A/N: I DO NOT own Inglourious Basterds.

Kentucky Bourbon

"Ladies, we have got a big job tonight!"

I look up from my spot on the sitting room couch as a large woman with dark hair and thick eyebrows walked in, green eyes glaring with harsh intensity. Sitting elbow-to-elbow with two other girls, I lean over to my best friend Axelle before whispering in her ear.

"I don't understand how she is the Madame of the biggest brothel in Paris and she looks like a bear."

Axelle replies with a loud chuckle, her blonde hair tickling my nose and causing me to laugh as well. As we both grin, Bathilda, our Madame turned to us, furrowing her thick eyebrows and turning her thin lips into a frown.

"Is there something you wish to share with the rest of us Annabelle?" she asks in English, spitting each word out harshly through her thick German accent.

Towering over us with her hands on her hips, I attempt to compose my face, childish giggles threatening to break free from my lips as Axelle and I sit beside each other like two mischievous girls who have just been caught smoking in the back of the class.

"No Madame." I bow my head, biting my lip as Bathilda presses her head down, a second chin forming under her sweaty pink skin.

"If there will be no more interruption then, we have an outfit of American soldiers in the area and they are looking for company." She says, switching back to German and causing several girls to murmur in excitement. We do not see American men here often, and for me, the thought of being around my own kin rings in the unfamiliar.

"Americans." A Russian named Ernsta spits. "They're rough and act like pigs! No manner whatsoever and they do not even make love as well as European men."

"Oh but they are certainly bigger!" came a voice, leading us all into a chorus of laughter. Feeling my shoulders shake, I look back over at Bathilda whose patience is quickly waning after being interrupted twice, and once Bathilda loses her patience, it is not a pretty sight. You must imagine a woman around six feet tall and nearly 200 pounds wide, spittle flying from her mouth with each scream and eyes face contorted with rage as she swings at anything in her way with meaty arms. My first day I learned that despite her size she had surprising strength and speed, as I carried a black and blue bruise for several days.

"They are arriving in two hours. Make yourselves look your best, these are not German soldiers who will take anything they can get. American men are more expecting of their women. They want fantasy and exotic. They want to think that what we have here, they cannot get at home. We must make them want to stay here in the Motherland, and let them fall in love tonight."

Silently, we all remain seated, thinking of becoming the girl that a client falls in love with. In this profession, it can be a disaster, leading to jealousy, danger, and ultimately heartbreak, but it also opens up the opportunity for bringing in more money.

"Well what are you waiting for? Go!" Bathilda screams, jerking us all from thought as we all jump up at once, scrambling for the staircase in a stampede of legs and skimpy clothes, dressed against the heat.

After making my way off the staircase I wait for Axelle, grabbing her pale hand and together we make our way down the hall where we reside together.

The moment I open the door, Axelle shoots in, pulling off her clothes and tossing them onto the floor haphazardly. Stepping over her discarded garments, I make for my closet, opening the shabby wooden door and sorting through things to find something to wear that night.

Setting my eyes on a bold red dress I have never worn before, I rip it from the hanger, holding it up against my body and turning to face Axelle as she struggles on the floor to pull up one of her stockings.

"What do you think?" I ask, smoothing it out over my stomach and she glances up, giving me a flash of straight white teeth.

"Perfect." She purrs, standing up and shedding her underwear.

Turning around to look at myself in the cracked vanity mirror, I lean forward, running my fingers over my face as I map out where and what kind of makeup I will use, feeling the compulsion to put myself together for the first time in ages.

It was silly, the way butterflies fluttered about my stomach, nerves clawing at my chest like icy tendrils, all brought about by the thought of being with my own kind for the first time in what seemed eons, being around Americans like myself after months surrounded by thick accents and strange customs. The thought of sitting close to someone I may have seen on the street before brought me to such intense anticipation it felt as though I was standing on the edge of a cliff.

It had been two years since I had moved to Germany, and only four months since my arrival in Paris, France, after fleeing the country with nothing and no one holding me back.

I was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, daughter of an African-American housewife from Montgomery, and a Jewish Wall Street financier who was home less often than he was there. My parents met in Nashville, where my mother was attempting to break racial and sexist barriers as a country music star, and my father was on business, attempting to persuade more working-class Americans to invest in stocks, something that would certainly backfire with the approach of Black Friday.

They fell in love in the course of a week, my mother eloping to Brooklyn with my father where they were less likely to be chastised for their interracial relationship, something that ironically would have been less of a deal in the south, where more and more white men were marrying black women, more for sexual need than love, but nevertheless it was not completely uncommon.

