Slaves of the Swastika (7 page)

Reluctantly he pulled out with a squishy “Plop!” and Helga moaned and turned her head to the other side, her eyes now closed, her naked titties rising and falling erratically.

No sooner had Manfred Strobel clambered down from the table than Willi Murtens, without even bothering to let down his trousers, simply unbuttoned the fly and liberated his bulging prick. It was broader and thicker than his companion's, and he at once flung himself down on the table and over the whimpering naked captive. He did not mind the wetness of her vaginal sheath, for there was a perversity in his mind which gave him great pleasure in degrading any female captives who fell into the hands of his master. With savage, jerking thrusts, he impaled her to his balls at each stroke, and Helga Nordheim's face began to turn this way and that, her eyes rolling and then closing, her brows furrowed, her fingers clawing into her palms as she arched and strained and twisted to evade this violently zealous penetration.

Like his comrade, he thrust his forefinger into Helga's asshole and began to work it energetically in and out, drawing whimpering sobs and groans from the unhappy captive. Her body jerked and shuddered as he plunged back and forth inside of her, his teeth set, his eyes squinting with an evil glow. And when at last he flooded her cunthole with his bubbling gush, she writhed and sank back, face turned to one side, her titties heaving, half fainting. But she had not yet attained climax.

The
Oberst
had lighted a cigarette now and was amusing himself blowing smokerings up at the ceiling as he watched his two subordinates ravage the naked wife of the missing Professor Nordheim. When Willi Murtens had concluded his rape, he now gave an order in a barked-out angry tone: “I want this whore hung by the heels from that hook in the ceiling, you understand? Bind her wrists behind her back, and let her dangle upside down. If the blood rushes to her head, perhaps she'll recover her memory along with that. And at the same time, having watched you two go at her as if she were a piece of liver from the butcher shop, I'm going to show you gentlemen how to enjoy oneself with a handsome bitch like Helga Nordheim!”

The unfortunate naked woman hardly had strength left to resist her tormentors as they laughingly dragged her from the table and to the center of the room. There they roughly set her down on the floor on her back, and while Willi Murtens crouched over her and held her by the wrists, his colleague looked up at the ceiling and saw a heavy metal hook from which was tied a sturdy rope. He caught the end of the rope and made a slip-noose, which he adjusted around the naked woman's ankles as Willi Murtens lifted her up in his arms with her legs uppermost and her head dangling towards the floor. When the noose was tight, Manfred Strobel nodded and Willi Murtens released the weeping and pleading victim. She swung in the air in a kind of pendulum, back and forth, until her momentum slackened. The rope had been so adjusted that her head was only about two feet from the floor. Manfred Strobel had clambered onto a heavy wooden stool which he had drawn out into the center of the room just in front of the hook to accomplish this maneuver.

Willi Murtens now took a length of rope, the same as he had used to bind her wrists to the table, and bound her wrists this time behind her back. Now Helga Nordheim was absolutely helpless, and a sense of cringing terror congealed her entire body as she dangled from the hood upside down.

The
Oberst
pushed the stool in front of her head, seated himself on it after first unbuttoning his trousers and liberating his broadly thick and commendably long angrily stiff prick. In his right hand there was the riding crop again, with whose flap he began to flick at her nipples, already swollen and darkened and excruciatingly sensitive from the work of the tweezers. “If you feel like stopping this for a few moments, my dear Helga,” he blandly told the weeping woman, “all you have to do is swing yourself a little towards me until your mouth manages to reach my cock. It's like catching the gold ring on the merry-go-round, you might say, my dear Helga. And then if you can give me a good blow job, I might be inclined to give you a little rest before we proceed with the rest of the interrogation. Do you understand me, my dear? Very good. Let's see how energetic you are. You're getting a little fleshy in the hips and tummy, I've noticed, so the exercise will do you a world of good.”

