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LIMERICUS
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It continued in London
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
twonines
LIMERICUS
That lumberjack is really a whopper,
And Barb`s really so prim and proper.
Her lashes she flutters
As she demurely utters,
"Can I handle your massive chopper."
Last edited:
Migoz2
Senator
I was waiting to see who'd post that!
Migoz2
Senator
I'm amazed it took four hours!I was waiting to see who'd post that!
Tracing Bernstein's Credentials
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I was waiting to see who'd post that!
So did I, in the first place!Or some healthy lumberjack!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 08
Arisaig, Scotland, Friday, August 25th, 1939.
Warrant Officer First Class, Stanley Morris stood waiting on the platform of Arisaig Station as the locomotive pulled in and slowed, brakes applied and screeching. A string of London and North Eastern Railway passenger carriages with their signature varnished teak exterior panelling rolled slowly past and finally ground to a halt.
The train was quite empty. Very few passengers appeared to be on board, and so Morris had no difficulty spotting her, nose pressed against the rain spattered window glass of the third carriage.
That it was her, he was absolutely certain. He’d read of her in the tabloids and seen the photos published there … some of her elegantly dressed for high society social events, others of her engaged in more mundane activities, as well as the sensationalized ones of her undressed featured in the Daily Express.
While he waited for passengers to begin disembarking Morris reflected briefly on his recent totally unexpected and hurried reassignment from the 49th West Riding Infantry Division, where he had built a reputation as a tough and effective regular army regimental training sergeant major, to a posting at the new and barely opened training facility in Arisaig … operated not by the Army but by Section D of SIS.
He’d frankly never heard of Section D, or of Arisaig, for that matter. But, in a brief and curtly run audience with the chief of Section D, Major Laurence Grand, he’d been duly informed that he’d been selected, for his considerable experience and no-nonsense toughness, as the best man available to take on the task of training the very first contingent of a force being formed and fitted for espionage missions derp behind enemy lines.
On his arrival at Arisaig, a mere month ago, he’d found the facility entirely lacking … much of it being still under construction as it was not officially scheduled for opening until 1940. But he’d set about making do, and had judged the remote setting with its barren and rugged terrain and coastline to be ideal for his purposes.
And now, with the arrival of this Miss Mohr, his first trainee class of twelve was complete, and the task of whipping them into shape and teaching them the skills they’d need to survive could get properly underway. He wasn’t happy about having a woman in the ranks … and a much-celebrated Kraut, no less. But his was not to reason why.
One thing was certain though, Miss Mohr could expect no privileges, no privacy, no coddling. She’d be put through the worst. And when she faltered or failed, as he was certain she most surely would, she’d not escape harsh disciplinary measures. Morris had every intention of breaking her and sending her packing if he could, and the sooner the better for all involved. He reckoned she’d last but a few days at most.
However, back to the business at hand. There she was, stepping down from the carriage … attractive … classically feminine … fitted out fashionably in a cloche hat, belted woollen tweed jacket over a white tie-neck blouse and dark skirt, and heeled shoes.
“Miss Mohr?”
“Yes, and are you Mister Morris?”
“That’s Warrant Officer Morris from now on, but yes,” he corrected her. “Welcome to Arisaig. I have a lorry waiting behind the station house to take us to camp.”
“Is it very far?”
“No, quarter of a mile down the road.”
“I’ll need to fetch my bag.”
“No need. Someone will deliver it. Follow me, please.”
He watched as she clambered awkwardly onto the cab seat of the parked lorry, showing a generous amount of leg. There were going to be some very attractive side-benefits to this, he thought to himself.
They drove in silence, her attention taken by the beauty of Loch Nan Uamh as they skirted its north shore.
On reaching the camp he drove straight past Arisaig House, the commandeered stately dark-stone country house occupied by the camp’s officers, and pulled up in front of the hastily constructed and as yet unfinished barracks building.
“Your new home,” he announced with a wave of his hand. “It’s not the Savoy.”
“No, it’s most certainly not.”
“And there are your fellow trainees”
She looked in the direction he pointed and saw a column of young men coming down out of the hills and filing into camp. They were dirty and weary looking, obviously returning from a long day’s overland trek.
“It’s to the showers for the lot of them, dinner, operations review and bed. Everyone here is up by 04:30,” Morris informed her as they filed past headed for the barracks.