My parents settled in a two-story home with an attic and basement, both of which I was quick to explore as a child, creating far-off and dark adventures in my mind while my mother pressed clothes to bring in more money, and my father was off, trying in vain to repair the damage that had been done when the stock market crashed.

While my parents provided for me, food and clothing could never quite make up for the absence of emotional support, which was severely lacking from a mother who had not even breastfed me, and a father that was barely there. So, in order to feel the void of the tenderness and love I so desperately craved from my parents, I turned to the male sex, giving myself wholly and completely for a chance to fill that void for just one night, if only one. My promiscuity made me the target of loathing and dislike from the other neighborhood girls and mothers, but what did I care? Lying on my back, I got what I needed as a guy moved in and out of me. I felt whole for one moment, and that was all I could really ask for. All I really cared about.

At fifteen, I made my way through the streets late one night, stumbling home from a party where I had foolishly let several guys have their way with me, not taking into account the physical ramifications that would come with it. Staggering down the street barely able to walk I clung to brick walls, paying no mind to the harsh world around me, foolishly ignoring my surroundings so that I was taken by surprise when three men cornered me, at least twice as old and twice the size.

That night, I got more than I bargained for, screaming out in pain as my legs were pried open and blood trailed down my thighs. They took turns, roughly and carelessly, and I was not sure which was more disgraceful, the fact that they spit on me, throwing vulgarities and racial slurs, or the fact that I couldn't stop myself from coming afterward.

I was able to handle the word "nigger", "porch monkey", and "coon", they were words I had heard since birth from the older and less willing to accept the changing times, however words like "kike" rang foreign to me, and for the first time, I realized that people really didn't see me as human. Those who initially saw me as nothing but a watermelon-eating lazy slappy changed their tune once they got to know me, but for some reason my Jewish heritage brought forth anger in some as the times changed suddenly I became a symbol for evil.

Shortly after my rape, my mother returned to Alabama to visit her family, and that was the last time I saw her. The details were sketchy, but they were both killed, a message from the KKK gone awry. That night, they spent the evening at my aunt's home, when the house suddenly caught on fire. It turned out that the Good Old Boys were attempting to target a known black troublemaker, only to have gotten the wrong house and accidentally set the entire place aflame. My mother and aunt died on the floor, succumbing to smoke inhalation within minutes, and the next day their bodies were pulled from the rubble, charred remains that could barely be identified.

My father took it hard, so hard that I barely saw him at all anymore. Where he spent his time, I did not know, but his apparent lack of care for me coupled with the radio reports speaking of a man who sold over an entire country with only his words, told me that no longer could I sit at home. People were dying, men, women, and children, for the simple crime of being Hebrew, a crime that I committed. So in all my foolish teenage ideals and impulses, I scraped what money I had together and flew to Berlin, with the half-baked idea that perhaps I would be able to do something for my people.

I did the only thing I could: slept with men. I became a prostitute, and was taken in without question. I was surprising, the number of German men who were excited to sleep with an American woman while half the world saw the country as no more than a greedy powerhouse, too selfish to do anything for anyone but themselves.

With the news that Hitler was moving into France, I traveled as well, working my way into a brothel and learning the secrets of the Nazi party in exchange for my body, listening to whispered secrets at night in my bed while I lay beside a man I had just slept with and waiting, waiting for the day to come when perhaps I would come across someone willing to stand up. Someone willing to rescue our people from the tyranny and death that was plaguing all of Europe.

"You are quiet. Are you alright?" Axelle asked, and I stepped aside as she examined herself in the mirror, grabbing a container of powder and spreading it across her clavicle.

"I was just thinking." I replied, watching her. She was truly beautiful, with long blonde hair that tumbled down her back in waves and a thin body, with round breasts that sat perky atop her chest and a firm backside. A small mole rested right above one of her arched eyebrows. She was truly a man's dream, the most successful girl in the brothel.

"You want to work together tonight?' she asks, turning toward me and pouting her pink lips. I pause for a moment, thinking it over. I'm the only girl Axelle has worked on a job with before, and in all honesty, kissing and touching another girl was worth it when you ended up with double the amount a man originally intended to pay you.

"We'll see." I reply, taking off my undergarments and tossing them on the bed before sliding on the dress.

"No underwear?" Axelle purses her lips, and I shrug, looking at myself in the mirror, liking the way the dress clings to my large breasts and curved hips without anything underneath them.

"Not tonight. Tonight I am going to give an American man the night of his life." I reply, silently thinking that tonight, I will hopefully find the man who will bring the loss of so many lives to justice.

