Annie, the Lost Beauty of War

The war had raged for years. Folks forgot it was ever peaceful. Towns and cities were destroyed, and families were torn apart. 

I lived alone in a cottage near the border, far from the conflict, protected by the nation's strength next door. It was a simple life—I had a garden, some land, a small brick house, no nearby folks, and all the privacy I needed. However, little did I know my life was about to be turned upside down, in a good way.

I was working in my garden when I saw her wander down the path. I have no nearby homes, so she could not have come from here. She was staggering a little and had a lost look in her eyes. She seemed in fear but was unable to express it. I called to her, but she simply did not look at me and kept walking past, dazed. Eventually, she stumbled onto the road, and I had to intervene. I rushed forward and picked her up—she was light as a feather—and carried her into the house. 

She was encrusted with mud from the road, and she was hurt in some places, perhaps from falling multiple times. I was very nervous, and I did not want to alarm her. I laid her down on the sofa and let her be.

After a while, she awoke and pushed her hair aside, and I saw a very pretty girl—large eyes, luscious lips, an innocence and spark I had not seen in a long time. But alas, it was tinged with pain and sorrow as well. I was afraid to say a single thing. 

She looked around the room and finally saw me—for the first time—and froze. I did not move; I was far away, standing against the wall. I smiled back at her, reassuring her. She did not respond, but finally, she nodded. She painfully got up.

I spoke to her, and she understood my language. She explained that her family had been separated from her in a village attack far away, and she had been wandering the country for days to this point—she had lost count. I was quite concerned but did not press.

I gently asked if she was hungry, and she nodded. I brought her a plate of what I made that afternoon: fried steak, potatoes, and peas. She was very hungry and ate quickly. I watched from a distance. Some color came back to her cheeks, and she flushed. She seemed ashamed to eat so quickly, and I told her to relax. She drank some juice. 

I sat far away and looked out the window, giving her privacy, but I wanted to be near in case something happened. Finally, she called me and asked for my name. We talked some more. She finally smiled and thanked me for hosting her. She offered to leave. I refused. I said I would help find her family, and she had to stay here. The road was full of danger, including violations and crimes. Her eyes shone, and she seemed to almost burst with gratitude. 

She finally noticed how dirty she was and seemed embarrassed, rubbing her face with her sleeves. I offered her the bathroom and told her there was hot water. I gave her some old dresses of my mom's that were in the store room. After a long time, she emerged born again, wearing the red polka dress of my mom. Her skin shone brightly, her eyes were large and fresh, and her lips were parted and moist. The dress was knee- and elbow-length, and her exposed flesh was pink and smooth. I felt a stirring inside me, but I controlled it. Her long black hair was shining and lovely. She sat opposite me in the living room, her legs crossed, and we talked into the night. 

We exchanged long stories of our time and place, our lives, and our roads. Sometimes my eyes wandered around her body, and she noticed but said nothing, and a few times I saw her smile a little. The day passed quickly, and she fell asleep on the couch. 

I gently laid her back, touched her soft feet, and lifted them, my body thrilled. I felt awed and amazed. I put a warm blanket on her and left her be. I was looking forward to the next day. 

The new day dawned fresh and breezy. I was out and about in the early morning, doing work in my garden and getting ready for planting. I did not even notice she was looking at me—Annie—through the doorway, draped in an old shawl. She must have been standing there a while, studying me. 

I walked up to her, and she smiled warmly, generously, graciously, and gratefully. She realized she had spent a night in a safe place, probably a luxury she had not had for ages. We had a nice chat in the garden and later in the kitchen as I made her breakfast. I asked her where she got some of her scratches and bruises, and she did not reply; she only hung her head in shame. I did not press.

A few days passed, and at one point she laughed out loud at one of my jokes. Sometimes we heard the distant thunder of war and flashes over the horizon, and we fell silent, realizing the horrors unfolding for others elsewhere. We felt lucky to be alive and safe here. How fickle are life and fate?

