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Irma Fuchs: If Lies Be The Truth of Men


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Irma Fuchs: If Lies Be The Truth of Men by Surreal

After surrendering to the Red Army in 1945, Irma sets out on a trail of self-preservation, falsehoods her only defence.  While waiting for Russian justice a Colonel takes an interest in the young woman, first despatching her on a hellish journey to a Siberian Gulag, before conversely saving her from the gallows and taking her under his wing.  Love?  Lust?  Intrigue?  Reason falls below Anatoly Kuznetsov’s motives, and the couple form a loose partnership, he with his goals, Irma with hers.

Appointed by Stalin to battle the growing gang culture (The Bratva), Anatoly enrolls Irma, changing her name to Nikita Ivanov, to hide her from the war crimes investigators, where the woman in the company of her comrade Johanna Wolf, offer a creative ability to the guerrilla warfare they find themselves engaged in.

While Anatoly pursues Irma’s history, the woman haunted by an old man, cuts a future while fending off the truth of her past. Only Johanna knows that truth, and the girl proves just as evasive as Irma.

Maledom, femdom, BDSM, whipping, spanking, bondage, rough sex, anal, non-consensual.

Weight .99 lbs
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Cover Art Image ©

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Her hands began the sexual foray, fingers undoing his belt. Slipped from the trouser hoops she discarded it. Deliberately she worked the shirt buttons loose, before parting the cloth and revealing a hirsute muscled chest. “So fit,” she gasped.

“My turn,” he stated digits quick to expose her bra encased bosom. “Sweet,” he remarked staring lasciviously at her pallid orbs squeezed deliciously by white cups.

His shirt cleared broad shoulders and drifted to the carpet, Irma running hands over his bare chest. Her bra fell. Firm tits met a full investigation. Trousers scampered the length of lower limbs, her dress quickly following. Pants briefly met with knickers as the pair embraced exploring one another. They succumbed to gravity and were kicked clear of dancing feet.

The hot bath awaited; a long looked forward to treat for Irma, the chance to make lust for Anatoly. She sank into a welcoming foam, the heat just bearable. Anatoly waited to be summoned, which came with a beckoning finger and a sexy pout. Poker at full stretch he slipped into the water, Irma’s feet awaiting his privates. She toyed, played with his erection and accompanying sac, encouraging the stiff to impossible proportions. Legs parted, he sank deeper, a satisfied utterance escaping.

“I saw much that I turned my back on. That was one crime. In my position I could have ordered a halt, but that in turn would have placed the wolves at my door. I was too much of a coward for that.”

Anatoly listened.

“And then there was the constant urge to inflict what I assume was suffering upon men and women I found sexually attractive. It rose like a volcanic eruption, I unable to ignore it. It was a monkey trying to ignore a carpet of nuts when it was starving. It was a madness. I don’t excuse it. I just say it as it was. So I stripped them and I whipped them. And then I had sex or I masturbated after. Sometimes I would masturbate in front of them as a sort of I am off your limits. Not that the poor bastards had any interest in that, or me. The more I did it the more compulsive I became. The first times were the most thrilling. It fuelled further episodes. I rose with it in my head and I went to bed with it in my head. I cannot excuse any of it. All I can say is I was compelled.”

“Just whipped them?” Anatoly asked.

“For a person with no masochistic impulses that is hell surely.”

“But you kept your pet safe and saw she survived.”

“I never asked her. I gave her no option. Living in hell with a few tit bits is still living in hell.”

“I heard much from the inmates, their evidence. But much as you will probably find hard to believe, your name didn’t arise very often.”

“Often enough to be hung.”

“Not many captured personnel will survive. Many are dead already and many more will not complete their sentence. Those taken by the Americans will probably fare best.”

“I cannot defend it and I may not be able to endure the guilt.”

“It will lessen.”

“And then I will continue to wake at nights soaked in sweat and shaking those images fading so fast I can make no conscious sense of them. You should have taken up with an inmate. Then you would only have to fight their dreadful experience,” Irma declared.

