Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Isn't that the whole issue, CruxForums is about?Testing Barb Comprehensively!
-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
It continued in London
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 06
SIS Information Extraction Unit – Down Steet Disused Underground Station, London, Friday, June 23rd 1939.
As she felt hands on her bottom, Barbara closed her eyes.
Then other hands passed between her spread legs to cup around her groin.
“I suppose you are included in these perks?” Agazarian said looking directly at Edwards.
“Well,” the Corporal said, “I erm …”
The commander nodded. “But hang back, I have an idea when it comes to you, just make sure you are, how shall I put it, sufficiently stimulated.”
Edwards grinned.
A long loud groan came from the captive girl as Barbara felt the touch on her rear begin to move, invasive fingers kneading the flesh, which she tried to keep as tense and tight as possible – a difficult task when she had been so constricted as to be standing on tiptoe.
Agazarian picked up the phone on the desk. “Major Grand …” she said.
Barbara felt the hands move again, and a long finger penetrated her body.
“Oh, mein Gott, bitte nein …” the German beauty squealed, reverting without thought to her native language.
Francine Agazarian smiled a knowing smile while on the line, then turned her head when she heard a swishing sound as one of the men grinned at her.
“Major…” Agazarian said, “We are about to commence the interrogation.”
A pause, then … “Very good, sir.”
She replaced the receiver. “He is on his way in a car, but he says to continue. It is the electrical treatment he is really interested in. Remember, she is to be struck only there.” She touched Barb’s peachy, tight ass for herself, and the bound beauty drew a deep breath.
The commander had said not to attempt to defy them, to scream as loudly as she could. But she wanted to defy them. They could not destroy her. She was Barbara Mohr, daughter of the famous German entrepreneur and industrialist, Joachim Mohr. More importantly, she was a woman who had been trained to fight, to kill, and to survive. But here they considered her no more than a lump of meat, to be chewed up and then spat out, when they were tired of the taste of her.
She heard the swish of the air again as the man wielding the bamboo rod took aim.
Agazarian moved to Barbara and knelt by her bent and prostrated body, taking a delicate fist full of her captive’s long dark hair she pulled until her neck stretched in an extremely awkward position, and she could see a little of what was before her.
Edwards had followed his commander’s hand movements and taken up a position at the prisoner’s front.
“Take it out Edwards.”
“N … no please,” Barb begged as the well-endowed Corporal took out his engorged erection, resting it in the palm of his hand for all to see.
“This is your first chance to come clean with us Fräulein Mohr, that’s all we are asking. I will ask you once before each punishment, and that is your opportunity to make all of this stop.”
The commander paused leaving Barb’s quiet sobs as the only sound in the damp and chilly room.
“Tell me who you really are Fräulein. Why are you here and who, in that deplorable Fatherland of yours, do you work for?”
“I … I … am … Barbara Mohr … daughter of Joachim Mohr …” Barb was finding it hard to speak with her neck stretched so. But she knew the desperate need for her to continue …
“I am … was, a Nazi resistance fighter and … ab … about to be executed by the SS … please, please let me go …”
Agazarian responded by pulling harder on Barbara’s hair.
“M … my father used his contacts t … to step in and save me, then s … send me over here. I ha … hate the Nazi’s pl … please you must believe me.”
As her hair was freed her head fell once more.
“Proceed Edwards …”
“N … no please.”
As soon as the words left the mouth of Francine Agazarian, Barb realised their intent.
But the commander felt the need to explain in detail. “Edwards is going to forcibly sodomise you Fräulein Mohr, one of the worst acts a man can perform on a woman without leaving permanent damage. At least physical damage, as the emotional trauma of being buggered while restrained, will probably remain with you forever.”
Her mind flashed back in horror to her time in the hands of the Gestapo when she had been brutally sodomized by one of Reimer’s brutes. She’d never forgotten that, indeed had often been haunted by its memory. And now it was happening to her again!
She groaned anew, as Edwards, his cock now tightly gripped in his fist, moved into the position and forced the glistening swollen head down between her buttocks, moving his hips forward to make sure he coaxed the engorged tip towards its puckered target.
“Oh verdammt, nein, nein!” Barb cried. She knew that reverting to her native tongue would not help her cause at all, but she simply could not help herself.
“Jesus,” Edwards said. “she’s … so … tight.”
Barbara’s sphincter muscle gripped the end of his shaft as he jerked his hard flesh feeling the oozing juices slowly softening her anus, diluting the friction. The Corporal placed his hands on her hips and watched his erection, the foreskin lined with engorged veins, stretch down between her buttocks.
Then …
“Nein, es ist zu groß, Scheiße!”
Edwards felt his shaft move slowly but very surely into its intended sheath. Then he sank deeper, holding her hips tight with both his hands.
“Fuck…” Edwards leaned in, trousers around his ankles and buried his face in his victim’s neck, his buttocks and hips moving like pistons on her lower body.
“Yes! Yes! Ohhh fuck Yes!” He uttered and none too quietly.
