(Prologue: For the sake of our story let us suppose that there exists
somewhere, in a region of equitable climate and tolerant society, a resort
dedicated to enabling its members to act out their most secret, and sometimes
their darkest, fantasies. The resort, which might be known by a name such as the
Villa di Dolore, would undoubtedly have sufficiently spacious grounds to provide
the necessary privacy, an extensive and varied inventory of sets and props to
accommodate whatever scenes its members might contemplate. It would necessarily
have a small, well trained, dedicated and very discreet staff ensuring that the
membership could enjoy a safe, sane and of course consensual experience. )
Maquisard
by
von Hentzau
The name she chose for her adventure, since all members assumed a totally
fictitious name upon passing through the gates of the Villa di Dolore, was
Yvette Delaune. A suitable name for the scene she had arrange as will shortly
become clear. She had arrived late the night before. She had been shown to a
solitary room where she'd had a light dinner and a carafe of very good Bordeaux.
She'd watched an old 1940's movie, a wartime drama, to better put her in the
mood and then retired with one of her favorite espionage novels for bedtime
reading.
As far back as she could remember stories of women in peril had sent a
strange thrill through her, part fear, part something she wouldn't understand
until she was older. Any movie or book in which the heroine was placed in peril,
captured, especially if the capture involved being tied up and threatened with a
horrible fate had this effect on her. Spy stories were her real specialty.
Stories involving a female agent captured by the enemy. Most particularly she
was fond of stories of the World War II French Resistance, the Maquis, and the
horrors perpetrated by the German Gestapo and Schutzstaffel, the dread 'SS'."
But while stimulating they were also somewhat frustrating. The heroine
almost always was rescued before the evil Gestapo could actually do anything. Or
if they did, it was off camera and only vaguely alluded to. She could only guess
what the Gestapo might do to a helpless female body. She would lay awake in the
dark thinking of a continuation for the story where the brave woman spy wasn't
rescued but had to suffer unspeakable torments at the hands of sadistic
interrogators. A hand would slip under her nightclothes to touch, to caress
those parts she suspected might be involved. Those private places that one kept
covered, that no one was allowed to see or touch. What could be more horrible
than to have the enemy having access to those places, controlling them, doing
things to a girl's most sensitive and vulnerable parts.
Yvette soon discovered that certain of those parts reacted to the attention
in surprising and pleasant ways, especially when the physical stimuli combined
with the fantasy being spun out in her mind.
The early morning hours were spent in preparation, bathing, shaving
superfluous body hair and dressing in the costume provided. Now the Handler led
her from the Slaves entrance of the Villa. The leash and collar were not
necessary. Yvette was a willing participant and, in fact, the architect of the
day's activity. But it was traditional.
The Handler led her through the arched rear entrance of the central
courtyard and out onto the lawns, down towards the woods the make up a sizeable
part of the grounds. She was outfitted as was appropriate. White cotton blouse
above sturdy corduroy shorts. Low boots. A military rucksack was on her back and
a submachine gun under her arm. It was a German MP40. The less well informed
might think it was called a Schmeisser, but Yvette had done her research and
knew that was a name the Allies had mistakenly given it.
They approached the edge of the woods. A wide, well trodden path opened
through the trees before them. The Handler halted. He unbuckled the collar from
around Yvette's neck.
"If you have any reservations, my dear, speak now," the Handler said
quietly. "Once you enter the woods you must see it through to the end."
"I'm ready," Yvette said.
"Very well. As of this moment you are a Resistance fighter named Yvette.
Your Maquis comrades are at the far side of the woods. You must pass through the
woods and join them. But beware, the Waffen SS have been patrolling the forest."
Yvette turned to face the pathway into the woods and adjusted the rucksack.
The Handler slapped her lightly on her butt to get her started. It was another
quaint tradition of the Villa. She stepped out briskly and quickly disappeared
in the shadows of the woods.
