The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy get the heck outta here.

Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Since I may wish to publish it again at a future date permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial use.

At Gestapo Headquarters

by

von Hentzau

It was nearly midnight, near the end of her last performance, when the Gestapo arrived. Two of them, tall, broad shouldered, unmistakable in their arrogant bearing, walked into the small night club. Had they wanted to be unobtrusive they still could not have escaped notice. The club was nearly empty. Very few of the normal patrons of the club dared to be on the streets of occupied Rouen late at night.

A few of the handful customers attempted to quietly slip out the back when they realized who had just come in the front. They returned just as quietly and resumed their seats, followed by a pair of uniformed, helmeted SS men.

One of the Gestapo officers motioned towards Suzanne.

"You will come with us," he said quietly. He added a perfunctory "Please" at the end. It sounded odd.

Numbly Suzanne stepped down from the stage and walked towards the Gestapo agents. The moment she had feared for so long had come. How much did they know, she wondered. Rene had always said not to be afraid. Often they picked people up at random, just to shake the tree and see what would fall out. Oh, please, she prayed silently. Let them just be shaking the tree.

Suzanne passed between them. They fell in behind her and followed her out the door. Outside she saw their black Mercedes parked at the curb. Behind it was a military truck. A squad of heavily armed SS men were positioned on both sides of the street. One of the Gestapo officers opened the door of the Mercedes and slid onto the back seat. The other held the door open for Suzanne. She realized he'd positioned himself to block her if she made a break for it. Obediently she slid onto the seat. The Gestapo agent followed.

Once they were in, Suzanne sandwiched between the Gestapo men, the driver, without command, slowly pulled away from the curb and accelerated down the street. Neither of the men said a word.

Suzanne wanted to cry out, confess that she had passed notes for the Resistance. Her lover Rene had coaxed her into doing it. As she worked the crowd at the club a patron, usually someone she'd never seen and would never see again, would whisper a phrase. She would pass a small sealed envelope to him or receive one to give to Rene. What was in them? How should she know?

"If you know nothing, there is nothing you can tell," Rene had said many times.

"I know nothing," she wanted to cry out. "All I did was pass little envelopes."

But she kept quiet. Rene had told her not to volunteer anything. Once they started you talking, it was over. You couldn't stop. They wouldn't let you. So Suzanne sat in silence as the car navigated the narrow streets.

Fifteen minutes and many turns later the car turned into a gated entryway. Guards, machine pistols at the ready, stopped the car, shone flashlights on the occupants, then waved it through. The car moved forward, pulled up along side a rambling brick and stone building. Suzanne recognized it. It was the headquarters of the local German security services. The building housed offices, barracks, prison cells and, it was whispered around Rouen, a torture chamber.

They entered the building through a side door and went down several passageways, the Gestapo agents flanking her and indicating turns with a light touch on the arm. Finally they stopped in front of a solid looking wooden door, marked only by an anonymous number. One of the Gestapo men opened the door and all three entered.

Suzanne glanced fearfully around. The room was sparsely furnished. It was an inside room. There were no windows. Another blank wooden door was centered in the wall opposite the entry. On either side of the room a wooden desk was pushed up against the wall. A black uniformed guard sat at either desk, one apparently doing paperwork while the other clearly had been waken from sleep. A heavy straight backed wooden chair was centered in the room. One other chair, alongside one desk, completed the furnishings

The two guards stood up and approached. One of the Gestapo men handed a document to the guard who had been doing paperwork.

"Very good," he muttered. Then to Suzanne he said "Have a seat, mademoiselle." His french was passable, but he could never have passed as a Frenchman.

Suzanne seated herself. Before she realized what was happening the other guard had stepped behind her and grasped her by the shoulders. She squeaked out in protest but he ignored her. The other guard then came over and strapped her wrists into leather cuffs at the back edge of the seat. Then he knelt down and strapped her ankles into cuffs fastened at the base of each leg. With Suzanne secured the guards went back to what they had been doing when she arrived.

She sat and waited. And waited. And waited. There was no way to tell what time it was or how much time had passed. There was no clock on the wall. In fact, there was nothing, no pictures, paintings or other decorations on the dingy yellow walls. Nothing to distract the eye. The two guards were totally ignoring her. One had dropped his head to the desk and gone back to sleep. The other was busily examining papers and periodically scrawling upon them.

Suzanne wondered at the delay. The Germans were famously punctual. Then she realized it was all part of their method. Let her stew. Let her worry. She resolved not to give in to them. The minutes passed slowly. She lost all sense of how long she'd been waiting.

Finally the door opened. An older, somewhat grand fatherly looking man entered. He was dressed in a civilian suit rather than a uniform but the two guards snapped to attention when they saw him. One of them stepped forwards.

"Herr Oberst," the guard said smartly, handing the older man a folder. The colonel motioned him back, then opened the folder and glanced quickly at it.

"Ah, Suzanne," he said in a tone that an old family friend my use. "I've been expecting you for some time, you know. We've been watching you, of course. More than one of your fans has been working for us. So let's make this easy. Just tell us everything you know about the Resistance and nothing will happen to you."

The Colonel waited expectantly.

"But I know nothing," Suzanne said quietly. She almost added "All I did was pass notes back and forth." But she caught herself. To admit that would be to admit complicity.

