved Papa, but not for the last two years. She resented him for fucking her every day for two years, even though it didn't excite or please her.

Mama had agreed with Madame Cheng to take Leni into her service for 30,000 francs. Madame Cheng regretted that Leni was no longer a virgin at 14, she would have paid 50,000, she said regretfully. Mama took the 30 thousand, Madame took Leni with her in her elegant Citroen and she never saw Mama again.

Leni understood immediately that she was not going to become a chambermaid in Madame Cheng's establishment. A tailor dressed her in new clothes, Madame gave her Miss Yvette to train her. Yvette was a very friendly and popular girl. She showed Leni everything, how it all worked. There was the famous Flamingo Club, where there was entertainment, music, alcohol and girls. A narrow corridor led to the neighboring building, the Hotel de l'Orient. The man paid in advance at the reception for the room and sex, then he went to the room with the girl. Yvette explained to Leni in great detail what was available. Where the condoms were, how to order a bottle of wine or champagne by phone, where to wash after sex. Some men were rough, she should play along as long as it wasn't too much for her. Otherwise she should ring the bell and Pierre, the gigantic bear, would be there immediately. He would punch the man in the nose and throw him out. Leni curtsied as she greeted Pierre with a handshake. He was really big and strong like a bear, but he smiled very friendly. The handles of his pistols were clearly visible under his armpits. Leni was instantly in love with him.

After a day she went to the room with the first one, a merchant from Marseille. Yvette promised to watch everything through the spy hole in the next room, just in case. Leni blushed deeply as she walked past Pierre in front of the customer. She was in love with him and her heart skipped a beat when he smiled encouragingly at her. In a split second she decided to fuck Pierre. She let the merchant come into the room and after a short while they fucked. He wasn't happy about having to use a condom, but Leni insisted. Twenty minutes later Leni had earned the money honestly, the merchant left smiling satisfied while she washed her pussy. She went into the hallway where Yvette and Pierre were standing. She kissed both of them on the cheek and thanked them for standing guard.

On June 8, 1940, the Germans marched into Paris. Leni was already 18 and had worked at the Flamingo Club for the last 4 years. Madame was very happy with her. She was very popular with the guests and brought in a lot of money. Leni saw fucking as work and fucked as often as she was booked. There were almost no problematic customers.

She had started an affair with Pierre immediately. He was the only one with whom she had a spiritual connection and who was allowed to fuck her without a condom. Before the first time, he had said that women avoided him because he only had a very small cock. Leni said that she didn't care and wanted to see his cock. Pierre blushed, but he showed it. He stood in front of Leni in a suit and pulled it out of his fly. In fact, a small boy's cock that was reminiscent of a boy's cock. She pulled back the foreskin several times and asked him if he would show her how to squirt. Pierre nodded and masturbated standing in front of her. It looked strange, the gigantic man standing up in a suit, masturbating. But Leni watched very carefully. His cock became stiff and bigger, and she was convinced that she could let him fuck her. She stopped him. "Come on, Pierre, lie down next to me and let's fuck!"

That was their first time. He fucked her a little uncertainly and clumsily, but he fucked and squirted inside. She hugged him and said how much she loved him. He remained her only love after her father. She smiled contentedly when Pierre squirted inside for the first time. She let him catch his breath. "You have to fuck longer, my darling! And you have to wait to squirt until I've had my orgasm. I'll masturbate my clit while I fuck and when I've climaxed, you can squirt inside, okay?" He nodded sadly. "I've never seen a girl masturbate," he breathed sadly. Lene sat up abruptly. "Tell me everything, but from the beginning!" and he began to tell his story.

"My father was my great hero, my best friend. He was murdered when I was 11, the murderer was never found. He showed me everything, how to set up animal traps and let me shoot with his big pistols. My big .44 automatic pistols are the only thing I have left of him. I slept with the parents in the marital bed and he let me watch them fucking, grinning, "so you can learn!" I was always excited when his thick cock parted my mother's labia and penetrated her little hole. I was fascinated by her cunthole, which was so small that I thought his thick cock could never penetrate her. I knelt behind Dad, bowed deep to watch the miracle from near. For me it was a miracle, his cock parted her labia and penetrated her slowly. He always fucked her for a very long time, then he stopped and pumped everything in. Mom seemed to like it a lot, I had the feeling. She always watched with amusement when he masturbated me and made me squirt. After he was dead, I was left alone with Mom in the marital bed. She laughed loudly when I started to masturbate, the pressure was very high. "Don't be childish," she said laughing, "come on, fuck, really fuck!" So it came to be that I was allowed to fuck her every evening. She always asked stupidly whether I had been a good boy and let me fuck and squirt a second and third time, because in the early years I had to squirt very often. Every week one or another of my father's friends came to fuck my Mom. She told me with a smile that they were good, kind‐hearted guys and a woman needed to be fucked too. But she wasn't a whore, she only let my Dad's friends fuck her once a week. I always watched them fuck, she seemed to really enjoy it and opened her thighs willingly. I saw her cunt and cunthole from an arms length and was longing to fuck her thoroughly. I saw the men insering their cocks and pounding her cunthole forcefully. She had an orgasm more and more often while fucking. I once asked curiously whether she didn't masturbate? She looked at me very strangely and after a while said, "yes, of course, almost every night when you're already asleep, my darling. It's something very private, I don't want you to watch me!" So it happened that I've never seen a girl masturbate."