Perhaps it was this sense of danger and the safety of my presence that accelerated her healing. She had taken over the bedroom, and I used the living room couch. We said good night to each other, and it was still night. The fire was crackling and throwing long shadows. She walked to the bedroom door and looked back at me with a deep longing and eerie loneliness. I froze in my tracks, not sure what to do. She walked back, took my hand, and led me into the bedroom.

Once inside, she came closer to me and gently kissed me on the cheek. I felt an energy and thrill like no other. I felt alive after years of loneliness. And a sense of purpose and destiny. I felt I could make her happy and keep her safe and alive, and that God had given me some type of purpose. I was overwhelmed and reached down and kissed her. I hesitated, but she pulled me close and sucked my lips into hers. The luscious sweetness of her taste was hypnotic. I was in a dream state. She pushed me back on the bed, and I sat in awe. 

Annie stood back, looked at me with a shy smile, and slowly unzipped the back of her dress. She let it fall off, and I stared in amazement. 

She was tall and thin, but her womanly hips were wide. She turned, and I took in the firm flesh of her buttocks, which was shapely and appealing. It took all my power not to lunge for her. I saw the fleshy lips of her pussy, the labia parted and appealing. I saw the cute brown butt hole and the pinched flesh around it, and I imagined what I would do. She turned again, and her parted lips called me. 

Her small boobs were just perfect, and her medium nipples were slightly erect. Her flat belly called me; it was soft and smooth. She was so innocent but yet a full woman, and I desired to taste her sweetness. Her thin, slender arms shyly covered her boobs, but she gained confidence and then cupped them with her hands and pulled them up for me. She was having fun, for sure. She could see my hard cock bulging in my pants. 

She walked up to me and leaned and then unbuckled my pants, and I could not help it. I grabbed her small boobs and squeezed. She shuddered in pleasure but pulled my pants off. Then she took my shirt off. We were both naked and free. 

Annie got on the bed, leaned forward, and gave me yet another deep kiss. Then she offered me her small boobs, and I sucked them whole into my mouth, deeply lost in their sweet taste and flesh. My fingers wandered all over her smooth skin and down to her shapely ass, and then down to her pussy and stroked it. She shook in joy and pushed me down on the bed. She put one boob after another into my mouth, and I sucked like a dying man. Her hand reached down and stroked my cock. It was throbbing and about to explode. A part of me felt so proud that I was able to make her feel safe enough to be with me like this, and a part felt guilty if I was exploiting her. 

Annie seemed to sense this, stopped and looked at me, and said, “I want this.”. 

All my doubts vanished. She reached down and put her moist pussy on my cock and sank onto it. Her erect nipples were above me, and I reached up and grabbed them. She slid up and down, totally in control of her mastery. I could only rub my hands over her glorious body and sometimes over bruises and scratches that were mostly healed. She was lost in pleasure; her head tilted back and her lips parted. She moaned in pleasure. I let her have it all, and I was not looking to come; I wanted her to enjoy this. I kept my control, and I just leaned back and admired her, and she ground on and on, top of me, my captain, and the center of my universe. Her silky, smooth hair cascaded straight down her body, and I gazed in awe. 

She saw I needed to come, and she said to me, “It’s ok, you can be rough; take me.”. 

I did. I pulled her down and put her on her knees on the bed, doggy style. My mouth fell on her pussy and asshole, and I licked and slurped like a hungry dog. She was ready for me. I entered her from the back and slammed her again and again and again until I exploded inside her and fell on top of her. 

She turned and cradled me in her chest, put a nipple in my mouth, and just stroked my head and sighed. I was lost in her. I was spent. She seemed so happy and satisfied. She had taken my cum into her, and she had been claimed after being lost for ages, and I had done it with kindness and patience. She had come home. We lay thus for a part of the night until our passions overcame us again, and we fucked again. We fucked all night, with different positions and outcomes; sometimes she came, and sometimes I did. It was glorious. 

The days that followed were a blur of ease and joy, moments of healing and passion, and a gradual, long road to united hope.