"Urgh."<br/><br/>Gerlinde's stomach was a garbage bag.  Her tits felt vaguely bruised.  And there was a certain gray glow to the light of the room that made the air seem like meat about to go bad.<br/><br/>That wasn't the worst of it.  Calm as her strokes on Lisle kitty's back were, Gerlinde thought on what was to come for them in the near hours and, for a moment, her poised mind plummeted.  It fell toward memory.<br/><br/>"Mn.  No, kitty."  Gerlinde said, putting a firmer caress on Lisle's brow and easing her face back.  The sear of her penis' side was a protest she felt all the way up to the back of her throat.  She was resolute, though.  She wouldn't appreciate Lisle kitty's ministrations.  Not with where her mind was going.<br/><br/>"I mean, 'good kitty,' just not now."<br/><br/>Her mind went earlier: Six months earlier, to when she was in a ramshackle convoy of chattering Humvees, rolling along some sick and invisible path toward the front at Kiev.  Those days had been scrubbed featureless by the constant dust of the road; the radio's anxious crackle cutting in and out of the grinding silence, consciousness propped up on rickety feet by caffeine and ginseng and dirty jokes.  Then they had paused for a moment at a town that had been cleared.<br/><br/>Then they had come to the grave.<br/><br/>"Good kitty.  Just not in the mood."<br/><br/>That was where Gerlinde was now.  Her hands were roaming satiny kitty flesh - bare back, bare bottom and between - but her thoughts were ankle deep in Ukrainian dust.  Her eyelids, still lidded from the nap, stared into the grave.<br/><br/>Two hundred bodies.  All civilian.  All stacked side by side, three deep.  Killed by artillery, she learned later.  All chopped up like warped wood.  But that wasn't the worst part.<br/><br/>It was the lime on them - the dusty chemical used to kill the rank and pestilential rot.  It had crept up from the hard edges of the grave's pit, and had climbed over everything, put its fingernails in everything.  Gerlinde's tongue, cap, crotch, toes, fingernails, nostrils, mess kit, comic books, ball point, key fob, had all gotten a few grains of lye on them.  Everything had.<br/><br/>Everything had felt dusty.  Vaguely sour.  Dark.<br/><br/>Grave dark.<br/><br/>And that, with a slight chalk on her tongue and an ache in her hormone-choked body, is how Gerlinde felt on waking.  Dusty.  Sour.  Dark.<br/><br/>She knew why.<br/><br/>Grave matters were about to take place.  Gerlinde pet kitty smoothly.  She tilted up her chin and gazed into the green eyes.<br/><br/>"Good kitty."<br/><br/>And here it came.  She steeled herself.  It was not difficult; only an old, somewhat tired feeling.  Only her cock twitched excitedly.<br/><br/>"We're going to go to the operating theater now."