There were many trails branching off to one side or the other, but the main
trail was obvious by its wider tread and more heavily traveled look. Yvette
stuck to it. After perhaps ten minutes she began to get the uncomfortable
feeling that she was being followed. She glanced behind her but saw nothing. She
kept walking, not wanting to betray her suspicions until she came to a bend it
the trail where it curved around a large tree trunk.
Quickly she ducked behind the trunk, then peered out around the opposite
side. Sure enough, there were two men following her. The unmistakable gray-green
uniform jackets and helmets revealed them as German soldiers. She took a few
careful steps away from the tree trunk, then broke into an easy, light-footed
run.
She hadn't gone more than a dozen yards before she saw a figure standing in
the shadows ahead of her, a figure in a gray-green uniform. A stray beam of
light filtering through the branches revealed the collar badge of an
obersturmfuhrer, the Waffen-SS equivalent of a Wehrmacht oberleutnant or first
lieutenant. Quickly Yvette reversed direction, looking for a side path to dodge
down. But she was too late. The men following her, a pair of SS privates she
noted from the runes on their collar badges, were much closer than she'd
expected. She dashed madly into the underbrush. But too late. Heavy footsteps
converged on her. Strong arms seized her before she could batter her way through
the clinging bushes.
Quickly one of the men seized her machine pistol. The other jerked the
rucksack from her shoulders. Then the two burly SS men frog marched Yvette to
where the obersturmfuhrer waited. One of them handed the officer her submachine
gun.
"So, fraulein," he said with a sneer. "Where would you be going in the
woods today? A picnic, perhaps? And why is it you must carry one of our
maschinenpistolen? Is the big, bad wolf about in the woods today?"
Yvette put on her most innocent expression and said nothing. That was the
key. Say nothing. In one of the many espionage novels she'd read the veteran
Resistance fighter had given that advice to the pretty, young recruit, just
before she was captured.
"Say nothing," the ruggedly handsome but fatalistic hero had said. "They
want to start you talking, to get you to tell lies. Because they are clever.
Even your lies are useful to them. Once they get you to start talking you cannot
stop. They will dig and dig until you let something true slip out. So no matter
what they do, tell them nothing."
Out of the corner of her eye Yvette noticed one of the SS men rummaging
through her rucksack. It suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what was
in the rucksack. It was merely a prop one of the Handler's assistants had given
her. She didn't have long to wait. A smile came across the man's face, a wicked
smile. He handed the rucksack to the obersturmfuhrer who opened the flap and
fished around for a minute. He withdrew his hand, clutching a pale white, waxy
looking block.
"So, you always go on picnics with Composition C explosives? You have
problems with ants perhaps ?"
He stepped very close to her, looking down into her face. Clever casting,
thought the part of Yvette's mind that had remained detached, as if watching the
scene. Yvette was a petite woman. For opponents three tall, burly men had been
chosen.
"Caught with explosives and a weapon. You realize we could shoot you out of
hand? But then the Gestapo would be angry with us for they undoubtedly would
like to ask you a question or two. Then again I think perhaps your friends may
be near and you can tell us where they are, so perhaps a field interrogation is
in order." He reached out and fondled Yvette's breasts through the fabric of her
blouse. "Besides, why should the schwein at headquarters have all the fun?
"But first things first. Let us see what other surprises you might have for
us. Fritz! Hans! Strip her."
The two SS men were practiced at the art. One moved behind Yvette, keeping
a firm hold on her wrists and releasing them only long enough for his partner to
execute the necessary moves. Her blouse was the first to come off. The pockets
were searched and the garment tossed aside. Her boots were removed, inspected.
Then the SS man started fumbling with the belt of Yvette's shorts. She
struggled briefly but the man holding her tightened his grip and pulled back on
her arms. He briefly placed a knee at the small of her back, applying enough
pressure to make clear to Yvette that he could make it quite painful for her if
she didn't cooperate. The belt was undone and the shorts slid to the ground,
revealing her practical vintage white cotton underwear. The soldiers snickered.
"Ah. French fashion," one muttered.
