Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
They just get better '99 ...
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It continued in London
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Barb is already a regular customer in the darker offices of Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse 8!
Last Liaison in Lyon
Barb and I have been working on a new story. It's a spy tale set largely in Occupied France, inspired by the true story of Virginia Hall, an American who worked bravely and highly successfully for the British Special Operations Executive (SOE) in and around Lyon. Her true story is told in...
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Das Fallbeil
Das Fallbeil Time for a short story! I was thinking back in September about other forms of execution, and the guillotine (or das Fallbeil in German) came to mind along with some reading I had been doing about the failed 20 July 1944 plot to assassinate Hitler and the frenzied rush in the...
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Berlin Diary
Hello everyone. I am starting a new serialized story prompted in part by my recent time in Berlin as well as by bits and pieces from several old films and books. Here is the opening episode. New episodes will be posted here daily, so watch for them and enjoy. Berlin Diary Episode 1. Thursday...
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And I probably forget a few Moore.
Thanks Lox, Nazis make good villains. I seem to recall writing and posting a poem or two as well, but back in time and have no idea where to find the links.
One thing about Barb, you can never accuse her of taking the easy way out.
Under normal circumstances, this would be a stupid note. "Hello, I'm the lover of the girl you also want, and so I think we should chat." I can't see it ending well. However, when the other lover is a Nazi, pretending to be a Jewish resistance fighter, and is already screwing a prostitute every night, it just might work.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
But I assume, it is the first time that Barb meets such high ranked people like Himmler and Heydrich personally at the Prinz-Albrecht Strasse!
Yes, I’m quite the little social climber.
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
That Basement Cell
Yes! Or Totally Bare in Chair!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 14
Outside the Villa of Joachim Mohr, Hohenfelde, Hamburg, Monday morning , 29th September, 1939.
Henry Underwood was feeling miserable having spent the entire night outdoors, an experience worsened by a persistent light rain. After many hours of indecisive meandering about along the banks of the Hohenfelder Bucht, trying to decide what to do next, he’d finally opted just before dawn, on a hunch, to return to the Mohr villa in Hohenfelde.
A plan had come to him, probably crazy, he had to admit. He would try somehow to rescue Barbara. And, it was something she had told him, something he’d suddenly recalled, that gave him an idea of exactly how he might begin. It had been a comment she had made about her father’s daily habits, back when they were devising their plans for breaking into the villa to photograph the papers he kept in his study. She had said he was in the regular routine of having a morning constitutional stroll alone in the villa garden … a time alone he valued for the purpose of thoughtful reflection.
Crouching behind a large autumn blooming bush, he waited until Joachim Mohr appeared on the path and suddenly stepped out to reveal himself.
“Well … uh … my word … what a surprise! Herr Unterholz … is it? I see you’ve returned. I should have thought you well on your way back to England by now.”
“No, Herr Mohr. I have, as you say … returned … returned because I need to talk to you, I respectfully ask that you hear me out.”
Despite a look of consternation on his face, Herr Mohr replied, “Alright, Unterholz. I’m listening … please join me on my morning stroll, but kindly keep your distance. You look a filthy mess.”
“Yes, sorry, but I was out all night in the weather.”
“I must say, your German is excellent, Herr Unterholz. Quite an accomplishment for an Englishman. Tell me, what is your real surname?”
“It’s Underwood, sir.”
“Underwood - Unterholz? That’s truly pathetic. Your SIS needs to be far more imaginative than that if England hopes to win this war!” he guffawed in English.
“I’ll let them know you said that, sir.” Your English is very good too, if I might say so. Which brings me quickly to the crux of what I wish to speak with you about.”
“Go on …”
“Well, in all honesty, I’m puzzled. Puzzled as to why you’d allow your own daughter to be hauled off under arrest to Berlin to be questioned and quite possibly tortured there, and yet allow the likes of me, an English agent, to make off with copies of top-secret documents. Your daughter mentioned something before I left about ‘working both sides of the fence’. Is that really your game?”
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business what my ‘game’ might be, Mr Underwood. But hers is what I will tell you. I’m a businessman who happens to specialize in armaments design and production. I’m also a patriotic German who loves his country. England, though, is a place I also have a pleasant affinity for. I have many close friends there, several of whom are influential, including your Mr Churchill. Barbara and I both, I’m afraid, each in our own ways, find ourselves and our loyalties stretched in these troubling times. Hitler and his kind are a menace, and war is a terrible thing for all involved. So yes, I am engaged in developing and producing armaments for my country. But, at the same time, I don’t necessarily want the Nazis and my country to prevail in this rapidly widening European conflict. I have no desire for a repeat of the humiliations of Versailles either. So, what do I do? I play both sides. I dutifully supply the German war machine, but at the same time I keep Britain we’ll apprised of new technologies through my English contacts and I see to it that the rollout of new weaponry in Germany is goes forward at a snail’s pace.”