Pierre looked at the floor, pondering. And what happened next? asked Leni. He continued. "We fucked every day until the end, less towards the end. She died when I was 32, then I fucked all the girls at the Flamingo, but they didn't want to do it a second time because I have such a small cock. I haven't fucked for three years, I'm 35 now." Leni looked up. "You're exactly 20 years older than me, my darling, I'm already over 15!" She let Pierre watch her masturbate before he fucked her, and after her orgasm he fucked her and squirted inside. He learned to hold back his squirting, they fucked and Leni masturbated, after her orgasm he squirted inside immediately. It was a good solution for both of them.

Leni told him everything she had experienced. How she had watched her parents fuck. How her Mom squealed like a little pig when Daddy pumped inside. How she always pushed Dad's foreskin back and forth until he squirted. Yes, he squirted into her hand every evening when they watched her fat Mom masturbate. She suspected that Mom's orgasm turned him on so much that he had to squirt.

If she herself masturbated at the same time with the big, fat Mom, he got very horny and she held his cock, shaking it, until he squirted his warm juice over her inner thighs and her little pussy, she thought that was great. How he deflowered her and fucked her, every evening, for two years, until a year ago. He was no longer her big hero, but a miserable wretch who squirted inside her every evening. He had died a year ago and Leni suspected that Mom had poisoned him. Since then she had worked here at the Flamingo.

The Flamingo Club was now fully packed every evening, the Germans loved the young French women, they had enough money in their pockets and were not stingy. Leni was busy from noon to night and could only fuck her Pierre late at night or in the morning. Pierre was a giant of a man and he was incredibly strong. He had a friendly face, but it could become quite unfriendly if necessary. He was the undisputed best protector on the floor and occasionally accompanied Madame on tricky trips. Soon he was staying at Leni's every night; they were almost like a real married couple. Pierre was no genius at fucking, but Leni was very attached to him and his fucking was good enough for her. On certain days she didn't let him squirt inside her, so she took his cock in her mouth, masturbated his cock masterfully and let him sprinkle in her mouth and throat. She smiled mischievously when she swallowed his juice.

Pierre now had more to do during the day because the Germans could be very rough and he regularly had to beat noses bloody. Leni also had to ring for Pierre more often to throw out a rough guy. One day everything went wrong.

The drunk German, a small, skinny officer, became very rough after the fucking. He beat Leni as if she were the enemy. He gave her a black eye, but she couldn't reach the doorbell. He worked himself into a rage and pulled out his double‐edged dagger. He cut her legs and arms and was about to plunge the dagger into her heart. She defended herself with unimaginable strength and rammed his arm with the dagger into his own throat. He gasped and fell backwards, and was dead after a few moments.

Pierre rushed in and immediately understood the situation. First he looked at Leni's wounds, but they were only superficial. Pierre was on the phone in the hallway, then he wrapped the dead man in the sheet and carried him to the back door, where he threw him onto the loading area of a waiting pick‐up. The body would be discovered far away in a small forest, floating in the Seine or in a park, with no connection to the Flamingo Club. Pierre stayed with Leni until the doctor arrived. The wounds were quickly stitched up and bandaged. Pierre told Madame that Leni would not be able to work for a few days. Madame was worried, but Pierre said that Leni would be over it in a week. A week later, Leni was called to Madame's office.

The office was gloomy, but very tastefully furnished. Madame was wearing her Chinese finery as always, her hair straightened under a golden crown, her face heavily made up. You couldn't tell if she was 20 or 70. She smiled kindly and told Leni to sit down. She ordered an invisible servant to bring two lemonades. She lit a cigarette on a long holder and looked seriously at Leni through the smoke. Leni shook her head, thank you, she didn't smoke.

"That was a tough thing a week ago," said Madame. Leni nodded, "it was pure self‐defense, either him or me," she said very calmly. Madame took a deep drag from the cigarette holder. "But of course, my dear. Thank God Pierre's emergency plan still works perfectly. Pierre is a good guy, don't you think?" Leni looked up, Madame's black eyes betrayed nothing. "I know, that's why he's my lover," said Leni. She knew that Madame had known about it from day one. Madame nodded, stubbed out her cigarette and prepared the next one. "I'd like to ask you if it bothers you to have killed someone." Leni was surprised by the turn of the topic, but she answered immediately. "No, Madame, I have neither nightmares nor pangs of conscience. He would have killed me, I'm quite sure of that. I defended myself automatically because it went beyond the usual beatings, he wanted to kill me, goddammit!" Leni suppressed tears of defiance.

