Gestapo Girl
by Lindsey Brooks
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Lindsey Brooks
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter 1
Friday, October 6th 1944, 1700 hours.
It had stopped raining. The cold wind that was sending the grey clouds flying westwards blew straight into Lisl’s face as she turned the corner. She shivered and pulled her threadbare overcoat more tightly around her slender body.
A faint drone of engines reached her ears. Like the handful of other people on the street, Lisl looked nervously up into the darkening blue of the sky. High in the east was a mass of small, black dots, slowly growing larger. Americans going home, she guessed. It was early evening and the light was fading fast. They had already dropped their bombs. They were no threat to her, but she had heard that the fighters escorting them sometimes flew low and machine-gunned anything that moved.
Lisl looked away from the aircraft and discovered she was alone. Everyone else had gone to seek the safety of the shelters or their cellars. The place she was seeking lay just ahead. She walked quickly towards the gaunt, shattered ruins that were all that remained of the houses on one side of the street and entered through one of the broken doorways.
The town was small and unimportant, of no strategic significance, and too close to the border for the Americans to be confident they were not bombing Switzerland by mistake. They had already done that several times elsewhere and suffered international embarrassment as a result. The man at the bakery had told Lisl the town had only suffered one air raid in the whole war, and that had been by a single, crippled aircraft dumping its bombs as it struggled to return to its base. She was standing now amid the destruction it had wrought.
Carefully picking her way through the wrecked building’s gloomy interior, Lisl crossed the splinter-riddled room she had deliberately sought out and stared down through the gap torn in the floorboards. She knew she should not be there. She had not wanted to come. But she had needed to.
The body was still there. The skin on its dead face had shrunk and tightened, drawing the lips back so that it seemed to be grinning up at her. Stomach heaving, Lisl turned, hurried out into the gathering darkness and went home to wait.
* * * * *
Thursday, May 4th 1944, 0815hours.
“Bloody outrageous! Tuppence a packet more than last week.” Major Audley-Towne glared at the cigarettes beside him on the car’s front seat as if it was their fault and not that of the spiv who had sold them to him. Revving the Humber’s engine hard, he turned left without looking into the high street of the town ‘somewhere on the south coast’, shook his fist at the car with the blaring horn that nearly hit him and yanked the gear lever into second.
“Bloody thing,” the Major cursed as a loud grating came from the Humber’s gearbox. Suddenly remembering the clutch, he wrestled the car into gear and accelerated hard along the road that followed the irregular curve of the town’s harbour. As he rounded a bend a military truck with a white star painted on its long bonnet came straight towards him on the wrong side of the road. Audley-Towne swerved at the same moment as the truck, swerved back and somehow managed to miss the lumbering vehicle by inches.
“Bloody Yanks! Can’t they learn to drive properly?” he yelled, though he was alone in the car. He reached sideways to gather up the packets of cigarettes scattered by his near miss, and a black plume of smoke shot into the sky from behind the buildings on his left. A split second later he heard a loud bang.
Tyres squealing as the Major yanked on the steering wheel, the Humber lurched sideways, fish-tailed, then shot down the side road he aimed it at towards the source of the explosion. An air raid warden in overalls and steel helmet was already there when he slewed to a halt, leapt from the car and ran the twenty yards to the bombed building.
“Anyone inside?” he asked, eyeing the still-smoking ruin. It had been a tall, detached house in the middle of a large garden until moments ago, when half of it had become a jagged jumble of debris beneath a cloud of dust.
“No idea,” the ARP man told him. “Hit and run raid. Focke-Wulf one-ninety. He came in low from inland, dropped his bomb, and flew straight out over the harbour. The Spits are after him.” He hefted the crowbar in his hand and pulled a torch from his overalls. “At least there’s no fire. I’d better have a look.”
Audley-Towne went with him. The smoke was dissipating, leaving just the dust settling onto the tangle of brick and tile and broken rafters that had been the left side of the house. A sudden shower of roof tiles made both men halt their approach for a moment. The warden peered through the ground floor windows of the intact part of the building, shook his head at the Major’s enquiring look and walked to the edge of the debris.
“Anybody there?” he called, cocked his ear towards the wreckage and listened. Audley-Towne did the same. The ARP man repeated his call.
“There!” Sure he had heard something, the Major pointed to a gap in the rubble and knelt beside it. The warden called again. A faint, brief hum rose from the opening.
“Hear it?” Audley-Towne asked.
“Mebbe. Didn’t sound like a voice, though.”
“Give me your torch,” the Major said.
“There’s three collapsed floors one on top of the other over that hole, and only god knows what’s holding them up,” the warden argued. “We’d best wait for the fire brigade.”
“Balls! Whoever’s in there could be dead by then.” The Major heard the distant bell of a fire engine as he spoke, but the man did not protest when he took the torch from his hand and squeezed into the mouth of the dark opening.
It was a tight fit. Audley-Towne’s six-foot-five-inch frame was not well adapted for fitting into small spaces, but he wriggled on his elbows and scrabbled with his feet to worm his way down the slope of rubble stretching into the darkness before him. Someone down there needed help. Besides, he might get his name in the local paper if he rescued them. A bit of fame might silence Glover’s complaints about his lack of success, for a while at least.
He could not see a bloody thing. Remembering the torch he held, Audley-Towne turned it on. A mass of intact brickwork was above his head, part of a collapsed outer-wall that was forming the roof of a roughly triangular tunnel through the debris. It sloped steadily downwards to where the beam of the torch was illuminating a larger opening at its further end.
“Hello!” Audley-Towne called.
“Mmm!”
His heart leapt. There was someone alive down there. “Are you all right? Can you move?”
“Mmm! Mmm!”