“So, you’re perfectly happy then to send me off with a roll of film filled with secrets?”
“Yes, it suits my purpose.”
“But equally happy to sacrifice your daughter … by sending her into the waiting arms of the Gestapo?”
“If necessary and sadly, yes. But I’ve raised her well. She’s smart … strong … and committed to her own causes and beliefs. I dare say she may well very find her own way out of her difficulties.”
“Would you be willing to support me in an attempt to rescue her?”
“Rescue her, eh? From behind the scenes, yes. If you don’t mind coming into the house for a bath and clean clothes, I’ll go about arranging for a car, Then I’ll have you driven to Berlin, and put in contact with individuals there who might be of assistance to you.”
“Did you expect me to turn up here this morning?”
“Of course I did. In fact, I was counting on it.”
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Monday morning, 29th September, 1939.
The cell in which Barbara had been left for the night was small, filthy and chillingly cold. And she’d been immobilized, forced to spend the entire time laying naked on the concrete floor, wrists bound tightly behind her back and ankles shackled together.
She had neither slept nor had she gotten any peace. Rest of any kind had been precluded by the constant screaming and wailing, the sounds of beatings, the plaintive voices … both male and female … begging for mercy, all interspersed with the maniacal laughter and shouted threats of Gestapo torturers, coming from the interrogation rooms down the corridor.
The rumored horrors of the nightly grisly goings on in the subterranean detention area at 8 Prinz-Albrecht~Strasse were obviously anything but exaggerated. What went on there was staggeringly appalling … far beyond, in both scale and brutality, anything she had experienced the previous year when arrested in Hamburg.
She was in a place of truly unparalleled terror. And unless, she could somehow convince Herr Himmler otherwise, he was certain to make good on his darkly menacing promise “to torture and destroy her piece by piece”.
And now it was about to begin.
A face appeared in the small window of the heavy steel door to her cell. A jangle of keys quickly followed, then the click of a lock. And in they rushed … two of them, big and burly, wearing the uniform of a low-grade Scharführer
“Orders are to work this little bitch over!” announced one of them as he roughly yanked her to her feet by her hair.
“With pleasure!” grunted the second, driving his balled fist into the softness of her belly, causing her to gasp and fall to her knees as the first Scharführer released his grip on her scalp.
Bending over the stricken girl, they picked her up by her elbows and hauled her out into the corridor, then off in the direction of an interrogation room equipped with a waterboard, onto which she was promptly thrown down onto, facing the dour ceiling.
She winced as leather straps were cinched-tight across her chest, hips and thighs … so tight that they dug painfully into her flesh … particularly the one at her chest, which pressed down across the base of her breasts, forcing the soft and pliable feminine tissue to mound upwards towards her shoulders.
And, to the thick base of each of her hardened nipples, floating tumescently on their pebbled aureoles, they affixed a wired alligator clip … bringing back to her the horrific memory of being similarly connected during her previous ordeal at the hands of the Gestapo in Hamburg.
“Our fräulein looks thirsty,” observed one of her tormentors as he surveyed their handiwork.
“Indeed. I suggest we give her a drink,” announced the other, pulling a lever which caused the heavy oaken plank onto which she was strapped to abruptly tilt on its hinged fulcrum, plunging her head and upper torso into a basin of cold fetid water. It all happened so fast that it caught her unprepared. And for a brief time she experienced the terror of feeling like she would drown before they suddenly raised her up … choking and gasping, hair plastered to her head and face.
“That’s better,” chortled the second Scharführer as he helpfully slammed his fist into her belly to assist the process of expelling a quantity of half-swallowed brine.
Heart pounding and thoroughly frightened, Barb found herself abruptly left alone … presumably left to think about what was to come next, possibly to await the arrival of Himmler and Heydrich. She hoped for the latter. She knew she likely would have but only one chance to buy time … to sow a seed of uncertainty in their minds.
And the opportunity soon presented itself, for suddenly appearing at her side was the Reichsführer-SS.
“Good morning, Barbara. I trust you’ve had a pleasant night and are ready for a productive conversation this morning,” he greeted as though she were some kind of house guest. “I regret to inform you that Heydrich is unable to join us. He’s engaged upstairs in the decoding of the latest dispatch from Reinhardt in London, which arrived but a short time ago.”
“Please release me from this frightful board, Uncle Heinie,” she pleaded, daring to use the nickname he had always insisted on in her youth to address him on his frequent overnight visits to her father’s home. “… so that we can have a civilized conversation?”
“Shall I finish wiring her, Herr Reichsführer-SS?” interjected one of her torturers, expectantly holding up a third wired-alligator-clip.
Himmler nodded assent, and watched silently as the man used his stubby fingers to roughly pry apart her labia and to probe around the soft folds within until he found what he was seeking and snapped the clip in place … causing her to buck and howl in pain, her engorged little nub now savagely serrated.