She shook with every powerful thrust of his hips.
“Release inside her, Corporal.” Agazarian was still giving out instructions, “Complete her degrading humiliation.”
“Yes!” Edwards cried. “Take this you Nazi cunt!”
He slammed into Barbara’s tight little ass, his fingers digging into her hips and he came, hard in long, powerful jets, his body convulsing, his legs as stiff as his cock as the hot juice burst in waves, first inside her and then over her ass and the insides of her thighs …
Finally, he fell away leaving her in the same powerless, immovable position, her buttocks glistening sticky and wet. The Corporal staggered then slumped to the floor, his penis hanging semi-flaccid and dripping with seed.
But she was offered no respite. With the tears still falling she once again felt her hair gripped and pulled.
“You know now that we are not playing around, Fräulein Mohr. Tell me who you really are and why you’re here so that you can save yourself any further anguish.”
Barb shook her head as much as she could and whispered, “I have already said all that is the truth, please, please believe me.”
The commander released her hair and stood.
“Proceed,” she said, sanctioning the next tortuous round of this terrible interrogation.
“Argghhhh, nein verdammt, nein …!”
The cane slashed out and it seemed as if a knife blade had been drawn across the bound girl’s flesh. Barbara gasped, and her mouth sagged open as her body drooped, to be held only by the bar pressing into her groin, still stretched taut so that she could not twist.
Before she could draw a breath, she was struck a second time, making her body stiffen again. Her lungs seemed devoid of oxygen, as she choked. But when the third blow came, she involuntarily sucked life-saving air into her body.
At the fourth blow she couldn’t stop her whimper, and her eyes were burning as the tears began again. Now her whole body seemed to be on fire, penetrating every last pore, as the agony became constant.
A pause came and Barbara heard the door opening and closing and realized that Major Grand had joined them. She hung strapped across the bar, feeling her cheeks throb as the blood rushed into them. The room was rotating about her, but she refused to open her eyes.
… I did not scream, she told herself. They could not make me scream …
“Is she alright, Francine?” Grand asked.
Agazarian stooped beside her prisoner, held her wrist and felt her pulse.
“Yes, but perhaps we should wait a few minutes before we …”
“I am a busy man,” Grand pointed out. “And I wish to witness how this new method is used.”
He turned to the Corporal, whose trousers were now in situ once again, and said, “Show us, Edwards. And explain it for me”
“Of course, Major.”
Grand was ogling Barb’s peachy ass, striped with fresh cane marks.
“You are sure there will be no permanent scarring?”
“None, Sir,” Agazarian assured him. “That is the beauty of the cane. Those marks will fade within forty-eight hours. But she will remember the beating.”
“She will remember this more,” Edwards said enthusiastically. “Now, sir,” he continued, addressing the Major. “This box is the generator, which is activated simply by turning the handle. The faster it is turned, the more current is delivered, so that the interrogator can control the strength of the charge as required. Now, these two wires, each ending in an alligator clip, are attached to whatever part of the subject’s body the interrogator wishes to use. They are positive and negative, the charge flowing from one to the other, causing the severest discomfort to whichever part of the subject’s body it travels through. Preferred places are the big toe, on each foot, so that the current passes up one leg, across the groin, and down the other … or the ears, in which case the current passes through the head. But I would not recommend that in this case, if it is your wish that the subject be, shall I say, preserved intact. The current passing through the brain can induce permanent damage. However, there are other useful places. The nipples, for example. This is especially useful for women, who, if you will forgive me, have more … how shall I put it … flesh for the interrogator to play with.”
Major Grand nodded sagely as Barbara’s whole body began to tremble.
“But of course, the most effective place of all is the genitals. One of these clips inserted into the anus, and the other clipped to the male penis can rob a man of any ability to resist further. A woman of course is even more susceptible, as she possesses two orifices, the invasion of which by steel and then electricity is both humiliating and agonising.”
“But you say it does no permanent damage?” Grand asked again.
“None at all, Major. We coat the clips in grease to ease the entry. This in no way interferes with the flow of current. But it does prevent any tissue damage, or even permanent marking. Once the current is switched off, the pain soon subsides. There is continuing discomfort for a few hours, but then that too wears off, and the subject is as good as new. Although the memory remains, very clearly, intact.”
“Then that is the method I wish to see demonstrated,” Grand said.
“Very good, Major.”
Agazarian stepped in. This time she didn’t bother to kneel, or grip Barb’s hair. She simply asked the question.
“Tell us who you are and why you are here Fräulein Mohr.”
“I … ha … have told you … it is the truth. Mein Gott, du musst mir glauben!”
It was like she was speaking the devil’s own language. Grand looked at Agazarian who in turn nodded at Edwards.
“Now, the first thing to do is pull her labia wide apart, like this.”
“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Barb screamed.
Room 212 The Savoy Hotel, The Strand, City of Westminster, London, Friday, June 23rd 1939.