"Very well," the Colonel said. He turned to the guards. "Strip her."

The guards quickly unfastened Suzanne and stood her up. It took only moments before she was standing completely naked before the Colonel. He eyed her up and down. She was a splendid young woman. Tall, with an exquisitely feminine frame, full pendulous breasts, round, firm buttocks.

The guards went over her clothes, checking for anything hidden. Then one of the guards inspected Suzanne. He forced her mouth open. She blushed as he forced her to bend over and spread her sex.

"Microfilm," the Colonel said. "It can be hidden in the most ingenious places."

Upright once again, Suzanne glared as the Colonel slowly walked around her, admiring.

"Such a shame to have to risk damaging such a magnificent body," he said. He brushed the fingers of one hand along the curve of a buttock. "If you force us to resort to more severe measures, young lady, there is no guarantee you will be quite as beautiful when we've finished."

He returned to face her.

"So, tell us now. Everything you know about the Resistance." He waited. Suzanne stood silent, looking past him. "Prepare her for interrogation," The Colonel said to the guards and left the room.

Suzanne was pushed down into the chair against and strapped in place. One of the guards brought out a pair of clippers. Quickly and crudely he clipped off her long blonde hair. Then she was released from the chair. Her wrists were pulled behind her back and cuffed together. The guards then led her from the room.

They led Suzanne down a nearly deserted passageway to a shower room. A men's shower room. Two surprised occupants were just finishing their showers. They finished dressing and stood back to watch.

Suzanne was taken into the showers. One of the guards pushed her down to sit on the cold, wet tile floor. The other left briefly, then returned with a pair a leather cuffs. These were strapped around Suzanne's ankles. Then each guard grabbed an ankle.

"Give us a hand here, eh?" one of them called to the onlookers. They came over and each grasped an ankle.

Suzanne was upended, lifted by her ankles. Rings on the cuffs were slipped over hooks mounted in the ceiling of the shower room. Suzanne was left dangling upside down, legs wide spread. The onlookers stood back, gawking and snickering at her predicament. Several more men came in to watch the proceedings.

One of the guards had gone rummaging around the row of sinks and returned with a shaving mug, brush and razor. He lathered Suzanne's crotch and then began shaving it.

"Albrecht isn't going to like your using his razor like that, you know," one of the onlookers called out.

"So how's he going to know?" the guard replied, continuing to remove Suzanne's pubic hair with short, precise strokes.

"Well, maybe because he doesn't have blonde pussy hair on his face he might be just a bit suspicious when he finds it stuck in his razor."

"We all have to make sacrifices for the Fatherland," the guard replied, finishing his task.

The other guard had brought over a hose. He gave Suzanne a good blast of water between the legs, rinsing off the soap scum and severed hair. Then she was lifted up and set back down on her feet. The guards removed the ankle straps. Then they positioned her over one of the drains and forced her to squat.

"Do you have to go?" one of the guards asked.

Suzanne shook her head, no. Actually she did, but she couldn't pee with these crude soldiers watching.

"I think you'd better if you can. You won't get another chance for a while."

Suzanne closed her eyes, tried to shut out her surrounding, the leering faces and snickering laughs. Finally she was able to relax enough to relieve the pressure on her bladder. The crude comments of her audience drowned out the sound of urine trickling down the drain.

As her stream tapered off one of the guards hit her again between the legs with a spray of water. Then they lifted her to her feet. Thoroughly humiliated and dripping Suzanne was led out into the corridor again. Several of the spectators walked along behind them, keeping up a stream of nasty comments. From the snatches of French and the slang that peppered their German Suzanne concluded that most of the discussion concerned the motion of her bottom as she walked.

At the end of the corridor they made a turn and stopped briefly at a gate made of metal bars. One of the guards fished out a key, opened the gate and let them through. They descended to the basement of the building.

It had been converted into a prison, two rows of cells to either side of a long passageway. Some sells were closed off with solid metal doors. Others were merely barred. Most contained occupants.

They led Suzanne to a solitary, empty cell and put her in it. They left the hand cuffs on. She motioned to one of the guards with her arms, trying to draw attention to them.

"No," he said. "Those stay on. Can't have you committing suicide on us."

And he closed the barred door. The lock made an audible, metallic groaning sound as he turned the key. Suzanne sat despondently upon the rusted metal bed, the sole furnishing of the cell. The cell opposite hers was crowded with men who looked liked they'd been swept up off the street in the worst quarter of town, filthy, drunken swine. Some of them began to stir and noticed the naked woman in the cell across the way. It wasn't long before the crude remarks and catcalls started. One of them undid his trousers and exposed himself to her, accompanying the act with utterly disgusting descriptions of what he wanted to do to her in slurred gutter French.

These didn't seem like the kind of prisoners that should be in a Gestapo prison. These seemed like common scum from a drunk tank. She wondered, was this just part of their interrogation technique? To put her under pressure from the humiliation of being exposed to them? She lay down on her side on the thin mattress and pulled her legs up, making as tight a ball of herself as she could, as if it would give her some protection. The mattress smelled of urine. Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep.

At mid-morning two different men, in undecorated black uniforms, came for her. She was taken from the cell, led back upstairs and into the same room. This time they continued into the next room.