Strange response, he thought. Was the survivor too badly hurt to speak? He wriggled forwards, discovered he could get to his knees, and crawled down until he reached a level floor. He was in a cellar, the Major realised, ran the light over the ceiling, and found it was high enough for him to stand upright. He got to his feet and shone the torch around the remains of the room.
“Hello?”
“Mmm! Mmmpf!”
“Bloody hell!” Audley-Towne stopped the wavering torch-beam abruptly and stared in total disbelief.
It was a girl. A girl inside a steel-barred cage. And she was stark, bollock naked.
The Major blinked and strained his eyes to see through the myriad motes of plaster dust floating in the torch’s beam. It was not a trick of his imagination, he eventually decided, and the idea of getting closer finally came to him. His footfalls started a small avalanche of brick fragments onto the cellar floor and the shattered masonry overhead gave a long ominous creak.
“Mmm!” the girl said through the big ball that was somehow jammed into her mouth and stretching wide her jaw. Her large, bright-blue eyes snapped shut as Audley-Towne turned the light full into her face. He dropped the beam to the rest of her, wondering what the hell it all meant. Nice tits, though, he noticed, and a good figure and - bloody hell! - she did not have even a scrap of hair on her snatch. Damned Americans, he thought irrelevantly. He was even picking up their slang words now. He stood unmoving, fascinated by the sight of the girl.
“Mmm-mmmpf!”
The Major raised his torch, dazzling her again. She was shaking her head, her long, blonde hair flying around her face. She seemed very agitated about something. Another loud creak from above and a small cascade of broken brickwork gave him a clue as to what it was.
“I need to get you out of here,” he said.
The girl turned to face one corner of the cage and nodded her head towards the darkness beyond. Startled by the sight of her wrists handcuffed behind her back and distracted by a view of her beautifully rounded buttocks, Audley-Towne took several seconds to grasp that she was trying to point to something. It was several seconds more before he understood it was not her hands she was pointing with but her head, and then he shone his torch in the direction she was indicating.
The man’s head and shoulders were hidden beneath the slab of wall that had crushed them into the cellar floor and a big pool of blood had seeped out from beneath it. Nevertheless, the Major went to the body, stooped beneath the cracked wooden beam that seemed to be all that was holding up the collapsed masonry and felt for a pulse.
“I’m afraid he’s dead.” As he turned the torch in the girl’s direction it lit up the back of the cage and he saw the bars were bent outwards. The thick wooden beam had landed on its roof, partially crushing it but preventing the rest of the wall that had killed the man from falling further and killing the girl also.
“Mm! Mm! Mmm!” The girl danced from foot to foot, firm breasts jiggling as she nodded her head repeatedly at the body. Audley-Towne looked back at it and the torch flashed over something metal on the dead man’s belt.
“A key ring.” Realisation dawned, and he pulled the bunch of keys free and hurried back to the caged girl. He tried the biggest one first and swung the cage door triumphantly open.
The girl stumbled out and hurried to the patch of daylight showing where the tunnel through the wreckage began. With a sudden burst of rapid thought Audley-Towne followed, found the buckle on the strap he had noticed held the ball-gag in the girl’s mouth and unfastened it.
“Thank you, Master,” she said hoarsely. “Oh, thank you! But this place will cave-in at any moment. We have to get out.”
Surprised by the way the girl had addressed him, the Major was even more astonished when she bent over and stretched her cuffed hands backwards to give him a torch-lit view of her prettily curved bottom and a peek at the pink and pouting sex below it.
“It’s the littlest key, Master.”
Grasping what she wanted, he found the key to the handcuffs and released the girl’s wrists. He was about to discard the cuffs and key ring when instinct made him put them in a trouser pocket instead.
“You need something to wear,” he said. He did not want those lovely tits torn to ribbons on the rubble as she crawled on her belly through the tunnel. Good job he had worn his tunic, he thought, as he helped the girl put it on. His battledress jacket would only have covered her as far as her hips.
The Major made her go first, then squeezed his bulk into the opening and followed her up towards the daylight. Audley-Towne would have been the first to admit he was not a deep thinker. He relied on instinct to guide his actions and he believed that it had served him well during his thirty-one years. Now, he had a familiar gut-feeling about this girl, an intuition that was telling him exactly what to do next. Confident the germ of the idea that was tickling the back of his mind would emerge in due time as a plan fully formed, he decided to follow his hunch.
Two firemen helped pull him from the narrow tunnel and away from the wrecked house. A little way ahead the ARP man was helping the girl towards a small crowd of onlookers. A rumble, a crash and a loud thud came from behind and every head turned towards the bombed building. The Major glanced back in time to see a cloud of dust erupting from the hole he had just exited and seized his chance. He caught up with the warden, swept the girl into his arms and began carrying her towards his car.
“This girl needs a hospital,” he said.
“Hang on,” the warden called. “The ambulance will be here in a minute.”
“No time,” the Major flung over his shoulder, slid his burden onto the Humber’s front passenger seat, got behind the wheel and drove off.
No one tried to stop him. He chuckled and looked sideways. The girl’s head was drooping. Shock and reaction he supposed. With a stab of annoyance, the Major realised he had sat her pretty rear-end right where his cigarettes had been lying. He gave a mental shrug. He could feel the seed of his plan beginning to germinate and grow deep within his brain. He had a feeling she would be worth losing a few cigarettes over. With the Humber’s gearbox complaining loudly when he again forgot to use the clutch, Audley-Towne finally found fourth gear, floored the accelerator and sped back to camp with his prize.
* * * * *
Thursday, May 4th 1944, 0915 hours.
“Oh, shit and corruption!” Pam Hollis spoke the words aloud, confident she would not he overheard. No one but a fool would come anywhere near the office unless they were ordered to, and there were very few fools on the strength of S-Force. In theory at least, most of them should have been weeded out during training. Any that slipped through were caught by the Germans within days of being dropped into Occupied Europe.