Having been instructed to wait inside her room at the Savoy, Underwood, assured by Grand that entry into room 212 would not be a problem, opened the door when he heard the loud knocking.
“What . . .?” He stepped back as the two men who had manned the torture cell, entered the room, Barbara strung between them. She was fully, if untidily, dressed, wearing her hat, her bag slung over her shoulder, and her clothes did not look torn or ripped at all. However, Miss Mohr seemed unable to walk steadily on her own, and the men were holding her by the arms to keep her upright.
They half dragged her further inside and laid her on the bed, where she remained unmoving on her side.
“Thank you,” Agazarian said to the men, having followed them inside. “That will be all.”
“Very good Ma’am,” they saluted as they left.
Underwood closed the door behind them, before turning to the commander and said, “What in the name of God? Is she badly hurt?”
“Captain, I can assure you that she is not hurt at all, just a little ‘worked over’. However, I am delighted to report that her story holds true. She is indeed what she says she is.”
Whilst Agazarian looked pleased with herself, these words failed to impress Underwood one single iota.
“Has she been beaten?” he asked.
“Yes,” was the commander’s simple, unambiguous reply.
“But … she seems unconscious.” He exclaimed; his tone filled with concern. Agazarian bent to peer into Barbara’s face.
“Her eyes are open. She is perfectly conscious,” the captain was assured. “She is just not yet able to communicate.”
Underwood looks quizzically in response to the words.
“We used electricity.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Captain, Fräulein Mohr has been fucked with an electric current.”
Underwood put his hand to his mouth. “That is barbaric.”
“I’m afraid we live in a barbaric time captain.” was all she replied.
TBC
SIS Information Extraction Unit – Down Steet Disused Underground Station, London, Friday, June 23rd 1939.
As she felt hands on her bottom, Barbara closed her eyes.
Then other hands passed between her spread legs to cup around her groin.
“I suppose you are included in these perks?” Agazarian said looking directly at Edwards.
“Well,” the Corporal said, “I erm …”
The commander nodded. “But hang back, I have an idea when it comes to you, just make sure you are, how shall I put it, sufficiently stimulated.”
Edwards grinned.
A long loud groan came from the captive girl as Barbara felt the touch on her rear begin to move, invasive fingers kneading the flesh, which she tried to keep as tense and tight as possible – a difficult task when she had been so constricted as to be standing on tiptoe.
Agazarian picked up the phone on the desk. “Major Grand …” she said.
Barbara felt the hands move again, and a long finger penetrated her body.
“Oh, mein Gott, bitte nein …” the German beauty squealed, reverting without thought to her native language.
Francine Agazarian smiled a knowing smile while on the line, then turned her head when she heard a swishing sound as one of the men grinned at her.
“Major…” Agazarian said, “We are about to commence the interrogation.”
A pause, then … “Very good, sir.”
She replaced the receiver. “He is on his way in a car, but he says to continue. It is the electrical treatment he is really interested in. Remember, she is to be struck only there.” She touched Barb’s peachy, tight ass for herself, and the bound beauty drew a deep breath.
The commander had said not to attempt to defy them, to scream as loudly as she could. But she wanted to defy them. They could not destroy her. She was Barbara Mohr, daughter of the famous German entrepreneur and industrialist, Joachim Mohr. More importantly, she was a woman who had been trained to fight, to kill, and to survive. But here they considered her no more than a lump of meat, to be chewed up and then spat out, when they were tired of the taste of her.
She heard the swish of the air again as the man wielding the bamboo rod took aim.
Agazarian moved to Barbara and knelt by her bent and prostrated body, taking a delicate fist full of her captive’s long dark hair she pulled until her neck stretched in an extremely awkward position, and she could see a little of what was before her.
Edwards had followed his commander’s hand movements and taken up a position at the prisoner’s front.
“Take it out Edwards.”
“N … no please,” Barb begged as the well-endowed Corporal took out his engorged erection, resting it in the palm of his hand for all to see.
“This is your first chance to come clean with us Fräulein Mohr, that’s all we are asking. I will ask you once before each punishment, and that is your opportunity to make all of this stop.”
The commander paused leaving Barb’s quiet sobs as the only sound in the damp and chilly room.
“Tell me who you really are Fräulein. Why are you here and who, in that deplorable Fatherland of yours, do you work for?”
“I … I … am … Barbara Mohr … daughter of Joachim Mohr …” Barb was finding it hard to speak with her neck stretched so. But she knew the desperate need for her to continue …
“I am … was, a Nazi resistance fighter and … ab … about to be executed by the SS … please, please let me go …”
Agazarian responded by pulling harder on Barbara’s hair.
“M … my father used his contacts t … to step in and save me, then s … send me over here. I ha … hate the Nazi’s pl … please you must believe me.”
As her hair was freed her head fell once more.
“Proceed Edwards …”
“N … no please.”
As soon as the words left the mouth of Francine Agazarian, Barb realised their intent.