Madame's face became very serious, she could have been 90 now. "Of course, my child! I actually just wanted to know what your general attitude to killing is. Are you a murderer?" Madame's question sounded cutting. Leni thought for a few moments. "No, I don't think so, Madame. I killed because I had to." Madame took a deep breath. "Most people think I'm Chinese. But I was born in Indochina, the French occupied my homeland. When I was young, I lived in the resistance, I killed many French people back then. That was right then and there, and I stand by that. After the occupation ended, I came here, took on a new identity and built one of the best brothels in the city." They were both silent, they were thinking about different things. Leni knew nothing about Indochina, but she understood Madame Cheng.

Madame Cheng continued. "I'm in the resistance again now. The occupiers are the Germans now." Leni winced, Madame in the resistance? Madame could see it in her face. "I'm too old to go underground with a gun in my hand. But I'm still doing everything that's necessary." Leni nodded in agreement. "I haven't thought about that yet, because as a young girl you don't think about the Resistance." Madame skillfully prepared her next cigarette and considered her next step.

"These days, war is not only fought with a gun in hand. The Resistance has its worst enemies killed by snipers, but some by the delicate hands of women. That is sometimes more effective." She saw Leni looking at her questioningly. "Our night taxi takes a corpse away almost every night, a service that has worked very well so far." Leni opened her eyes wide. "Every night, Madame?" she breathed in disbelief. Madame nodded. "We always put the corpses in different places so that no trace leads back to us. We must stop only when the Germans find out that they were all last in the Flamingo or the l'Orient." Leni stared at the carpet. What Madame said was mindblowing.

"What do you think of the occupiers? Don't they deserve to die?" Madame asked quietly and took a drag on her cigarette. Leni answered immediately. "No, Madame. I know a lot of Germans, now for over three years. Most of them are friendly, honest and good boys who want to fuck a pretty French girl. I think that's OK. All men, and especially young men, have to fuck. Only among the thugs, among the rough guys, there are some that I would like to kick in the ass. And if they are real criminals, their death would be justified." Leni now looked into Madame's eyes and was curious, after all she had contradicted her, hadn't she? Madame suddenly smiled. She had heard exactly what she wanted to hear.

"The Resistance is very careful about who they sentence to death. With snipers, it is often necessary to kill innocent people too, so that the sniper and his companion can escape. But a skilled female assassin only has to deal with one of them. Even then, not all attacks are successful because there is always something unforeseeable." Madame lit a new cigarette before asking directly.

"Would you be willing to kill people for the Resistance?" Leni hesitated. "If they are real criminals," she said, "only if they are real criminals, with blood on their hands. That is not all of them, not everyone. I hesitated because then I would have to rely blindly on the fact, that the Resistance would only condemn them, not for strategic reasons, not for personal reasons. That is the only reason I hesitated, Madame."

Madame tapped the ash off her cigarette. "As far as I know, the Resistance has only named real, genuine pigs to me to date. Without exception. But I must admit that I have rarely checked myself. Most of the time I knew beforehand which of our guests was a pig priest. But you are right, in principle I rely on the Resistance's verdict. And I know the person who tells me the verdict, they are fundamentally honest people who don't play games. They want to weed out the bad apples, maybe they will save innocent people. Some people despise me because I am a brothel madam, but I act solely according to my conscience and my sense of justice. I don't play games. If someone gets on my nerves, I'll have his nose bloodied, yes. But I don't have anyone killed just because I'm angry."

Madame raised her hand briefly and the invisible servant, an older lady, brought two cups of tea. They drank in silence and everyone thought about the matter. Leni ended the silence by holding out the teacup to Madame. "I'm on board, Madame! I've told you how I think about it, I'll do it if you tell me to!" Madame, who had kept her eyes closed, now looked Leni straight in the eyes and raised her teacup until the edges touched. "Magdalena, I won't disappoint you, I swear that on all that is holy!" They drank the cups empty, then Leni had a thousand questions. It wasn't until the end that she asked her most important one. "How about Pierre, the others?" Madame smiled kindly, almost proudly. "Pierre and everyone who was here before you came, are part of the resistance. Be careful with the younger ones and ask before you reveal anything. OK?" Leni nodded and was then allowed to leave.