Pam shuffled her bottom on the hard wood of her seat and momentarily worried the fullness of her lower lip with her teeth. How many times would she have to tell that idiot clerk at HQ before he got it right? It was all very well for him. She was the one who would end up taking the flak. She looked at the wall clock, checked the time it showed against her wristwatch and sighed.
He was late. He prided himself on his punctuality. He would already be in a bad mood when he arrived. If he had not made her get that crowded, smelly bus she would have been the one driving the Humber and he would have arrived on time. It was not as if she was completely ignorant about where he had gone. Anyone who could get enough cigarettes to smoke forty every day had to be buying them on the black market. But, of course, Major Trenchard William Audley-Towne could not be seen to be doing something illegal by his lowly secretary.
He had probably stripped the gears again, Pam decided. Small wonder with his wayward driving style. That it was his own fault would make no difference. She would get the blame.
She stared at the little pile of communiqués on her desk and giggled. It was hard not to. The unfortunate coincidence of capital letters in the Major’s full name was so much more obvious when seen on paper. That was why Pam had repeatedly telephoned the clerk to tell him not to include the ‘Trenchard’ when he typed the Major’s name, as per the instruction widely circulated by the Major himself. Today, and Pam was sure it had been deliberate, the clerk had ignored the hyphen in the surname and typed ‘T. W. A. Towne’ instead, making the obvious even more so.
The Major must have had a miserable childhood at that public school he never tired of boasting he had attended, Pam thought. She remembered the previous night and her sympathy vanished immediately. Again she shifted uncomfortably on her chair. Pam had not liked the two hard smacks the Major had given her as he had chased her up the stairs to his bed. And someone should tell him sodomy was against the law. Not that it would make any difference.
She remembered the roughness with which he had forced his rigid cock into her tight and tender rear entrance, and with only her own saliva for lubrication. The memory heightened the ache and sting she had felt there ever since waking up that morning. Pam wished she had the courage to tell him to go to hell, but she knew she did not dare. The bastard had her and there was nothing she could do about it.
The office door opened just enough to let a wary head appear around it. Pam recognised one of the armourers.
“Is Mad Bill in?” he asked and grinned his relief when she shook her head. “Thank Christ for that!” He dashed across to her desk, dropped a chit into her in-tray and turned on his heel. “Next time a Bren Gun jams on him, tell him to follow the procedure in the manual, not hit the cocking handle with a bloody hammer.”
“Tell him yourself,” Pam said but he had already disappeared. No one hung about unless they had to. Mad Bill, she thought. That was what they called him around her, but of course, when they thought she could not overhear, they called him ‘The Twat’. Pam giggled again, maybe more to fight off the despair than because it was funny. The Major’s ambition was to be known as ‘Wild Bill’, like the cowboy. He did not seem to realise that ‘Wild Bill Audley-Towne’ did not have the same ring to it, especially when his surname sounded like a Sunday League football team. Anyway, the chances of it ever happening were even less than those of her escaping his clutches, which were somewhere between nothing and bugger-all.
She flinched at the twinge of pain in her anus as her unfortunate choice of word brought her discomfort back to mind, and heard the door to the office block slam. It was a Nissen hut really, but Audley-Towne insisted it be called the office block or, when he was at his most officious, ‘Headquarters’. Just as on every other morning, Pam heard the brisk tap of his footsteps, the clanging as he raked his swagger stick along the radiator in the corridor, and stood to attention as he walked through the door.
“At ease.” Audley-Towne waved the short stick in his brown-gloved hand vaguely towards the peak of his cap without looking at her and went into his office.
Not sitting down again, Pam waited for him to get settled behind his desk and light his cigarette, then sucked in a deep breath. No sense in putting it off. She gathered up the correspondence, felt her sphincter give another distressing little pinch, and made for his door. It opened before she reached it. The Major stood in the doorway, the thick baton of his penis rising from his khaki flies.
“Get in here, Corporal. I want you. I’ve just had the most bloody marvellous idea.”
Pam gulped. She had been fearing this for a while. It was bad enough that she was at his mercy in her off-duty hours. Now he had finally caught on that there was nothing to stop him from abusing her when they were on duty too. Her heart sank and her anus nipped her again as she stepped into the Major’s office. She raised an eyebrow at the condition of his uniform. He was usually impeccably turned out. This morning, his tunic and trousers were grubby and covered in dust. ‘Why’ was not her first question, however.
“Is the Humber all right, sir?” She had to ask, even though she knew how he would respond. It was up to Pam to get the car repaired every time he damaged it.
“Of course it’s bloody all right. Think you’re the only one who knows how to drive it?” His hands shot out and grabbed her breasts through her tunic, squeezing hard.
“Ow! Don’t do that. It hurts.”
He squeezed harder and pulled her closer, lowering his face until it was an inch from hers. At five-feet seven, Pam did not consider herself short for one of her sex, but beside the Major’s immense bulk she was tiny. And she felt it.
“Who’s in command here?” he demanded and the stale tobacco smell of his breath filled her nostrils.
Pam blinked under his unwavering stare. “You are, sir.”
“Right. I am. So you will do as you’re told, Pammy, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” She hated being called ‘Pammy’ and he knew it. That was why he had picked it as his pet name for her. Usually though, he did not use it when they were at the base.
Audley-Towne pulled her around the desk by her painfully crushed breasts, pushed his chair aside and finally released her to switch on his desk lamp and draw the blackout curtains across the window. Pam reached her hands up to soothe her sore breasts.
“Stand to attention, Corporal,” he barked.
