The cobbled streets were deserted, the night air bitterly cold, the chill moonlight brighter than the sputtering gas lamps. The normally vital city was at last asleep.

After the heat and smoke, the frenetic energy lavished on an evening of waltzes and polkas, and the copious goblets of Rhenish wine, this sudden cold sharpness focussed Elsa's mind to an extent she had been carefully avoiding with all her will-power.

Her walk was now slow, laboured, the troubled walk of the condemned. By her side, even Anatole, her normally gay and sparkling Hussar, was silent, not willing, it would seem, to force the funereal pace through the frosty night.

As they crossed the Danube, he started half-heartedly to whistle a catchy little reprise from a new polka that had taken the city's society by storm. He clasped her hand and spun her across the centre of the deserted bridge with an attempt at the same elegance and flair as he had across the ballroom floor just an hour or two earlier.

Then he stopped, laughed self-consciously, avoided her eyes and fell silent again. They both knew their affaire was coming to an end, but neither was prepared to admit it, let alone talk about it. And what was strange was that, when it came down to it, neither of them really wanted it to end.

There was an additional strain on their relationship this evening. Anatole had not been fair to her. To tell the truth the strength of the devotion she had for him tended to be all too obvious in company to others. It clearly embarrassed Anatole. Elsa had become very aware of this and tried her very best to hide her feelings, but she was not yet that successful. Her eyes gave her away, the devotion with which she clung to him while dancing, her lack of attention to others who talked to them, all these were far too indicative of her passion and caused Anatole embarrassment when in the company of his fellows.

Anatole was well aware of a rather shameful tradition that reared its head from time to time amongst the younger officers of the regiment. If any officer found himself encumbered with a lady whose emotions had become too engaged for comfort, then a group of fellow officers, well loosened up by an excessive quantity of Claret or Rhenish wine, would help him out, by singling out and isolating the lady in question and then ensuring that their behaviour to her would leave her so ashamed of her experience she would never wish to be seen in the company of the regiment again.

Tonight, into a modest antechamber the junior officers had commandeered for themselves early on and resorted to frequently during the evening for all-male banter and jokes and for smoking and drinking in a manner that would not be tolerated within the larger company, Anatole, in desperation, had led Elsa on his arm and started to lead her round the young men crowded in there, pretending to effect introductions.

It rapidly became clear to Elsa that she was the only female in the room. The lights were not bright, and the jostling crowd of virility rapidly pressed around her, separating her from Anatole, and the intimacy of so much blatant masculinity started to make her feel a little faint. Her right hand was shaken, then kissed, then nuzzled, the palm kissed, then her left hand began to receive attentions, and someone caressed her hair, gently but with purpose, while others engaged her in small talk. Anatole smiled at her encouragingly, as yet other hands reached for her, touching her waist, her hips, and then starting to stroke her buttocks, the back of a hand brushing across her breast, causing her nipple to suddenly surge with blood.

Then the unthinkable happened, a hand slid up the back of her leg, another found a gap in her dress and touched her thigh, fingers slipped in under her arm and found the flesh of one breast, then other fingers the other. She gasped loudly as one of the hands feeling her thigh reached higher and with no encumbrance from her undergarments rubbed across her intimate female parts, a voice proclaiming in delight how wet she was. Then it was a free for all, as, near fainting, she felt hands all over her, probing and searching, parting and rubbing, she felt her own hands taken control of and then first in one and then in the other she recognised the feel and warmth and stiffness of aroused male organs, and very soon after that she came forcefully and loudly, collapsing and gasping at the waves of pleasure, but held up by the heated mass of masculinity surrounding her - and then, very soon after, as she tried to collect herself and focus again, one of the organs gripped by her fingers erupted in spasms and warm fluid splashed over her hand, as a male voice gasped in her ear and kissed her passionately, causing a second orgasm in herself, directly building on the first, this time making her cry out desperately but in vain for Anatole, who still stood back smiling at her, watching with great interest while so many others kissed and caressed her.

She struggled and moaned and tried desperately to unclasp the hands fastened to her body, but the harder she tried to resist, the more excited she became, the more aroused her body. It wasn't until her third orgasm, achieved after much further loosening of her clothing and vigorous application, manipulation, penetration by the fingers of two or three hands in particular, as well as two more erections exploding in her hands, washing her again in liquid virility, this time an orgasm so volcanic on her part it was received with vociferous cheers - it wasn't until then that the smiling Anatole had stepped in, calmed his fellow officers, apologetically led Elsa out of the antechamber, depositing her in a lady's washroom where a comforting older attendant, who seemed to be well used to caring for someone in her state, took her under her wing and brought Elsa back from her weak and debilitated condition, slowly, calmly and gently, at the same time cleaning her up and adjusting her clothing until she again appeared to be in a presentable state.