History records that the Madman of Munich committed suicide in the Chancellory of the Third Reich in Berlin, according to the evidence of British Intelligence, published on November 1, 1945. The death of Hitler was duly reported by Admiral Karl Donitz, who assumed command of all remaining German armed forces. Three days later those forces in Holland, Denmark and
Germany surrendered, and two days after that, the German troops laid down their arms in Austria. On May 7, at 2:41 a.m., Paris time, Germany made its unconditional surrender to the Western Allies and the U.S.S.R. at General Eisenhower's headquarters at Rheims, General Jodl signing for Germany, and ratified in Berlin by Field Marshal Keitel. It was on May 8 when President Harry Truman announced V-E Day, the end of the war in Europe, in his radio broadcast of nine in the morning in the year of 1945.
We still have speculation as to whether it was actually Adolf Hitler who died in that bunker under the streets, while the fighting was still going on to crush the remaining German forces, as Russian, French, English and American troops entered Berlin from all sides. Nor have we learned yet the fate of Martin Bormann and other viciously depraved leaders of the swastika who spread that terrible symbol over all modern civilization and, for a time, seemed likely to supplant all the banners of freedom that the world had ever known.
And yet the swastika has not disappeared. In the film "Mondo Bizarre," we find a spellbinding excerpt, taken in an actual "live" performance in a theater in Berlin only a few years ago. The camera pans over the faces of men and women, mature, respectable, well-dressed, faces that reflect a compelling and greedy lust at the cruelties being enacted with realistic and graphic depravity upon that stage.
The story is that of a young fourteen-year-old Dutch girl who has been found hiding in an attic. Two Nazi officers question her and, angered at her timidity and terror, begin to brutalize her, slapping her cruelly. Soon her garments are ripped, she is threatened with the whip, and then they discover the Star of David tattooed on her wrist. Dangling by the thumbs from ropes let down from the ceiling, the girl is flogged over her breasts and buttocks, soon stripped entirely naked, while the two Nazi officers laughingly and savagely "interrogate" her and then have their lustful will with her slim young quivering naked body.
And today, as this book goes to press, there is the story in the radio-TV sections of our metropolitan newspapers telling us of an actor who played the role of Adolf Hitler in the television "special", "The Plot to Kill Adolf Hitler." The story tells how this man went to Nuremberg and to Munich, and everywhere was hailed by people who rushed up to him tearfully and told him soon the government would change, soon his genius would be restored to the glory that was Germany.
Is Nazism dead? No. Elliott Arnold, in his superlative novel "Forests of the Night", tells the story of an American Jew, born in Wurzburg, who goes back to his natal city to learn how his mother died. There he is attacked by the deadly werewolves, the Neo-Nazis, men, high in industry, commerce and politics, who wear the facade of contemporary respectability to carry on their dreams of "Germany today, tomorrow the world!"
In the United States we have seen the brief, volatile appearance of the Nazi Party whose egomaniacal leader, Rockwell, was killed by one of his own henchmen a few years ago. The seeds of fascism can be found everywhere among us, whenever men speak of extreme power, and exalt that power till it supersedes the rights and the decencies of every citizen. But the swastika-starred horror that was Nazism has moved to a new arena in our time, to Buenos Aires where instead of the word "Nazi" we learn the new word "Tacuara." For it was to Buenos Aires that decent Germans and Jews fled in 1939, when a great chess congress of teams from the free world were playing to determine a winner by skill, and when the German team arrogantly refused to play with the members of the Palestinian, Czechoslovakian, Norwegian, Dutch, French and English teams.
There were Jews playing on those teams. But there were also fugitives from Germany who sought the anonymity of that vast city on the River Plata, the river of Silver, as the Conquistadores named it, who took jobs in factories and in schools, in industry and in plantations, hiding their deadly and warped past as "free citizens" of a thriving South American metropolis.
Yet every once and again we read in our own newspapers how in Buenos Aires, Jewish synagogues are desecrated, young girls beaten and stripped on the streets because they dated Jewish boys, bombings of Jewish landmarks and of those who once fought bitterly against the Nazis to exterminate them as one exterminates deadly serpents and vicious beasts. These, then, are the Tacuara, and it is of their pernicious underground cruelties and plots to raise the dreaded swastika aloft once again for all the world to fear and tremble at, with which our story concerns itself.