Leni went into her room and asked Pierre as she passed him if he was coming to her? Pierre made a quick phone call to Aldo, his replacement, and came into the room. He saw how upset she was, sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. He waited until she spoke. "I was just with the Madame, Pierre. She hired me for the Resistance, as an assassin. What do you say?" She knew the answer, but she wanted to talk to someone, to be hugged by someone. That's exactly what Pierre was doing now. "It's totally fine with me, my love. I'm with you and I'll monitor your every step, never leave you alone. OK?" Leni nodded eagerly and let her tears flow freely. "It's nothing, grumpy bear, I'm just exhausted, it's not an easy decision for me. It's more like a giant leap, jumping into black water where you can't see the bottom!"

It was only after 14 days that Yvette gave her a small brown bottle. "Three drops hospital, six drops cemetery. Can you remember that?" Leni took the bottle and hid it in her handbag. She nodded, 3 and 6, easy to remember. Then Yvette said, "If I bring you the customer and say the words 'that one is just right for you!', then that is the target person. You will notice from the look in my eyes that I am serious. Okay?" Leni nodded, "'that one is just right for you!', I get that, Yvette!" Leni knew that Yvette played second fiddle in the house and that she got orders directly from Madame.

The next evening, when it was busy again, Yvette flirted for a long time with an officer with lots of tinsel, then she came to Leni arm in arm with him. "That one is just right for you, Hans Peter!" Leni grabbed the handsome gentleman, looked searchingly into Yvette's eyes and chimed, "Thank you, Yvette, for letting me have the gentleman!" A spark briefly glowed in Yvette's eyes, so it was serious. Leni went to the reception with Hans Peter, cooing and flirting, and after he had paid, they went to the room. The champagne arrived a few minutes later, Leni was already naked and poured the champagne. She clinked glasses with Hans Peter and let herself be fucked. He became slower and more uncertain and clutched his heart. Barely five minutes had passed when he fell sideways onto the carpet. Leni rang the bell and Pierre came. He felt the German's pulse, shook his head disapprovingly and pressed his paws against the man's throat. He only let go of him after a few moments and made sure. "He's dead," he said to Leni. He went to the telephone in the hallway and said a few words, then wrapped the dead man in a sheet and carried him on his shoulder to the back exit. The night taxi was already waiting, he stowed the body under a dirty tarpaulin with the help of the silent passenger and then it was over. Upstairs in Leni's room they drank another glass of champagne, he put the contaminated glass in a handkerchief and left, she washed herself and went back into the Flamingo. She stood next to Yvette and whispered "Done. He just left." Yvette smiled briefly and squeezed her hand. Leni went to the next table and celebrated there as usual.

Leni let Pierre show her how to cut a throat. He had her practice with her index finger how hard she had to make the cut. And even harder, "until you feel the spine on the blade," he said. Pierre gave her a small, razor‐sharp knife with a wide handle. "So that you don't hurt your own hand," he explained. "It doesn't have to be a big knife, one like this is enough and is easy to hide." Leni had told Yvette that the poison was not reliable and if the guy was still breathing, she would cut his throat. Yvette nodded, "maybe use 8 or 10 drops, maybe it really isn't strong enough."

Leni had killed about 40 men in half a year, only twice did she have to cut the dying man's throat. But then annoying criminal investigators came along and asked annoying questions. They were under observation. Leni took her victim by taxi to different hotels, put 12 drops in the champagne and 15 minutes later Pierre followed in the night taxi. That way there were no observers, the victims were always found in different places, the victims had registered properly in the hotels. Nobody saw the female escort, that was the whole point. After months, they no longer besieged the Flamingo; the serial killer was wreaking havoc all over Paris, never in the same hotel. The Germans were back to square one.

Madame called Pierre and Leni into the office. She got straight to the point. "The Germans are changing their strategy, they are withdrawing many officers to Poland and Russia. The resistance is waiting." She took a thick wad of money out of the drawer. "Take a few days off, children, you've earned a holiday. Go to Normandy or somewhere else, I don't need to know. Live like princes for a few days, but come back after eight days at the latest. If there's any money left, bring it back to me. But enjoy yourselves, you're a successful couple." The two thanked her and left. In the corridor, Leni threw her arms around Pierre. "Our first holiday together!" she said through tears. Pierre laughed and said he was very happy to be with her alone for a few days.

They rented a car, checked three times that they had their passes and drove along the Loire for 6 days, admiring the fabulous castles, sleeping in the best hotels and eating in the best restaurants. It was a very nice holiday and when they were back in Paris on the seventh day, more than half of the money was still left, around 13,000 francs. They walked from the car rental to the Flamingo. "Something's wrong," said Pierre and stopped Leni by the arm. The Flamingo was closed, as was the l'Orient. Pierre went to the neighboring houses and asked around. The Germans had arrested and taken everyone away, the Flamingo and the l'Orient were closed. Madame Cheng had swallowed a poison capsule on the way to the police car and was dead. Pierre asked several people, but they all said the same thing. They immediately went on and looked for a hotel room. They stayed for three days. Pierre went out on the street to make phone calls and was successful. He managed to reach someone from the Resistance. They confirmed that Madame Cheng had committed suicide. The employees were interrogated one by one and released one by one. So far, so good. They were to take the post bus to St. Vincent and eat lunch at the L'Heureuse restaurant the next day. They were to tell the waiter — any waiter — that their cat had run away and they were looking for it. An hour later they took the bus to St. Vincent.