“Mmmmm … I could use a freshening up myself and I am quite hungry,” she allowed. “Perhaps you can show me to my quarters?”
“You’ll bunk with the rest of them,” he replied curtly. “And you’ll shower with the rest of them as well. The hot water here doesn’t last very long, so I suggest you fall in behind them before it’s too late.”
“But ….”
“Let’s get this straight here and now, Mohr. We’ve no time for niceties here. You’re either part of this outfit or not. You’ll eat with them, you’ll shower with them, you’ll sleep with them, you’ll train with them under my orders, and you’ll keep up no matter how challenging the training regime may be. My word is the law here. I’ll make no exceptions for you because you’re a woman. Starting right here and now. Got it?”
She started to say something but bit her lip.
“Now get in there and shower. I’ll bring around something more suitable for you to wear when you’re finished.”
He waited, fully expecting tears, anger, possibly a demand to be taken back to the train station.
Instead, she cast him a defiant look, abruptly turned on her heel and headed for the barracks, falling in behind the last of the men going inside.
Wharton Hotel, 14 Argyle Street, London, Friday, August 25th, 1939
With Helen, the London prostitute who had become a more or less nightly visitor to his hotel room dressed and out the door, Reinhardt lit himself a smoke, set himself down on the edge of the bed and once more opened the handwritten note left for him at the front desk.
It was from the Englishman whom Reinhardt had begun to despise for the charm he seemed to so effortlessly exert over Barbara. He knew Underwood was screwing her and that knowledge was driving him crazy.
The note read:
My dear Bernstein,
Now that Miss Mohr has sashayed off to Balmoral for a fortnight at the invitation of the King, I suspect that we are both feeling rather at loose ends. For I am well aware that you, like me, have feelings for her. So I’d like to propose, if I may, given that we have something in common, that we meet and get to know one another. Would you be interested in joining me for an evening out? Perhaps a dinner and a bit of Soho night life? Do let me know whether you’re interested. I’ll check back at your hotel desk tomorrow to see whether you might have left me a favorable reply.
Henry Underwood
Reinhardt took a long drag on his cigarette, made a face and then read the note again. He was perplexed as to what he should do. It certainly seemed a rather cheeky proposal. He found it difficult to imagine he and Underwood becoming friends. But then, on the other hand, there might be some advantage to it.
He already knew that Underwood was somehow associated with British Intelligence. Perhaps he could learn something through a direct association with the man, as well as discover more about Underwood’s amorous designs on Barbara. He suspected Underwood to be the type who would toss her aside soon enough, once he had his fill of fucking her. The thought of that made his blood boil. Yes, getting to know Underwood socially might provide some useful clues as to how he might discreetly warn Barbara off.
Furthermore, two weeks of having little more to do but sit in his hotel room, smoking and occasionally screwing Helen, was not all that appealing. He craved having someone to talk meaningfully with.
So he flipped Underwood’s note over and scrawled on the back side:
Yes, I accept. Please suggest a time and place at your earliest convenience. Aron Bernstein.
TBC
Arisaig, Scotland, Friday, August 25th, 1939.
Warrant Officer First Class, Stanley Morris stood waiting on the platform of Arisaig Station as the locomotive pulled in and slowed, brakes applied and screeching. A string of London and North Eastern Railway passenger carriages with their signature varnished teak exterior panelling rolled slowly past and finally ground to a halt.
The train was quite empty. Very few passengers appeared to be on board, and so Morris had no difficulty spotting her, nose pressed against the rain spattered window glass of the third carriage.
That it was her, he was absolutely certain. He’d read of her in the tabloids and seen the photos published there … some of her elegantly dressed for high society social events, others of her engaged in more mundane activities, as well as the sensationalized ones of her undressed featured in the Daily Express.
While he waited for passengers to begin disembarking Morris reflected briefly on his recent totally unexpected and hurried reassignment from the 49th West Riding Infantry Division, where he had built a reputation as a tough and effective regular army regimental training sergeant major, to a posting at the new and barely opened training facility in Arisaig … operated not by the Army but by Section D of SIS.
He’d frankly never heard of Section D, or of Arisaig, for that matter. But, in a brief and curtly run audience with the chief of Section D, Major Laurence Grand, he’d been duly informed that he’d been selected, for his considerable experience and no-nonsense toughness, as the best man available to take on the task of training the very first contingent of a force being formed and fitted for espionage missions derp behind enemy lines.