Once glance old Suzanne what it was and her heart sank within her. There was no question but that it was a torture chamber. Various implements lined the wall. The probably uses of some was obvious. Others she didn't understand, and didn't want to think about.

They wasted no time. Suzanne was positioned in the middle of the floor and turned around to face the door. The handcuffs were removed. She was given a few brief moments to shrug her arms and get the kinks out before her wrists were strapped into a pair of leather cuffs in front of her. A rope with a hook at the end was lowered from the ceiling and the cuffs fastened to it. Then her arms were raised up. They stopped when her elbows had come up to eye level. One of the torturers then knelt down and strapped cuffs around her ankles, fastening them to a ring set in the floor. Then she heard a crank turning and her arms began to rise again. They didn't stop until she was stretched tight, only the balls of her feet still on the floor.

The she waited. Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Her arms began to ached from the strain. Finally the door opened and the Colonel walked in.

"Good morning, Suzanne," he said brightly, as if just coming into the office and greeting his secretary. "And how did you sleep? Well, I hope." He paused, as if expecting an answer. "Now, what have you to tell us?"

Suzanne dropped her eyes to the floor and said nothing. She heard a strange whooshing sound and suddenly pain exploded across her butt cheeks. Her eyes grew wide and mouth dropped, but she managed to stifle the cry that tried to emerge.

"A rattan cane, Suzanne," the Colonel said, an amused look on his face. "The nuns at your convent school never employed one? I'm surprised."

Another blow came, this time across the backs of her thighs. It brought tears to her eyes.

"Most unpleasant, as I'm sure you've noticed. Georg here is quite expert in the use of it. Perhaps we could place a mirror here so that you can admire his technique, no?"

Another blow fell, across her shoulder blades. Suzanne began to wonder how much of this she could take. Blow after blow landed as Georg moved up and down, from thighs to shoulders, only avoiding her kidneys.

"But I don't know anything!" Suzanne finally screamed.

The Colonel signaled to Georg, then stepped up close to Suzanne.

"I don't believe you," he whispered. He stood there, intently watching her frightened eyes. The seconds ticked off. Suzanne feared he was about to order the beating to continue.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" the Colonel said softly. He began to stroke Suzanne's breasts, softly, like a lover. His hands moved to her nipples. "You know, this position really does display your charms in a wonderful manner." In spite of herself, or perhaps because of the strange tension of the moment, Suzanne felt her nipples begin to react to the attention. "Can you imagine what we could do to your more sensitive areas if we chose?" One hand dropped. Fingers began to stroke her pussy lips. "Can you imagine the amount of pain we can inflict? Just tell us everything you know about the Resistance and you won't have to find out."

He stepped back, watching her expectantly. Suzanne remained silent, staring past him at the bare wall.

"Ah, well. Perhaps you need some time to think about it," the Gestapo Colonel said. He issued orders to his assistants. A metallic click and the tension on her arms disappeared. Surprised and still shaken from the beating Suzanne collapsed to the floor. The straps around her wrists and ankles were unbuckled and she was helped to her feet. Then she was led from the room and down a hallway. They passed several people, some in uniform, some not. None seemed overly surprised to see a stunningly attractive naked woman being led through the offices.

They turned down a side passage and passed through a door into a small courtyard formed by the U shaped building. Along the open side of the courtyard ran a short length of wire fence, of the sort formed by lengths of vertical and horizontal wire. The wires formed a pattern of small rectangles. The two assistants had positioned themselves on either side of Suzanne as after passing through the doorway. Now they each seized a wrist.

Suzanne was led to the fence, then around one end and turned so she was facing the building. They stopped her at the middle of the fence and roughly shoved her up against it. Her wrists were raised up and out and tied to the fence. The assistants stooped and grabbed Suzanne's ankles. Her legs were spread wide, uncomfortably wide and her ankles were tied to the fence. Two more ties passed around her thighs several inches below her crotch.

Her torturers then went around to the other side of the fence. Suzanne's ample bust was pressed up against the sun-warmed, rough metal. Each of her torturers seized one of Suzanne's nipples between thumb and forefinger. They pulled them through the openings in the wire. Suzanne's breasts were considerably larger than the openings. Slowly they worked more and more of her boobs through the small openings. As they got more through they were able to grab larger amounts of flesh and tug still harder. The rough surface of the unyielding wires scratched and gouged her skin cruelly. After much tugging and twisting they had as much of her breasts pulled through the fence as possible. The poor globes, restricted at their bases by the small rectangles, bulged out as if inflated. As a final touch they tied a length of rope from the fence around her back, to ensure that she couldn't pull her breasts back out through the fence. Then they returned to the building.

Suzanne closed her eyes and tried to pretend this wasn't happening, that she hadn't been picked up by the Gestapo, that she wasn't stripped, shorn and spread out on display for all to leer at. When she opened her eyes she could see people at the windows looking down at her. Every so often she heard footsteps as people, men in uniform mostly, passed by. Some stopped to inspect her. As few dared to fondle her privates that were now on public display.

Three young women came out of the building, none beyond her early twenties at most. All three wore the uniform of the German army women's auxiliary. They were clerks, no doubt. Suzanne watched as they lit cigarettes and chattered among themselves. Then they casually walked over to the chain link fence and inspected Suzanne.