“If you have something meaningful you want to tell me, Barbara, I suggest you do it right now,” warned Himmler. “Before these two gentlemen set themselves to work.”
“Alright. I will. Think back, Uncle Heinie,” she began, daring again to address him using his nickname. “Think back to that day in December of last year, when you met in your office with me, my father, Heydrich and Reinhardt. You and my father, with the help of Reinhardt, had just conspired to successfully rescue me from being executed by the Gestapo in Hamburg. And, in return, I had agreed, prompted by my father, to be sent to England to spy for the SD. It needs to be understood here and now that I’ve been faithful in keeping my end of that bargain. Indeed, I have done something far beyond what was originally required of me. I’ve managed to penetrate SIS, to gain its trust, to be trained as a spy!”
Barb paused for effect, before continuing … “The English see me as a double agent … an asset that can be used to feed the SD disinformation. But, in fact, that hasn’t happened. Reinhardt is fully aware of my double game, of my loyalty to the Reich. And your own SD analysts can attest to the veracity of the reports I’ve sent since my arrival in London. Moreover, I am now in a position to serve you as a potential source of information on the inner workings of the British Intelligence services. For example, I can tell you, from my own personal experience, exactly how the SD trains its undercover agents, even the exact place where it’s done in a remote corner of Scotland. Really, uncle Heinie, the very last thing you should be doing is torturing a valuable asset such as myself!”
At that very moment Heydrich suddenly appeared waving a sheet of paper.
“What’s the word from Reinhardt?” enquired Himmler, looking up at his deputy expectantly.
“The news is that Reinhardt is dead! This morning’s dispatch was sent not by Reinhardt, but by Krüger, our other man in London. Apparently Reinhardt was taken into custody during the night, on suspicion of espionage, by the British authorities. He reportedly took his own life by biting a cyanide capsule rather than allowing himself to be interrogated! Krüger, by the way, believes Reinhardt had to have been betrayed by one of our own.”
Himmler seemed stunned by the news, as was Barbara. They both knew that the only other SD agents currently operating in London were Krüger and Barbara!
But the Reichsführer-SS recovered quickly. And when the two Gestapo torturers standing at Barbara’s side looked expectantly to him for orders, he frowned, and then said softly as he turned on his heel to follow Heydrich from the Interrogation room, “Give her Hell!”
TBC
Outside the Villa of Joachim Mohr, Hohenfelde, Hamburg, Monday morning , 29th September, 1939.
Henry Underwood was feeling miserable having spent the entire night outdoors, an experience worsened by a persistent light rain. After many hours of indecisive meandering about along the banks of the Hohenfelder Bucht, trying to decide what to do next, he’d finally opted just before dawn, on a hunch, to return to the Mohr villa in Hohenfelde.
A plan had come to him, probably crazy, he had to admit. He would try somehow to rescue Barbara. And, it was something she had told him, something he’d suddenly recalled, that gave him an idea of exactly how he might begin. It had been a comment she had made about her father’s daily habits, back when they were devising their plans for breaking into the villa to photograph the papers he kept in his study. She had said he was in the regular routine of having a morning constitutional stroll alone in the villa garden … a time alone he valued for the purpose of thoughtful reflection.
Crouching behind a large autumn blooming bush, he waited until Joachim Mohr appeared on the path and suddenly stepped out to reveal himself.
“Well … uh … my word … what a surprise! Herr Unterholz … is it? I see you’ve returned. I should have thought you well on your way back to England by now.”
“No, Herr Mohr. I have, as you say … returned … returned because I need to talk to you, I respectfully ask that you hear me out.”
Despite a look of consternation on his face, Herr Mohr replied, “Alright, Unterholz. I’m listening … please join me on my morning stroll, but kindly keep your distance. You look a filthy mess.”
“Yes, sorry, but I was out all night in the weather.”
“I must say, your German is excellent, Herr Unterholz. Quite an accomplishment for an Englishman. Tell me, what is your real surname?”
“It’s Underwood, sir.”
“Underwood - Unterholz? That’s truly pathetic. Your SIS needs to be far more imaginative than that if England hopes to win this war!” he guffawed in English.
“I’ll let them know you said that, sir.” Your English is very good too, if I might say so. Which brings me quickly to the crux of what I wish to speak with you about.”
“Go on …”
“Well, in all honesty, I’m puzzled. Puzzled as to why you’d allow your own daughter to be hauled off under arrest to Berlin to be questioned and quite possibly tortured there, and yet allow the likes of me, an English agent, to make off with copies of top-secret documents. Your daughter mentioned something before I left about ‘working both sides of the fence’. Is that really your game?”
