Slaves of the Swastika (11 page)

Now Ludwig Katzmire really goggled, and he felt his prick swell and throb inside his fly.
Herr Gott,
this was a real piece of ass, this was! The blue-eyed, golden-haired Eve, a true Nordic, Aryan type, just meant for fucking by good Aryan soldiers! And what a nice appetizingly pale carnation skin the little bitch had!

“That's better, girls,” he conceded. “Now, I've got orders to tie you up and leave you here until the
Oberst
has time for you. But don't be frightened. This is just a regulation, you understand. Nothing personal meant, believe me. Why, if I had girls of my own, I wouldn't treat them any more tenderly than I'm going to treat you.”

“What—what are you going to do to us? Oh please, don't hurt us,” Eva sobbed, bursting into sudden tears.

Trudy was very pale and she was trembling, but she hadn't given way to hysteria yet, despite the terrible loss she had sustained. She would never forget the sight of dear, gentle Max throwing up his arms and screaming out, then pitching forward like a felled tree, and lying there so very still in the dirty, rainy gutter.

“I'm going to do nothing at the moment except tie you up and get you ready for questioning. Now get over here!” Sergeant Ludwig Katzmire roughly commanded.

In the center of the room was a heavy steel triangle with its base set into the floor. It was an isosceles triangle, and there were handcuff-like gyves set at each side of the base and a pair at the top, to fetter the captive's wrists and ankles and stretch her nicely. On the other side was the same arrangement. In this way you could put two bitches together, belly to belly, face to face, and tickle them a little with the
Peitsche
and make them rub pussies together. That was a lot of fun. Now that the
Herr Oberst
had two such sweet little kittens to work with, he sincerely hoped that these girls might be fixed up this way. When he had gone in to the lounge room and talked to the
Oberst,
the latter had told him to see that the girls were tied and left alone together to think things over for a little while. A daring thought came to him. Perhaps if he showed a little ingenuity, if he put the two together to share their misery, the
Oberst
would take special notice of him. After all, why should privates like Murtens and Strobel have all the fun? Here he had gone all this time without a piece of ass, and those bastards were probably in their glory, fucking that sweet piece of
kootzele
in the next room.

“Both of you,” he made up his mind in a hurry, “get over here! Stand facing each other! Good— now lift your arms up. And don't try any tricks, or it will be the worse for you. I, Sergeant Ludwig Katzmire, tell you this in all honesty, so you can believe it!”

Within a few minutes the two unfortunate girls found themselves with their wrists shackled high above their heads and their legs spread a full yard, while their ankles were clamped by the metal gyves at the base of the triangle. Thus, in their deshabille, their every movement meant the most embarrassing physical contact, although neither girl had to this moment ever experimented with the secret pleasures of Sapphism.

Sergeant Ludwig Katzmire surveyed his handiwork with a genial smile. It was all he could do to keep from falling upon them and amusing himself for a while. He had it coming, by God. But unfortunately he was only a sergeant, and even a
Lieutenant
just out of military school could break him of his rank and send him to jail. So, with a heavy sigh of disappointment, he stood a moment watching the two lovely young women squirm and shudder there in their bonds. Then he turned, walked out of the interrogation room, and slammed the door behind him.

As soon as Trudy Heinzelman and Eva Jung had been tethered to the steel triangle facing each other and reduced to the scantiest of apparel, Sergeant Ludwig Katzmire went back to the lounge where the Gestapo chief was enjoying a cigar and a last glass of schnapps with his two aides Willi Murtens and Manfred Strobel. Smartly saluting, he reported, “By your orders,
Herr Oberst,
the two females are in the interrogation room next to the one you and your assistants have been using.”

“Zu befehl,
Katzmire. We'll be along to attend to them presently. And that dear little Helga has first call on our services,
naturalich!”

“If I may say so,
Herr Oberst,
I took the liberty of arranging these young ladies so that you will find it more convenient and practical to work on them.”

“Oh, you did, did you, Sergeant? May I ask what you did without authorization?” the Gestapo officer scowled.

Sergeant Ludwig Katzmire squirmed uneasily, and his face grew flushed with worry. Perhaps he had exceeded his authority, it was true, but it was all in the interest of getting the truth out of these young bitches, these snotty intellectuals who certainly couldn't be as loyal to
Der Fuhrer
as a man like himself who wore the uniform of his country. “Well, to be exact,
Mein Oberst,”
he declared, “I put them together at the triangle, and I had them take off their outer clothes. “But they're not naked, I assure you.”