-The Author.
CHAPTER ONE
Trude Reisthelfaler was eight years old when her father first took her to Switzerland to enroll her in the Madchen-Pensionat Ulri. The blonde little girl was properly awed by the vastness of those snowcapped mountains of the Swiss Alps in which the school had its almost elemental setting. She quickly learned to forget the lavishly furnished apartment back in New York to which her father had taken her, and to accustom herself to the daily routine of studies under the aegis of Frau Hertha Schinderman, an intense little woman, seemingly fragile, but with enormously large bifocal spectacles and high-piled white hair, and of her associate, the austere and insolent Mademoiselle Eugenia Delacroix. For these two women had managed the Ulri for almost twenty-five years. It was a private girls' school with about ninety pupils enrolled from all over Europe, from South America and two from as far away as Australia. It had ten teachers, three cooks, two old handymen who did everything from cleaning out a clogged chimney flue to waxing the skis of the older girls, and a prim, extremely strict and gossipy housekeeper whose upper lip had the faint down of a moustache.
The Ulri's beautiful grounds were located about two miles away from a small road which eventually merged into the large highway which led to Chur, and thence into Arosa itself. Arosa was world-famed as a sporting resort and especially the ski center, with a population of approximately three thousand and accommodations for nearly twice as many visitors. But the range of mountains protected the grounds of the Ulri from the fierce winds, yet allowed it to bask in the warm sunshine and the dry air of mountain heights.
It was there that Trude learned to ski, with a handsome tutor named Kurt Manke, the son of an impoverished Austrian nobleman, who made a meager living teaching all these girls how to do the schuss and wedlen, which rose and unwound from the festop position, unwinding and then locating the downhill turn until one turn became the beginning of the next one. Skiing was a science, and yet it was marvelous adventure. It was a pure challenge of man against the elements, and Trude thought herself in love with the handsome young son of a nobleman whose fortune had been wiped out when Hitler's goose-stepping legions entered Austria.
Trude was magnificently golden haired, about five feet six inches in height, and already at eighteen was looked upon by the two elderly women who ran this Madchen-Pensionat as the loveliest, and certainly the most docile and obedient of all their pupils. All through the years, a dozen in all, Trude remained at the school, occasionally breaking the monotony of that year-in, year-out routine of studies and development in learning to be a well-bred young lady, by accompanying the other girls to Florence or Venice, and, one memorable summer, even to Cannes.
At times her father came to visit her for a week or two, and then the young girl was happy and knew herself to be loved. For there were people here at the Ulri who despised Trude because they knew her to be German, though she protested bitterly that she was not a Nazi and neither was her dear father. Oh yes, Trude had learned the history of the Nazis in the classrooms of the "Ulri" and she had been as horrified as any right-thinking person who learned of their concentration camps and brutal savagery and their mockery of human rights.
Her father, whose first name was Johann, had told Trude that her mother had died giving her birth. And then, the day after Trude's eighteenth birthday, her father come without prior announcement to the Ulri, accompanied by the woman who had been Trude's governess back in New York. This was Gretchen Harnoyer, a strikingly handsome woman. Her hair was the color of straw and wound into a coronet braid. Her Amazonian body, five feet eight inches in height, boasted powerful thighs and buttocks, surging round body, with thin, almost merciless lips, cold blue eyes and a straight uptilted nose with mobile, thin wings. Trude could not guess her governess' age, for Gretchen Harnoyer always seemed to have a flawless complexion, carnation-pink, with a well-scrubbed look to it.
As she grew older, Trude suspected that Gretchen and her father were lovers, if not actually married, because when her father wrote, he always spoke of Gretchen with a special tenderness. And at times Gretchen herself would write to the young girl, chatting of this and that goings-on in New York and how her father's health was. But this time, her father and her governess had come on a special errand, to take her back to New York.