The girls continued to banter back and forth in German, which Suzanne did not understand. But each comment from one of the girls elicited titters of laughter from the others. They seemed to be looking Suzanne up and down, fascinated by the naked, helpless female body tied to the fence. Two of them walked around to inspect Suzanne's battered hindquarters.

"Nice ass," one said in French. Then she gave Suzanne's right buttock a hard slap. Suzanne jerked involuntarily, more from surprise than pain, though the impact of the hand was made worse by landing upon the welts previously inflicted. Suzanne's reaction caused all three girls to giggle like schoolgirls. They inflicted three more slaps, left, right, left again. Then Suzanne felt fingers probing the folds between her legs.

"I think she's wet," a girl said in heavily accented French. "I think she likes it!"

"Let's see what else she likes," the girl still facing Suzanne said.

She reached out and grasped Suzanne's right breast, cradling it in her hand. The other two girls came out from behind the fence to watch. The girl gently began to squeeze the breast, watching Suzanne's face for reactions. She slowly began to dig her nails into the tender flesh. Her face had taken on a devilish aspect, like a schoolgirl about to do something wicked and taking delight in the prospect.

She took the cigarette from her lips, shook the ashes from the tip. Slowly she brought it towards the upper curve of Suzanne's breast. Suzanne watched helplessly as the girl threatened her captive member. With a quick motion the girl brought the tip of the cigarette down lightly upon the bare skin and just as quickly withdrew it.

"Aaaaah!" Suzanne moaned, trying to stifle the reaction to the sudden pain.

A smirk of victory crossed the girl's face. She allowed her hand to slide along the curve of Suzanne's breast until she'd trapped the nipple between thumb and forefinger. She took several drags on the cigarette, making the tip grow red. Then she carefully positioned the cigarette, the tip bare centimeters away from Suzanne's nipple. Suzanne braced herself.

"That's enough, girls," an authoritative female voice said. "Back to work with you."

The three girls came almost to attention at the sound. They dropped their cigarettes, grinding them out with the tips of their shoes, and hurried back inside the building. The source of the command came into Suzanne's view. It was an older woman, dressed in a black uniform dress with the insignia of the Gestapo on the lapels. Her face was thin, razor sharp, her graying brown hair pulled back into a tight bun.

She approached Suzanne. She reached out, grasped the tortured breast and inspected it. There was a small red spot where the cigarette had touched.

"Yes, Renate has a nice touch," she said, though Suzanne wasn't certain if she was being addressed or the woman was speaking to herself. "Torture takes finesse. One should always inflict the maximum pain with the minimal amount of damage. One wants the subject to last. And Renate enjoys it. I may have to give her some instruction and then perhaps an assignment to see how she does. One always wants to promote promising young talent.

"I see by your predicament that you have not yet elected to talk to us. Or you would not be here."

She had released the right breast and now had placed the palm of her right hand against the left breast. She was pressing it backwards, mashing it slowly against the rough wire of the fence.

"Herr Oberst Pflueger told me you were not being cooperative. My dear, I suggest you change your mind or the Oberst, who is too kind hearted to be really, really cruel, will give you to me. And I will greatly enjoy seeing just how much pain it will take to break you."

She was pressing very hard now, flattening out the breast. Suddenly she pulled her hand away. The breast resumed its normal shape, as much as it could with the base compressed by the wire fence. The woman turned as if to leave but suddenly swung around, delivering a stinging open handed blow to Suzanne's breast. Then, without a backwards glance at Suzanne's tear stained face she strode into the building.

To be continued...........

Copyright is claimed by the author. Permission is given to copy solely for personal, non-commercial use.

The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy get the heck outta here.

Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Since I may wish to publish it again at a future date permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial use.

At Gestapo Headquarters

by

von Hentzau

Part II

It was nearly sundown when they came for Suzanne. She'd spent most of the day spread eagled against the fence, her breasts pulled through the small rectangles formed by the wire. Throughout the day small groups of the Germans who worked in or had business at Gestapo headquarters came out to stare at her and to make rude remarks. A few had taken liberties, pinching or slapping her helpless body.

She'd been given nothing to eat all day. But they had made sure she had plenty of water. Too much really, for she was forced to relieve herself. Her pleas to be allowed to use the latrine went unheeded. Humiliated, she had to empty her bladder in full view of all. Late in the day a uniformed soldier came out to turn a hose on her. He seemed to take delight in turning it full blast against her crotch.

But finally two guards, the same two who had been on duty the night before when she was brought in, the two who had shorn her hair and shaved her pussy, came out of the building and walked towards her. They unfastened first her ankles and then her wrists. Her wrists were immediately bound behind her back. Then one stood behind to support her while the other slowly worked her breasts back through the wire.

They walked her back into the building, back to the room she'd first been brought to and then through the next door. Back to the torture chamber.

The first thing she noticed on entering was that two trestles had been set up on the far side of the room, a meter apart. Fastened on top each trestle was a block of wood, each with a notch in it. On the floor between the trestles were two low stacks of wood, made up of short pieces of board. Inside each two metal rings were set in the floor.

The two guards took Suzanne directly to the trestles. She was turned so that she was facing the center of the room. They forced her to step between the trestles, and step up so that one foot was on each stack of wood. Leather straps fastened her ankles to the metal rings. One of the guards then went to the corner of the room and returned carrying a length of steel concrete reinforcing bar. He laid one end of this in the notch on the trestle in front of Suzanne.