They ate in the restaurant and told the waiter the key phrase when they ordered. The waiter didn't bat an eyelid and just said "Aha!" They ate and Pierre was already considering speaking to the waiter again when a man, dressed in an inconspicuous manner, sat down at their table and ordered three espressos. "I'm Robert and that's not my name. So you came here from Madame Cheng, am I right?" They both nodded and Pierre said they were looking for work at the company. Robert nodded, "That's fine, your colleagues from Flamingo will be coming in the next few days. As far as I know, they all went off." Even if someone heard their conversation, they were only saying trivial things. Robert looked at his watch, his car would be there in 10 minutes precisely. "Your luggage?" Pierre pointed with his chin, there, next to the exit, within reach. Robert grinned. "The boss likes well‐trained specialists," he grinned and ordered 3 Calvados. Pierre prepared to pay the bill, but the waiter bowed his head with a cheerful grin. "Already paid, dear colleague!" Pierre managed to force another bill on him for the good service.

Robert's car arrived on the dot, the driver put the two travel bags in the trunk and then they set off. They drove in zigzags and made turns like rabbits, then he stopped in front of a large farm house. "No pursuing" was the only thing the driver said to Robert, they got out and got their luggage, then the driver sped on. Robert accompanied them inside. They were given a room, told to freshen up quickly and come straight down to the main hall. A few minutes later they came into the hall and were led into a room by someone. The local boss received them there.

They talked about Madame Cheng for a few minutes. It was such a shame about her, she had built up a well‐functioning network in the Flamingo and l'Orient. It was a bitter loss, everyone knew her and she had a good, strong character. Leni said she had seen him in the Flamingo several times before, he had always booked Yvette or Monique. The boss, who had introduced himself as Charles, was visibly embarrassed by the subject. "Yes, that's how I kept in touch with Madame. And Yvette and Monique, well, I'm just a man!" Leni laughed happily, "Charles, you don't need to explain yourself, the two of them are considered masters of our trade!" Leni's cheerful laughter relaxed the situation. Charles looked at his watch and said the two of them should turn up here in the next few days. He already knew that Yvette and Monique were already free.

They should rest for a few days, said Charles, then they would discuss what to do. There are also animals on the farm, for camouflage. Charles became very serious again. "What I regret very much is that Madame Cheng is buried in a pauper's cemetery. We couldn't dare claim her body. And we were very close, decades ago I was one of her favorites. She was very good in making love!" he said bitterly. Pierre and Leni shook his hand. "Our condolences, Charles, we liked her too!" said Pierre and slapped good Charles on the shoulder with his paw.

In fact, in the following days the entire crew of the Flamingo and the l'Orient came one by one. It was a warm and painful greeting. Everyone was sad and horrified that Madame had swallowed the poison capsule. She must have realized that she was deeply compromised and at the same time knew that she was too old for the Germans' torture. Yvette and Monique hugged Charles like an old lover, then Yvette came to Pierre and Leni. They told each other everything in detail. Yvette had been very worried that the two of them would fall into a trap when they returned, because of course the Germans had left people behind. She was glad that this was not the case. Pierre, who had been trained before the war at the DIS, a predecessor organization of the DGSE, did not fall into a trap so easily, he said proudly.

On the fourth day there was a meeting. A high‐ranking boss had come, Rimbaud. He asked Pierre and Leni straight out whether they could carry out delicate assassinations as a team, as a couple. Both agreed, yes. Rimbaud, not a fan of small talk and obviously under time pressure, took a file out of his briefcase. Target person with several photos, list of habits and preferred locations, contact person in the town of Varennes. They were to study the file carefully and burn it together with Charles before leaving. The day after tomorrow a car would pick them up and drop them in Varennes. Return on the fifth day at the latest on their own, no car planned. Pierre skimmed the file and nodded. "We'll do it or die trying." Rimbaud nodded, then they left and the next ones came to Rimbaud.

Leni and Pierre studied the file carefully. Pierre said the best place to approach the general would be the café opposite the command post. Leni nodded seriously, she rummaged in her travel bag. A daring but not too slutty dress. She was 22 and with a bit of make‐up she could enchant any man. They had Charles provide them with a bottle of poison. They drove to Varennes, the car drove on immediately and they took two rooms in the hotel opposite the command post and next to the café. A wallpapered door between the two rooms, as they had requested. They paid for five nights in advance, Pierre contacted his contact and a night taxi was organized. The contact, Paul, said that the people with the night taxi were not directly with the company, but common criminals, so it was just about the money. Pierre nodded that it was fine, there was enough money. Paul should just make sure that the body was disposed of as remotely as possible, he had to be able to rely on that. Paul nodded that he could reliably organize that. Since Pierre didn't know the exact day, the gangsters were to wait for Paul's call every evening.