At once she drew herself up, shoulders back, chest out and stomach in, hands rigidly at her sides. The Major kept her like that while he unbuttoned her tunic and blouse and pushed her peach-coloured, satin brassiere up from the big swells of her teats. She let the garments fall to the floor, stripped off her bra as he would expect, and dropped it on top of them.
“Skirt,” he ordered, and Pam loosened it and let it pool around her feet.
Audley-Towne sat in his chair and reached for her. Pam felt his big, clumsy fingers on the skin of the outsides of her thighs as he gripped the lower edges of her panties and pulled them down past her knees. She heard the sound of stitches parting and silently cursed him. The panties were one of her few remaining pre-war pairs, specially hand-made for her, and she had been doing her best to preserve them for as long as possible. Now the inept fool had torn their lace edging, and all she could do was fume helplessly and continue standing to attention.
The Major leaned back and turned the cone of light from the desk lamp on the swollen length of the cock rearing up from his trousers. He did not need to give any further orders. Stepping out of her ruined panties, Pam sank to her knees before him and closed her fingers around his pulsing shaft. It had to be all of nine inches and its taut, purple plum-head was as thick as her wrist. Small wonder it had hurt so much when he had rammed it up her arse the night before.
He seemed to have begun treating her more roughly lately, uncaring if he caused her pain. Sometimes it was as if he took pleasure in hearing her cry out and seeing the tears he brought to her eyes. Pam knew he was under pressure from the higher-ups about S-Force’s poor showing. That was no reason for him to take out his frustrations on her. Yet she could tell he was in a good mood this morning. She had learned to read all of his moods during the two miserable years she had spent in thrall to him.
Pam glanced up and saw impatience in his glittering brown eyes. Quickly, she applied herself to her task. She did not want to spoil his good humour further. She still had the correspondence to show him. Pam did it the way she knew he liked best. Taking her time, she ran her tongue up his huge shaft and over the top of its broad head, lapping and licking, pressing her lips to the warm, inflexible flesh and drawing on it gently until he was sighing and grunting softly. He was watching every move she made, using the beam of the desk-lamp to highlight every flicker of her tongue and pout of her lips.
With perfect timing, just as Audley-Towne gave a shiver of pleasure, she stretched her jaws wide and filled her mouth with as much of his cock as it could comfortably accommodate. At once, he thrust it to the back of her throat and Pam had to fight the need to gag. She had to force herself to keep her eyes open too, as he always demanded when she sucked him.
Please don’t come in my mouth, she thought. She hated the sour flavour of his spunk and the slimy feel of it sliding down her gullet as she swallowed. Did every man’s taste as gross as the Major’s? she wondered. In the past she had always been careful to avoid any risk of getting the horrible stuff in her mouth. Only with Audley-Towne had she never had any choice.
Oh, let him fuck her instead! Pam hated the Major. She despised his stupidity, his arrogance, his utterly misplaced confidence in his own cleverness and abilities. Why then, on her knees in front of him with her head bobbing rhythmically to move her mouth on his cock, did she feel a prickle in her sheath and quivering thrills of arousal running through the moistly swelling petals of her inner pussy-lips? God, his enormous cock felt so good when it was filling her! And she wanted it to fill her now.
“Getting wet, Pammy?”
He was stupid, Pam knew, but he had a sort of animal cunning, almost an instinct, which always seemed to somehow steer him out of trouble at the very last minute. Or sometimes into it. He was not by any stretch of the imagination infallible, but when it came to Pam’s sexual desires she was convinced he could read her like a book. It was not a comforting thought, but already her breath was coming in short, rapid gasps around the thick meat filling her mouth, and her nipples had stiffened to two hard, conical points.
Audley-Towne stood up, and there was a soft plop as he pulled his cock from between Pam’s compressed lips. “Bend over, elbows on the desk.”
Relieved and more than a little excited, she pushed the lamp to one side and obeyed. Her pussy contracted and once again she felt a stab of discomfort in her rear opening, instantly forgotten when the Major stroked a fingertip over the soft, springy curls of hair framing her sex, then slid it between the plump swells of her outer labia. Pam sighed and wriggled backwards to deepen the penetration. The finger withdrew.
“Spread those legs more,” Audley-Towne barked.
A split second later, fierce stinging pain blazed across both delicate cheeks of Pam’s jutting bottom. She shot upright and rubbed both hands over the flaring heat searing the skin of her buttocks and the firm muscles beneath.
“Ooh! Ow!”
She turned and saw the Major’s swagger stick in his hand. He had hit her!
Chapter 2
“You bastard! That bloody stings,” Pam said, alarmed as well as hurting. “What the hell are you doing?”
Audley-Towne let the stick fall and grabbed the back of her neck with his big paw, forcing her cheek to the desktop. He leaned close and his breath hissed in her ear.
“You’re forgetting your place, Pammy. I’ve already had to remind you once today who’s boss here. Am I going to have to do it again?”
“No, sir,” Pam gasped. The pressure of the desk against her cheek did not ease.
“How do you think ‘Daddy’ would take to losing his job, Pammy? Do you think Lord Hollis would be happy at having to give up his plush office at the ministry and all that power and prestige? Not to mention what the scandal would do to him when he found out the Honourable Pamela Hollis isn’t half as honourable as she’s supposed to be.”
“Please…” Pam pleaded, and felt his hand tighten on her neck.
“It only takes one of your pretty pictures. The papers would never publish them, of course, but the story would still leak out. Or what if one of them ended up on the Prime Minister’s desk?”
Her belly flipped. None of her family would weather the storm if that happened. And they would all blame her when they were ostracised by society. They would cut her off completely.
“What would happen to that tidy little monthly allowance ‘Daddy’ sends you?” Audley-Towne continued, ignoring the fact that he made her turn most of it over to him the moment it arrived. “And there’s prison to consider too. What you did is against the law, you know. Do you think you’d do well in a jail cell, Pammy?”