“That was ingenious and you didn't touch them or fondle them or take undue liberties with them, did you, Sergeant?”

“Good gracious, no,
mein Oberst!
The sergeant was really sweating now. “I wouldn't dare think of such a thing your
Excellenz
knows that.”

“I'm not so sure, Katzmire. You look like a man who could stand a good piece of
kootezle.
Well, with three bitches to examine, there ought to be enough for all of us. And you've done very well. The boys in the field have just told me how you shot down that young renegade
Schweinhund
who tried to escape.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency!”

“Still,” the fat Gestapo chief plucked at his chin, “you might have done better to have disabled him. That way, you see, he could have been questioned and we might have learned something. The next time, while I admire heroics as much as anyone else in the Third Reich, Sergeant, think a little first before you act. It's the difference between a noncommissioned man and an officer like myself,
Versthe?”

Now, Sergeant Ludwig Katzmire was tugging at his collar which had suddenly grown much too tight and hot for him. “Yes, yes, certainly, Your Excellency,” he stammered hastily, “And I'm grateful to Your Excellency for such excellent advice which I shall try to follow.”

“See that you do, but don't look so downhearted, Katzmire. The
Knaben
with me may get a little tired before the day is over. Stick around and I'll see that the
Lieutenant
in charge gives you a couple of hours to work with us. You may have a talent for interrogation which I hadn't yet suspected. Only for God's sake, Katzmire, don't bring your Luger in with those two pretty young bitches. We don't want them shot down trying to escape. We've more interesting things to do to them, haven't we, boys?” He turned to look back at Murtens and Strobel, who grinned and nodded and saluted.

At last the Gestapo chief finished his schnapps, unbuckled his belt a notch, patted his belly and emitted a sigh of comfort, then a belch. “Come along,
Kindern,”
he addressed his subordinates, “there is work to be done, and it's never polite to keep a lady waiting, especially when she's naked and eager to see you again.”

The sergeant and the two privates broke out again into loud guffaws. Then they followed the portly Gestapo officer down to the stairway and back to the subterranean interrogation chamber where poor Helga Nordheim lay, sobbing and moaning, her mind tortured by the feverish images which the
Oberst's
sly allusions had evoked in her overwhelmed brain.

As the steel door clanged, she uttered a piercing cry of terror, and turned her face towards it. She saw the two privates enter, and her blood ran cold as they winked and grinned at her, nudged each other and made salacious comments which she could only half-hear. The face of the sergeant was new to her, but it filled her with unreasoning terror all the same, so now there were four men here and she was alone with them and tied down on a table and already suffering from the torture and the whipping and the violations she had been compelled to endure.

“I brought a new playmate, Helga darling,” the fat
Oberst
purred. “This is Ludwig Katzmire, a sergeant of the Secret Police. Sergeant, I want you to meet our charming hostess,
Frau
Helga Nordheim, the wife of the Professor we are trying to find and who we believe may have something to do with
Till Eulenspiegel.”

“A great pleasure to know you, my dear
Frau
Nordheim,” the sergeant said, being a great one for observing all the amenities, regardless of their irony in this present situation. He clicked his heels together and bowed low from the waist. The two privates burst into lustful laughter at this sight, but the
Oberst
fixed them with a cold glare which swiftly silenced them.

“As I recall, darling, we've tried the toothpicks, the manicure tweezers, the darning needle in a very tender place which I'm sure you recall, and my riding crop. Let's see what we have left to play with in this drawer.” The Gestapo pulled it out and chuckled: “Well now, we have some dental pliers, a nail file, some sandpaper and a tiny little hammer, the sort a housewife like yourself might use to put a thumbtack in the wall.”

“Ohhh,
Gott,
no more, don't hurt me anymore! I'll do anything you want, but please let me be now! I've sworn to you that all I can tell you is that I found a newspaper and I didn't know what it was and I read it and then I saw that it was this thing you mentioned,” Helga Nordheim babbled.

“Gently, gently, darling. Don't upset yourself. Oh, I forgot, you haven't had any refreshment. And we did. Aren't we the selfish beasts? Here you could have stood a glass of water, but then after all, I let Manfred try to give you something to drink and you spat it right out, you naughty girl. Let's see now, on an empty stomach I should prescribe a little hammer. It has a certain insistent irritation to recommend it. Let me begin with it and you'll tell me what you think of it,
hein?”
Taking up the little silver hammer, which actually was used by dentists to chip away with a chisel the hardening wax or cement of impressions, he selected a spot along Helga Nordheim's deeply indented spinal column near the cheekbone, put his fat left forefinger just above the spot he intended to touch, lifted the hammer and brought it down with a sharp little rap. Helga uttered a stifled groan and her body nervously jerked on the table.