On his arrival at Arisaig, a mere month ago, he’d found the facility entirely lacking … much of it being still under construction as it was not officially scheduled for opening until 1940. But he’d set about making do, and had judged the remote setting with its barren and rugged terrain and coastline to be ideal for his purposes.
And now, with the arrival of this Miss Mohr, his first trainee class of twelve was complete, and the task of whipping them into shape and teaching them the skills they’d need to survive could get properly underway. He wasn’t happy about having a woman in the ranks … and a much-celebrated Kraut, no less. But his was not to reason why.
One thing was certain though, Miss Mohr could expect no privileges, no privacy, no coddling. She’d be put through the worst. And when she faltered or failed, as he was certain she most surely would, she’d not escape harsh disciplinary measures. Morris had every intention of breaking her and sending her packing if he could, and the sooner the better for all involved. He reckoned she’d last but a few days at most.
However, back to the business at hand. There she was, stepping down from the carriage … attractive … classically feminine … fitted out fashionably in a cloche hat, belted woollen tweed jacket over a white tie-neck blouse and dark skirt, and heeled shoes.
“Miss Mohr?”
“Yes, and are you Mister Morris?”
“That’s Warrant Officer Morris from now on, but yes,” he corrected her. “Welcome to Arisaig. I have a lorry waiting behind the station house to take us to camp.”
“Is it very far?”
“No, quarter of a mile down the road.”
“I’ll need to fetch my bag.”
“No need. Someone will deliver it. Follow me, please.”
He watched as she clambered awkwardly onto the cab seat of the parked lorry, showing a generous amount of leg. There were going to be some very attractive side-benefits to this, he thought to himself.
They drove in silence, her attention taken by the beauty of Loch Nan Uamh as they skirted its north shore.
On reaching the camp he drove straight past Arisaig House, the commandeered stately dark-stone country house occupied by the camp’s officers, and pulled up in front of the hastily constructed and as yet unfinished barracks building.
“Your new home,” he announced with a wave of his hand. “It’s not the Savoy.”
“No, it’s most certainly not.”
“And there are your fellow trainees”
She looked in the direction he pointed and saw a column of young men coming down out of the hills and filing into camp. They were dirty and weary looking, obviously returning from a long day’s overland trek.
“It’s to the showers for the lot of them, dinner, operations review and bed. Everyone here is up by 04:30,” Morris informed her as they filed past headed for the barracks.
“Mmmmm … I could use a freshening up myself and I am quite hungry,” she allowed. “Perhaps you can show me to my quarters?”
“You’ll bunk with the rest of them,” he replied curtly. “And you’ll shower with the rest of them as well. The hot water here doesn’t last very long, so I suggest you fall in behind them before it’s too late.”
“But ….”
“Let’s get this straight here and now, Mohr. We’ve no time for niceties here. You’re either part of this outfit or not. You’ll eat with them, you’ll shower with them, you’ll sleep with them, you’ll train with them under my orders, and you’ll keep up no matter how challenging the training regime may be. My word is the law here. I’ll make no exceptions for you because you’re a woman. Starting right here and now. Got it?”
She started to say something but bit her lip.
“Now get in there and shower. I’ll bring around something more suitable for you to wear when you’re finished.”
He waited, fully expecting tears, anger, possibly a demand to be taken back to the train station.
Instead, she cast him a defiant look, abruptly turned on her heel and headed for the barracks, falling in behind the last of the men going inside.
Wharton Hotel, 14 Argyle Street, London, Friday, August 25th, 1939
With Helen, the London prostitute who had become a more or less nightly visitor to his hotel room dressed and out the door, Reinhardt lit himself a smoke, set himself down on the edge of the bed and once more opened the handwritten note left for him at the front desk.
It was from the Englishman whom Reinhardt had begun to despise for the charm he seemed to so effortlessly exert over Barbara. He knew Underwood was screwing her and that knowledge was driving him crazy.
The note read:
My dear Bernstein,
Now that Miss Mohr has sashayed off to Balmoral for a fortnight at the invitation of the King, I suspect that we are both feeling rather at loose ends. For I am well aware that you, like me, have feelings for her. So I’d like to propose, if I may, given that we have something in common, that we meet and get to know one another. Would you be interested in joining me for an evening out? Perhaps a dinner and a bit of Soho night life? Do let me know whether you’re interested. I’ll check back at your hotel desk tomorrow to see whether you might have left me a favorable reply.