But the commander felt the need to explain in detail. “Edwards is going to forcibly sodomise you Fräulein Mohr, one of the worst acts a man can perform on a woman without leaving permanent damage. At least physical damage, as the emotional trauma of being buggered while restrained, will probably remain with you forever.”
Her mind flashed back in horror to her time in the hands of the Gestapo when she had been brutally sodomized by one of Reimer’s brutes. She’d never forgotten that, indeed had often been haunted by its memory. And now it was happening to her again!
She groaned anew, as Edwards, his cock now tightly gripped in his fist, moved into the position and forced the glistening swollen head down between her buttocks, moving his hips forward to make sure he coaxed the engorged tip towards its puckered target.
“Oh verdammt, nein, nein!” Barb cried. She knew that reverting to her native tongue would not help her cause at all, but she simply could not help herself.
“Jesus,” Edwards said. “she’s … so … tight.”
Barbara’s sphincter muscle gripped the end of his shaft as he jerked his hard flesh feeling the oozing juices slowly softening her anus, diluting the friction. The Corporal placed his hands on her hips and watched his erection, the foreskin lined with engorged veins, stretch down between her buttocks.
Then …
“Nein, es ist zu groß, Scheiße!”
Edwards felt his shaft move slowly but very surely into its intended sheath. Then he sank deeper, holding her hips tight with both his hands.
“Fuck…” Edwards leaned in, trousers around his ankles and buried his face in his victim’s neck, his buttocks and hips moving like pistons on her lower body.
“Yes! Yes! Ohhh fuck Yes!” He uttered and none too quietly.
She shook with every powerful thrust of his hips.
“Release inside her, Corporal.” Agazarian was still giving out instructions, “Complete her degrading humiliation.”
“Yes!” Edwards cried. “Take this you Nazi cunt!”
He slammed into Barbara’s tight little ass, his fingers digging into her hips and he came, hard in long, powerful jets, his body convulsing, his legs as stiff as his cock as the hot juice burst in waves, first inside her and then over her ass and the insides of her thighs …
Finally, he fell away leaving her in the same powerless, immovable position, her buttocks glistening sticky and wet. The Corporal staggered then slumped to the floor, his penis hanging semi-flaccid and dripping with seed.
But she was offered no respite. With the tears still falling she once again felt her hair gripped and pulled.
“You know now that we are not playing around, Fräulein Mohr. Tell me who you really are and why you’re here so that you can save yourself any further anguish.”
Barb shook her head as much as she could and whispered, “I have already said all that is the truth, please, please believe me.”
The commander released her hair and stood.
“Proceed,” she said, sanctioning the next tortuous round of this terrible interrogation.
“Argghhhh, nein verdammt, nein …!”
The cane slashed out and it seemed as if a knife blade had been drawn across the bound girl’s flesh. Barbara gasped, and her mouth sagged open as her body drooped, to be held only by the bar pressing into her groin, still stretched taut so that she could not twist.
Before she could draw a breath, she was struck a second time, making her body stiffen again. Her lungs seemed devoid of oxygen, as she choked. But when the third blow came, she involuntarily sucked life-saving air into her body.
At the fourth blow she couldn’t stop her whimper, and her eyes were burning as the tears began again. Now her whole body seemed to be on fire, penetrating every last pore, as the agony became constant.
A pause came and Barbara heard the door opening and closing and realized that Major Grand had joined them. She hung strapped across the bar, feeling her cheeks throb as the blood rushed into them. The room was rotating about her, but she refused to open her eyes.
… I did not scream, she told herself. They could not make me scream …
“Is she alright, Francine?” Grand asked.
Agazarian stooped beside her prisoner, held her wrist and felt her pulse.
“Yes, but perhaps we should wait a few minutes before we …”
“I am a busy man,” Grand pointed out. “And I wish to witness how this new method is used.”
He turned to the Corporal, whose trousers were now in situ once again, and said, “Show us, Edwards. And explain it for me”
“Of course, Major.”
Grand was ogling Barb’s peachy ass, striped with fresh cane marks.
“You are sure there will be no permanent scarring?”
“None, Sir,” Agazarian assured him. “That is the beauty of the cane. Those marks will fade within forty-eight hours. But she will remember the beating.”
“She will remember this more,” Edwards said enthusiastically. “Now, sir,” he continued, addressing the Major. “This box is the generator, which is activated simply by turning the handle. The faster it is turned, the more current is delivered, so that the interrogator can control the strength of the charge as required. Now, these two wires, each ending in an alligator clip, are attached to whatever part of the subject’s body the interrogator wishes to use. They are positive and negative, the charge flowing from one to the other, causing the severest discomfort to whichever part of the subject’s body it travels through. Preferred places are the big toe, on each foot, so that the current passes up one leg, across the groin, and down the other … or the ears, in which case the current passes through the head. But I would not recommend that in this case, if it is your wish that the subject be, shall I say, preserved intact. The current passing through the brain can induce permanent damage. However, there are other useful places. The nipples, for example. This is especially useful for women, who, if you will forgive me, have more … how shall I put it … flesh for the interrogator to play with.”