The undresser stood up. He reached around behind Yvette to undo her bra,
purposely pressing up against her as he did so. The pair performed a clever and
well practiced maneuver then getting the bra straps over her arms while one or
the other of the men always kept a firm grip. It took but seconds before the bra
was off.
The soldier and the obersturmfuhrer both paused to admire Yvette's
endowments. Not overly large, her breasts were young and firm, with a shape that
might have been copied from a classical statue. Small, light brown nipples
pointed proudly up and out from the near perfect hemispheres. Yvette could see
from the leers on their face that both of them could hardly wait to get their
hands on her.
Next the soldier hooked his thumbs under the waist band of her panties. He
slid them slowly down, with a dramatic pause as he exposed her freshly shaven
pussy. He worked them off one leg, then the other, blocking her attempts to kick
him as he did so. The panties were tossed on the pile of discarded clothing and
Yvette stood naked before her captors.
This was her fantasy come to life, in general terms. She had discussed
various aspects of her wicked dreams with the Planners when she had arranged for
the scene, though there was no set script. Now that she was in the fantasy she
began to feel some different emotions. She was standing, naked, before the gaze
of three very large, strong males. The fragile armor of her clothing was gone,
even the modest concealment afforded by her pubic hair, freshly shaven that
morning. Every part of her most private regions, breasts, buttocks, pussy, was
exposed, vulnerable, a focus for who knew what unspeakable tortures they might
wish to inflict upon her.
The obersturmfuhrer reached into his pocket and removed a latex glove. He
put it on his right hand.
"Bend her over," he ordered the SS men. "Who knows what a Maquis bitch
might have hidden about her."
Before Yvette could protest each man had grabbed her by arms and shoulders
and forced her to bend over at the hip. They hooked their legs inside hers and
forced her to spread them. She felt the gloved fingers first caress her sex
lips, then spread them apart. Two fingers were roughly thrust inside her,
spreading her open for inspection. She blushed bright red at the embarrassment.
The fingers were withdrawn. Then one fingertip was placed against her anus. It
lingered there for a moment, it's owner letting her contemplate what would come
next. Then, with no more lubrication than the modest amount it had picked up
inside her, the finger worked it way past her sphincter. The invader remained
for only a few seconds, but they were long seconds for Yvette.
"Let her up," the obersturmfuhrer said.
The SS men released their grips and let Yvette straighten up. No sooner was
she standing again than one of them pulled her wrists behind her and bound them.
"So, we should not keep you from your picnic, fraulein," the
obersturmfuhrer said. "As a matter of fact, I know an excellent place for a
picnic, and it's not very far from here. But still, we wouldn't want to chance
your getting lost on the way now, would we?"
The Obersturmfuhrer reached into the pocket of his tunic and brought out a
pair of clamps. He fastened one on each of Yvette's nipples, giving each a good
hard tug to make sure it was firmly in place. The clamps were joined by a short
length of small chain. The obersturmfuhrer tied the end of a length of thin rope
to the center of the chain.
"There now. If you'll follow me, please. And I suggest you be careful not
to lag behind." He gave the rope another good tug to emphasize his point.
The obersturmfuhrer turned, took a few steps and then broke into a
jog. Yvette had no choice but to follow, the clamps tugging mercilessly at her
tender nipples with each of the obersturmfuhrer's long strides. Behind them one
of the SS men picked up Yvette's MP40 while the other shouldered her rucksack.
They fell in close behind Yvette.
They didn't have far to go. A short side trail took then to a secluded spot
under the umbrella of a large tree. The obersturmfuhrer hung the rucksack and
the MP40 on a convenient branch. He then took the weapons from the two soldiers
and hung them up as well. He turned back to Yvette.
"So, how to begin?" said the obersturmfuhrer. "These discussions are always
so difficult at the beginning, don't you agree? A little ice breaker perhaps?"
He signaled to the two SS men. They grabbed Yvette by the upper arms and
walked her over to one of the tree trunks. It was a medium sized tree. The trunk
stood straight and branchless for a good eight feet. It was a foot thick, and
solid. The bark was smooth, as if it had been rubbed against often. Yvette
thought she was probably not the first to be brought here.