“Aha, this must be the spot. Did you ever read any American history, my dear Helga? No? A great pity. Some three hundred years ago, if my memory serves me right, they had a plague of witches in a town called Salem. Most extraordinary. And they had a witchfinder who had the girls stripped naked, naturally, and then probed them all over their bodies with a needle. If there was one place which did not seem to cause them pain when it was stuck, the witchfinder said that was where the Devil had placed his mark. It was a most effective little ordeal, I can assure you. I'd say that you're a beautiful witch, Helga, but all that beauty is not going to get you out of this room till you tell me what I want to know.” This last sentence was said with a harsh metallic ring to it, and Helga Nordheim's teeth chattered and her body shuddered at the menace implicit in those words. He struck another smart rap against the chinkbone itself. Her naked, welted hips arched, then flattened, then weaved violently, and a raucous cry exuded from her gaping mouth. Her fingernails were clawing her sweaty palms, tearing the skin, and splotches of blood appeared mixed with sweat.

Very carefully now, lingeringly, like an esthete, the Gestapo chief continued the tapping with the hammer, ascending the spinal column up to the vertebrae of the neck. Helga was half fainting, and her hysterical plaintive cries were heartrending. Her body jerked and squirmed fitfully against the table, and Sergeant Katzmire's dark eyes blazed with an unholy rut.

“Look at our little companion,
meinen Knaben!”
the
Oberst
chuckled. “He's forgetting himself isn't he, Willi, Manfred? He wants to fuck that nice naked bitch on the table, doesn't he? Shall we let him?”

“Why not?” Willi Murtens said boldly.

“I like you, my boy. You're frank with me, and you're not afraid of my rank. That's very good. No, why not indeed? All right, Katzmire, if you want to relieve yourself of that bulge in your pants, I've no objection. It may even impress our dear little hostess into being more communicative. Suppose you open up your trousers, and get on top of her and give it to her good and hard. In the
Arsch,
if you prefer!”

The sergeant's eyes widened with disbelief, then glittered with ferocious joy. “Thanks,
mein Oberst!”
he panted. He began to unbutton his uniform trousers, glancing from time to time at the Gestapo officer as if fearful that the latter would suddenly rescind his decision. But the
Oberst
made a gesture to Willi Murtens: “Slide that panel open, will you Willi, that's a good fellow. I'd like the two new bitches to be put into the mood for the little session we're going to have with them by and by.”

The beetle-browed, surly private hurried over to the farthest wall, slid back a camouflaged panel, which left bare a three-inch square opening connecting both interrogation rooms. He crouched and squinted, and he saw Trudy, and Eva at the triangle, arms over their heads, legs enormously straddled, in their deshabille. He whistled low and approvingly, then smacked his lips. What he wouldn't give to be right next door now with that golden-haired piece of
kootzele!

He turned back and saluted: “It's done,
Herr Oberst!”

“Thank you, Willi. All right, Katzmire, show us what you're made of and make sure Helga knows too,” the Gestapo chief bawdily chuckled.

Sergeant Ludwig Katzmire climbed onto the table, his prick already jutting out of his unbuttoned fly. He lay over the sobbing woman, and his prickhead nudged between the distended cheeks of the flaxen-haired young matron's buttocks. She uttered a wailing cry, “Oh not any more, Oh please, don't do it to me, oh for God's sake, spare me, spare me,
Herr Oberst!”

“Why, Helga, it's an honor to a woman like you without too much sexual experience to be mated to one of the stalwart noncommissioned officers of our Third Reich. You should be grateful to us and humble, as is proper when deign to notice scum like you. Proceed, Katzmire!”

Sergeant Ludwig Katzmire was so ecstatic over the feeling of those warm, quaking bottomglobes against his stiffened cock, of lying over her with his hands pressed against the sides of her swelling titties, that he couldn't speak. But he didn't have to. He knelt up now, sank his fingers into the inflamed and striped buttocks of the unfortunate young woman, and opened them with a brusque gesture. Helga Nordheim shrieked again as she felt her anus fearfully stretched and exposed. A moment later, her head flung up and her eyes were glassy and exorbitant as she felt Ludwig Katzmire's prickhead gouge against the tender, inflamed and super-sensitized lips of her virgin asshole.