Major Grand nodded sagely as Barbara’s whole body began to tremble.
“But of course, the most effective place of all is the genitals. One of these clips inserted into the anus, and the other clipped to the male penis can rob a man of any ability to resist further. A woman of course is even more susceptible, as she possesses two orifices, the invasion of which by steel and then electricity is both humiliating and agonising.”
“But you say it does no permanent damage?” Grand asked again.
“None at all, Major. We coat the clips in grease to ease the entry. This in no way interferes with the flow of current. But it does prevent any tissue damage, or even permanent marking. Once the current is switched off, the pain soon subsides. There is continuing discomfort for a few hours, but then that too wears off, and the subject is as good as new. Although the memory remains, very clearly, intact.”
“Then that is the method I wish to see demonstrated,” Grand said.
“Very good, Major.”
Agazarian stepped in. This time she didn’t bother to kneel, or grip Barb’s hair. She simply asked the question.
“Tell us who you are and why you are here Fräulein Mohr.”
“I … ha … have told you … it is the truth. Mein Gott, du musst mir glauben!”
It was like she was speaking the devil’s own language. Grand looked at Agazarian who in turn nodded at Edwards.
“Now, the first thing to do is pull her labia wide apart, like this.”
“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Barb screamed.
Room 212 The Savoy Hotel, The Strand, City of Westminster, London, Friday, June 23rd 1939.
Having been instructed to wait inside her room at the Savoy, Underwood, assured by Grand that entry into room 212 would not be a problem, opened the door when he heard the loud knocking.
“What . . .?” He stepped back as the two men who had manned the torture cell, entered the room, Barbara strung between them. She was fully, if untidily, dressed, wearing her hat, her bag slung over her shoulder, and her clothes did not look torn or ripped at all. However, Miss Mohr seemed unable to walk steadily on her own, and the men were holding her by the arms to keep her upright.
They half dragged her further inside and laid her on the bed, where she remained unmoving on her side.
“Thank you,” Agazarian said to the men, having followed them inside. “That will be all.”
“Very good Ma’am,” they saluted as they left.
Underwood closed the door behind them, before turning to the commander and said, “What in the name of God? Is she badly hurt?”
“Captain, I can assure you that she is not hurt at all, just a little ‘worked over’. However, I am delighted to report that her story holds true. She is indeed what she says she is.”
Whilst Agazarian looked pleased with herself, these words failed to impress Underwood one single iota.
“Has she been beaten?” he asked.
“Yes,” was the commander’s simple, unambiguous reply.
“But … she seems unconscious.” He exclaimed; his tone filled with concern. Agazarian bent to peer into Barbara’s face.
“Her eyes are open. She is perfectly conscious,” the captain was assured. “She is just not yet able to communicate.”
Underwood looks quizzically in response to the words.
“We used electricity.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Captain, Fräulein Mohr has been fucked with an electric current.”
Underwood put his hand to his mouth. “That is barbaric.”
“I’m afraid we live in a barbaric time captain.” was all she replied.
TBC
Totally Barbaric Commander
Chapter 07
Room 212 The Savoy Hotel, The Strand, City of Westminster, London, Friday, June 23rd 1939.
Underwood set aside the newspaper he’d been listlessly perusing to pass the time while Barbara slept. Nearly an hour had passed since he had ushered Commander Francine Agazarian out the door and attended to Barbara who had appeared to be in a near catatonic state after what Agazarian and company had put her through.
Recognizing that Barbara was in need of rest, he had set aside his urgent desire to question her about what had happened and had instead gotten her out of her clothing and into bed. And it was then, as he lay stretched out on her tummy and he was about to pull the bedclothes up over her nude body, that he’d first caught sight of the angry red weals across her ass and been instantly sickened.
Rather than cover her with the bedclothes he left them bunched over her ankles so as to let her wounds breathe.
“They caned her … those lousy bastards over at Down Street Station … they caned her!” he’d muttered darkly to himself.
And sodomized her too, he’d concluded on spotting the telltale dried remnants of smeared cum surrounding her swollen and inflamed sphincter and down the gap between her ass cheeks. The methods used to interrogate her had quite obviously inflicted far more pain and suffering than the simple application of a bit of electricity.
“And all for what?” he’d asked himself aloud. To prove that she was who she claimed to be? A fact that he’d personally attested to after thoroughly researching her background and getting to know her intimately over the past several weeks? Wasn’t that enough? Turning her over to Francine Agazarian was both cruel and hardly necessary. Why hadn’t Laurence Grand simply accepted his word?
And it had been just then, when Underwood’s thoughts had turned darkest that there was a quick tap on the door, the click of a passkey inserted in the lock, followed by the appearance of Major Laurence Grand in the doorway.
“Afternoon Henry,” the Major offered amiably as he entered. “And how’’s our pretty young German Fräulein doing?”
“Sleeping,” he answered curtly, making no effort to hide his disdain.