They stood her facing the trunk, brought her arms around it, raised her
hands well above eye level, and tied her wrists together with a rope that went
from one wrist around the trunk and then tied to the other. Her forearms were
crossed, forcing her to hug the tree. They positioned her ankles on either side
of the trunk and tied them, leaving her legs spread apart. That seemed ominous
to Yvette. Tied thusly there was no way she could shield the sensitive area
between her thighs.
While Yvette was being secured to the tree the obersturmfuhrer had been
busy selecting a long whippy branch. He made a show of trimming it with his
pocket knife, carefully selecting a position to do it in where Yvette could
watch him. When he was satisfied with his trimming job he gave the switch a few
practice swings. It made a most satisfactory sound cutting through the air. The
obersturmfuhrer then took up a position to Yvette's left.
"So, fraulein," he said. "Is there anything you would like to tell me. Or
shall I have to beat it out of you?"
He paused, slapping the switch menacingly against the palm of his free
hand. Yvette glanced at the switch, then turned her head to the opposite
direction and closed her eyes. You wanted to experience this, she reminded
herself.
When the first stroke came it surprised her. It was not the switch, but the
obersturmfuhrer's hand. He gave each butt cheek a solid, open palm slap. Then a
second and a third, alternating sides. The SS men laughed and made snide remarks
about the way her bottom jiggled.
Then she heard it, the switch whizzing through the air. It landed squarely
across both butt cheeks. It stung, much worse than she had expected. A second
blow landed, just above the first. It stung as badly, but at least she now knew
what to expect and could brace herself. Another blow landed below the first.
The obeersturnfuhrer took his time about it. After each blow he waited so
that the pain of one blow would not mask the pain of the next. Up and down he
went, from the top of her buttocks down onto the backs of her thighs. The
individual blows were bearable, Yvette thought, but the cumulative ordeal would
get to her eventually.
The obersturmfuhrer shifted his position. He also shifted his technique.
Instead of laying the switch flat across her now he was using just the tip. And
his targets were more selective. He started to concentrate on the curve where
her buttocks turned inwards to meet the tops of her thighs. He flicked the tip
closer and closer to her anus and even managed to hit the sensitive spot between
anus and vulva a few times.
Yvette began to think seriously about giving in. A safe word had been
arranged before hand, actually a phrase, an appropriate phrase for the scene
being enacted. All Yvette had to do to end the pain was say "I'll talk". With
each blow now Yvette was telling herself "Just one more. Just hold our for one
more blow."
Then it stopped. Yvette breathed a sigh of relief. She'd held out. They'd
come close to breaking her but she held out.
The SS men untied her. She was turned around and pushed back against the
tree trunk. Her arms were pulled behind the trunk and her wrists tied. Another
short piece of rope secured her to the tree at waist level. Finally they grabbed
her ankles and pulled them around to either side of the trunk and tied them, to
better expose her pussy.
The obersturmfuhrer fondled Yvette's breasts, gently massaging them, then
lightly pulling on her nipples.
"Not much to work with here," he said to his men. "But we will do our best
with what we have."
The obersturmfuhrer pulled out a pair of pliers. The jaws had been covered
in rubber. He grabbed one of Yvette's breasts, pinched out a fold of flesh and
seized it with the pliers. He squeezed, harder and harder. He repeated the
process on the other breast. Then back to the first. Back and forth he went.
Each time he selected a different bit of flesh and squeezed harder than the time
before.
Then he seized one of her nipples. First he squeezed it as hard as he
could. He pulled it out. Twisted it. Stretched and twisted, twisted and
stretched.
"Talk to me, fraulein," he said. He slowly stretched the nipple straight
out, then began describing a circle with it. "Your friends in the Resistance.
Where are they?"
Yvette closed her eyes and gritted her teeth and wondered just how far the
poor little thing could stretch. The obersturmfuhrer tried to other nipple. He
went back and forth several times.
