Episode 8. Saturday morning, 1 August 1936.
"I said: 'string her up!' Don't just stand there, Bruno, you dumbkopf! Do it!" my interrogator snapped at his subordinate irritably as he proceeded to busy himself wiping spots of urine from his shoes with the torn remains of my cast off panties.
Bruno and his pal sprang into action, releasing the straps that bound my wrists and ankles to the chair, and carelessly tossing my limp body to the floor. The alligator clips were ripped from my sore nipples and clitoris without even bothering to open the jaws. I gasped and cried out in anguish as each one was snatched away.
As I lay there, panting and moaning with one cheek pressed against the cold concrete, I gazed out at the toe of one of Bruno's boots just inches from my face. Meanwhile the end of the rope from the pulley on the ceiling was lowered until its frayed bristly end brushed across my bare hip. Then Bruno knelt beside me and pinned my arms behind my back while his colleague bound my wrists together with the end of the rope.
As soon as I had been trussed my interrogator, who had gotten himself down from his perch on the edge of the desk, began raising me by pulling, hand over hand, on the other end of the rope. Jerkily I was lifted up off the floor ... pulley squealing overhead ... rope groaning ... until I was fully suspended ... bent over, face down, hair half covering my face, breasts dangling, feet just barely touching the floor. The other end of the rope was firmly secured by looping it around an iron stanchion on the wall.
The three of them stepped back to survey their handiwork. I spun slowly around in front of them, totally naked except for my hose and the thin little garter belt used to suspend them. The stocking on one leg had come loose and was bunched around an ankle, the other was torn at the knee. My arms felt as though they were nearly dislocated at the shoulders from the strain of suspension.
The interrogator folded his arms and grunted a note of approval.
"She really is an American," commented Bruno. "See how she has shaved under her arms!"
"But she still has a nice furry little pelt between her legs," chuckled the other thug.
"Enough," barked their boss.
"Now Fräulein Moore, never mind the name you claim you can't recall. Tell me, are you a Communist? Why were you there?"
My head hurt. I didn't know what to say. I rued letting Klaus talk me into this. Whoever was in the next room was screaming non-stop. This was hell! What was I going to do?
"I don't know. I told you. Someone just invited me?" I rasped.
"Bruno! Fetch me a good leather strap!"
"Jawohl!"
While Bruno went off to rummage on the side table for the requested strap, the other goon circled around behind me. Tracing one hand over my naked flank, he exclaimed appreciatively, "Nice little ass on her!"
"You like it? Go ahead and fuck it," yawned the interrogator.
"I will," said the goon.
Alarmed, I dropped my head in an attempt to look between my legs to see what he was doing ... just in time to see his trousers drop to his ankles. I began moving frantically, evasively ... but his huge hands gripped me by the hips. Digging in with his thumbs he parted my ass cheeks and I felt his stuff member poking at me.
"Noooo!" I sobbed.
He poked again without success, then he wrapped an arm around under my belly, and lifted me, the better to press his attack home until my toes were clear of the floor. I squealed and bucked while he pawed at my swaying breasts with his free hand and thrusting forcefully with his hips succeeded in embedding the tip of his erection inside me.
I howled in protest as he began to push in and out, forcing his way in further. Bruno began to laugh and clap his hands maniacally, cheering his colleague on.
Then just as he pulled back to thrust in deep, the door burst open and someone shouted "Stop! Let go of her this instant!"
I thought I recognized that voice. Turning my head to one side and squinting through the sweat-sodden tangle of hair covering my eyes, I discovered that it was Horst! But now he was wearing SS black instead of a brown SA uniform.
My three tormenters snapped to attention, the man who had been bent on raping me standing awkwardly with his trousers down.
"Report!" barked Horst.
"Stsndartenfuehrer! An American communist. Apprehended in Wedding last night attending a KPD meeting! She refuses to talk. She says her name is Barbara Moore!" shouted my interrogator dutifully. He and his SA helpers were clearly cowed by Horst in his black uniform with an 'SD' security police badge on its sleeve.
Horst moved around and reached out with gloved hand to snap my head back with a handful of hair. I stared at him with teary eyes.
"Yes, Fräulein Moore and I have met previously." he said to the others with a wry smile.
"Did I not warn you, Fräulein, to stay away from bad elements? Apparently you did not heed my warning! Did he both bed you and get you in trouble? Yes, I imagine that he did. Tsk, tsk!"
Turning to the others again, he snapped out orders. "Release her at once! Find a coat or something to cover her with. She will be coming with me! Schnell! Move!"
They sprang into action, lowering me down and untying my wrists. My interrogator gave me his own suit jacket from them chair behind his desk to wrap around my body. I donned it and stood before Horst, shaky on my feet, clutching the jacket to my chest
"Can you walk Fräulein Moore?"
I nodded.
"Follow me then please."
We left the interrogation room and passed down the corridor. There were still quite a few prisoners lined up against the wall awaiting interrogation. They looked at me curiously as I walked by.
Outside, partially blinded by the bright daylight, I blinked as I was escorted to a waiting black staff car and told to get in. As I ducked my head to crawl into the back seat, I could hear music, cheering and applause coming from somewhere nearby. I looked at Horst, as he slipped in beside me, quizzically.
He smiled and said, "The opening ceremony for the Olympiad."
Then just as he pulled back to thrust in deep, the door burst open and someone shouted "Stop! Let go of her this instant!" I thought I recognized that voice. Turning my head to one side and squinting through the sweat-sodden tangle of hair covering my eyes, I discovered that it was Horst! But now he was wearing SS black instead of a brown SA uniform.
My three tormenters snapped to attention, the man who had been bent on raping me standing awkwardly with his trousers down.
......or, maybe Barb was not rescued at all, but has now jumped from the fire into the frying pan.....and where is the mystery man Klaus? This story is really getting good!
That point is pretty academic now though. Barb's best hope might be that a thinking SS officer will have her quietly released to avoid embarrassment to the Reich while they court American favour, especially during the Olympics.