"How do I look gents?" Aldo asked, straightening his bowtie before running a hand through his hair which is slicked back.

"Bogart all that way." I reply with a grin, slapping him on the shoulder affectionately, marveling at the fact that Aldo, and only Aldo, would get all dressed up like this just to go to a brothel, where the sex was guaranteed.

"How do I look?" I reply, raising my eyebrows and lifting my arms despite the snug fit of my jacket.

"Not as good as me, but still pretty damn good." He responds, leaning in to straighten my tie before turning to face the rest of the group, all dressed-up and horny, anxious as we wait for the girls to come down the stairs.

"We've got a mission tonight gents. Now we are in the best brothel in Paris, so you're all going to take a pick from the nice set of girls we've got offered to us, and the we're going to get laid. Any questions?" he puts his hands on his hips, nodding toward Hugo as he raises his hand.

"Yes. Will there be any German girls?" Hugo asks, leading us all into a chorus of laughter.

"Well for all you've done for us Hugo you don't think I'd deny you some home meat!"

The sound of footsteps pulls our attention and we all turn, facing the direction of the staircase as girls pour into the waiting room, each one more beautiful than the last, all lead by a hulking woman with a strong resemblance to a grizzly bear.

"I must admit, I did not expect the American men to be quite so handsome." The woman crowed in a thick German accent, and several of the guys looked over at Hugo, jesting silently before returning our attention to the wonderful girls in front of us, the first time we have been in this position with women since leaving the States.

"I didn't think you'd have such beautiful girls." Aldo replies, grinning at the massive woman and I turn my head towards the staircase as two more girls run down, one with a red dress that clings to every single curve of her magnificent body, and the other a stunning blonde babe who grasps her hand tightly.

The two jump into the end of the line, turning to each other and giggling like schoolgirls before glancing over at as. As I watch them, the one in red tucks a strand of her short hair behind her ear and pulling the neckline of her dress down slightly so that it gives a hint of the two mounds buried beneath.

"You flatter too much. Now, I'd like to introduce you to my girls, starting with Sabine here. Sabine is our veteran, she is of 36 years, and the best dominatrix in all of France. Next is Elise…"

As she began to work her way down the line of girls, I found myself unable to look away from the girl in red and her blonde friend, both of who stood together closely, whispering to one another.

Standing rooted in my spot, I waited until she got to the end of the line, gesturing to the babe in red.

"This, is Annabelle. Annabelle is our second youngest at 17, although she makes love well beyond her years and is a favorite among clients. She can make your dreams come true gentleman, whatever you are looking for, Annabelle is very…versatile you would say? And last, we have Axelle, our most popular woman here. She and Annabelle are best friends, very close best friends you would say. A night with the two of them together…"

They both leaned in and wrapped their arms around one another, and I felt blood rush to my groin as Annabelle planted the softest of kisses on Axelle's lips.

Aldo went first, grabbing a harsh-looking woman by the hand and whispering something in her ear. She laughed, putting a hand on his chest and the two left, making their way up the steps. With his disappearance, the rest of the guys moved forward, picking girls and I felt my stomach drop slightly in disappointment as Utivich nervously approached Axelle.

Pushing through the crowd of guys, I made my way to Annabelle before anyone else could, leaning in as she turned around and giving her a small smile. It had been a long time since I had paid for sex, and in all honesty, I wasn't a fan. But could I really pass up the opportunity right now?

"Hi, I'm Donny." I grinned, and she smiled back, revealing straight white teeth and red lips. I was slightly surprised to discover that she was actually pretty. Next to me, Utivich was stumbling over his words as he talked to Axelle and Annabelle stepped towards me, her hand brushing my wrist.

"Would you like to go upstairs with me?" she asked, a French accent dangling from her throat. Glancing down, I eyed her cleavage, warmth boiling within me as I thought about pulling her dress over her head and running my tongue over her nipples.

"Y-yeah." I replied, stuttering over my own words now in excitement. Annabelle smiled sweetly, green eyes sparkling before grabbing my hand. As I stared at her, I wondered if she could really be 17. There was no way, looking at her body or the way she carried herself. Perhaps it was a front for sick pervs who liked younger girls, she couldn't be 17.

As we made our way up the staircase, Annabelle pressed herself against the wall, throwing an arm in front of me as a man made his way down the stairs.

As he did so, he glanced at the two of us, eyes narrowed and an S.S. tattoo peeking from beneath the collar of his uniform.