Finally he stopped. Then he began to fondle her crotch, first using two
fingers to stroke her outer lips, then three, with the middle finger intruding
inside her. He rasped one of her outer lips, [inching it. Then he applied the
pliers, squeezing and twisting. He brought tears to Yvette's eyes, but she
remained silent. Finally he put the pliers back in his pocket.
The SS men withdrew some distance, talking among themselves, giving Yvette
time to collect herself. She'd held out so far, though there had been moments
when she'd been on the verge of yelling out the safe word. What were they
planning next?
They came back and unfastened her bonds. But she was not free for long. She
was allowed to take a couple steps away from the tree and then her wrists were
bound together in front of her. She was then led to a position beneath a large,
overhanging branch. A rope was thrown over the branch and the free end tied to
the rope around her wrists. The SS men began pulling on the rope.
"They're going to hang me from the branch," Yvette thought.
But they stopped when her arms were overhead but her feet still flat on the
ground. The SS men then took off their wide leather uniform belts.
"Culture time, fraulein," the obersturmfuhrer said. "Hans and Fritz here
just happen to be two of the best folk dance instructors in Germany. They're
going to teach you a few traditional German peasant dances."
Yvette wondered just what it was they were planning next. It didn't take
long to find out. Smiling like a pair of devils Hans and Fritz took position
facing Yvette and slightly off to either side. They'd each doubled their belts
and where holding the belts by the end. One of them was slapping the loop thus
formed lightly against the palm of the opposite hand.
Suddenly he swung out horizontally, from left to right, with the belt. It
caught Yvette across both breasts. It surprised her, but it wasn't as painful as
the switch had been. The belt was wide and impact was spread out.
The other man then caught her across the breasts with his belt from the
other direction. She tried to brace herself for a third blow, but this time it
was delivered against her belly. She quickly figured out their game. She was
tied loosely enough to dodge their blows but with the two assailants no matter
which way she dodged she left something exposed to one of the other. The belts
slapped across her breasts, her belly, her thighs, wrapped around to hit her
already sore buttocks. A few blows found their way between her legs.
It was exhausting, her futile efforts to avoid the blows. But fear
prevented her from standing just standing still and accepting them. Whenever she
saw and arm start to move she automatically dodged away from it. She was
grateful when they finally stopped and released her. But they gave her only
seconds to recover before they began her next ordeal.
They bent her over, forcing her to bend at the hips. Each wrist was tied
to the matching ankle. They then spread her legs a bit more than a shoulder's
width apart and improvised a spreader bar from a stout branch. One of the wide
leather uniform belts was strapped around Yvette's waist. A rope was thrown
over a stout branch. The end was tied around the belt at the small of Yvette's
back.
Both Hans and Fritz then began pulling on the other end of the rope. The
two large men had no trouble raising Yvette's bare hundred pounds off the. One
of them walked over to Yvette. He was obviously checking the height and it was
also obvious what he was checking the height for. He signaled for a slight
lowering. The other man obliged, then tied the rope off and joined his partner,
undoing his fly and pulling his erect cock out as he did so.
One of the men pulled a coin out of his pocket and flipped it in the air.
"Call it," he said.
"Heads," the other man said.
"Heads it is," the first replied, catching the coin and looking at it. He
stepped to Yvette's bare bottom, to where her sex was exposed between her
battered thighs.
"Remember your close combat socks," the obersturmfuhrer called out to them.
"Who knows what filthy Frenchman was there before you."
The SS man who remained standing before her reached into his pocket and
withdrew a condom packet. He opened the packet, removed the condom. He undid his
fly. A massive hard on came flopping out. He'd obviously been enjoying the show,
Yvette thought. He deftly unrolled the condom on his member.
Behind her his partner must have been doing likewise. Yvette felt poking
and prodding around her nether regions. She felt an intruder pressing between
her inner lips, then hands grasping her hips. A sudden rude thrust and he was in
her. He paused briefly to enjoy the sensation, then began pumping rhythmically.