“Oh, come now, Henry! You were forewarned, were you not? Agazarian was just doing her job. I was present for a part of it. Very professionally handled, I dare say.”
“Come on Laurence! Let’s not wallpaper over the fact that they not only applied electric shock to her most private bits, but they caned and sodomized her as well! That makes us no better than the Gestapo! And what were you doing there anyway? To get a good eyeful? I’ll bet they had her stripped naked and cruelly restrained when you arrived. A good show for all, eh?”
“Captain, you are out of line! I could have you disciplined and sacked. Now, snap out of it! Come to your proper senses! You’re supposed to be a professional! And this, Henry, let us not forget, is the real world … a perilous world. We in Section D have no time for sentimentalities!”
“Sorry, Major. It’s just that … “
“Yes, I understand. You’ve fallen for her. Can hardly blame you. She’s quite the looker isn’t she?”
“Yessir,” Underwood replied, resisting an insane urge to punch his superior in the face.
“Now, take a seat and listen to me, Henry, as I am about to inform you as to how this will all go down.”
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll overhear you? She’s sleeping, not dead.”
“No, I ordered Agazarian to have her drugged before delivering her here to you at the Savoy. She’s dead to the world until probably late this evening.”
“Why of course you did. Silly me. What was I thinking?”
“Cut the sarcasm, Captain, and listen! Despite her denials … even under the stress of a Section D interrogation … we’ve got very good reason to suspect that she is in fact here as a German spy.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“The key to the puzzle is her father. Joachim Mohr is an influential figure in Germany, as she readily points out when questioned. She claims, and we know, he played a role in getting her out of the clutches of the Gestapo in Hamburg and getting her over here.”
“Right … so?”
“The question is … how was Herr Mohr able to do that? Once one is in the clutches of the Gestapo and condemned under the German justice system, it doesn’t really matter who you are. But we know that Herr Mohr is a close acquaintance of Himmler and that he’s a major supplier in Germany’s crash rearmament programs and a key figure in programs aimed at developing new and revolutionary generations of weaponry … particularly rocketry.
“So, what does that prove? Nothing!”
“Perhaps. But, while we can never be absolutely certain. The essential point here is that we have reason enough to think she is here as an SD spy. We suspect that her father had little choice but to strike a deal with Himmler in order to save her from being executed by the Gestapo, and she had little choice but to go along with it. And what other evidence do we have, you might ask. Well, we’ve fed some things to a few of the people she’s recently met here at social events to drop into conversations with her … not real intelligence, mind you. But lo and behold these things have all turned up a week or so later in intercepted chatter in Germany!”
“Alright, I accept all that. But tell me. How is she communicating with her spymaster’s in Germany?”
“You already know the answer to that … Aron Bernstein… the Jewish chap she flew over with, who continues to turn up at her side from time to time … almost daily in fact.”
“She’s told me that they have a special bond, having escaped Germany together in a plane he stole and flew. They stay in touch. Plausible enough, one might say.”
“Yes, but here’s another piece of intelligence of considerable significance. We’re aware that the SD officer in charge in Hamburg at the time she was taken into custody there was a certain SS-Sturmbannführer Manfred Reinhardt. Reinhardt mysteriously dropped out of sight on the very day of our Fräulein Mohr’s miraculous escape and hasn’t been seen since. But … one of our young whiz-kids in Section D, on a hunch, began to compare some photos of the vanished SS-Sturmbannführer with those of our Aron Bernstein. And guess what! While there are some significant differences in their facial features, our analysts have concluded that Reinhardt and Bernstein are nonetheless one and the same!”
“Alright Major, I’m beginning to see the light. What’s next then?”
“Several things, Captain. Firstly, you are to continue in your role as Fräulein Mohr’s ardent paramour and constant companion with the objective of convincing her into becoming a spy for SIS. Don’t attempt to move too fast. We don’t want to spook her.”
“Right, I believe I’ve already laid the groundwork for that.”
“Secondly, once she agrees, we’ll ship her off to a facility presently being set up in Scotland near Arisaig, where she’ll undergo a fortnight’s regimen of rigorous training. Her absence will be explained for the sake of Reinhardt slash Bernstein and the general public as due to a special private invitation by the King to visit the Royal Family at Balmoral.”
“And what of me?”
“I’m getting to that. Thirdly, you’ll remain here in London where you’ll do your best to befriend Aron Bernstein. You’re obviously aware of one another. And in Mohr’s absence, why not invite him to have a pint or two together, compare notes, go out for a night together in Soho? Whatever.”
“I see. We’re to keep him on the hook, so to speak. Play him along. Keep the thread of misinformation flowing to Berlin?”
“Exactly.”
“And where is all this leading?”
“To a mission … a secret mission sometime in the future, in which we will send you and Fräulein Mohr into Germany together. Object: to get her clandestinely back in touch with her father, and to give the two of you the opportunity to learn from him, in one fashion or another, some useful firsthand intelligence regarding Germany’s secret weapons programs. I don’t know when, or exactly under what circumstances you’ll be sent. Could be a year or more from now. We could well be in a war with Hitler and his crowd by then. But thinking and planning ahead is what we do here in Section D.”
