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November 1942In a way, it was entirely depressing to be sitting in my hotel room in war-torn Marseilles listening to the sound of German tanks clanking right down the middle of the city to the amazement of the small children and the complete horror of adults fully aware of the consequences of opposing the orders of the Fuhrer.The increasing arrogance of my “watchers” was a red flag that told me to find other accommodations away from interference by the Gestapo. Things were changing rapidly down at city hall and only the most pro-Hitler police and militia were being promoted to take charge of the bureaucratic mess. The Vichy bunch was already shipped out to some unknown location inside Germany where they could do no harm from the Gestapo viewpoint.One of my informants down at the courthouse was a girl called Francesca.She was part French, part Italian and part Austrian.She spoke French without an accent, Italian with a cosmopolitan air and Austrian like a barmaid in Vienna.It was true. His cock was heavily salivated, so he didn’t feel the need to spit on it and Instead hurry to bury his meat rocket into her.She screamed in pain. It wasn’t the first time, and she may have enjoyed it in the past, but it wasn’t physical pain. It was her mind shouting as his cock moved inside her like a piston on an engine. He was ruthless, merciless, implacable. But she soon felt something was changing and felt the pain going away.“Do you feel it, Miss Marvel? Do you feel ME?”. Sure, the Doctor was in serious need of establish himself as worthy of the treasure he was unfairly enjoying. He was going in and out of that beautiful woman asshole, looking at the gorgeous body he was controlling. His eyes wandered around her body. He could see the Tattoo of Knowledge in her forearm, the one that allow her to find the answer to what she was in need to know. The Tattoo of b**sts on her biceps, that gives her control over the a****ls. On her shoulder, the Tattoo of Confusion, to cloud the mind.
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