Yvette Started to mutter a curse, the worst French epithet she could think
of. It was cut off by the other SS man grabbing her by the hair, pulling her
head back and forcing his member into her mouth. She gagged on the taste of
latex and lubricant. She toyed with the thought of biting down but the SS man
read her thoughts. With his free hand he reached beneath her and seized an
already sore nipple.
"No funny business, now," he said quietly. "We wouldn't want to hurt each
other, would we?"
Yvette glared at him but cooperated. She knew anything she could do to him
would be repaid many times over.
At least this part of the ordeal was over quickly. The men were obviously
extremely aroused by their previous activities and came quickly. They left
Yvette hanging while they went off to the side of the clearing to clean up.
After tidying up with what Yvette thought of as typically Germanic thoroughness
they returned and lowered Yvette to the ground. She was unfastened, then bound
again at wrist and ankle and left laying on the ground. Her torturers then took
a short break, standing off to one side talking. One of them lit a cigarette.
Yvette shivered momentarily in fear of what he might be planning to do with the
cigarette. But he only stood aside and smoked it.
After ten minutes they returned, one of them bringing a second rope. This
was thrown over the branch four feet from where the first rope crossed it.
Yvette's wrists were freed. She was rolled over onto her belly. Her wrists were
then bound together behind her back. She was rolled over again and her ankles
untied. The ropes dangling from the branch were then tied to her ankles, one to
each.
Hans and Fritz took up position at the free ends of the ropes. At a signal
from the obersturmfuhrer they began pulling. Yvette's legs came up. Then her ass
was off the ground and her upper body was being dragged as she was raised off
the ground. Finally her head came up and she was left hanging, inverted.
One of the SS men went to his rucksack and removed a short length of copper
wire was produced. It had an alligator clip on either end. The SS man pinched up
a fold a flesh just inside of one of Yvette's nipples. He fastened an alligator
clip to it. Then he pinched up a similar fold inside the other nipple and
applied the clip at the other end of the wire.
She watched fearfully as the SS man again dug around in his rucksack, the
scene strange looking from her inverted position. This time he removed an object
Yvette quickly recognized as a field telephone. There was a small crank on the
side. The crank turned a small magneto, generating an electric current. Two
wires dangled from the device, each ending in an alligator clip. Yvette took a
deep, fearful breath as the man approached her.
He knelt down and clipped one wire just to the outside of one nipple. Then
he fastened the other wire just to the outside of the other nipple. He stood and
handed the field telephone to the obersturmfuhrer.
"This is a most remarkable telephone, fraulein," the obersturmfuhrer said.
"When we ring up on it someone always answers. Now, shall we put it to the test
or would you like to tell us something."
Yvette gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. She heard a faint whirring
sound, the sound of the magneto being spun. Suddenly thousands of ants were on
her breasts, all biting and stinging at the same time. Yvette arched her back
and stifled a scream. The shock lasted only for a couple seconds but it
frightened her. How could anyone withstand this kind of torture?
A second jolt hit her. She flopped back and forth as if to dislodge
whatever it was that was biting her tender flesh. An animal cry, unintelligible,
escaped her lips.
"Did you have something to say, fraulein?" the obersturmfuhrer asked. "Just
talk to us and it can all be over. Why put yourself through this?"
It was that simple. All she had to say was 'I'll talk' and the scene would
end and she could go back to the Villa and have a drink and a nice, hot bath.
But she was Yvette Delaune. Yvette Delaune would not cave in to the Germans. She
said nothing and closed her eyes.
The obersturmfuhrer's response was to give her the longest shock yet. It
seemed to last forever. Yvette thought she would pass out. But that would be all
right, because above all she didn't want to cry out again. She focused on the
image of Yvette the Resistance Fighter, naked and helpless but holding out under
the worst the Germans could do to her.
The electric shock stopped. Yvette waited for the next, gathering up all
her courage to withstand it. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked
around. Her tormentors had gathered off to the side, speaking in tones too low
for Yvette to hear planning their next effort to break her, she thought. Then
they returned to her.