With a frisson of fear Suzanne realized what they were going to do with ths rough steel rod. And they did. The first guard slid the rod between her legs. It passed just below her crotch. She felt the knobby metal surface scrape along the insides of her thighs. The second guard caught the end as it pass out between the lower parts of her butt cheeks and guided it into the notch on the rear trestle.

The two guards stepped away. One went and took a seat along the wall to Suzanne's left. The other remained behind her. And they all waited.

It seemed like another hour or more before the colonel, Oberst Pflueger, entered the room. The two guards jumped to attention when they saw him. He motioned them to be at ease, then came directly to Suzanne. For several long minutes he looked her up and down, as if inspecting the preparations. He reached out and lifted one of her breasts, inspecting the scratches that had been left by the chain link fence.

"Ah, Suzanne, Suzanne," he said with a heavy sigh. "This is all so unnecessary. Simply tells us all you know about the Resistance and we won't have to be so unkind to you."

Suzanne looked past him. She had nothing to tell him, literally. But would he believe it? She only hoped they would give up on her without inflicting too much torment.

“We can start small, perhaps?” the Oberst said, with a hopeful tone to his voice. “Just give us a name and we'll postpone the rest of this unseemly process. Just a single name. And perhaps we won't have to continue.”

“Ah, well,” the colonel said, turning and walking over to a chair. He dragged the chair out to the middle of the room and sat down, directly facing Suzanne, casually crossing his legs. He made a motion with his hand and the two guards took up position, one kneeling by each of Suzanne's feet. Each grabbed one of Suzanne's ankles with one hand and with the other, in unison, pulled the topmost board from each stack. Suzanne dropped about a centimeter and a half. The bar was now pressing against her vulva, uncomfortably but not unbearably.

“So, Suzanne,” the Oberst said with a smile, “you can see how lucky you are that I am the one asking questions. I believe in applying the minimum amount of pressure necessary to gain the desired effect. There are others here who believe in going immediately to the most forceful means. But do not mistake me, dear Suzanne. I will do what I need to find out what I want to know.”

He made another motion with his hand. The guards each pulled another board out. Suzanne's weight was now fully on the bar. It was beginning to dig into to her most tender areas unmercifully. She could relieve the pressure slightly by going up on tiptoe, but that quickly just moved some of the pain to her calves.

The Oberst signaled again. Another board was slid from under each foot. Now there was no way she could raise herself up. It was all she could do to steady herself on her toes.

“That can't be very comfortable for you” the Oberst said. "Perhaps you think it can't be made even more uncomfortable? Heinz, we shall move to the next step."

The Oberst motioned to the guard. He stepped out in front of Suzanne, a short piece of pipe in his hand. He rapped the metal bar lightly. It vibrated most uncomfortably, especially at the spot between vagina and anus, where it pressed against bone and pinched nerves. Tears began forming in Suzanne's eyes.

The vibrations faded away to nothingness, but the pain persisted some agonizing seconds longer. Then Heinz gave the bar a second rap, harder this time. Suzanne twisted and squirmed but there was no escape from the painful stimulation.

“Do you see my point, Suzanne? We can make life very uncomfortable for you with just the flick of a wrist. I'll let you ponder this lesson for a little while and perhaps you'll change your mind about cooperating with us. Heinz, perhaps some coffee while we wait?” the Oberst said to one of the guards.

Heinz went to the door. Stepping partway out he called out in German. Moments later an orderly came in bearing a tray with three cups of steaming hot coffee. He made the rounds, presenting the tray first to the Oberst, then to his two assistants. Then, as quickly as he had entered, the orderly left.

As the Oberst took a sip Suzanne noticed something that struck her as odd. German officers, particularly the Gestapo, usually seemed to drink and dine from the finest china they'd managed to confiscate from the occupied countries. But the coffee had been served in plain metal cups, like those used by ordinary front line soldiers.

“Oh, dear,” said Oberst Pflueger, spitting out his coffee. “Why does that orderly always serve coffee so hot. Heinz, is your cup too hot also?”

“Yes, Herr Oberst. Much too hot to drink.”

“Suzanne, what is your opinion of the coffee?” the Oberst asked.

At first it confused her, his asking such a question. But then she saw Heinz extending the cup towards her. At first she thought he meant for her to drink, but then she realized the cup was much too low for that. Heinz was reaching for her breast. He pressed the hot metal against her nipple. The coffee must have been near boiling and cup nearly as hot. Suzanne cried out in pain and tried to pull away but Heinz kept the cup pressed against her for a good five seconds.

“Maybe Gunther's cup is more to our guest's liking. Gunther?”

Gunther approached. He held out his cup as Heinz had, but aiming for the other breast. He made a point of placing the cup directly against her nipple, pressing it in against her breast. Again she jerked away from the heat. Gunther's cup pursued her, splashing scalding coffee over her quivering flesh. Then Heinz was assaulting her from the other side. Again she twisted and turned and pulled her torso as far away from the source of pain as she could, to no purpose. With her legs bound and her hips effectively held in place by the metal bar she couldn't bend far enough to escape her assailants' reach.