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business what my ‘game’ might be, Mr Underwood. But hers is what I will tell you. I’m a businessman who happens to specialize in armaments design and production. I’m also a patriotic German who loves his country. England, though, is a place I also have a pleasant affinity for. I have many close friends there, several of whom are influential, including your Mr Churchill. Barbara and I both, I’m afraid, each in our own ways, find ourselves and our loyalties stretched in these troubling times. Hitler and his kind are a menace, and war is a terrible thing for all involved. So yes, I am engaged in developing and producing armaments for my country. But, at the same time, I don’t necessarily want the Nazis and my country to prevail in this rapidly widening European conflict. I have no desire for a repeat of the humiliations of Versailles either. So, what do I do? I play both sides. I dutifully supply the German war machine, but at the same time I keep Britain we’ll apprised of new technologies through my English contacts and I see to it that the rollout of new weaponry in Germany is goes forward at a snail’s pace.”
“So, you’re perfectly happy then to send me off with a roll of film filled with secrets?”
“Yes, it suits my purpose.”
“But equally happy to sacrifice your daughter … by sending her into the waiting arms of the Gestapo?”
“If necessary and sadly, yes. But I’ve raised her well. She’s smart … strong … and committed to her own causes and beliefs. I dare say she may well very find her own way out of her difficulties.”
“Would you be willing to support me in an attempt to rescue her?”
“Rescue her, eh? From behind the scenes, yes. If you don’t mind coming into the house for a bath and clean clothes, I’ll go about arranging for a car, Then I’ll have you driven to Berlin, and put in contact with individuals there who might be of assistance to you.”
“Did you expect me to turn up here this morning?”
“Of course I did. In fact, I was counting on it.”
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Monday morning, 29th September, 1939.
The cell in which Barbara had been left for the night was small, filthy and chillingly cold. And she’d been immobilized, forced to spend the entire time laying naked on the concrete floor, wrists bound tightly behind her back and ankles shackled together.
She had neither slept nor had she gotten any peace. Rest of any kind had been precluded by the constant screaming and wailing, the sounds of beatings, the plaintive voices … both male and female … begging for mercy, all interspersed with the maniacal laughter and shouted threats of Gestapo torturers, coming from the interrogation rooms down the corridor.
The rumored horrors of the nightly grisly goings on in the subterranean detention area at 8 Prinz-Albrecht~Strasse were obviously anything but exaggerated. What went on there was staggeringly appalling … far beyond, in both scale and brutality, anything she had experienced the previous year when arrested in Hamburg.
She was in a place of truly unparalleled terror. And unless, she could somehow convince Herr Himmler otherwise, he was certain to make good on his darkly menacing promise “to torture and destroy her piece by piece”.
And now it was about to begin.
A face appeared in the small window of the heavy steel door to her cell. A jangle of keys quickly followed, then the click of a lock. And in they rushed … two of them, big and burly, wearing the uniform of a low-grade Scharführer
“Orders are to work this little bitch over!” announced one of them as he roughly yanked her to her feet by her hair.
“With pleasure!” grunted the second, driving his balled fist into the softness of her belly, causing her to gasp and fall to her knees as the first Scharführer released his grip on her scalp.
Bending over the stricken girl, they picked her up by her elbows and hauled her out into the corridor, then off in the direction of an interrogation room equipped with a waterboard, onto which she was promptly thrown down onto, facing the dour ceiling.
She winced as leather straps were cinched-tight across her chest, hips and thighs … so tight that they dug painfully into her flesh … particularly the one at her chest, which pressed down across the base of her breasts, forcing the soft and pliable feminine tissue to mound upwards towards her shoulders.
And, to the thick base of each of her hardened nipples, floating tumescently on their pebbled aureoles, they affixed a wired alligator clip … bringing back to her the horrific memory of being similarly connected during her previous ordeal at the hands of the Gestapo in Hamburg.
“Our fräulein looks thirsty,” observed one of her tormentors as he surveyed their handiwork.
“Indeed. I suggest we give her a drink,” announced the other, pulling a lever which caused the heavy oaken plank onto which she was strapped to abruptly tilt on its hinged fulcrum, plunging her head and upper torso into a basin of cold fetid water. It all happened so fast that it caught her unprepared. And for a brief time she experienced the terror of feeling like she would drown before they suddenly raised her up … choking and gasping, hair plastered to her head and face.
“That’s better,” chortled the second Scharführer as he helpfully slammed his fist into her belly to assist the process of expelling a quantity of half-swallowed brine.
Heart pounding and thoroughly frightened, Barb found herself abruptly left alone … presumably left to think about what was to come next, possibly to await the arrival of Himmler and Heydrich. She hoped for the latter. She knew she likely would have but only one chance to buy time … to sow a seed of uncertainty in their minds.
And the opportunity soon presented itself, for suddenly appearing at her side was the Reichsführer-SS.
“Good morning, Barbara. I trust you’ve had a pleasant night and are ready for a productive conversation this morning,” he greeted as though she were some kind of house guest. “I regret to inform you that Heydrich is unable to join us. He’s engaged upstairs in the decoding of the latest dispatch from Reinhardt in London, which arrived but a short time ago.”