The wires were removed from her breasts. She watched fearfully as one of
the SS men dug around in his rucksack, the scene strange looking from her
inverted position. The man removed a short, thin copper rod with a wire
attached. He took out a small tube, removed the cap and squeezed a small amount
of clear gel onto the rod, spreading it with a fingertip. He stepped behind
Yvette, out of her view. She felt his fingers spreading her butt cheeks. She
felt the tip of the copper rod pressing against her anus. She instinctively
clenched against the intruder, but it forced its way in despite her efforts.
One of the alligator clips that had been removed from her breast was now
clamped on one of her outer lips, near her clit. Yvette barely had time to brace
herself before she heard the whine of the handle being turned and a sensation
like an icepick being driven from her anus straight through her crotch to her
clit.
On the veranda of the Villa the man known to other members as Petruchio put
down his coffee and looked at his luncheon companion, a woman known to the other
members as Aphrodite.
"Sounds like someone hit the mark," he said.
"I suspect someone's using a field telephone," Aphrodite replied knowingly.
They gave Yvette three more shocks, each long than the previous. After the
third the obersturmfuhrer took a close look at her, felt her pulse. He signaled
the others who carefully lowered her to the ground. They left her laid out on
her back, panting as if she'd just run a mile at full speed. They left her there
for a full fifteen minutes before the obersturmfuhrer came to stand over her.
"Fraulein, you leave us no choice," the obersturmfuhrer said. He turned to
the SS men. "Prepare her for the firing squad."
The two burly Waffen-SS men grabbed Yvette by the arms, lifted her up and
half-carried her across the glade, back tothe tree she'd been tied to for the
whipping. They stood her facing the tree, belly pressed against the well worn
bark. One of the men held her in place while the other first tied her ankles
together and then ran the rope around the base of the tree. Then her arms were
raised above her head and her wrists tied together.
Both of the men were a good bit taller than the petite Yvette. One of them
had no trouble wrapping a length of rope around the trunk more than a foot
higher than she could reach. Another short piece of rope was tied to the rope
joining her wrists. The free end was slipped under the band around the tree.
Both of the men then grasped it and pulled hard, lifting Yvette until she was
almost on her toes. They tied the rope off, leaving Yvette stretched against
the trunk of the tree. A final length of rope went around her waist and the tree
trunk.
She heard the men stepping briskly away, one of them tracing the round
contour of her butt with his hand in passing.
"Firing squad?" Yvette thought. What were they going to do? What had she
gotten herself into? She wanted to yell out "This is playacting, right guys?"
She heard them fiddling with their weapons. Then the commands came and she
tensed up, preparing herself for whatever it was they planned to do.
"Ready - aim - fire!"
Pop-pop-pop-pop. The sound was too soft to be real gunfire, but Yvette
didn't have time to think about it. She winced as the impacts came, like just
the very tip of a willow switch striking, quickly, one after another in rapid
succession Dozens of them raked across her buttocks and the backs of her
thighs. The muscles in her butt cheeks clenched automatically under the
assault.
"Prepare her for the next round," the command came.
Yvette heard the sound of gear being lain on the ground. Then they were
releasing her wrists and ankles. She was turned around, with her back to the
tree. Her ankles were again fastened to the base of the trunk. Another rope
first tied her knees together, then passed around the tree. Then the waist rope
was refastened in place. Her arms were pulled back and her wrists tied behind
the trunk. Finally yet another rope was passed under her armpits form behind,
taken over her shoulders and pulled tight behind the tree, pulling her shoulders
back and forcing her chest to thrust forwards. After checking their knots the
SS men returned to their positions next to the obersturmfuhrer, thirty feet
away. But first one of the men unobtrusively slipped a pair of plastic safety
glasses over Yvette's eyes.
"A little out of place. A blindfold would be more appropriate," Yvette
thought in the corner of her mind that had remained detached, observing the
scene. But at least she could see what was happening.