With this, laughing uproariously—in which his two subordinates greedily joined him—the Gestapo officer began to flick at Helga's titties and belly and the insides of her thighs with the flap of the leather riding crop, while the shrieks and imploring, incoherent pleas of the unfortunate captive rang out in the interrogation chamber. Jerking her bound wrists, twisting and arching her shoulders, she managed to achieve a slight movement back and fro, which the quickened and more cruelly stinging flicks of the riding crop encouraged, until at last she was swinging about a foot this way and that. The stool brought his loins to almost an exact level with her mouth, which of course he had calculated in advance. He spread his legs, and with his left forefinger beckoned to her as he would to a dog: “You're almost there, Helga...
ach gut!
Just a little more will do it—there you are, now try to hold it—oh, too bad, you missed me! Better luck next time, you pretty bitch!” And, to punish her for failure—for her lips had just managed to graze the straining tip of his swollen prick, the Gestapo officer lifted up the riding crop and slashed down between her naked legs right on her hairless pussy, wresting an indescribable and prolonged shriek of maddened agony from the desperate naked woman.

Her jerks and contortions in the air made the two privates roar with salacious laughter, and it also stiffened their pricks for a new encounter in her already ravaged quim. But the unfortunate wife of Professor Kurt Nordheim could think of only one thing, to stop this merciless, inhuman torment, and she swung and twisted herself until at last her lips managed to clamp over the prickhead of the Nazi officer and then, directed by a wicked cut of the crop over the base of her bottom, she began noisily to suck and to mouth that obscene weapon.

The two young couples had taken pains not to draw suspicion on themselves when they left Kathy Flichtsen's house. But luck was against them on this particular occasion. Max Dornburg, though wearing glasses and rejected by the Army because of his poor vision and excitable heart, happened to look sturdy and robust. And in October, 1944, the sight of a perfectly healthy young male walking the streets of Berlin and not in uniform was subject to immediate questioning by the SS guards as well as by the many Gestapo plainclothes men who were forever roaming the streets.

Trudy Heinzelman was clinging to his arm and chatting away volubly as they walked down the steps of the old two-story house on Blumen
Strassge
and made a turn to the North. Trudy was almost as tall as her sweetheart, and there was a perverse mannishness to both her figure and her hair style, which Max particularly enjoyed. Because of his tachycardia, he had often found it most relaxing to lie on his back in bed while his charming brunette girl friend mounted atop him, inserted his stiff prick into her dainty quim and sat down to impale herself and then did all the work. In fact, Trudy herself recommended this so that it wouldn't be too great a strain on his heart, for she was an exceptionally passionate girl. However, unlike Kathy, she was very sentimental and solicitous about people, and this was to cost her a terrible ordeal in the hands of the dread wearers of the swastika.

They walked on slowly, not wanting to attract any attention, and Trudy held him very close by the arm and looked up at him with a roguish wink, murmuring, “You know, Max, I've got a pretty good idea why Kathy wanted the Professor all to herself just now. She wants to screw him.”

“You think so, Trudy
Liebchen,”
he chuckled, with a warm responsive hug. “Well, you can't blame the poor girl, she did loose her guy, you know. A sniper got him in France. He could have really given her what she needed, so I guess it is natural for her to want an older man who knows just how to take care of a woman the way the Professor truly must.”

“Well, don't you worry any, Max,” Trudy teased him, “I'm not the least bit jealous of Kathy. You want to know what I want you to do now? Take me to your flat and love me up good. You know, just the thought of poor Professor Nordheim's wife Helga being taken by the Gestapo got me all quivery inside. I know it's dreadful, I know how those beasts hurt women. Just the same, I happen to see in my mind's eye Helga all naked and maybe tied up by the wrist and maybe standing on tiptoe with all the Nazi brutes around her pinching her and poking her and hitting her with whips and making her talk. And then I see myself in her place, and you there doing it to me and I get all squirmy and melting inside, and then
lieber
Max, I need it from you right now. Let's hurry home, please!”

Max Dornburg gave his betrothed a passionate look and nodded, flushing like a schoolboy. The two of them had been sweethearts for nearly a year now, and after he had been rejected by the Army, the brunette had generously made him the gift of her own virginity while at the same time removing the burden of his. He had been afraid of women then, but he had felt so depressed and so inferior by the Army turndown that Trudy had wanted to mother him and make him feel like a man. So she reasoned that the best way to do that was to let him fuck her. And ever since then she had clung to him faithfully, though she had certainly had many propositions from other far more handsome and healthier male specimens, particularly overbearing soldiers just back from the front on leave who had promised they would make her insides churn if she'd only let them fuck her just once.