“Please release me from this frightful board, Uncle Heinie,” she pleaded, daring to use the nickname he had always insisted on in her youth to address him on his frequent overnight visits to her father’s home. “… so that we can have a civilized conversation?”
“Shall I finish wiring her, Herr Reichsführer-SS?” interjected one of her torturers, expectantly holding up a third wired-alligator-clip.
Himmler nodded assent, and watched silently as the man used his stubby fingers to roughly pry apart her labia and to probe around the soft folds within until he found what he was seeking and snapped the clip in place … causing her to buck and howl in pain, her engorged little nub now savagely serrated.
“If you have something meaningful you want to tell me, Barbara, I suggest you do it right now,” warned Himmler. “Before these two gentlemen set themselves to work.”
“Alright. I will. Think back, Uncle Heinie,” she began, daring again to address him using his nickname. “Think back to that day in December of last year, when you met in your office with me, my father, Heydrich and Reinhardt. You and my father, with the help of Reinhardt, had just conspired to successfully rescue me from being executed by the Gestapo in Hamburg. And, in return, I had agreed, prompted by my father, to be sent to England to spy for the SD. It needs to be understood here and now that I’ve been faithful in keeping my end of that bargain. Indeed, I have done something far beyond what was originally required of me. I’ve managed to penetrate SIS, to gain its trust, to be trained as a spy!”
Barb paused for effect, before continuing … “The English see me as a double agent … an asset that can be used to feed the SD disinformation. But, in fact, that hasn’t happened. Reinhardt is fully aware of my double game, of my loyalty to the Reich. And your own SD analysts can attest to the veracity of the reports I’ve sent since my arrival in London. Moreover, I am now in a position to serve you as a potential source of information on the inner workings of the British Intelligence services. For example, I can tell you, from my own personal experience, exactly how the SD trains its undercover agents, even the exact place where it’s done in a remote corner of Scotland. Really, uncle Heinie, the very last thing you should be doing is torturing a valuable asset such as myself!”
At that very moment Heydrich suddenly appeared waving a sheet of paper.
“What’s the word from Reinhardt?” enquired Himmler, looking up at his deputy expectantly.
“The news is that Reinhardt is dead! This morning’s dispatch was sent not by Reinhardt, but by Krüger, our other man in London. Apparently Reinhardt was taken into custody during the night, on suspicion of espionage, by the British authorities. He reportedly took his own life by biting a cyanide capsule rather than allowing himself to be interrogated! Krüger, by the way, believes Reinhardt had to have been betrayed by one of our own.”
Himmler seemed stunned by the news, as was Barbara. They both knew that the only other SD agents currently operating in London were Krüger and Barbara!
But the Reichsführer-SS recovered quickly. And when the two Gestapo torturers standing at Barbara’s side looked expectantly to him for orders, he frowned, and then said softly as he turned on his heel to follow Heydrich from the Interrogation room, “Give her Hell!”
TBC
Last edited:
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
The nail on the head!
But wasn't this stage of the war called the phoney war? They still had to unlearn fumbling and messing up!
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
Terrifying Barb Completely!
Chapter 15
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Tuesday morning, 30th September, 1939.
When they unlocked the wrist manacles Barbara simply fell in a heap. She did not have the strength to even look up at her tormentors any longer as her half-closed eyes remained focused on the pair of black boots inches from her face. And so, it was with a clarity of sorts that she saw the same boots, or one of them, take a back swing and then connect with her face sending her crashing into the stone wall behind her head, a fresh flow of crimson now streaming from her lip and the gash in her cheek.
There were no words exchanged, none were needed. The two Scharführer had reappeared at whatever hour this was to release her from the wall manacles, in which she had been left standing on the tips of her toes all night.
Barbara was dazed but not confused, how could she be? Her world consisted of nothing more than this cell and the constant beatings that her body had been abused with ever since ‘Onkel Heinie‘ had given the order to ’Give her Hell!‘
She grunted like the animal she was quickly becoming as she felt her long hair, matted with blood, sweat and grime, gripped and pulled as she was drawn upwards only to be thrown face down onto the filthy floor, a large, heavy jackboot pressing its hard sole onto the back of her head.
“You can tie her Jürgen,” said one to the other.
She did not see the grin emerge on Jürgen‘s face as he bound the hapless girl’s hands behind her, with the palms facing one another, way more painful than with the wrists crossed. Then he looped her elbows and jerked them together before binding them, also tightly … very tightly.
Kneeling beside the prostrate, unmoving prisoner that same man secured her ankles together, before tying the final rope off into her hair, holding her head high and her neck stretched. She wanted to scream but she could find neither the energy nor the will power as she felt the loop of rope placed around her neck – a controlling noose that was then passed between her legs and around the rope on her ankles …
“N … no pl … please,” she pleaded, sensing what was about to happen. When he pulled on the end of the cord, her legs folded back and she grunted.