Leni had looked at the location carefully, scouted out possible escape routes if something went wrong. They had decided on the small church on the southern edge of town as an emergency meeting point, every hour on the hour. The plan was to lure the general into the hotel room. If he had a bodyguard with him, Pierre's fist would be waiting for him. If he didn't want to go to the hotel room, Leni was to give him the poison at the bar and leave immediately. Pierre had rented a car to be on the safe side and parked it next to the church. They were ready to go.

Everything went like clockwork, without any problems. The general came into the café at the end of his shift and he was alone. His uniform, covered in tinsel, was meant to impress and scare everyone away. He immediately spotted the pretty girl at the bar and his predatory instincts awoke. By chance, the stool next to Leni was empty; she had made sure of that. She was already slightly tipsy, she pretended that her unfaithful husband had left her alone for the night, he was out until tomorrow, the scoundrel! She immediately agreed to the general's flirting, she was already slightly drunk, wasn't she?

After the second drink, she wanted to go to her room, here next door in the hotel. Yes, the general could accompany her to the door. Leni was surprised at how quickly Pierre overtook her and went into the next room. She was thirsty, she said, as the general, a true gentleman of the old school, unlocked her hotel room. He could come with her for a glass of champagne, she said, if he was a good boy and didn't take advantage of the situation. Drool dripped from the corners of the general's mouth as he picked up the glass of champagne. They drank to friendship, her name was Arlène and she was so lonely! So terribly lonely! The predator said she didn't have to be so lonely, he was there, Schorsch. What a strange name, Leni slurred and counted the seconds. "It stands for Georges," said the general. Leni let the strap of her dress fall and the dress fluttered to the floor. He stared at the beauty, who was standing next to the bed in just her slip. Pierre had drawn his pistol and continued to look through the crack in the wallpaper door. The general took a step toward Leni, a second, and at the third he slumped to the floor like a felled tree. Pierre entered immediately, the general still had a weak pulse. But a minute later Pierre shook his head, the guy was dead, stone dead.

There was still an hour to wait until it was dark enough to call Paul. Pierre rummaged through the general's pockets and took everything from him, except for a little cash that the gangsters were supposed to find. But an ID card, for example, might be good loot for the Resistance. Pierre called Paul and wanted to make a small change, Paul should come with the car himself, he didn't want to hand the dead man over to two strangers. Paul thought about it and he agreed, that made sense. Pierre wrapped the dead man in the sheet and carried him down the stairs. He had to wait a few minutes, then they came. Paul helped to hide the body under a tarpaulin, and Pierre discreetly gave him the envelope with the money. "Don't pay them until they've brought you back," Pierre murmured quietly. "But claro," Paul replied, a handshake and they drove off. Pierre and Leni took their bags and disappeared through the same back entrance, they had to walk 15 minutes to the church, then they drove to the farm in the rental car.

Charles immediately called Rimbaud. He was beaming from ear to ear. The two of them were to rest for 3 or 4 days, then Rimbaud would come with the next assignment. Charles promised to have the rental car returned. The fake identity card and the 2,000 francs deposit were worth the effort. Pierre and Leni enjoyed the days off. There was a point in recharging their batteries, sleeping in and going to the next assignment well rested. They fucked when they felt like it, mostly on the lawn and moss behind the main house. Leni got incredibly horny at the thought of 50 pairs of eyes watching her masturbate and fuck. Pierre thought that the girls could now see how good he could fuck now. After he had squirted, he lay next to Leni and stroked her inner thighs while she finished masturbating. It was wonderful, both of them thought. — Before falling asleep, Leni rolled into Pierre's huge arms when she felt like masturbating.

Rimbaud's next assignment took them to Reims. The target was the general who was promoting the deportation of Jews, as if he were personally involved. They studied the act and burned it together with Charles. The car dropped them off in front of the command post, they went to the hotel. There were no two rooms with connecting doors. Pierre met Vincent, the liaison man. A night taxi had already been organized, Pierre parked the rental car behind the church. General von Bülow always went to the bar next door after work, he always drank 2 martinis. It looked as if it would go as usual. They did not yet know that there was a gap in the act, a game‐deciding one.

Leni sat on the bar stool, drank a martini and kept the seat next to her free. The general came, the martini came and Leni played the slightly drunken widow. The general did not respond at all. It did not work. The general leaned towards her and whispered, "Sorry, but I'm not into women!" before going to the toilet. Leni had to improvise at lightning speed.