Twice more Heinz and Gunther pressed the hot metal cups against her tender nipples. Then Oberst Pflueger spoke.

“I do so enjoy a good cup of coffee. Don't you, Suzanne?” he paused briefly, as if actually expecting her to agree with him. “But enough of our little coffee break. Let's get back to work, shall we?”

Heinz and Gunther took some quick sips of their coffee, the first they'd actually managed, then put the cups down. Gunther picked up the metal pipe. He walked back to Suzanne and gave the metal bar a sharp rap. Suzanne forgot the pain in her scalded nipples as new waves of pain radiated outwards from her crotch.

“Yes, now where was I when we stopped?” the Oberst said. “Ah, yes, I was explaining to you how very uncomfortable we can make you if you continue to refuse to talk to us. Now, have you reconsidered?”

“I don't know anything,” Suzanne whined.

“I'm sorry, but that is not acceptable. I think we'll remove another board now.”

Heinz and Gunther stooped down on either side of Suzanne and slid another board out from under her feet. Now virtually all of her weight was on her crotch, riding on the rough metal of the bar. The pain was unlike anything Suzanne had ever experienced before. She wondered how long they'd leave her in this position and whether she'd be crippled before they were done. But even worse was to come.

Heinz left the room momentarily, returning with a blow torch. Suzanne watched terrified as he lit it. He approached her. She shrank back as much as she could. The bright yellow-orange flame reached out towards her. She couldn't believe even these Nazi Germans could be so unhuman as to burn her with the torch. Heinz held the torch up towards her chest, smiling evilly. He swung it slowly in a horizontal arc at the level of her breasts, far enough away to not touch her but still let her feel the heat.

Then he lowered the torch and applied it to the end of the metal bar. Suzanne's relief that he was not going to burn her directly was short lived as the metal bar heated up. Suzanne's toes barely touched the remaining boards beneath her feet. The metal bar was firmly seated, splitting her pussy, crushing her clit. And now it was beginning to fry her tenderest parts.

“I don't know anything,” she screamed. “Please...please believe me! Aaaaaaahhhh! All...all I did was pass notes...Aaaaiiieee.”

At a signal from the Oberst Heinz withdrew the torch. Oberst Pflueger then got up, went to table at the side of room and returned with a glass of water. He splashed it on the hot metal at Suzanne's pussy. The relief was almost instant. He waited until Suzanne's breath, coming in panicky gasps, had settled down.

“You have a lovely singing voice, Suzanne,” he said. “But that's not the song I want to hear. Now, Heinz is going to start playing the melody with his instrument. And I want to hear some interesting lyrics from you. One more thing. This was the only glass of water I had. I don't feel inclined to send for another one. You might consider that.”

Pflueger returned to his chair and seated himself, crossing his legs and laying his hands in his lap as if preparing to listen to chamber music. Heinz returned the torch to the metal bar. Not having cooled down completely it quickly bacame unbearably hot. Suzanne's mind frantically raced, trying to think of someone, anyone she could plausibly turn in as a Resistance agent, anyone she could betray. Her only thought now was to stop the torment.

There was the sound of the door opening and the aide who had brought the coffee in entered. He went to the Oberst and said something to him in low voice that Suzanne heard only as unintelligible whispers. The Oberst responded in a similarly low voice. The aide snapped to attention and said “Yavowl” before turning and leaving.

“Well, Suzanne,” the Oberst said. “As much as I would love to continue this interview I'm afraid I must leave you to attend to some pressing business. I suggest that you ponder the small demonstrations we've made and consider your position.” The Oberst rose and turned to leave the room. “Take her back to the holding cell,” he said to Heinz and Gunther.

Suzanne was taken, half dragged really since the pressure against her crotch had left her legs temporarily numb, back down to the cell she'd spent the previous night in. They flopped her onto the same urine tainted mattress. Another group of rude, obscene drunks occupied the cell opposite hers. This time she was too weak to curl up, to try to cover herself.

Sometime later that night a guard brought in a bowl of thin soup. Despite her exhaustion she managed to crawl over and eat it.

Wan light coming through the tiny barred window set high on the wall told her it was morning. Would they start again, she wondered? Or would they wait until nightfall again? Suzanne lay dreading what the day would bring. It was not long before she found out. Two black uniformed guards came for her.

She was taken back into the torture chamber. The first thing she noticed was that the bar apparatus had been disassembled and in its place stood a single stout wooden trestle. The second thing she noticed was that the severe looking woman who had spoken briefly to her while she had been tied to the wire fence was standing off to one side.

“We meet again, Suzanne,” the woman said. “I fear I did not properly introduce myself yesterday. I am Frau Buesch. And you are a French whore who refuses to tell us what she knows about the criminal scum in the so-called Resistance.”

Frau Buesch approached Suzanne. She reached out and seized one of Suzanne's breasts in her hand, forming the hand into a claw. She began to dig her fingernails into the sensitive flesh.

“What did I tell you yesterday, girl?” she whispered menacingly. “You must talk or my friend Oberst Pflueger will give you to me. That is what I said. And now that is exactly what has happened. The Oberst is busy with another, ah, client. I have been assigned to find out what you know. And I will. You should believe it. I will!”

She gave the breast a final squeeze, then released it. She turned to the guards.

“Prepare her,” she commanded.

To be continued................