He pulled some more, and her body began to arch in order to stop the tie from tightening around her neck. With a sadistic gleam in his eye, Jürgen continued to haul the rope through his large fists and watched as her head was raised even higher and her neck stretched further backwards too, rendering her literally speechless - making breathing hard and speaking impossible.
Heaving again both men watched their marionette perform, smirking as they enjoyed the way her body arched into a bow, every muscle straining, blood dripping from her torn face, and it was in that unbelievably uncomfortable position with every sinew of her body tensed, that he tied off the rope.
It was as he wanted. She would have to constantly force her body to arch backwards or she would strangle. It was delightful to see the fear in her eyes when she turned her head to glare at him.
Admittedly there was a little anger in there too, but mostly her face was filled with fear. He sat back and watched as she struggled to breathe. The soldier knew that as time passed, her muscles would tire from the strain of holding that position. Then she would weaken and it would be virtually impossible to inhale. Eventually her body would fail and she would strangle herself until she passed out.
Jurgen knew to intervene at that point, not out of concern for her suffering, but because he knew that the Reichsführer-SS did not really want this delightful morsel to die quite that quickly.
Continuing to watch, the young guard enjoyed the way his prisoner’s fingers wiggled desperately around, blindly seeking the ropes that bound her body, but always, of course, to no avail.
Helmut now stepped up brandishing a whip. Three long leather strands, each of which had several knots tied in it.
Standing next to her, he took aim and let go with a swift, hard blow across the bottoms of her feet. Barbara’s pitiful scream was immediately cut off as her body jerked and the noose painfully tightened around her throat, forcing the bound girl to regain her body’s arch and try her best to ignore the burning pain across her soles, which hogtied as she was, were in perfect position to take whatever tortuous punishment was to be forthcoming.
Helmut’s first blow had been across the soft instep where there were plenty of nerves and tender flesh. His second stroke was applied to the same area, and evoked another strangled scream, each of her fingers splaying wide with the shock of the blow.
Eventually the lash ceased. Barbara’s neck was badly chafed and she had barely taken a breath. Putting the whip down, Helmut took another piece of rope and, standing on a small stool, he threaded it though a ring screwed into the ceiling. Getting down, he passed the rope around the one connecting her neck and ankles, and tightened that rope until it was pulling upwards onto the connecting rope.
“Nghhhhhhhh …” was all she could utter as her naked and abused body was forced into an even smaller arch.
“Snghhhhhhggggg!” She gasped and gagged, then her eyes widened in shock as they, Jürgen this time, resumed the beating.
She could not stop sobbing, large tears pouring down her cheeks, which made breathing even harder. The whipping continued until the bottoms of her poor feet were discoloured with bruises and swollen flesh. Pausing to admire his work, Jurgen noted that the way her body was arched, her breasts were completely off the cell floor. In fact, the only part of her touching the dirty concrete was her stomach.
Unable to resist, he stepped forward to where he could easily attack his new target, resulting most satisfyingly in a louder scream cut short by the constriction around his victim’s neck. He watched, his attention divided between the new welts forming on the tops of her breasts, and the delightful shade of purply-red Fräulein Mohr’s face was turning. With a gasp, the helplessly bound girl forced her head back just enough to loosen the noose so that, with desperation, she was able to suck in air.
“Jürgen, mein schwanz ist hart.“ Helmut grinned at his colleague while gripping the erect front of his uniform pants.
Sporting a matching smirk, Jürgen nodded and moved to untie the rope from above and then released the link between her neck and her ankles.
Barbara coughed and spluttered as her wind pipe was freed from its severe constriction, sucking in great gulps of oxygen as her body slowly unfolded. Once her ankles were completely unfastened, Jürgen pulled her legs off the floor. With a nod to Helmut the second man took more rope and tied it around each lower leg before securing the loose rope-ends to a wall bolt-eye about 4 feet from the ground, forcing her legs into a 45-degree angle and as wide as they would go.
Another loud groan came from their poor captive but her new bondage position was not yet complete. The rope hanging from the overhead ring was then tied to that around her wrists and used to pull her arms up higher and higher behind her. When her arms were vertical, he tied the rope off. It forced her face and breasts into the concrete grime, but the young Scharführer did not care. He had another part of her anatomy that he was interested in, they both did. Kicking off his boots and pulling down his pants and underwear, Jürgen released his swollen ‘schwanz’. It was ready for action. Inflicting great amounts of pain on this beautiful creature had kept it aroused.
Taking up a place behind his prisoner, Jürgen positioned his cock. Perhaps she did not realise was he was about to do. Or maybe she simply did not care. At least she was able to breathe … yet she showed no other response or emotion.
Without ceremony Jürgen rammed his solid prick deep into her dry, unlubricated anus as hard as he could.
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Tuesday evening, 30th September, 1939.