Feeling my muscles tense and adrenaline begin to course though my body, I stared, ready at any moment to strike if need be. It seemed as though Annabelle felt the danger as well, and he stared at us, before finally ascending the steps.

The minute he turned out of sight, Annabelle audibly released a breath of air and we continued up the stairs. With each step, my eyes flew to her backside, round and firm beneath her dress. Forgetting about the Kraut, I found myself thinking about running my hands across her skin, squeezing tightly and feeling how tight she was, not to mention wet.

As my erection began to grow, I reached down, trying to adjust myself without drawing attention as we stepped onto the second floor. Annabelle made a right, and we walked down a hall and stopped in front of a door. Turning her hand on the knob she opened it, and I followed her inside before looking around quickly at a room that belonged to two girls. It was nothing special really, and as she closed the door behind us, I became aware of the throbbing in my penis.

"So, is there anything you want in particular?" she asks sitting down on the bed and crossing her legs.

"Um…like what?" I raise my eyebrows, the endless possibilities running through my mind.

"I can do dominant or submission, anal, I can pull another girl in here, role-playing, I can masturbate for you, those are just for starters. Any special interests?"

I shake my head. Whatever happened to just plain sex?

"Okay then, how about you just let me take the reins, and relax." She purses her lips, standing up and walking over to me.

Putting her dainty hands on my chest, she steps close to me, standing on her toes before pressing her lips to my own softly, her large breasts pressed against my chest and causing me to twitch involuntarily as my pants grew tighter.

Leaning forward, she kissed me once more, and this time I could think of nothing but the dull ache in my loins as I pushed my tongue into her mouth without reserve, wrapping my arms around her body and squeezing her bottom tightly, which felt amazing in my hands.

She gasped into my mouth at my sudden aggression, and I used to opportunity to grasp one of her large breasts, feeling her nipple harden beneath the thin dress.

Backing up, she grabbed the bottom of her dress before pulling it over her head, revealing nothing but beautiful light brown skin underneath, her body free of any sort of underclothing at all. I stared, unable to do anything else at her large breasts and the V between her legs, made free of hair.

"Your turn." She grinned, stepping forward and grasping my zipper, unzipping my pants quickly and going for my belt. Her fingers flew with intensity as she gripped both my pants and boxers before yanking them down, revealing my completely erect and throbbing manhood.

"Jesus." She muttered, eyes widening when she looked down. Licking her lips I forced myself to hold back a grin as I observed her hungry gaze, eyes dominated my pupil at the eight-inches I was blessed with.

Reaching down, I stroked myself gently as she led me to the bed, allowing myself to reach out and run my fingers across her soft skin as we sat down on the bed.

Pushing me on my back, she climbed on top of me, reaching a hand down and grabbing me in one of her soft palms. I moaned loudly, inhaling under her touch as she wrapped her hand around me and squeezed, leaning over and brushing her lips against my ear.

"Right now I can give you the time of your life, or make it so you will never have kids. Who are you working for?" she hissed, and I found myself forgetting about pounding into her, overcome with the danger of being attacked as the French accent slid straight from her words.

With all my strength I rolled over, pinning her down and watching her eyes close as my penis rubbed against her inner thigh.

Putting a hand around her neck, I squeezed tightly, pressing my knees against her thighs so that she could not move.

"I've got at least 50 pounds of muscle on your easy, I could crush your neck in a second. Who do you work for?" I growled, pressing my grip against her neck and listening to her whimper.

"I'm American, I've been lying low and I've got information about the Germans." She hissed under my grip, eyes staring into mine.

"What kind of information?" I furrowed my eyebrows in curiosity.

"Locations, names, plans, anything they've given me."

"How'd you get that? You expect me to believe you're a double-agent or something?"

"You'd be surprised how much men are willing to give up after a good fuck." She hissed, tilting her hips upward so that her center rubbed against my erection.

Pressing her thigh down with my knee, I held her neck tightly, making it very clear how easily I could kill her.

"How do I know you're not lying?" I asked.

"I'm Jewish…came here two years ago. Please, I want to help!" she began to wheeze, and studying her eyes carefully, I released my hand, getting off of her as she gasped for air, coughing loudly and rolling over on her side. Getting out of the bed I made a move for my clothes, picking them up off the floor while she caught her breath.

"Wait a second. Are you walking out on me?" she croaked, and I turned around, pulling my pants up over my hard dick while considering still taking her. Making up my mind, I pulled a couple bills from my pocket and tossed them at her, zipping up my pants and tucking my shirt in.

Annabelle muttered something, standing up and walking over where her dress was also discarded on the floor. Bending over deliberately, she picked it up and slid it on.