Pam did not, but she knew nothing about the law or if he was telling the truth. It did not matter. The threat of scandal was enough.
“I… I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think.”
“Not a good idea for someone in your position.” He sniggered and let go of her. “And speaking of positions, back on your elbows and stick your arse up.”
In spite of what had happened, Pam’s sex responded with a little flow of juices as soon as his finger probed her once more. Damn her pussy, she thought. It always had been too sensitive for its own good. She remembered how she had giggled about it along with her friends when they had swapped secrets at the Swiss finishing school she had attended for lessons in deportment and etiquette. That had been in the good time before the war, and before she had ever had the misfortune to meet Trenchard William Audley-Towne. Pam almost giggled, but he was not a twat. He was a bastard.
The thought did not stop her moaning when the fat head of his penis pushed aside her fleshy outer-labia and the big shaft stretched the walls of her pussy. She almost orgasmed. All that stopped her was the sudden pain when his belly made contact with the fiery line he had scored into her buttocks.
Soon Pam barely noticed it. She was no longer even aware of her surroundings as the great, hard thickness of the enormous cock the Major had been lucky enough to be blessed with pounded into her wildly quivering sex. There was no room in her mind for anything but the pleasure that had flooded it as rapidly as her juices were flooding her pussy.
The same hard lunges of Audley-Towne’s cock that were striking sparks of incredible delight in Pam’s tingling sheath were making her breasts swing to and fro beneath her. The tips of her engorged nipples brushed continually over the rough paper on the desk-blotter and sent little, tickling thrills through her whole body. She stopped the avid rearward thrusts of her hips abruptly as she felt the sudden, swift contraction of her belly that always heralded her climax. The Major’s cock plunged deep once more.
Pam gave a low grunt, a long, gasping groan and then a full-throated cry of ecstasy as her sheath rippled and writhed. Her hips jerked again, of their own volition, as she surrendered to the violence of her orgasm and the breathtaking delight of her pussy clenching madly around the thrusting cock.
Audley-Towne stopped his energetic lunges and pulled out of her. “That’s enough fun for you, Pammy. It’s time I had mine now.”
What else had he been doing while abusing her for the last half-hour? Pam wanted to ask, and jumped as his hands gripped both of her buttocks and reawakened the pain of the smack he had laid across them. Awful dread filled her as he stretched the two cheeks apart and the last quivers of pleasure in her sex vanished instantly.
“Oh, no! Please, not again, sir.” Pam tightened her anus and felt it sting. “Whatever is wrong with you lately?” she demanded. “Why are you being so cruel to me?”
He slid a hand beneath her and pinched a finger and thumb on one of her erect nipples. “You’ll learn about cruel, Corporal, if you try to defy me. Don’t come all prim and proper with me, you slut.”
“Oh, please! You’ve no reason to hurt me, sir. There’s no call for you to be so beastly.”
“Beastly am I? I’ll show you beastly.” The Major squeezed her nipple until she cried out and her tears were dripping onto the blotter. “I’m going to fuck your arse, Pammy,” he growled. “I’m going to give you a good bumming. But you’re going to ask for it first. You’re going to ask very politely.”
“Oh, no,” Pam groaned, but she knew it was hopeless. He was so much stronger than she was.
He tweaked her nipple. “Do it.”
“P… please may I have a… a….” She wailed as he rolled the point of her breast between his fingers. “A… a good bumming,” Pam gasped out between sobs.
She continued crying as he pulled her rear cheeks apart again and positioned the great, bulbous head of his cock against her little knot. The awful pressure on her tiny, tight opening increased unbearably. Pam knew he had split the skin there the night before and she tried to relax as much as possible. Nevertheless, it yielded only slowly to the monstrous shaft trying to force its way inside.
This time, the Major’s cock had only the juices from her orgasm to lubricate it. They were not enough. Pam whimpered as she felt her sphincter parting then cried out as it tore under Audley-Towne’s assault and his broad cock-head pushed painfully into her anus. A second later the rest of the huge, horrid baton sank inside her as he gave a hard, wicked thrust of his hips.
“Agh, that hurts!” Pam cried, and kept on crying as Audley-Towne plunged his penis into her rear entrance with all the vigour he had shown when he had used her pussy. This time the effect was very different. Every thrust stabbing deep into her bowels hurt horribly and heightened the pain in her torn sphincter. When he laid his weight on her back and penetrated even more deeply, her torment increased. He crushed her down onto the desktop, flattening her breasts and forcing the air from her lungs. Half-suffocating and in awful pain, Pam’s head spun until she thought she would faint.
Perhaps she would have if he had not come soon afterwards. She felt the splash of his semen in her tortured rear passage almost gratefully as he growled his satisfaction. Even so, it was several minutes before he got his breath back and lifted his bulk from her trembling figure. It was several minutes more before Pam could collect herself sufficiently to stand upright. Audley-Towne was wiping his slackening cock on her expensive, satin panties. She was still too shocked and hurting to feel any anger about it. That would come later.
The Major let her dress in peace while he buttoned his flies and lit a cigarette. The daylight dazzled Pam as he drew back the curtains and looked her up and down. She flinched from his hand when he reached out and straightened her tie. His smile was smug as he held out her soiled panties.
“You’re a good fuck, Hollis, and no mistake.” He took a battledress jacket from a cupboard and put it on, handing her his dusty tunic. “See that’s properly cleaned and returned by this afternoon.”
Pam’s heart was leaden. “Yes, sir,” she said quietly, not meeting his eye, and, very uncomfortable, left the Major’s office. She went straight to the toilet and sat for several minutes, crying softly as she let his foul spunk drip from her ravaged rectum. It ached and stung at the same time and when, very cautiously, she wiped herself, Pam saw a tinge of blood on the paper.