Copyright is claimed by the author. Permission is given to copy this work solely for personal, non-commercial use.

The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy get the heck outta here.

At Gestapo Headquarters

by

von Hentzau

Part III

“Prepare her,” Frau Buesch commanded. The two guards stepped forwards and seized Suzanne by the arms. She was taken to the wooden trestle and made to stand facing it. One of the guards knelt down and placed leather cuffs on her ankles. These were then hooked to rings set in the floor near the legs of the trestle, forcing her to spread her legs slightly more than a shoulder’s width apart. Then cuffs were fastened around her wrists and Suzanne was forced to bend forward until these wrist cuffs could be hooked to the same rings as her ankles. The wooden crossbar of the trestle dug into her abdomen, making it hard to breath.

When Suzanne was secured the guards stepped back and Frau Buesch walked slowly around Suzanne, inspecting the arrangement. She carried a thin wooden cane, which she periodically slapped against the palm of her free hand.

“A most uncomfortable position, no?” she said. “Bent over like that, you cannot breath very well, can you?” She ran the fingers of one hand along Suzanne's spine, from shoulders to buttocks. “And you must know how exposed you are in this position.” The fingers continued down to fondle the split oval of Suzanne's sex, framed between her upper thighs. They worked their way between the outer lips and found her clitoris. Slowly, mercilessly they squeezed the small, sensitive nubbin.

“Believe me, mademoiselle,” Frau Buesch whispered in Suzanne's ear, “I can and will do the most horrible things to you, things you cannot even imagine, things you would not believe a woman could do to another woman, if you insist on being stubborn.”

Suzanne remained silent, resigning herself to the worst. The fingers again stroked Suzanne's cleft, once, twice. Then there was the soft sound of footsteps as Frau Buesch stepped away from Suzanne. A moment later there was a whizzing sound followed by a sharp pain on a line straight across her buttocks, then radiating outwards, up towards the small of her back and down the backs of her thighs. A second stroke landed almost immediately, then a third, each coming faster than the previous. Suzanne was quickly reduced to screaming at the top of her lungs. She felt as if her rump was being sliced to ribbons.

“As I said,” Frau Buesch’s voice came to her, mocking, “I will do the most horrible things to you that you can imagine. That was just a warm up. Now I will take it much slower, so that you can enjoy each and every stroke fully.”

She was a good as her word. Now there were long pauses between each stinging cut of the cane. And Frau Buesch was careful to spread the strokes out, from the top of Suzanne’s buttocks well down onto her thighs, until the entire region was crisscrossed with angry red stripes. 

Between the pain, the screaming and the crossbar pressing against her belly and making it hard to breathe Suzanne was soon on he point of passing out. Her head lolled and she was barely able to respond with even a faint moan to the strikes. The pungent smell of an ammonia capsule held beneath her nose brought her around again.

“My dear,” Frau Buesch said with an acid tone, “I can’t have you going to sleep just now. Why, you’d miss the best part.” She slapped Suzanne lightly on each cheek.

Suzanne heard a few footsteps. Then she felt something, the cane she thought, rubbing against her thighs and then her lower back. And then it was being held vertically and sawing against her labia, first on the left, then on the right. And then the wooden rod was sawing up and down in her slit.

“She wouldn’t!” Suzanne thought in panic.

But she did. First the cane was pulled back a short distance and slapped lightly against Suzanne’s sex. Then a little harder and a little harder and still harder. Then there was a slight pause as Frau Buesch shifted position. Now she was standing beside Suzanne, bringing the cane down in a wide arc, battering her labia and the inner slopes of her buttocks around her anus. Mercifully it was not long before Suzanne lost consciousness, and if Frau Buesch tried to revive her with ammonia capsules, she was not successful.

When Suzanne did slowly come back to wakefulness she found herself lying on her side on the floor, bend over with her wrists tied to her ankles. As her eyes began to focus again she realized she was still in the torture chamber. They hadn’t bothered to take her back down to the cells this time. She looked around, as much as she could the way she was bound. She seemed to be alone in the room. Time passed but Suzanne was unable to tell whether it was ten minutes or an hour. She heard the door open and looked up. Frau Buesch entered, followed by Renate and two guards.

“Prepare her as I described,” Frau Buesch said.

The guards seemed to approach Suzanne but then they walked past her. Suzanne heard a scraping sound. She looked up to see them moving a heavy wooden bench from the wall to the center of the room. It was short, not even a meter long, and it was taller than a bench should be. It was made of heavy wooden planks. At one end two short lengths of pipe jutted out at angles, each ending in a short upright. She wondered what it was for.

The two guards came to suzanne and unfastened her wrists and ankles, leaving the cuffs in place, and helped her to her feet. They led her to the bench and sat her on it. Her feet didn't quite touch the floor. Then one of the guards seized her ankles while the other grabbed her shoulders. Suzanne was forced to turn around and straddle the bench, one leg being passed over the pipe extensions at the end.

The guard holding her shoulders forced her to lay down on the bench. Her wrist cuffs were snapped to rings set low on the legs of the bench. Her legs were bent back and her ankle cuffs hooked to rings set on the other pair of legs. The purpose of the metal pipes was now obvious. They kept her from closing her legs. Suzanne's pussy was fully opened and exposed.

