# Eastern-Front

Author: Leslie Rashana
Tags: Draft Horse, Horse, Human, M/F, Military, Never Seen Sex Act, Short

Warning, the following contains possibly objectionable material, reader  
  
discretion is advised. Copyright Leslie Rashana.
* * *
  
  
  
  
Excerpts from the journal of Leftenant Karl Hautinfaust, AWOL.  
  
  
  
December 7, 1942  
  
It has been three days since my squad and myself were separated from  
the rest of the Regiment. Our rations are running low and the terrain  
affords little shelter from the cold winds. I know it is treason to  
think much less write this, but Heir Hitler must surely be mad to have  
ordered us to press the invasion during the Russian winter. I hear  
shelling in the distance, the men want to go and investigate but I have  
ordered them to stay put. I fear what would happen if the lines we  
were to approach should prove to be Russian and not German.  
  
December 8, 1942  
  
We have been most fortunate this day. We found an overturned and  
abandoned heavy wagon, obviously from a Russian supply train. It's  
team was still tangled in their hitchings. Blast craters were nearby  
leaving little doubt why they would abandon it so quickly. Feeling  
pity for the poor animals I ordered the men to cut the horses free from  
with their bayonets. The horses, a 4-mare heavy draft team, helped us  
unload the wagon with little urging as if in gratitude. It was a  
treasure-trove; Food, warm clothing, fire-starting implements and fuel,  
even a large cold-weather tent. The team helped us pitch the tent  
after I ordered that we would camp here indefinitely, my men need time  
to recuperate from their ordeal.  
  

  December 8, 1942  
Supplemental...  
  
I am writing this outside the tent by lantern light in the lee of the  
tent, I do not think I can bring myself to go back in there despite the  
cold. I was awoken tonight by strange noises elsewhere in the tent. I  
had noticed that many of my men were sleeping close to where we allowed  
the mares to rest, not being so cruel as to force them to sleep out in  
the cold. At first I believed they were just doing this to stay warm  
from the mare's body-heat, but that was not the case. I heard moaning  
coming from these clusters of people and horses, in voices both human  
and equine. I hastily got dressed and made my way outside, as the  
moonlight came in through the open tent-flap when I exited I could see  
them writhing under the heavy blankets we had liberated.  
  
I can still remember the newsreels, admonishing us as perfect Aryan's  
not to pollute our bodies by laying with The Jews, or The Negroes, or  
The Asians, or the new servant races who look so human yet are still  
clearly animal. Yet these mares, Russian Mares at that, seem so  
compelling. I do not fault my men for falling to their baser instincts  
in these trying times but that is all the more reason why I as their  
commanding officer must remain pure to serve as an example, though I  
grow more and more uncertain as to what example it is I should provide.  
  

  One of the mares has come outside to speak to me. She says something  
in Russian which of course I do not understand. She continues to stand  
there expectantly as I write this even after I wave her off and I find  
myself tested even more as she stands in the moonlight. Tall and  
strong, yet soft and smooth in so many places which scream in my mind  
of womanly beauty. She seems curious, as to what I am writing or why I  
refuse to come inside I am not sure. She peers over my shoulder but  
she is so sweet and gentle I am loathe to shoo her away, even though it  
becomes more and more difficult to write with her large and matronly  
[CENSORED] pressing against my back. I fear that this is one war I may  
loose, her heavy arms are closed around me and she is grooming my hair  
as horses often do with their own kind. I find this strangely soothing  
despite all that I was taught telling me to forcefully reject her. Now  
I must put pen and paper down; when next I write is when it will be  
known who has won, what I was taught or what I do now feel.  
  

  December 12, 1942  
  
A truly rapturous day dawns, I awoke in the soft and warm embrace of  
my [CENSORED], Nadia, and could not imagine anything not being right  
with the world. I have been woefully neglecting this journal for  
sometime and felt compelled to update it. We have since learned the  
names of all of them. Nadia, who is head of the team and has provided  
me with a pillar of strength during this troubled time. Katrina, who's  
firey [CENSORED] has kept many of my soldiers warm on these cold  
Russian nights. Anna, who has been doting over myself and my men in an  
almost motherly fashion, when she is not engaged in [CENSORED]. And  
Natasha, who has been anything but shy with her outrageously  
well-developed [CENSORED].  
  
Our days have been made busy with almost domestic chores that in the  
end not only provide us with the means of survival, but keep us in a  
surprising state of comfort despite our situation. Our nights are  
filled with [CENSORED] with our new equine friends. I and all my men  
would be very sad to see them leave and I worry about what would happen  
if we were to take them back to our own lines; perhaps, we should not  
go back at all?  
  

   
End Excerpt  
  
This Journal was found in an abandoned campsite eleven miles south of  
Stalingrad. We have of course censored it to minimize it's capacity to  
cause social and moral damage but still it clearly indicates how  
harmful the influence of the culturally backward Soviets can be. I  
know, I find the actions hinted at within these pages repugnant as well  
but we must know the enemy if we ever hope to overcome them.  
  
Hail the Fuhrer.  
  
Office of the Media.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/Oe5ywPPe