Her playfulness had ceased and his stiff had subsided. They lay in the bath at opposite ends considering their own thoughts.

Anatoly watched her leave, her naked body studded with surviving globules of foam. She towelled herself her black eyed gaze on him. “Where are we headed Anatoly?”

“That depends on Ruslan.”

“Where is he?”

“Szczecin waiting for me.”

“And before you ask I am a week overdue. I did let Ruslan know I might be gone a while. However, it might still cause a problem as I didn’t tell him why.”

“Get it done Anatoly. Let’s find out just how much shit we are in.”

The room possessed a phone that went through the hotel switchboard, however not all the lines had been repaired from war damage and Russia was never forward with their technology rendering the task difficult and lengthy.

Eventually after numerous attempts he made contact. “Ruslan? It’s Olen’.”

The aide de camp urged in a hushed tone. “Where the hell are you sir?”

“Problems Ruslan?”

“Your commanding officer rang yesterday. I put him off with a lie, and that’s me against the wall.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you had a tooth driving you crazy and had gone to see your dentist.”

“Do I have one?”

“I thought everyone had a dentist sir.”

“So how was it left?”

“For you to ring him as soon as you made contact.”

“Okay. Give me his number.”

Irma listened assuming Anatoly would tell her not to if necessary.

“General,” he began. “Sore sir,” he replied to Stanislav Kowalski’s question.

“No sir I haven’t reached Szczecin yet . I am currently south of Berlin Central following up information I was given at Brockhorst.”

“Yes sir. No problem. I will see you tomorrow in Moscow.”

He replaced the phone. “That was close.”

“Olen’? Is that a second name or something?”

“Ah. It is a prozvishche. A name I earned at the academy.”


“It means the stag,” he admitted with a blush.

“As in big antlers? Or sexual stamina?”

“The latter.”

“Oh hell and I have put you off.” She grabbed his hand and dropping her robe enroute dragged the man to the bedroom.

“When are we off to Moscow? Tonight?”

“Sorry Irma. It’s just me. This time anyway.”

“You mean I have to stay here alone?”

“Just a couple of days. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

“I will be stuck for days in this bloody room with no one to talk to. I can’t go out in case I am recognised and I have nothing to wear if I could. Can’t you put this General off? Tell him you have to go back to the dentist?”

“What good would that do? I will still have to go sometime soon.”

“You would have time to get me some clothes.”

“You said yourself you might be recognised.”

“Then how long before we go someplace safe?”

He shrugged.

“That’s no good an answer is it Olen’? Can I call you Olen’ or is that for special people only?”

“You can call me Olen’.”

“Can I call you an unreasonable cunt too?”

Anatoly put her reaction down to fear. Being left alone in an unfamiliar place.”

He picked her robe up and tossed it to her. Then he sat on the end of the bed. “Stanislav wants me to present the evidence I gathered to a court at Brockhorst. He wishes to discuss the matter tomorrow.”

“I see. Am I to be your star witness? Or maybe defendant?”

“Get it through your pretty head that I will drive to keep you safe.”

She calmed. “Then you must go. I will amuse myself with that pretty page boy that showed us the room.”

“Do you want a spanking!”

She rolled over and pushed her bum in the air. “Now you are talking Olen’. Don’t spare my blushes eh.”

She quickly succumbed to his assault the man dragging her writhing kicking form over his lap and landed the first of many slaps. Her plump cheeks quickly reddened, the skin becoming hot and her groin very much bothered. She initially leant squeals and protests to the furore, but as the tanning proceeded she fell silent, eyes closed lips seductively parted. She wasn’t about to say stop or plead for an end. Anatoly noted her hand pressed to the crotch, fingers deep in her vagina, an unseen swarm of clitoral disturbance building to a maelstrom of a climax.

He ceased and she scolded. “Don’t you fucking dare stop!”

So he obeyed and prolonged what he construed as being agony, but to her it was sublime there in her world of total masochism. No longer the pain, that was long replaced by an endorphin sparked heat that penetrated to the very core of her sex, lighting her clit and firing a body shaking climax. “Now you can stop,” she told him.


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