Henry Underwood
Reinhardt took a long drag on his cigarette, made a face and then read the note again. He was perplexed as to what he should do. It certainly seemed a rather cheeky proposal. He found it difficult to imagine he and Underwood becoming friends. But then, on the other hand, there might be some advantage to it.
He already knew that Underwood was somehow associated with British Intelligence. Perhaps he could learn something through a direct association with the man, as well as discover more about Underwood’s amorous designs on Barbara. He suspected Underwood to be the type who would toss her aside soon enough, once he had his fill of fucking her. The thought of that made his blood boil. Yes, getting to know Underwood socially might provide some useful clues as to how he might discreetly warn Barbara off.
Furthermore, two weeks of having little more to do but sit in his hotel room, smoking and occasionally screwing Helen, was not all that appealing. He craved having someone to talk meaningfully with.
So he flipped Underwood’s note over and scrawled on the back side:
Yes, I accept. Please suggest a time and place at your earliest convenience. Aron Bernstein.
TBC
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
A lorry? If I would have been Warrant Officer Morris, I had made her march to the camp! "Left-right! Left-right! Or for you : einz-zwei, eins zwei, Fräulein Mohr!"
Aha! This Morris guy will unlearn Barb from complaining!
PeterVl
Executioner
It's Temporary. It looks like she's uncovering numerous alternatives, but she'll need to meditate and come to some conclusions..
Migoz2
Senator
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
Chapter 09
Arisaig House, Scotland, Friday, August 25th, 1939
Abandoning their queue, the SOE trainees crowded down the aisle between the beds to the rear of the building, where the latrines and showers were located. They eagerly stripped off their clothing, which some of them had been wearing for two straight days on the manoeuvre that was ending as Barbara arrived. She was already behind, was her reflection upon seeing their bedraggled state.
As she watched the men strip, she expected to be the centre of unwanted attention, but to her relief only one or two of them glanced at her, but that was all as she began to slowly remove her clothing. However, by the time she had finished taking off every stitch of the garments she wore the showers were full and so in order to move under the water flow she would have to push through her fellow trainees, which Barb was reluctant to do. The shower room was really too small for so many of them at once.
Suddenly, from just outside the entrance to the showers, they heard Warrant Officer Morris’ unmistakable roar …
“Atten-shun! Officer present!” With a jump Barbara turned to see WO Morris, carrying his instructor’s swagger stick, march into the room with his staff Sergeant at his side. Being totally new to the camp and not, as yet, attuned to military discipline, she failed to come to attention, whilst subconsciously holding a towel over the front of her body, instead of standing straight with it at her sides like the others.
Morris went over to her immediately, stooping to bring his face within inches of the erring trainee, taking a moment to ogle her beauty.
“Trainee Agent Mohr, did you hear me order you to attention?” he demanded in such a loud voice that she closed her eyes and winced.
“Y… Yes, Warrant Officer Morris, I heard you,” she replied, her voice quavering.
“Then why are you not at attention this second?” he screamed, the passage of air from his mouth gusting over her head.
“I … I don’t have any clothes on,” she quavered. “I’m naked, Sir.”
Morris was unrelenting. “Tell everyone your name Trainee Agent,” he demanded.
“Trainee Agent Mohr, Sir,” she forced out.
“Spell your name for us all please, Mohr.” He grinned.
With a gulp Barbara began to articulate. “M … O … H … R.“
Looking around she saw one or two of her fellow trainees suddenly take a greater interest.
“And is that … Miss Mohr?” Her Warrant Officer grinned.
“Y … yes,” she nodded.
“What? Are you lying to your senior officer Mohr?”
“N … no Sir.”
“Then try again. What is the honorific before your Kraut name?”
“Fräulein. I am Fräulein Barbara Mohr.”
“Now there were one or two audible gasps.
“She’s a fucking Nazi?” One young blonde haired Trainee Agent said.
“She is not a Nazi,” WO Morris interjected, “… but she is a Kraut, and I for one don’t trust this little cunt as far as I can throw her. So, if any one of you has any reason to doubt this bitch’s loyalty you come and see me. Understand?”
There were a few mutterings.
“Understand?” Morris repeated, to which there was a resounding “Yes Sir,” from everyone except poor Fräulein Mohr, who was on the verge of tears, but equally determined to hold them back.