“The clouds of war do seem to be darkening, don’t they?”
“They do, and I dare say it portends to be technologically an altogether different contest than the last one. Which is why, in the meantime, I’m assigning you, Henry, to join our team tasked with keeping an eye on any and all developments in Germany pertaining to the field of aeronautics.”
“I see.”
“Now enough of this for now. I must get back to Century House. Do take good care of her when she awakens, Henry. Poor thing’s been through a lot this morning, I know. Unpleasant but necessary business, that.”
“Yessir.”
TBC
Room 212 The Savoy Hotel, The Strand, City of Westminster, London, Friday, June 23rd 1939.
Underwood set aside the newspaper he’d been listlessly perusing to pass the time while Barbara slept. Nearly an hour had passed since he had ushered Commander Francine Agazarian out the door and attended to Barbara who had appeared to be in a near catatonic state after what Agazarian and company had put her through.
Recognizing that Barbara was in need of rest, he had set aside his urgent desire to question her about what had happened and had instead gotten her out of her clothing and into bed. And it was then, as he lay stretched out on her tummy and he was about to pull the bedclothes up over her nude body, that he’d first caught sight of the angry red weals across her ass and been instantly sickened.
Rather than cover her with the bedclothes he left them bunched over her ankles so as to let her wounds breathe.
“They caned her … those lousy bastards over at Down Street Station … they caned her!” he’d muttered darkly to himself.
And sodomized her too, he’d concluded on spotting the telltale dried remnants of smeared cum surrounding her swollen and inflamed sphincter and down the gap between her ass cheeks. The methods used to interrogate her had quite obviously inflicted far more pain and suffering than the simple application of a bit of electricity.
“And all for what?” he’d asked himself aloud. To prove that she was who she claimed to be? A fact that he’d personally attested to after thoroughly researching her background and getting to know her intimately over the past several weeks? Wasn’t that enough? Turning her over to Francine Agazarian was both cruel and hardly necessary. Why hadn’t Laurence Grand simply accepted his word?
And it had been just then, when Underwood’s thoughts had turned darkest that there was a quick tap on the door, the click of a passkey inserted in the lock, followed by the appearance of Major Laurence Grand in the doorway.
“Afternoon Henry,” the Major offered amiably as he entered. “And how’’s our pretty young German Fräulein doing?”
“Sleeping,” he answered curtly, making no effort to hide his disdain.
“Oh, come now, Henry! You were forewarned, were you not? Agazarian was just doing her job. I was present for a part of it. Very professionally handled, I dare say.”
“Come on Laurence! Let’s not wallpaper over the fact that they not only applied electric shock to her most private bits, but they caned and sodomized her as well! That makes us no better than the Gestapo! And what were you doing there anyway? To get a good eyeful? I’ll bet they had her stripped naked and cruelly restrained when you arrived. A good show for all, eh?”
“Captain, you are out of line! I could have you disciplined and sacked. Now, snap out of it! Come to your proper senses! You’re supposed to be a professional! And this, Henry, let us not forget, is the real world … a perilous world. We in Section D have no time for sentimentalities!”
“Sorry, Major. It’s just that … “
“Yes, I understand. You’ve fallen for her. Can hardly blame you. She’s quite the looker isn’t she?”
“Yessir,” Underwood replied, resisting an insane urge to punch his superior in the face.
“Now, take a seat and listen to me, Henry, as I am about to inform you as to how this will all go down.”
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll overhear you? She’s sleeping, not dead.”
“No, I ordered Agazarian to have her drugged before delivering her here to you at the Savoy. She’s dead to the world until probably late this evening.”
“Why of course you did. Silly me. What was I thinking?”
“Cut the sarcasm, Captain, and listen! Despite her denials … even under the stress of a Section D interrogation … we’ve got very good reason to suspect that she is in fact here as a German spy.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“The key to the puzzle is her father. Joachim Mohr is an influential figure in Germany, as she readily points out when questioned. She claims, and we know, he played a role in getting her out of the clutches of the Gestapo in Hamburg and getting her over here.”
“Right … so?”
“The question is … how was Herr Mohr able to do that? Once one is in the clutches of the Gestapo and condemned under the German justice system, it doesn’t really matter who you are. But we know that Herr Mohr is a close acquaintance of Himmler and that he’s a major supplier in Germany’s crash rearmament programs and a key figure in programs aimed at developing new and revolutionary generations of weaponry … particularly rocketry.
“So, what does that prove? Nothing!”
“Perhaps. But, while we can never be absolutely certain. The essential point here is that we have reason enough to think she is here as an SD spy. We suspect that her father had little choice but to strike a deal with Himmler in order to save her from being executed by the Gestapo, and she had little choice but to go along with it. And what other evidence do we have, you might ask. Well, we’ve fed some things to a few of the people she’s recently met here at social events to drop into conversations with her … not real intelligence, mind you. But lo and behold these things have all turned up a week or so later in intercepted chatter in Germany!”