Suddenly the sound of a whistle broke the stillness of the street. Trudy's eyes widened and then she muttered in a low voice to Max,
“Ach, Gott,
it must be the police! Don't run, now, just let's go on as we have been, talking like this. That way they won't be suspicious.”

“Sure, Trudy honey,” Max said in a trembling voice. His heart was beginning to pound wildly again, as it always did when he was nervous or upset. He was scared stiff, and he couldn't stop himself. Now again the whistle sounded and it was very close to them. Max, who was at the curbside of the sidewalk, glanced to his left and there was a police car with the lights flashing, and a man in a brown uniform with a swastika armband was gesturing to him and calling out in an angry voice, “What the devil's the matter with you, fellow? Can't you hear a whistle? Don't you know that means to stop? Secret Police! Just stand where you are, the two of you!”

Max cast an imploring look at his sweetheart, who bit her lips and imperceptibly shook her head and said, “Don't panic now, for God's sake, Max. We've done nothing, we were just visiting Kathy, and that's all.”

The man who had accosted Max Dornburg now got out of the car, and from the back seat two Plainclothes men emerged as well. They were both stocky with bowler hats and overcoats against the raw October afternoon. The SS soldier wore sergeant's stripes, and he turned his head to confer with the two other men, who both nodded. He then went up to Max Domburg and said, “Your papers,
schnell!”

Max fumbled in the pocked of his coat under his thick overcoat and drew out his identification. The SS noncommissioned officer seized it, scowled at it, handed it to the two men who in turn examined it. “And the girl?” the sergeant demanded.

“Why, she's my fiancee, sir,” Max Dornburg said politely.

“Speak when you are spoken to. All right, you,” the sergeant jerked his thumb at Trudy, “let's see what you've got to prove who you are. And make it fast, girlie!”

“Why, I'm a student at the university, that's all,” Trudy said in a clear brave voice, “I'm afraid I didn't bring any papers, sir, but everybody knows me. My professor can vouch for me, my name is Trudy Heinzelman, and I five at 38 Kirchevasser Boulevard.”

“Where did you two just come from, girl?” the sergeant demanded.

“Max and I were visiting our friend Kathy Flichtsen, in that house back down the street, sir,” Trudy explained. “She's a student too. We had some other friends there too. We were just talking about a composition we had to do, and about the work ahead in our class, that's all.”

“I see. Wait a bit, there's another couple!” The sergeant suddenly raised his voice and turned, for down the street came Erich Luvrow and his girlfriend Eva Jung. “Those the ones you mean, girl?”

“Yes, that's Erich and Eva,” Trudy said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Just the same, her mouth felt terribly dry and her mouth felt clammy and her heart was beginning to pound as bad as Max's.

The two plainclothes men now went down the sidewalk to intercept Erich and Eva and to demand their identification papers. Trudy pricked up her ears and tried desperately to hear what was being said to her friends, but she got only an unintelligible mumble. Meanwhile the sergeant hadn't finished with her: “Pay attention when I'm talking to you, girl! That's the trouble with you damned intellectuals, you forget that there is a war on and that the
Fuhrer
expects you to be patriotic citizens too in return for your schooling! Now then, who lives with you at home, at the address you just gave me?”

“My father and mother, sir.”

“Any brothers in the service?”

Trudy shook her head. The sergeant eyed her with a mocking little smile, and he suddenly flung at her: “Do you know about
Till Eulenspiegel?”

Trudy hadn't been prepared for so abrupt a transition in the questioning; consequently she hesitated for a tiny but fatal moment, and her cheeks flushed as she wet her lips with her tongue and then stammered, “Why, isn't that the name of an orchestral work by Richard Strauss?”

“Very good, I congratulate you,
Fraulein,”
the sergeant jeered. “But you waited just a bit too long to think that one up, didn't you? Oh, it's clever, I'll grant you that! I think you'd better come along down to Gestapo headquarters, Trudy.”

“Oh please—I've done nothing—I'm just a student—I tell you,” Trudy began to panic herself, her eyes dilating and she felt as if her legs were trembling so hard that they were going to give way any minute beneath her.