“Trainee Agent Fräulein, Kraut-bitch Mohr,” WO Morris was once more in her face. “… allow me to explain a few facts of life to you. You do not have the right to decide which orders to obey. You are obliged to obey all lawful orders from your superiors. Failure to do so constitutes insubordination, a potential court-martial offence. Is that understood, Mohr?”
“Y-yes, Sir,” she answered, now unable to stop her body from trembling.
“Fräulein Mohr, you will drop that towel …” He paused, glowering at her until the towel slipped from her shaking fingers to the tiled floor, leaving her beauty bare and exposed.
“… now you will turn to face the wall…” Again, he waited for the quivering trainee to obey before saying any more. “… and you will bend over to hold your ankles in your hands, keeping your legs straight.”
This induced another little involuntary cry from the miserable girl.
“Look at this,” he said to the gathered crowd of fellow trainees, as he smoothed his palm over the scars on Barbara’s still healing ass. “She likes to feel it on this bare skin, is that right Mohr?”
She didn’t answer.
“I SAID IS THAT RIGHT. MOHR?”
“N … no Sir,” she squeaked.
“Another lie to your senior officer, you just cannot help yourself little Fräulein Kraut-cunt, can you.”
She gulped. Her back ached and her body stiffened as she held this most humiliating and degrading position, feeling every eye in the shower room upon her.
“Trainee Agent Mohr, look at me,” he instructed.
She did her best to obey his command.
“You have been insubordinate, in that you disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer in a time of high alert. If you were convicted by a court martial, you could receive five years in prison, possibly even shot.” Morris said mercilessly.
Barbara whimpered.
“However, I will offer you a way out of your self inflicted predicament. Instead of convening a general court martial, we can handle the matter here and now informally, with administrative discipline, and you will not need to face a court, nor will there be any record of the offence placed in your file. Do you wish to have a court martial or do you request administrative discipline?”
“Fuck …” she whispered quietly, seeing exactly the corner she had been backed into. “I… request administrative discipline, Sir,” the trembling girl forced out.
Morris nodded sagely as the other trainees were moving towels to the front of their naked bodies in order to hide the gaggle of burgeoning erections that were gathering.
“You will receive ten strokes from my swagger stick in response to your request Fräulein Mohr, after which this incident will be forgotten as if it had never happened,” Morris told her. “Do you understand the sentence, Trainee Agent Mohr?”
“Yes, Warrant Officer Morris … I understand… “ she said quietly, a choke obstructing the clarity of her words.
“You understand what Mohr?” He responded pushing further.
“I understand my sentence, Warrant Officer Morris.”
“Very well,” Morris said, stepping back and cutting the air with his whippy, wooden swagger stick.
“You will count each stroke aloud, Mohr. Maintain the position,” he cautioned. “If you fail to do so, the stroke will be repeated.”
He raised his practised arm and brought the stick down and then up to cut into the soft flesh on the underside of the naked girl’s tight little ass cheeks. The blow was so hard the stick sank deep, indenting into her smooth flesh.
The smack resounded throughout the stone-built room.
“Arghhhhhhhhhh!”
Barbara gave a great cry, stumbled, then collapsed onto the floor, screaming and clutching her wounded posterior.
“Resume the position immediately, Kraut-cunt Mohr, or I will …” Morris began, but she did not allow him to finish the threat, shouting out, “No, no!”
She scrambled to her feet, doubled over and grabbed her ankles again. “I’m ready, Warrant Officer, see?” she asked anxiously.
“You failed to remain in position, and forgot to count. Spread your legs further apart, Mohr,” he directed. He reached down casually between her thighs, cupping her pussy in his hand causing her to flinch and convulse into his touch.
He bent low, his lips close to her ear. “Do you want it here?” he asked softly, his fingers spreading her soft lips and probing invasively inside. “Do you wonder what the stick would feel like fucking that sweet Kraut cunt of yours?” he repeated.
“No, Sir, please not that,” She pleaded fearfully, tears now dropping freely from her inverted face. “Please don't do that!”
The other naked trainees looked on, their expressions now a little more horrified than excited, as they witnessed the sadistic, inhuman punishment of their fellow apprentice, but not one of them dared to speak up in protest, as they remained frozen in position whilst Warrant Officer Morris completed the punishment of the miscreant Fräulein Mohr with an agonising slowness. He dragged out the administrative discipline by humiliating her, probing her pussy and ass with the crop in between pummelling her exposed and freshly marked rear with his stick. He stopped several times to explore her body with his fingers, and he frequently hit her hard enough to knock her to the floor before he finally delivered the last stroke to the poor girl’s welted bottom.