“It seems that the The Geheime Staatspolizei, has not quite finished with you just yet Fräulein Mohr.” ‘Onkel Heinie‘ had said to her when he turned up to ogle her abused and denuded body late in the afternoon. “They have a man, Herr Holtz, who is an Inspector of the Security Police and Security Service for the Gestapo, who no doubt also wants his turn to abuse that hot body of yours, my sweet little princess.”
Barbara closed her eyes. Would this never end? Where was Henry? She had seen no sign of anything from either her lover or her father …
When Himmler left the cell, the small viewing window in the cell door had been left open, letting in a dark blue shaft of light split by the shadows of the small iron bars that secured even that small aperture.
She stared at the pattern below her, her gaze focused on the old bloodstains adorning the concrete floor, blackened with age. She closed her eyes because somehow the darkness behind her lids was much more comforting than the real world.
She soon heard the sound of heavy footsteps, boots and shoes … more than one pair. Then the cell door opened to reveal one of her tormentors, Jürgen she thought, the one who had raped her ass earlier, and she recoiled at the sight of him.
Fuck you, you bastard … were the words in her head but then her sore and stiff jaw dropped. As the Scharführer stepped through the doorway she could see that he wasn’t alone, and there, along side the young soldier, posing as the Gestapo Inspector, was a very familiar face.
TBC
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Tuesday morning, 30th September, 1939.
When they unlocked the wrist manacles Barbara simply fell in a heap. She did not have the strength to even look up at her tormentors any longer as her half-closed eyes remained focused on the pair of black boots inches from her face. And so, it was with a clarity of sorts that she saw the same boots, or one of them, take a back swing and then connect with her face sending her crashing into the stone wall behind her head, a fresh flow of crimson now streaming from her lip and the gash in her cheek.
There were no words exchanged, none were needed. The two Scharführer had reappeared at whatever hour this was to release her from the wall manacles, in which she had been left standing on the tips of her toes all night.
Barbara was dazed but not confused, how could she be? Her world consisted of nothing more than this cell and the constant beatings that her body had been abused with ever since ‘Onkel Heinie‘ had given the order to ’Give her Hell!‘
She grunted like the animal she was quickly becoming as she felt her long hair, matted with blood, sweat and grime, gripped and pulled as she was drawn upwards only to be thrown face down onto the filthy floor, a large, heavy jackboot pressing its hard sole onto the back of her head.
“You can tie her Jürgen,” said one to the other.
She did not see the grin emerge on Jürgen‘s face as he bound the hapless girl’s hands behind her, with the palms facing one another, way more painful than with the wrists crossed. Then he looped her elbows and jerked them together before binding them, also tightly … very tightly.
Kneeling beside the prostrate, unmoving prisoner that same man secured her ankles together, before tying the final rope off into her hair, holding her head high and her neck stretched. She wanted to scream but she could find neither the energy nor the will power as she felt the loop of rope placed around her neck – a controlling noose that was then passed between her legs and around the rope on her ankles …
“N … no pl … please,” she pleaded, sensing what was about to happen. When he pulled on the end of the cord, her legs folded back and she grunted.
He pulled some more, and her body began to arch in order to stop the tie from tightening around her neck. With a sadistic gleam in his eye, Jürgen continued to haul the rope through his large fists and watched as her head was raised even higher and her neck stretched further backwards too, rendering her literally speechless - making breathing hard and speaking impossible.
Heaving again both men watched their marionette perform, smirking as they enjoyed the way her body arched into a bow, every muscle straining, blood dripping from her torn face, and it was in that unbelievably uncomfortable position with every sinew of her body tensed, that he tied off the rope.
It was as he wanted. She would have to constantly force her body to arch backwards or she would strangle. It was delightful to see the fear in her eyes when she turned her head to glare at him.
Admittedly there was a little anger in there too, but mostly her face was filled with fear. He sat back and watched as she struggled to breathe. The soldier knew that as time passed, her muscles would tire from the strain of holding that position. Then she would weaken and it would be virtually impossible to inhale. Eventually her body would fail and she would strangle herself until she passed out.
Jurgen knew to intervene at that point, not out of concern for her suffering, but because he knew that the Reichsführer-SS did not really want this delightful morsel to die quite that quickly.
Continuing to watch, the young guard enjoyed the way his prisoner’s fingers wiggled desperately around, blindly seeking the ropes that bound her body, but always, of course, to no avail.
Helmut now stepped up brandishing a whip. Three long leather strands, each of which had several knots tied in it.
Standing next to her, he took aim and let go with a swift, hard blow across the bottoms of her feet. Barbara’s pitiful scream was immediately cut off as her body jerked and the noose painfully tightened around her throat, forcing the bound girl to regain her body’s arch and try her best to ignore the burning pain across her soles, which hogtied as she was, were in perfect position to take whatever tortuous punishment was to be forthcoming.
Helmut’s first blow had been across the soft instep where there were plenty of nerves and tender flesh. His second stroke was applied to the same area, and evoked another strangled scream, each of her fingers splaying wide with the shock of the blow.