The SS men retrieved their weapons, the MP40s. Each removed a fresh
magazine from his pouch and inserted it in his weapon. Then they assumed their
positions with weapons at the ready.
"Ready," the command came. The SS men lowered their weapons and pointed
them at Yvette.
"Aim." She saw them make minor adjustments in their positions. She saw the
muzzles clearly aimed at her chest.
"Fire!"
Both weapons began to bark, but a light popping noise, not the sharp report
of a real weapon. They were some sort of air gun. At the last moment, just
before impact, Yvette could see the projectiles, small, round white plastic
pellets coming at her. They pelted against her small, firm breasts, each one
depressing the tissue like a fingertip jabbed into her before bouncing off.
They stung like hell. It was as if she was riding her motorcycle topless into a
swarm of bees at 40 miles an hour.
It was fortunate she was bound tightly to the trees, for the impacts
knocked the wind out of her and made her knees want to buckle.
The SS men weren't finished. On a command from the obersturmfuhrer they
removed the magazines from their weapons and inserted fresh ones. They assumed
the ready position again. Yvette could see herself as they saw her. Her pale,
slender body secured tightly to the tree. The creases where thigh met abdomen
and the line formed by her tightly clamped together legs all converging to meet
the slit of her sex. She knew what the next aiming point would be.
"Ready!" The SS-Men brought their weapons to the shoulder.
"Aim!" Yvette saw the muzzles drop just slightly, just enough to confirm
her conclusion. She braced herself for the impact.
"Fire!"
Again the two MP40's gave out their rapid fire popping sound. She saw the
string of round, white projectiles flying at her just before she closed her eyes
and gritted her teeth. They pelted her upper thighs, her belly, her mound. A
few forced their way into her slit.
Yvette was left hanging in the ropes that bound her to the tree, panting
for breath. She heard the approaching footsteps. A hand grabbed her by the
hair, lifted her head up.
"Take her down," the obersturmfuhrer's voice said.
The SS-Men complied, starting at the bottom. They undid the ankle ropes,
the ropes at her knees, then the waist. Finally the undid the ropes at wrist
and shoulder. They carefully lowered her to the ground and placed her on her
back.
"And now for the coup d'grace, fraulein," the obersturmfuhrer said.
Yvette felt the strong hands grasp her ankles. Her legs were raised and
spread wide apart. Still stunned Yvette thought dumbly about what that implied.
She half opened her eyes to see the obersturmfuhrer take up a position framed
between her legs. He withdrew a pistol from its holster. He took aim. It was
obvious what his intention was. No, Yvette thought to herself, he couldn't. He
wouldn't.
He did. Pop-pop-pop. Seven shots, slowly. Each one carefully aimed. Yvette
squirmed and yelped as each pellet pounded against her sensitive pussy. By the
seventh shot she was barely able to react, drained by the cumulative pain.
She lay there, still. She heard the SS-Men collecting their gear. She
heard their footsteps as they walked briskly away. They would be notifying the
Handler that the scene had been concluded. In due course he would come to
collect her, to take her back to a warm bath and a massage. Salve and band-aids
where necessary.
She lay there, thinking of the sad fate of a young French Resistance
fighter, a Maquisard named Yvette, cruelly tortured and executed by the SS.
Slowly her hands began to explore her torso, feeling the welts and bruises. They
cupped her small breasts, gently fondled her sore nipples. One hand felt its way
down to her mound. Her finger gently probed the battered outer lips, spreading
them, seeking out her clit. Her poor little clit which despite suffering several
direct hits was now standing proud. She began lightly stroking it, thinking of
the lithe young body bound to the tree trunk, helpless. She slowly rolled over
on her belly, letting her body weight increase the pressure as she continued to
stroke.
The End (at least until Yvette's next adventure)
A cautionary note: The activities portrayed herein are inherently dangerous and
attempting to recreate them in real life may result in injury. As the Three
Stooges used to say, "Don't try this at home, kids".
Copyright is claimed on this material. It may not be reproduced or distributed
in any manner for any purpose with the sole exception of personal,
non-commercial use.
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