The bloody swine, she thought. Major bloody Audley-Towne might have the upper-hand for now, but the day would come when she would pay him back for what he had done to her. Just let it be soon. How the hell could she love his cock so much when she hated all the rest of him?
Pam remembered the communiqués she had left on his desk. At least she would not be there to be yelled at when he read them. In spite of her pain, the corners of her mouth turned up as she imagined his reaction when he saw the clerk’s deliberate mistake. That would wipe the self-satisfied smile off the bastard’s face. Pam would have laughed aloud but she knew it would hurt too much.
To her surprise, after she had returned to the office and was wondering if she was ready to bear the discomfort of sitting down, the telephone rang. She answered it, expecting Headquarters. No one else ever rang and HQ itself very seldom. Frowning with puzzlement at the words coming from the other end of the line, Pam pressed the button that put her through to the Major’s office.
“It’s Private Webster at Interrogation, sir,” she told Audley-Towne. “He says the girl is acting funny and he thinks you ought to come.”
* * * * *
Monday, October 30th 1944, 1055 hours.
Lisl sat unmoving in the chilly room, suppressing the urge to turn her head in the direction of the slow, regular click of the guard’s jackboots as he paced between the rows of benches. She had already done it once and received a painful lash across her shoulders from the short, stiff whip the man carried. He had lashed the girl who had been sitting on the bench in front of her too, though she had not moved at all. Lisl had not been surprised. In her experience a man did not need a reason to beat a woman.
She wiggled her cold toes inside her shoes and tried to shift very slightly so the guard would not notice. Her buttocks were numb from sitting for so long on the hard bench, and her whole body was stiff and aching. How long had she been there, she wondered. How long had it been since the two men in black overcoats and dark, fedora hats had come and taken her away?
Lisl had thought they would come to her apartment in the night. That was the way it always happened in stories when the heroine was spirited away by the villains. She swallowed hard. This was not fiction, and the flutter of fear in her belly and the thumping of her heart were telling her all too clearly that she was no heroine. She realised that in spite of the cold, she was sweating.
The Gestapo men had picked Lisl up at work with all of her colleagues looking on. She was not under arrest, they had told her, merely assisting them with their enquiries. The assurance had not removed the satisfied smirk from Hanna Kempfer’s face as she had watched Lisl being led away. The suspicion had arisen in Lisl’s mind that perhaps the girl’s involvement was more than that of just an innocent bystander.
The lights in the windowless room flickered, dimmed briefly, and then brightened again. It had been happening frequently since the girl who had been sitting in front of Lisl had been removed. She had seen the girl’s face white with terror and her eyes wide and staring as the guards took her from the room. Yet she had not fought or struggled to escape whatever awaited her. Lisl knew that she would not either.
They had taken her wristwatch along with her handbag before putting her in the room. How long had it been since the girl had gone? Half an hour? An hour? Longer? Time dragged interminably, stretching Lisl’s nerves to breaking point as she listened to the slow, steady tap of the guard’s heels on the bare concrete floor. The lights above her flickered again several times. What was it that made that happen?
Lisl jumped when the door opened. She dared not look round. Were they bringing in another prisoner or coming for her? A streak of pain across her back answered the question. She rose when she was told and walked on numb, unsteady legs between two men in grey-green uniforms, one ahead and one behind, along a corridor and down a flight of stairs.
A wider corridor stood at the bottom of the staircase, arching, whitewashed brick that ended at a stout, iron bound door. As they approached it, Lisl looked through a doorway at her left and saw a uniformed man leaning over a desk and talking to a laughing girl secretary who glanced indifferently in her direction before returning to her flirting. One of the guards unlocked the door and pushed Lisl through. The corridor continued on the other side, the lights harsher, the whitewash duller and flaking from the bricks. At regular intervals along its length were doors with small shutters at eye level. Lisl gulped and felt the fluttering in her belly increase as her escorts opened one of the doors and pushed her ungently inside.
Her attention was drawn at once to a man stripped to the waist and bent over a long, wooden table, his heavily perspiring torso gleaming in the glare from the lights overhead. Then she saw the girl. She was naked, bathed in sweat and held by leather straps around her outstretched wrists and ankles to the table’s corners.
Lisl’s stomach shrank. It was the girl from the waiting room. Movement caught her eye and she saw a second man, also bare-chested, turn from placing a black box in a cupboard that stood beside a small table, and stride to a wall-rack filled with whips and canes. He took a whip made up of several long leather thongs, thickly knotted at every few inches along their length. Slipping his hand through the cord loop on its short handle, he went to stand at the foot of the long table, looking down at the naked girl.
The man who had been leaning over and talking to her stepped back with a grin and glanced up to watch his colleague give the whip an experimental swing.
“Ilsa,” he said quietly and the girl turned her anguished face towards him.
The other guard lashed the heavily knotted scourge down. It landed with a loud, solid smack between the girls parted legs. Both men laughed as she screamed and her body jerked, limbs tugging against their tight restraints. The one standing by her head went to the rack and took a whip for himself, an ugly, frightening thing, Lisl thought, thicker by far than her middle finger, stiff and inflexible for two thirds of its length and then broadening into a flat leather tongue that gradually tapered to a point. She shuddered as he raised his arm.
“Hang on. Let’s get this one sorted out first,” the older of Lisl’s two guards said.
The man who had been about to strike looked up. “Our next customer, eh? Go ahead. Ilsa isn’t in a hurry, are you sweetheart?” He grinned wickedly at the girl who was squirming on the hard table, head rocking from side to side as she hissed through clenched teeth at the pain of the fiery streaks that had appeared on her lower belly and the insides of her thighs.