“You can prove all that down at headquarters! Come along, get in the car!” the sergeant snapped.

“Max, for God's sake, run.” Trudy hissed to her sweetheart. She turned to follow the sergeant who had hold of her elbow, and the bearded young student suddenly broke into a run down the street. The sergeant shoved Trudy towards the car with his left hand, drew a Luger out of its holster with his right, took careful aim and fired a snap shot. Max Dornburg uttered a shriek, flung up his arms, pitched forward on his face and sprawled into the gutter. He was quite dead.

Trudy stared unbelievingly, and then covered her face with her hands. She was numb with terror and despair. Because now she knew that the Gestapo was going to question her and when they found that her parents were dead, contrary to what she had told the sergeant, they would probably search her place, and when they did, they would find copies of the latest issue of
Till Eulenspiegel.

The two plainclothes men had already decided that Erich Lovrow and Eva Jung ought to be brought along for questioning if only as a mere formality; after all, they had been witnesses to a most unfortunate attempt to escape by an arrested prisoner, a suspect who was about to be charged with treason. And Erich Lovrow, in his terror that his parents who were very upright and bigoted might find out about his liaison with beautiful gold-haired Eva, lost his nerve and began to beg the two Gestapo undercover men to let him go and to say nothing to his parents because otherwise he and his girlfriend would get into trouble. This naturally convinced them that he had something to hide.

And so the three young people were herded into the car, the door slammed on them, and the uniformed chauffeur drove off to the South towards the grim building in which Helga Nordheim was still undergoing her atrociously prolonged and brutal interrogation by
Oberst Friedrich Mueller
and Willi Murtens and Manfred Strobel...

Whimpering, half-fainting, the naked wife of Professor Kurt Nordheim frantically sucked
Oberst Muller's
aching prick while he playfully continued to flick her dangling upside-down body with the stinging flap of his riding crop. “Now mind, Helga,” he purred, “you're to swallow every drop, otherwise I shall have to punish you for being a sloppy bitch. It won't do to have my good German seed wasted on this dirty floor. Tell me,
Liebchen
have you ever done this to your dear Professor?”

“Ohhh—mfff—aggghhh—n—n—no, oh God, let me down, let me down, I'm going to faint, I'm going to die, it hurts me so—oh have pity on me, I'm doing what you want,
Herr Oberst!”
Helga Nordheim panted.

“You simply will not learn that when an officer of the Gestapo puts a question to you, you must answer him,” he said silkily. He raised the crop, suspended his arm, paused for a moment, and then brought it straight down, and the flap of the weapon hit home against the inflamed hairless cuntlips of the agonized naked woman.

A gurgling shriek tore from Helga Nordheim as her entire body seemed to lunge and jerk, and in so doing her mouth left the aching meatus of the Gestapo chief.

“But that's no answer, you bitch! And look what you've done, you've stopped sucking me just at the point that I was ready to fill your mouth with my good German spunk.” the
Oberst
snarled. “Willi, help the lady!”

“Jawoll, mein Oberst!”
The Nazi private chuckled as he clicked his heels and saluted. Then he strolled over to the swaying naked body, licked his lips and thrust his right forefinger into Helga grateful to us for effecting such a tender reconciliation. Look out now, I'm going to get ready to spurt right into your mouth, you sweet bitch! Swallow it all down like a good girl, or we'll make you swallow a quart of castor oil and leave you here all night long tied up like this, and I mean it, Helga!” His voice suddenly grew raucous and strained. He closed his eyes, tilted back his head, his breathing heavy and quickened. Helga Nordheim, mad with shame and terror, feeling the stinging bite of the riding crop which Willi Murtens still continued to flick across her tender legs and bottom, prepared herself. And then with a bellow, the Gestapo officer gave out with the bubbling viscosity in his hairy balls, and Helga Norhheim spluttered and choked and coughed but, luckily for her, managed her very first time to swallow every drop.

“Not too bad, for a beginner,” the Gestapo officer languidly observed. “You can take her down from the hook now, boys. Put her back on the table, but this time on her belly, and tie her and blindfold her. We'll give her a little rest while we think up something new. She's getting to the informative stage, now. Pretty soon she'll be very eager to tell us all she knows about
Till Eulenspiegel.”