The guards looped leather straps around her thighs and the pipes. A wide leather belt went around her waist and the bench. Finally two short pieces of rope were wrapped around the base of each breast and cinched down, forcing the sensitive globes to stand upright.

Frau Buesch approached.

“Well, Suzanne,” she said, “have you decided to talk, or shall we have to continue our efforts to persuade you?” She idly fondled one of Suzanne's nipples as she did so. She waited for Suzanne to respond, and started to squeeze the tender nubbin. 

“Very well,” Frau Buesch said, turning to the guards. “You may bring her in.”

Suzanne heard the door open again, heard shuffling footsteps approaching. She looked up to see a  young woman, barely more than a girl, naked and with her hands bound behind her back, being brought in. She was very petite, slender, and couldn't have been more than eighteen at the most. Her breasts were barely more than suggestions. Her head and crotch had been shaven as Suzanne's had. The entire front of her body was cris-crossed with red weals.

The guards brought her to a place between Suzanne's legs and forced her to kneel.

“Now, girl,” Frau Buesch said to her, “you have a choice. You can lick this filthy French cunt or you can suck off the entire SS detachment. Which will it be?”

The girl obediently bent forward. Suzanne felt her tongue hesitantly begin to explore her intimate folds.

“I thought you would choose wisely, my dear,” Frau Buesch said with a sneer. “Do a good job now. I’ve heard how wonderful you French whores are with your tongues. Don’t disappoint me. Or Suzanne.”

The girl began to lick Suzanne, tentatively at first. Suzanne heard a slap, of hand on flesh. The girl’s tongue left her for a moment. And then it was back and the girl was performing, if not with more enthusiasm as least more vigor. In spite of the situation, or perhaps because of it, because her tender regions had been treated so roughly the last several days and this pleasurable action was so unexpected, Suzanne began to respond to the girl’s attentions. She heard faint giggling, a comment about her nipples, and realized that her nipples were responding, growing hard.

Suddenly Suzanne felt as if her right breast had exploded, sending shocks spreading through her body. She screamed. When she regained control she raised her head and looked around. The young girl had pulled back. She was staring at Suzanne with frightened eyes. Renate was standing to Suzanne's right. In her hand was a strange device, a plastic handle with a thin metal tube extending from it. The tube ended in two brass prongs, with a gap of a couple centimeters between them. Electric wire trailed off from the other end of the handle. Renate's dark brown eyes shone with a vicious delight.

“Electricity,” Frau Buesch said, as if addressing a grammar school class. “It's a wonderful thing, isn't it. Where would we be without it?” She walked partway around Suzanne, until she was behind the young girl. She gently pushed the girl's head back down. “Please continue.”

Once again the girl's tongue began to flick back and forth across Suzanne's labia and clitoris. Again, though it took longer, Suzanne’s body began to respond. Knowing what was coming seemed not to make a difference. Gradually her rebellious body began to surrender to the stimulation. And then the prongs pressed against her left breast and agonizing pain surged through her body again.

“Isn’t this a fun game?” Frau Buesch asked. “We like it so much we might play it all day. Unless you would prefer to tell us interesting stories instead.” 

She waited for a reply. Suzanne closed her eyes and wished with all her might that her tormentor would make a mistake. Just one jolt, one too powerful jolt that would stop her heart and put an end to this.

“Very well, we’ll continue. I should warn you, Suzanne,” Frau Buesch said with a vicious laugh, “if we play this game with you too long, you may never be able to enjoy sex again.”

Again the girl began working her tongue. Again Renate pressed the electric prod against Suzanne’s helpless breasts. Suzanne lost count of the number of times they repeated the cycle, though soon she no longer was responding to the girl’s attentions.

“Frau Buesch,” Renate said after several minutes, “I don’t think the girl is getting a response anymore.”

“It is as I just said,” Frau Buesch said, clucking her tongue.”We have perhaps ruined poor Suzanne’s love life. But that is not our problem, is it?” She turned to one of the guards. “Remove this little French tart. Select the most deserving of the Waffen-SS gruppen. Make her available to service them for the next twenty-four hours. That should provide a little incentive to the rest of them, nein?”

Suzanne was barely half conscious as the girl was led, whining, from the room. She felt a hand exploring her body,

“One talent you must master when using electricity, Renate, is judging how long to apply the probe for maximum effect. You have here an excellent subject to experiment on. Try some variation in duration.”

“Where shall I apply the probe, Frau Buesch?”

“A good question. Applying the probe most anywhere will cause considerable pain. Consider though that Suzanne has already been subjected to considerable stimulation and has most likely grown somewhat inured to  the probe. So I would suggest you choose a particularly sensitive region.”

Suzanne heard the sound of Renate’s footsteps. She raised her head enough to see what she feared she’d see, Renate standing, framed between the V of her legs. She was extending the probe towards Suzanne’s crotch. Suzanne closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. A moment later pain shot through her body and she arched upwards, straining at her bonds.

The probe was withdrawn and Suzanne sank back down onto the bench, panting rapidly to catch her breast. Again she felt the touch of the metal and almost immediately a second shock surged through her. This time the probe was held in place longer. Suzanne screamed until sh had no breath left and finally sank into unconsciousness.

To be continued...........

Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Since I may wish to publish it again at a future date permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial use.