“Alright, I accept all that. But tell me. How is she communicating with her spymaster’s in Germany?”
“You already know the answer to that … Aron Bernstein… the Jewish chap she flew over with, who continues to turn up at her side from time to time … almost daily in fact.”
“She’s told me that they have a special bond, having escaped Germany together in a plane he stole and flew. They stay in touch. Plausible enough, one might say.”
“Yes, but here’s another piece of intelligence of considerable significance. We’re aware that the SD officer in charge in Hamburg at the time she was taken into custody there was a certain SS-Sturmbannführer Manfred Reinhardt. Reinhardt mysteriously dropped out of sight on the very day of our Fräulein Mohr’s miraculous escape and hasn’t been seen since. But … one of our young whiz-kids in Section D, on a hunch, began to compare some photos of the vanished SS-Sturmbannführer with those of our Aron Bernstein. And guess what! While there are some significant differences in their facial features, our analysts have concluded that Reinhardt and Bernstein are nonetheless one and the same!”
“Alright Major, I’m beginning to see the light. What’s next then?”
“Several things, Captain. Firstly, you are to continue in your role as Fräulein Mohr’s ardent paramour and constant companion with the objective of convincing her into becoming a spy for SIS. Don’t attempt to move too fast. We don’t want to spook her.”
“Right, I believe I’ve already laid the groundwork for that.”
“Secondly, once she agrees, we’ll ship her off to a facility presently being set up in Scotland near Arisaig, where she’ll undergo a fortnight’s regimen of rigorous training. Her absence will be explained for the sake of Reinhardt slash Bernstein and the general public as due to a special private invitation by the King to visit the Royal Family at Balmoral.”
“And what of me?”
“I’m getting to that. Thirdly, you’ll remain here in London where you’ll do your best to befriend Aron Bernstein. You’re obviously aware of one another. And in Mohr’s absence, why not invite him to have a pint or two together, compare notes, go out for a night together in Soho? Whatever.”
“I see. We’re to keep him on the hook, so to speak. Play him along. Keep the thread of misinformation flowing to Berlin?”
“Exactly.”
“And where is all this leading?”
“To a mission … a secret mission sometime in the future, in which we will send you and Fräulein Mohr into Germany together. Object: to get her clandestinely back in touch with her father, and to give the two of you the opportunity to learn from him, in one fashion or another, some useful firsthand intelligence regarding Germany’s secret weapons programs. I don’t know when, or exactly under what circumstances you’ll be sent. Could be a year or more from now. We could well be in a war with Hitler and his crowd by then. But thinking and planning ahead is what we do here in Section D.”
“The clouds of war do seem to be darkening, don’t they?”
“They do, and I dare say it portends to be technologically an altogether different contest than the last one. Which is why, in the meantime, I’m assigning you, Henry, to join our team tasked with keeping an eye on any and all developments in Germany pertaining to the field of aeronautics.”
“I see.”
“Now enough of this for now. I must get back to Century House. Do take good care of her when she awakens, Henry. Poor thing’s been through a lot this morning, I know. Unpleasant but necessary business, that.”
“Yessir.”
TBC
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Apparently not, considering the way they already have exposed Reinhardt's cover. But OK, SIS is also entitled to do a bit Gestapo fun!
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
PeterVl
Executioner
Tortured and raped by both Gestapo and SIS, Barbara is in a situation similar to that during Rudy's "confession" - brilliant @Barbaria1 and @Fossy! The question now is how on Earth Underwood will be able to persuade her to become a spy for SIS. The chances of Underwood becoming her spy seem to be greater 
.
.
Last edited:
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I would suggest the following strategy :Tortured and raped by both Gestapo and SIS, Barbara is in a situation similar to that during Rudy's "confession" - brilliant @Barbaria1 and @Fossy! The question now is how on Earth Underwood will be able to persuade her to become a spy for SIS. The chances of Underwood becoming her spy seem to be greater
a) separate Barb and 'Aron Bernstein'.
b) dispatch her to a post somewhere in Canada, where the most valuable information she can send to the SD is reindeer countings.
c) get 'Aron Bernstein' to the SIS interrogation centre and put on some fire under his butt!
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
Calling in John le Carré (RIP) for plotting advice.brilliant @Barbaria1 and @Fossy! The question now is how on Earth Underwood will be able to persuade her to become a spy for SIS. The chances of Underwood becoming her spy seem to be greater
PeterVl
Executioner
Yeah, that sounds like a good plan! And we should definitely remove SIS from the equation. This is where OSS could come in handy, or, at least, bringing in Audie Leon Murphy to "argue for neutrality".
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
And OSS would confine her secretly to the Tree Estate in Arkansas?
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Wow! Stunning
…and where she’ll fall in love with a dashing officer of the RCMP, and live happily ever after …