"I already paid you isn't that enough?" I ask, and she glances up at me.

"Who ever said money was the only way to pay a prostitute?" she arches an eyebrow, before strolling across the room to a closet and opening the door.

Digging through the closet, I watch as she pulls out a pair of panties and a brassier, sliding them on under her dress and turning back to me, the smile I had seen earlier gone and replaced with a look of bitterness.

"So are you really 17?" I ask, observing the way she carries herself carefully. At this, a smirk crosses her lips and she turns to me.

"I am. Why?" she replies, and I try and contain a shudder at the fact that I almost just had sex with an underage girl.

"You just don't seem it. You're so young." I breathe in truth, disgust welling up inside of me.

"Am I? At 17 I've seen more things than most people have in their entire life. I grew up a long time ago, and I'm far from a child." She shoots, as though I have insulted her and crossing her arms over her chest.

Pacing the room, I silently pondered as she sits on the bed, wondering where to go from here. The evident fact is that I need to speak with Aldo, although given the fact that this is not an emergency and that we are not really compromised, I know he will not be happy to see me at the moment. My other alternative though is to stay in this room with Annabelle, and for some reason, every part of me screams no. The girl is living and breathing jailbait, jailbait who happens to be full of information that Aldo should hear first.

"Am I missing something or are you going to pace a hole in my floor?" she calls from the bed, and for the first time I notice a hint of a New York accent.

"Where are you from?" I nod, and she shifts, sitting against the headboard with her legs crossed.

"Brooklyn." She responds, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise before sighing. Looks like I'm not getting laid tonight.

"Well, I need to take you to see Aldo so he can figure out what to do with you. Where is he?" I ask.

"Well, if I can recall correctly he went with Francesca. They'll be down the hall. I suppose I have no choice but to take you there." She stares at me, climbing off the bed and grabbing a pair of shoes.

Making her way to the door I follow, listening to the sounds of pleasure as they spill out of rooms and into the hall, including what can only be a person neighing.

"Some interesting fetishes come in as you can see. I had a guy once who liked to dress up as a baby. I do pretty much anything but that was just too weird for me." Annabelle turns and glances at me over her shoulder, and for a moment I'm astounded. This girl is 17 and talks about sex as though it's absolutely nothing. For a moment, I wonder just how many guys she's been with and push the thought out of my head, knowing I don't want to find out.

Making our way down the hall we stop in front of a room with a wilted flower on the door. Annabelle opens it, leading me inside where I can hear Aldo grunting as a woman rides him vigorously, the entire bedframe shaking.

Standing in the doorway apprehensively, I watch as Annabelle steps inside further as though nothing is happening, and clears her throat loudly, drawing the attention of them both somehow over Aldo's moans.

He looked up, grabbing the woman by her waist and preparing to throw her off but she slaps his hand away instead, quickening her pace and glowering at Annabelle through narrowed eyes.

"I know you and your friend like to share but that is not the way I do things." She hisses, and I watch as Annabelle stiffens up, holding her head high.

"I didn't come to poach Francesca, we need to speak with him."

"Who's we?" Aldo grunts between breathes.

"Me and Annabelle." I finally say, stepping into the room and averting my eyes although it's damn near impossible to look anywhere else.

"Who the hell is Annabelle?" Aldo panted.

"Girl in the red dress." I reply, and for a moment no one responds as the room is filled with nothing but the sound of the bed creaking and Aldo's moans. Sliding his hands around the woman's waist, he slaps one of her buttocks and she tilts her head back, moaning loudly.

Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot tears us all away from the sounds of passion, and Annabelle rushes past me in a red blur, throwing the door open and stepping out into the hall. I follow suit, dashing out behind her and into the all, looking around wildly.

"What the hell was that?" I ask, and she narrows her eyes, glancing towards the staircase.

"It might be nothing. Sometimes soldiers bring in their guns and squeeze off a few when they climax." She speaks and I flinch as the word falls from her youthful lips. Noticing my discomfort, she turns towards me, eyes alight with fire hisses.

"Don't look at me like a child."

Just before I open my mouth to respond, the sound of heavy footsteps draws my attention to the staircase, as three German soldiers make their way up the stairs and onto the second floor, stopping when their eyes fall on us.

Drawing their guns, one begins to scream in harsh German and I notice the way Annabelle's face contorts with rage at his words.

"What did he just say?" I ask.

She ignores me, and there's barely enough time to react as she lunges forward, racing for the soldiers as gunshots pierce the walls and ricochet off the ground.