Pierre saw how she clumsily knocked over the general's glass and ordered a new one. She held the opened bottle of poison in her cupped hand and briefly covered her hand with a napkin while she poured the poison into her own glass. Pierre could see it, she took the fresh martini and discreetly pushed her glass to the general's seat. He came back and they toasted each other. Leni left the bar immediately after they had finished drinking. Pierre followed her to the church. "He's gay, a faggy!" Leni screamed to Pierre when they were sitting in the car. "Damn it, it wasn't mentioned in the file!" Pierre cursed. They told Charles how it had gone. He was on the phone with Vincent. The general had had a heart attack in the bar and was dead. "Well, that worked out well!" said Charles. Vincent also knew that the Germans were looking for a young French woman. The description of the person was ridiculous, ten witnesses and 20 different statements.

Rimbaud ordered four days of rest, Charles had the rental car returned. The two of them rested, took long walks and made love on the lawn behind the house. Leni was happy with her grumpy bear, he was the right man for her. In peacetime they would probably have married, but now no one was thinking about it. Rimbaud came, he was an engineer in civilian life and had built many bridges in France. Now he was a key figure in the Resistance, but he regularly traveled to Paris to see his wife and child. Yvette had great respect for the architect, who did not accept any of the many tempting offers of a quickie with a Flamingo girl. A man with principles.

The next assignment took them to Brest in Normandy. Yannick, the liaison, had already done some good preparatory work. A reliable team for the night taxi, two rooms with connecting door were reserved, the rental car was parked in front of the hotel. But things didn't go smoothly, unfortunately. The fat general was lured, he followed the tipsy widow into the hotel room and drank the poisoned champagne. He didn't fall over. Leni lay down on the bed and let herself be fucked, although she was disgusted by the fat man. Nevertheless, she was battered hard through by a powerful orgasm, he fucked her well thoroughly before he ejaculated into the condom.

She knelt behind him, grabbed him under the chin and slit his throat. Blood spurted over the bedclothes, he held his wound with both hands and moved threateningly towards Leni. He swayed, it was too much for him. Pierre had come into the room silently and punched him hard in the face. Only now did the guy fall over. He bled to death in no time. Pierre was sure that he was dead. They had to wait two hours for the night taxi to arrive. It took less than a minute for Pierre to bring the body and his uniform down and throw them on the loading area of the pick‐up. Yannick covered him with a tarpaulin. Pierre gave Yannick the money and said that he should have himself brought home after the disposal and only then pay the team. Yannick nodded, that was his plan. That same night they drove to the farm near St. Vincent in a rental car. Rimbaud again ordered a few days' break.

Pierre drove to Paris with Leni. He wanted to prepare for the future afterwards and let Leni in on his plan. Madame Cheng had had the income from the Flamingo and the l'Orient siphoned off into her private account. Pierre said the only risk was that the Germans had discovered the private account and were monitoring it. But luck was on his side. The Germans had only blocked the accounts of Flamingo and l'Orient, they did not discover the private account, especially since it was not under the name of Cheng. Leni had to wait outside on the street; she was terribly nervous and worried about her Pierre.

Pierre went calmly into the bank. Three people had access rights to the account: Madame Cheng, himself and a certain Alphonse de Montmeril, a lover from her youth who Pierre did not know at all. Everything was very slow. Alphonse had withdrawn 500,000 a year ago, and there were still 5.8 million in the account. Pierre wanted to withdraw 5.2 million in cash. He had to wait an hour until the money arrived. The cashier discovered his pistols in his holster, his fingers trembling over the alarm button. Pierre smiled, "I have to protect myself with so much cash!" and smiled disarmingly. The clerk hesitantly took his finger off the button.

It was tough, but it worked. One last shock: his briefcase was much too small. The banker smiled, that happened often. He gave Pierre a small wooden suitcase. Pierre asked for an extra two hundred thousand, and the five million went into the suitcase. After four hours he was finally standing on the street. Leni joined him; she had been constantly looking into the windows, but everything seemed to be fine. They zigzagged four streets further and entered the BNP Paribas bank branch. He opened an account under one of the false identities; Pierre Montessier and Leni Montessier, his wife, were the authorized people. He gave an office building in Lyon as his home address because Montessier was a textile manufacturer there.

They sat in a café. Pierre gave Leni one hundred thousand, that was her handbag money. The five million was a lot of money; he could have bought a palace in Paris or 20 houses in the country side with it. But he said the money was for later, when the war was over. Leni nodded, that was a good plan. And how happy she was, as Madame Montessier she was married to Pierre, she said, giggling and smiling happily. Pierre smiled, "The fake Mr. Montessier with his fake wife, but very rich. That's something."