“I believe I’ve saved you from a court martial, Kraut-cunt Mohr,” Morris said, looking into her eyes as she slowly straightened up, her hands lightly pressing behind her abused bottom. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” He smiled expectantly.
Barbara was panting heavily, gasping for breath as the agony throbbed in her battered ass cheeks. “Thank… you… Sir,” she uttered, staring at her tormentor astonished by his cruelty. “I… am so… very... grateful to you.”
He looked up and addressed the entire group. “I will now leave you all to finish up here. The Sergeant will leave fresh uniforms out for you, then you will return to your barracks for the night. Make sure you get enough rest, because tomorrow you rise at 4:30 am.”
Barbara was certain that she heard the bastard chuckling as he left.
Barrack Room Block 1a - Arisaig House, Scotland, Friday 25 August 1939
Barbara lay on her small cot wondering just how she had got herself into this. Yet again her poor bottom was sore beyond comprehension and not for the first time.
“Here,”
She looked up at the man, boy really, who had appeared by her side offering her a small cellophane covered packet of Huntley and Palmers Army number 4 biscuits.
She smiled taking the small pack gratefully because she had been in too much agony, not to mention feeling extremely humiliated to take the rations when they were formally dished out a short while ago.
“He’ll have your suitcase re-packed before the night’s out. You can be on the train home, wherever that is, by morning Fräulein … erm Miss Mohr.”
She smiled a sardonic smile, albeit a weak one.
“I’m not going home,” she said in a quiet voice. “I have a job to do and I will do it. That Scheißkerl will not make me quit.” She continued with stalwart defiance.
“Is the Kraut-cunt speaking German?” It was the young blonde-haired man, the one who had accused her of being a Nazi earlier in the shower room.
“Leave it William, she’s in enough pain as it is.”
But William had the bit between his teeth as he dragged his bare chested body over to her cot. She turned her head to face him, but could not react quickly enough to stop him reaching under her pillow and pulling out a small concise edition of Gedichte by Goethe, which fell open at the page with the corner turned down, where the famous poem Elective Affinities was printed.
“Why are you writing in this Kraut-cunt,” the blonde-haired bully commented.
“Give it back to me, please.” Barbara tried to keep her tone on the right side of begging.
“So what does this mean huh Fräulein?” William grinned reading the pencil notes Barb had made on the page. ‘… This poem is a metaphor for the conflict between responsibility and passion ...' Why would you write that huh Kraut-cunt? Are you still conflicted huh? Still thinking Nazi thoughts huh bitch? I’m taking this to Warrant Officer Morris, and then you’ll really be in trouble …”
And before Barbara or anyone could stop him, Blonde William, the barrack room bully had headed out with the little tome in his tight grip.
TBC
Arisaig House, Scotland, Friday, August 25th, 1939
Abandoning their queue, the SOE trainees crowded down the aisle between the beds to the rear of the building, where the latrines and showers were located. They eagerly stripped off their clothing, which some of them had been wearing for two straight days on the manoeuvre that was ending as Barbara arrived. She was already behind, was her reflection upon seeing their bedraggled state.
As she watched the men strip, she expected to be the centre of unwanted attention, but to her relief only one or two of them glanced at her, but that was all as she began to slowly remove her clothing. However, by the time she had finished taking off every stitch of the garments she wore the showers were full and so in order to move under the water flow she would have to push through her fellow trainees, which Barb was reluctant to do. The shower room was really too small for so many of them at once.
Suddenly, from just outside the entrance to the showers, they heard Warrant Officer Morris’ unmistakable roar …
“Atten-shun! Officer present!” With a jump Barbara turned to see WO Morris, carrying his instructor’s swagger stick, march into the room with his staff Sergeant at his side. Being totally new to the camp and not, as yet, attuned to military discipline, she failed to come to attention, whilst subconsciously holding a towel over the front of her body, instead of standing straight with it at her sides like the others.
Morris went over to her immediately, stooping to bring his face within inches of the erring trainee, taking a moment to ogle her beauty.
“Trainee Agent Mohr, did you hear me order you to attention?” he demanded in such a loud voice that she closed her eyes and winced.
“Y… Yes, Warrant Officer Morris, I heard you,” she replied, her voice quavering.