Her father was well over fifty, she knew, and his black hair had become entirely gray and now very sparse. There were dark circles under his eyes, and their once tender and sparkling blue had become listless. He looked frailer and his voice faltered. Gretchen drew the girl aside and whispered to her, "You mustn't excite him. He had a stroke a few months ago. But there's nothing to worry about once we get back to New York. He's missed you all these years, and now he thinks you've had enough schooling and that you'll be his companion. We're going to fly tomorrow back to New York."
If only Trude Reisthenfaler could have realized that in leaving Arosa and the pleasant little school which had been her life for so many years, she was destined to break in upon a blood-and-thunder drama which would outdo the best efforts of a fiction writer, which would plunge her into virtual white slavery and acquaint her with the terrible villas miserias of Buenos Aires. Worst of all, she would become familiar with all the atrocious, insane brutality of the terrible Tacuara.
It was November in Buenos Aires, and there it was summer, warm and gracious and lush green, even along the pampas. But there was no sunlight in the dungeon underneath the floor of the Villa Mercadito, situated on the edge of the suburb of San Ysidro, which overlooked the river of silver. There was a huge lawn, and there were great trees framing it, with a patio that was quiet and beautiful, and many beds of tropical flowers. It was the residence of Major Juan Felipe Santiago, forty-eight years old, with vulpine face and swarthy complexion. Of medium height, he was stocky, with a belly that already told of dissipated living and a love for good food and wine and the soft flesh of naked, helpless female captives. His hair was black, streaked at the temples and at the sides with gray.
Major Juan Felipe Santiago was their sergeant under the regime of Peron, called by many the father of modern Argentina and by countless more the South American Hitler. Under Peron and his blonde bride Eva Duarte (who had been a model and then an announcer on the Argentine radio and who had become first Peron's mistress and then his wife), the seeds of fascism had been sown. Now Evita was long dead of cancer and Peron had vanished from the country he had ruled with such an iron hand, but those seeds had flourished into the underground legions of the Tacuara.
Santiago had won a captaincy only two years before for having put down a public disorder in the Square of San Martin, when an angry group of young college students incited by a few policical opportunists, had marched against the government offices to demand justice for the workers, more jobs and better wages. He himself had seen the young woman who had concealed a pistol in her blouse and whose intention was to assassinate the Minister of Commerce. That latter official had praised the valor of this vigorous and heroic soldier and personally cited him for recognition from a grateful government.
As for the young woman herself, Dolores Encito, she may well have wished that she had turned that pistol on herself. Juan Felipe Santiago had her taken in his limousine to the Villa Mercadito, blindfolded, gagged, and bound hand and foot. Then they had conducted her to the cellar, where he had reconstructed the hellish accouterments of a medieval dungeon.
Dolores Encito had been a stunningly beautiful young woman of twenty, betrothed to a well-to-do industrialist's son, and a former University of Buenos Aires student. She had an oval face, sensitive, with large limpid brown eyes, a full ripe mouth, and olive skin to enhance her voluptuous high-perched round titties and her undulating, upstandingly rounded bottom cheeks. And she was a virgin who was saving herself for her husband on the noche de la luna de miel.
Santiago had had her tied by the thumbs to two metal rings which exactly fitted those dainty digits and could be compressed by means of touching a little spring lock. Tiny but sturdy chains were soldered to the outside of these rings, and these chains were lowered from a ceiling pulley. The unfortunate young woman was hoisted by her thumbs till her toes were just off the ground. Then Juan Felipe Santiago himself smirkingly squatted down before her, ran his hands under her long skirt and began to tug down her fine flesh-colored nylon stockings. She struggled and twisted, crying out indignantly against his lecherous and cruel assault. Once her stockings had been removed, his pudgy fingers slyly caressed the fine round curves of her olive-skinned calves and moved upwards along the gracefully sculptured, satiny thighs. Then, straightening, and with an oath, he had set his hands to the bodice of her dress and ripped it from her with several violent tugs that made her shriek out in pain as all her weight was tractioned from her thumbs.
Panting heavily, his face flushed and darkened with rum, the Peronista officer now pulled off her hand-embroidered slip exposing her chaste, magnificent body in the intimate deshabille of brassiere and panties, and a narrow white garterbelt whose tabs held up her sheer hose.