Holding on to their whips, the two interrogators lit cigarettes and watched while the older guard reached for the buttons on Lisl’s coat. She shied from his touch and the guard behind her gripped her upper arms. The first man’s thick, short whip pressed under her chin, forcing her head up until she was staring into his face.
“Don’t move! You’d better not fight me, bitch. I guarantee it won’t be me who comes off worst.”
“But I haven’t -.” His big fist hitting hard in Lisl’s belly silenced her. She doubled up, winded.
Her tormentors yanked her upright and the older man undressed her with a speed that told her he had stripped others in her position many times before.
“Nice tits,” the man with the broad-tailed whip said when she stood naked in front of them.
“Nice everything,” the one who had undressed her said, and Lisl cringed inwardly as his eyes raked the length of her nudity, taking in every curve and crevice. Her knees were shaking and making her breasts shake too.
“Think we might get a crack at fucking her later, Scharfuehrer?” the guard behind her asked hopefully.
He had seemed very young to Lisl; younger than she was.
The older man gave a scoffing laugh. “Huebner, my boy, you should try thinking with your brain occasionally. No, we won’t get a chance. Those Gestapo boys who brought her in are hand in glove with Schroeder. I’ll give you two to one he’s here inside the next half-hour.”
“Then we’ll just have to make do with Ilsa.” The man at her head reached out and gave one of the girl’s up-thrust breasts a hard squeeze. She squirmed.
“Come on, you.” The Scharfuehrer took Lisl’s elbow and dragged her to a rectangular wooden box about two feet high, the same in width and three feet long. It stood a few steps from where Ilsa lay strapped to the table. Fixed to each side were two upright tubular steel bars in the shape of an inverted ‘U’, and a few inches back from its front edge Lisl saw a metal strip, ‘L’-shaped in section, had been screwed to the wood. The Scharfuehrer slapped his whip across her bare bottom, just hard enough to sting.
“Get on. Knees on the metal and grip the bars with your hands. And Jesus better help you if you let go, ’cause I won’t.”
The blunt edge of the metal strip dug uncomfortably into the flesh just below Lisl’s kneecaps. She turned her head left and right as she reached up to the bars at head height on each side of her, and her bottom stung painfully from a harder smack with the whip.
“Keep your eyes on the table, you little cock-sucker. Why do you think we’ve given you a grandstand view? If I see you looking anywhere but there, you’re for it.”
Horribly sure she was ‘for it’ anyway, Lisl looked at the tense, sweat-sheened girl who lay breathing fast on the wooden table. How long before it was her turn?
Huebner sniggered. “Cock-sucker.”
“You can forget that as well,” the Scharfuehrer told him. “If Schroeder found out we’d touched one the Gestapo brought in before he’s had a chance to look her over, you can bet your balls we’d all find ourselves shipped off to the Eastern Front.”
“He… he could do that?” Huebner asked nervously.
The older man snorted. “What a fucking innocent you are. He can do whatever he likes. Ever wondered why the commandant always goes out of his way to be so obliging to him? He’s a Standartenfuehrer. He outranks Schroeder, but he gives him the run of this place whenever he shows up. Because Schroeder’s got more than just rank. He’s got influence. He knows all the right people, the big-shots in Berlin. If anybody gets on his wrong side he just has to make a ’phone call to make sure they regret it.”
“When the fucking ’phones are working,” the man with the knotted scourge said. “And if we do wind up on the Eastern Front we won’t have so far to travel. It’s getting fucking closer every day.”
“For fuck’s sake, shut your mouth,” the Scharfuehrer said, glancing nervously at the door. “If anybody heard that you could end up against a wall facing a firing squad. And us too!”
The man looked resentful. “It’s fucking true, and you know it. It could all be over by Christmas.”
The older man sighed. “Well, if it is I want to be here to see it.” He tugged at the badge with the SS runes sewn to the right side of his tunic collar. “We’re not immune just because we wear this. The Gestapo are always prowling the corridors in this place. So keep it quiet in future.”
The discomfort in Lisl’s knees had turned to pain and her arms were aching from holding them up to grip the bars. The guard who had complained stared at her as if everything was her fault, dropped his cigarette on the floor and stood on it.
“Let’s get back to work.”
His companion took a last draw on his cigarette, blew the smoke at the lit end until it brightened and leaned over Ilsa’s supine body. Lisl caught her breath as he held the glowing tip to the soft skin of the girl’s mound just above her sweat-soaked pubic hair. Ilsa made half-strangled whimpering noises, head rolling as she fought to suppress her cries.
The man laughed softly. “Thinks she’s a tough one. Let’s see.” He stepped back and brought the long, broad tongue of the whip down savagely onto the girl’s firm breasts. Before her cry had faded his companion stood at Ilsa’s opposite side and slashed his knotted whip across the fronts of her thighs. She screamed.
Horrified, Lisl watched the two men flog the helpless girl, one gradually working his way down and the other up her body. They passed one another at her waist, all the time lashing her hard and quickly, her screams at each meaty smack of stiff leather on soft flesh coming so fast they merged into one long, agonised shriek of torment.
From shoulders to knees her skin flamed scarlet. Her breasts and belly and thighs were peppered with purpling blotches where the knots of the scourge had bitten deep into her flesh. The crimson welts left by the tongue of the lash seemed to swell visibly before Lisl’s eyes. Dark ridges crisscrossed Ilsa’s ravaged skin, with beads of blood, bright and terrifyingly red, oozing from beneath it where the leather had scored most deeply. Soon the up-welling blood had become a trickle in a score of different places.
The girl’s screams echoed from the brick walls and set Lisl’s head spinning until she almost lost her grip on the metal bars. A fiery sting on her buttocks reminded her the Scharfuehrer was watching her. She took a deep breath and steeled herself against the terror and nausea that were churning her belly, forcing herself to keep watching the tortured, writhing girl. There was blood on Ilsa’s wrists and ankles too, where her frenzied thrashing was making them cut into her flesh. Surely she could not take much more. It suddenly struck Lisl that not once had either of the girl’s interrogators asked her a question.