He was on the phone with his former friend, who worked as a concierge in the Lyon office building. He understood immediately when Pierre parlayed in the old code phrases. He gave Pierre a different phone number and said they could talk for 6 minutes, no longer. They spoke for exactly 6 minutes and had communicated and agreed everything. From the 6th minute onwards they talked about the fact that Pierre now had a steady girlfriend, like a wife. Yes, she fucked divinely. No, the friend was a bachelor. But when Pierre came to visit, they would both fuck Leni together like then in the old days. They talked piggish for a few more minutes for the wiretapping service.

Pierre told neither Charles nor Rimbaud that he had taken Madame Cheng's private fortune and was preparing for "afterwards". They carried out an assassination attempt almost every week, each one was exciting and thrilling. Leni had to fuck all the Germans before they drank the poisoned champagne. She made sure that she was fucked really thoroughly, if she was going to let herself be fucked for her homeland. She knew how much Pierre liked to watch her being fucked and she spread her legs wide, so he could see everything. Showing herself made her very hot. She often had a real orgasm and then winked at Pierre. When the guy was dead and finished, she was happy to let Pierre fuck her, who was turned on by it all.

She didn't have to cut anyone's throat anymore, Pierre just had to put a pillow in three people's faces and shoot a bullet in their brains. The Germans were alarmed, a dead man was found every week. It was impossible to catch the serial killer. Rimbaud had taken the failure in Brest to heart, in all his files he was careful not to release any gays, but only seductive womanizers. He was very satisfied with the results of the year. The resistance had a lot of success in northern France and the worst generals disappeared into a river or a small forest.

"But in Paris they really gave us a hard time, the Germans!" said Rimbaud and sent the two to Paris. The biggest hurdle was organizing night taxis. The street checks had become more stringent at night, and soon there was no one willing to take the risk. The two were forced to find new hotels more and more often because they had to simply leave the bodies lying there. That was very risky, and the Germans soon knew that there was a pair of killers. A tall man and a young girl. The resistance naturally had its people in the German administration and Pierre and Leni were no longer given any orders. They were blocked for weeks. Rimbaud deployed more snipers, which of course cost more innocent lives. Nobody was happy with the situation.

At the end of October, Rimbaud had a dozen wild fighters attack a confidential, secret Nazi meeting. No German survived the massacre, and the French suffered no losses. Now the Germans had to rethink their approach. They pulled together all their forces to protect their officers. Pierre sensed a chance. Now the enemy had no time to hunt down the killer couple. He set off for Paris with Leni. They had studied three files and wanted to eliminate all three targets in one week. Of course, there was no night taxi. The contact officers reserved a good, strategically located hotel in the vicinity. He himself and Lena would scout out and book hotels at the three attack sites.

They were very, very careful. Pierre decided who would go first. He didn't talk to anyone, no one but him was to know, how and where and when it happened. He and Leni disguised themselves so that the hotel staff would later give absurd and contradictory statements about "The Couple". On three consecutive evenings they killed all three Germans. They went to sleep, they would disappear again the next morning.

Leni had just gone to the bathroom to pee when four Germans pushed open Pierre's door and pounced on him. Leni came back and took in the situation at a glance. With her back to the Germans, she went to the dressing stools and grabbed Pierre's two pistols. As she had practiced a hundred times, she released the safety catch on the weapons and cocked the hammers with her thumb. She turned around in a flash and the Germans were distracted from her naked body for a moment. In a flash she pressed the pistols into Pierre's hand. Four shots rang out, the Germans fell like sacks. Pierre had shot all four of them in the thighs, which kept them on the ground and busy pressing their hands to the large wounds. He threw all the towels from the bathroom at them because he didn't want to kill them.

Leni and Pierre left the hotel two minutes later through the delivery entrance. They were only half dressed, had thrown everything into their travel bags and walked quickly through the back alleys until Pierre stopped, out of breath, in a dark corner. They gasped for air, they dressed properly and he took care of the pistols in their holsters. He nodded grimly when Leni said angrily, "How did they know we were there? Someone in Paris must have betrayed us!" They now walked purposefully to the Gare de l'Este train station. Pierre called Charles on the emergency line and gave his public telephone number. He waited several minutes until Charles called back. Pierre gave a brief message. A Mole in Paris, they were to be arrested specifically, he shot his way through. The killer couple was burned forever, they had to go into hiding. Charles wanted to know where they were going, but Pierre hung up.

He wrote a postcard from San Sebastian on the Spanish Atlantic coast. "Lovely holiday, almost like a honeymoon. The north of Spain is beautifully wild. Best wishes, Paul. PS: don't forget Aunt Maggie's 80th birthday!"

Of course the post was read, but only Charles understood the message: "everything is fine here, we are still in Spain and are going to England immediately." Pierre Montessier and Leni Montessier disappeared from the scene without a trace after this postcard.

No one ever heard from them again.

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