“Then why are you not at attention this second?” he screamed, the passage of air from his mouth gusting over her head.
“I … I don’t have any clothes on,” she quavered. “I’m naked, Sir.”
Morris was unrelenting. “Tell everyone your name Trainee Agent,” he demanded.
“Trainee Agent Mohr, Sir,” she forced out.
“Spell your name for us all please, Mohr.” He grinned.
With a gulp Barbara began to articulate. “M … O … H … R.“
Looking around she saw one or two of her fellow trainees suddenly take a greater interest.
“And is that … Miss Mohr?” Her Warrant Officer grinned.
“Y … yes,” she nodded.
“What? Are you lying to your senior officer Mohr?”
“N … no Sir.”
“Then try again. What is the honorific before your Kraut name?”
“Fräulein. I am Fräulein Barbara Mohr.”
“Now there were one or two audible gasps.
“She’s a fucking Nazi?” One young blonde haired Trainee Agent said.
“She is not a Nazi,” WO Morris interjected, “… but she is a Kraut, and I for one don’t trust this little cunt as far as I can throw her. So, if any one of you has any reason to doubt this bitch’s loyalty you come and see me. Understand?”
There were a few mutterings.
“Understand?” Morris repeated, to which there was a resounding “Yes Sir,” from everyone except poor Fräulein Mohr, who was on the verge of tears, but equally determined to hold them back.
“Trainee Agent Fräulein, Kraut-bitch Mohr,” WO Morris was once more in her face. “… allow me to explain a few facts of life to you. You do not have the right to decide which orders to obey. You are obliged to obey all lawful orders from your superiors. Failure to do so constitutes insubordination, a potential court-martial offence. Is that understood, Mohr?”
“Y-yes, Sir,” she answered, now unable to stop her body from trembling.
“Fräulein Mohr, you will drop that towel …” He paused, glowering at her until the towel slipped from her shaking fingers to the tiled floor, leaving her beauty bare and exposed.
“… now you will turn to face the wall…” Again, he waited for the quivering trainee to obey before saying any more. “… and you will bend over to hold your ankles in your hands, keeping your legs straight.”
This induced another little involuntary cry from the miserable girl.
“Look at this,” he said to the gathered crowd of fellow trainees, as he smoothed his palm over the scars on Barbara’s still healing ass. “She likes to feel it on this bare skin, is that right Mohr?”
She didn’t answer.
“I SAID IS THAT RIGHT. MOHR?”
“N … no Sir,” she squeaked.
“Another lie to your senior officer, you just cannot help yourself little Fräulein Kraut-cunt, can you.”
She gulped. Her back ached and her body stiffened as she held this most humiliating and degrading position, feeling every eye in the shower room upon her.
“Trainee Agent Mohr, look at me,” he instructed.
She did her best to obey his command.
“You have been insubordinate, in that you disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer in a time of high alert. If you were convicted by a court martial, you could receive five years in prison, possibly even shot.” Morris said mercilessly.
Barbara whimpered.
“However, I will offer you a way out of your self inflicted predicament. Instead of convening a general court martial, we can handle the matter here and now informally, with administrative discipline, and you will not need to face a court, nor will there be any record of the offence placed in your file. Do you wish to have a court martial or do you request administrative discipline?”
“Fuck …” she whispered quietly, seeing exactly the corner she had been backed into. “I… request administrative discipline, Sir,” the trembling girl forced out.
Morris nodded sagely as the other trainees were moving towels to the front of their naked bodies in order to hide the gaggle of burgeoning erections that were gathering.
“You will receive ten strokes from my swagger stick in response to your request Fräulein Mohr, after which this incident will be forgotten as if it had never happened,” Morris told her. “Do you understand the sentence, Trainee Agent Mohr?”
“Yes, Warrant Officer Morris … I understand… “ she said quietly, a choke obstructing the clarity of her words.
“You understand what Mohr?” He responded pushing further.
“I understand my sentence, Warrant Officer Morris.”
“Very well,” Morris said, stepping back and cutting the air with his whippy, wooden swagger stick.
“You will count each stroke aloud, Mohr. Maintain the position,” he cautioned. “If you fail to do so, the stroke will be repeated.”
He raised his practised arm and brought the stick down and then up to cut into the soft flesh on the underside of the naked girl’s tight little ass cheeks. The blow was so hard the stick sank deep, indenting into her smooth flesh.
The smack resounded throughout the stone-built room.