Eventually the lash ceased. Barbara’s neck was badly chafed and she had barely taken a breath. Putting the whip down, Helmut took another piece of rope and, standing on a small stool, he threaded it though a ring screwed into the ceiling. Getting down, he passed the rope around the one connecting her neck and ankles, and tightened that rope until it was pulling upwards onto the connecting rope.
“Nghhhhhhhh …” was all she could utter as her naked and abused body was forced into an even smaller arch.
“Snghhhhhhggggg!” She gasped and gagged, then her eyes widened in shock as they, Jürgen this time, resumed the beating.
She could not stop sobbing, large tears pouring down her cheeks, which made breathing even harder. The whipping continued until the bottoms of her poor feet were discoloured with bruises and swollen flesh. Pausing to admire his work, Jurgen noted that the way her body was arched, her breasts were completely off the cell floor. In fact, the only part of her touching the dirty concrete was her stomach.
Unable to resist, he stepped forward to where he could easily attack his new target, resulting most satisfyingly in a louder scream cut short by the constriction around his victim’s neck. He watched, his attention divided between the new welts forming on the tops of her breasts, and the delightful shade of purply-red Fräulein Mohr’s face was turning. With a gasp, the helplessly bound girl forced her head back just enough to loosen the noose so that, with desperation, she was able to suck in air.
“Jürgen, mein schwanz ist hart.“ Helmut grinned at his colleague while gripping the erect front of his uniform pants.
Sporting a matching smirk, Jürgen nodded and moved to untie the rope from above and then released the link between her neck and her ankles.
Barbara coughed and spluttered as her wind pipe was freed from its severe constriction, sucking in great gulps of oxygen as her body slowly unfolded. Once her ankles were completely unfastened, Jürgen pulled her legs off the floor. With a nod to Helmut the second man took more rope and tied it around each lower leg before securing the loose rope-ends to a wall bolt-eye about 4 feet from the ground, forcing her legs into a 45-degree angle and as wide as they would go.
Another loud groan came from their poor captive but her new bondage position was not yet complete. The rope hanging from the overhead ring was then tied to that around her wrists and used to pull her arms up higher and higher behind her. When her arms were vertical, he tied the rope off. It forced her face and breasts into the concrete grime, but the young Scharführer did not care. He had another part of her anatomy that he was interested in, they both did. Kicking off his boots and pulling down his pants and underwear, Jürgen released his swollen ‘schwanz’. It was ready for action. Inflicting great amounts of pain on this beautiful creature had kept it aroused.
Taking up a place behind his prisoner, Jürgen positioned his cock. Perhaps she did not realise was he was about to do. Or maybe she simply did not care. At least she was able to breathe … yet she showed no other response or emotion.
Without ceremony Jürgen rammed his solid prick deep into her dry, unlubricated anus as hard as he could.
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Tuesday evening, 30th September, 1939.
“It seems that the The Geheime Staatspolizei, has not quite finished with you just yet Fräulein Mohr.” ‘Onkel Heinie‘ had said to her when he turned up to ogle her abused and denuded body late in the afternoon. “They have a man, Herr Holtz, who is an Inspector of the Security Police and Security Service for the Gestapo, who no doubt also wants his turn to abuse that hot body of yours, my sweet little princess.”
Barbara closed her eyes. Would this never end? Where was Henry? She had seen no sign of anything from either her lover or her father …
When Himmler left the cell, the small viewing window in the cell door had been left open, letting in a dark blue shaft of light split by the shadows of the small iron bars that secured even that small aperture.
She stared at the pattern below her, her gaze focused on the old bloodstains adorning the concrete floor, blackened with age. She closed her eyes because somehow the darkness behind her lids was much more comforting than the real world.
She soon heard the sound of heavy footsteps, boots and shoes … more than one pair. Then the cell door opened to reveal one of her tormentors, Jürgen she thought, the one who had raped her ass earlier, and she recoiled at the sight of him.
Fuck you, you bastard … were the words in her head but then her sore and stiff jaw dropped. As the Scharführer stepped through the doorway she could see that he wasn’t alone, and there, along side the young soldier, posing as the Gestapo Inspector, was a very familiar face.
TBC
twonines
LIMERICUS
"You must ell us the truth." Himmler urged.
In icy water, Barb`s head was submerged.
With a lead on each tit,
And another on her clit,
Through her core the electricity surged.
But for Himmler, this wasn`t enough,
So things now began to get tough.
With her girly bits fried,
Soon, she was hogtied,
And her treatment really got rough.
Another cracking chapter, Barb, with an unexpected twist in the tail.
In icy water, Barb`s head was submerged.
With a lead on each tit,
And another on her clit,
Through her core the electricity surged.
But for Himmler, this wasn`t enough,
So things now began to get tough.
With her girly bits fried,
Soon, she was hogtied,
And her treatment really got rough.
Another cracking chapter, Barb, with an unexpected twist in the tail.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Another another cracking (extended) limerick '99