The door banged closed. With Ilsa screaming no one had heard it open. The men stopped flogging her and came to attention, sweat streaming down their naked, heaving chests. The Scharfuehrer and Huebner clicked their heels and stood rigid.
“Gentlemen, a busy day at the office, I see.”
The voice was deep, the tone, Lisl thought, one of mild amusement. Boot heels tapped on the floor. She lowered her eyes from Ilsa’s bloodied breasts and breathed shallowly, staring at the floor in front of her. A pair of shiny, tailored boots appeared, perfectly-cut breeches tucked into their high tops, and two hands with manicured fingernails. They held a pair of black leather gloves, a thin riding crop with a short, leather thong at its tip, and a grey-green peaked cap. On the cap’s high front were the eagle badge of the Reich and the grinning death’s head of the SS. Lisl shivered.
“Pretty,” the voice said. “Very pretty.” The riding crop pressed under her chin to lift her head. “Very pretty indeed.”
Lisl saw the small, round black badge on the right tunic cuff with the white letters ‘SD’ upon it and her heart missed a beat. He was not just an SS officer but also a member of its dreaded security service. Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to his face. Blue eyes under level, black eyebrows looked back at her. She saw a firm, chiselled jaw, a straight nose, a narrow-lipped mouth smiling thinly and confirming she had detected a note of amusement in the man’s words. There was no humour in his eyes though. They were bright and hard as steel. They turned on the Scharfuehrer.
“One for me to deal with, I think.”
“Jawohl, Herr Sturmbannfuehrer.”
The officer went to the girl on the table and brushed away the hair plastered to her sweating face. “Got anything yet?”
The man with the long-tongued whip shook his head. “She thinks she’s a fighter, Herr Sturmbannfuehrer, but we’ll teach her she’s wrong.”
The ghost-smile appeared again as he eyed Ilsa’s whip-ravaged body. “I think not. I’ll take her too. Get her to the infirmary. I’ll expect her to be delivered in a month. She should be well recovered by then.” His head snapped around as the youngest guard sucked in a noisy breath. “Something?” he demanded.
The man eyed him nervously. “No, Sturmbannfuehrer Schroeder.”
Schroeder’s smile widened just enough to reveal the edges of his white teeth. “Never mind. There are plenty of traitors out there. In fact, the Gestapo have just dropped off another two. You can have them both if you like.” He went to the small table in the corner and picked up the brown file that lay there, adding it to the one already tucked beneath his left arm. He nodded towards the girl on the table. “One month,” he reminded the SS men and beckoned Lisl. “Put your coat on.”
Wincing from the pain in her knees, Lisl pushed her numb hands into her coat sleeves and fumbled with fastening its buttons.
“Here,” Schroeder snapped as if he was calling a dog to heel. With a forlorn glance at the rest of her clothing, she abandoned it and followed him.
Chapter 3
Lisl’s bare feet were very cold by the time they passed under the red, white and black swastika flag flapping above the building’s entrance in the chill, easterly breeze. The wind seemed to bite to the bone as Lisl hurried to keep pace with the man’s long strides.
He stopped at a big Horch touring car whose driver had already leaped out and opened one of its rear doors. Schroeder made Lisl go first and got in beside her. He opened one of the brown folders as they drove away. Lisl’s sideways glance from beneath her lowered eyelids revealed the photograph inside was a larger version of the slightly out-of-focus one on her identity papers.
“Liselotte Hartmann,” Schroeder said. “Aged twenty three, single, not a party member. You came here from Stuttgart a month ago. Why?”
Lisl’s heart thumped. She licked her dry lips and saw him looking at her impatiently. “The… the bombing. My home. I lost everything. It’s very bad there now. The bombing, I mean.”
He looked up from the two sheets of paper which, apart from the photograph, were all the file contained. “Unbutton your coat.”
“What?”
“Do it.” His tone and his hard stare compelled her to obey. He grabbed her right breast. Lisl clutched her hands over his but he was far stronger than she was. He twisted her nipple until it was burning. “All prisoners call me ‘Herr Sturmbannfuehrer’ when they answer me,” he snapped.
“But I haven’t done anything. They said-.”
He twisted her nipple in the opposite direction until the pain brought tears to Lisl’s eyes.
“Ow! Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuehrer. Yes!” She felt a sudden quiver low down in her belly.
Schroeder laughed softly. “You clearly don’t understand. Anyone who falls into the hands of the Gestapo is automatically assumed to be guilty of something. If we don’t already know what it is, we very quickly find out.” He flicked the papers in the file. “But in your case we know precisely the crime you have committed – spreading defeatism. Treason against the Reich.”
“No,” Lisl said. “No Herr Sturmbannfuehrer. I am a loyal German.” She glanced down when he did and saw the second page in the folder was a handwritten letter.
“ ‘I wish this awful war could be over, even if it means we have to lose it,’ ” he read. “ ‘What is the Fuehrer thinking to let so many innocent people be killed? If victory is so close, why do the enemy bombers keep coming?’ ” Ice-blue eyes stared unblinkingly at Lisl’s face. “You deny you said those things?”
“I… I….” She gulped. “That’s not the way I said them, not straight out like that. It… it isn’t what I meant.”
“No? Well, we’ll have to find out what you did mean then.” Schroeder closed the folder and laid it on the car’s seat. His gaze moved from Lisl’s face to watch her bared breasts sway and jiggle with the motion of the car. She looked down and saw the big outline of an erection straining his tight breeches. Quickly turning her face away, she spent the rest of the journey staring directly in front of her at the back of the driver’s head.