“Arghhhhhhhhhh!”
Barbara gave a great cry, stumbled, then collapsed onto the floor, screaming and clutching her wounded posterior.
“Resume the position immediately, Kraut-cunt Mohr, or I will …” Morris began, but she did not allow him to finish the threat, shouting out, “No, no!”
She scrambled to her feet, doubled over and grabbed her ankles again. “I’m ready, Warrant Officer, see?” she asked anxiously.
“You failed to remain in position, and forgot to count. Spread your legs further apart, Mohr,” he directed. He reached down casually between her thighs, cupping her pussy in his hand causing her to flinch and convulse into his touch.
He bent low, his lips close to her ear. “Do you want it here?” he asked softly, his fingers spreading her soft lips and probing invasively inside. “Do you wonder what the stick would feel like fucking that sweet Kraut cunt of yours?” he repeated.
“No, Sir, please not that,” She pleaded fearfully, tears now dropping freely from her inverted face. “Please don't do that!”
The other naked trainees looked on, their expressions now a little more horrified than excited, as they witnessed the sadistic, inhuman punishment of their fellow apprentice, but not one of them dared to speak up in protest, as they remained frozen in position whilst Warrant Officer Morris completed the punishment of the miscreant Fräulein Mohr with an agonising slowness. He dragged out the administrative discipline by humiliating her, probing her pussy and ass with the crop in between pummelling her exposed and freshly marked rear with his stick. He stopped several times to explore her body with his fingers, and he frequently hit her hard enough to knock her to the floor before he finally delivered the last stroke to the poor girl’s welted bottom.
“I believe I’ve saved you from a court martial, Kraut-cunt Mohr,” Morris said, looking into her eyes as she slowly straightened up, her hands lightly pressing behind her abused bottom. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” He smiled expectantly.
Barbara was panting heavily, gasping for breath as the agony throbbed in her battered ass cheeks. “Thank… you… Sir,” she uttered, staring at her tormentor astonished by his cruelty. “I… am so… very... grateful to you.”
He looked up and addressed the entire group. “I will now leave you all to finish up here. The Sergeant will leave fresh uniforms out for you, then you will return to your barracks for the night. Make sure you get enough rest, because tomorrow you rise at 4:30 am.”
Barbara was certain that she heard the bastard chuckling as he left.
Barrack Room Block 1a - Arisaig House, Scotland, Friday 25 August 1939
Barbara lay on her small cot wondering just how she had got herself into this. Yet again her poor bottom was sore beyond comprehension and not for the first time.
“Here,”
She looked up at the man, boy really, who had appeared by her side offering her a small cellophane covered packet of Huntley and Palmers Army number 4 biscuits.
She smiled taking the small pack gratefully because she had been in too much agony, not to mention feeling extremely humiliated to take the rations when they were formally dished out a short while ago.
“He’ll have your suitcase re-packed before the night’s out. You can be on the train home, wherever that is, by morning Fräulein … erm Miss Mohr.”
She smiled a sardonic smile, albeit a weak one.
“I’m not going home,” she said in a quiet voice. “I have a job to do and I will do it. That Scheißkerl will not make me quit.” She continued with stalwart defiance.
“Is the Kraut-cunt speaking German?” It was the young blonde-haired man, the one who had accused her of being a Nazi earlier in the shower room.
“Leave it William, she’s in enough pain as it is.”
But William had the bit between his teeth as he dragged his bare chested body over to her cot. She turned her head to face him, but could not react quickly enough to stop him reaching under her pillow and pulling out a small concise edition of Gedichte by Goethe, which fell open at the page with the corner turned down, where the famous poem Elective Affinities was printed.
“Why are you writing in this Kraut-cunt,” the blonde-haired bully commented.
“Give it back to me, please.” Barbara tried to keep her tone on the right side of begging.
“So what does this mean huh Fräulein?” William grinned reading the pencil notes Barb had made on the page. ‘… This poem is a metaphor for the conflict between responsibility and passion ...' Why would you write that huh Kraut-cunt? Are you still conflicted huh? Still thinking Nazi thoughts huh bitch? I’m taking this to Warrant Officer Morris, and then you’ll really be in trouble …”
And before Barbara or anyone could stop him, Blonde William, the barrack room bully had headed out with the little tome in his tight grip.
TBC
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Next time, Barb, apply for the WAAF!
Watch out! He is threatening with fine print!