From out of the shadows of this dungeon there had hobbled a one-eyed, ape-like man, with huge chest, shaggy black hair, massive of build, his muscular arms dangling mighty as an ape's, his mouth twisted and one cheek hideously scarred.
It was Jorge, the only name this bestial half-man had ever known. He had been deformed at birth in one of the villas miserias on the outskirts of the city, abandoned by his unknown parents, brought up by a kindly priest. The horrid scar upon his cheek had come when lye had been splashed into his face by his own mother. Somehow he survived, and when he was twenty, he escaped from the monastery where the old priest had reared him. Then, prowling through the nights, Jorge had given vent to all his thwarted hate. He had raped half a dozen women in their homes and in the alleys of the slums of Buenos Aires. And he had come before the then Captain Juan Felipe Santiago who had been placed on the judiciary staff of the City Administrators, a body of practical men drawn from the military as well as the industrial walks of life but without particular legal background, who acted as a kind of military tribunal to expedite the work of the overcrowded courts.
Santiago had at once recognized the terrible potential of Jorge as a torturer and executioner, and as he was even then involved in the underground plots of the Neo-Nazis, he spared the life of this half-witted, deformed, but enormously strong creature, and made him his own tool.
It was this terrible vision which poor Dolores Encito saw now as she dangled there, half-naked, her thumbs swollen, her throat hoarse from her cries. Her dark eyes bulged with horror as she saw this monster shuffle towards her, his twisted mouth half-open and showing rotting teeth, uttering inhuman and incoherent gurgling sounds-for Juan Felipe Santiago had had his tongue removed so that this pitiful waif from the Buenos Aires slums could never betray him if he himself should ever be thrown out of power by revolt of the very people he crushed and pitilessly tyrannized.
The gloating officer of the Tacuara had gestured to Jorge, whom he had trained to understand his signs as well as his words. Dolores, through her tear-blurred dilated eyes, saw Jorge approach her now, rip off the brassiere and the panties, and then with his huge hands, squeeze the panting gourds of her virgin titties, pinching the nipples until her head fell back and her mouth gaped in a prolonged, raucous shriek of unspeakable despair and pain.
After mauling Dolores' titties and slavering over her writhing body till the unfortunate young woman was nearly mad with terror and revulsion, the one-eyed cretin uttered a bellow of lust and gripped her lithe hips with his heavy, gnarled fingers. Then, stark naked as he was except for boots, he forced his massive prick into her tender cunt, bursting through her cherry, and began to fuck her with a savage and primitive fury.
She slumped into unconsciousness, but this did not save her; it was only a temporary reprieve.
When she came to, the lovely naked brunette found herself still dangling by her thumbs, which were swollen and aching unspeakably. And her brutal interrogator, Juan Felipe Santiago, stood naked before her, also in boots, a mocking smile on his sensual mouth, while in his right hand he held a three-thonged leather whip.
"Now then, you little puta," he sneered, "you're going to tell me the names of all your fellow conspirators. You shall stay here until you do, I promise you that, Dolores Encito. Now then, let us see if I can loosen that stubborn mouth of yours. You, who were about to assassinate our noble Minister, Don Sancho Riviera-you have already earned death by a firing squad, and it was I who saved you from immediate execution, Senorita. So you will be grateful by beginning to talk at once. 'No es verdad?' "
In spite of her terror and pain, the brave but foolhardy young woman spat into his face. The paunchy lecherous Tacuara officer grinned as he wiped her spittle away with the back of his left hand. "I am glad you did that, querida," he crooned, flicking out the whip in the air very close to her shivering naked body. "Because now I shall have an opportunity to teach you, dirty little rebellious bitch who you are, how we of the new order punish a traitress and rebel against our cause! The Minister is one of us, and yet you would have taken his life. Very well, Dolores Encito, yours is forfeit now to me in any way I wish to take it. And to begin with, you shall be put to many tortures, and the first of these shall be the whip!"
With this, he stepped back and swept the three-thonged lash across her magnificent titties. The young woman tilted back her head, her eyes staring up at the ceiling in indescribable agony and uttered a frenzied shriek of agony.
On the smooth olive-worm satin of those ripe firm love gourds, the angry, darkening red welts from the leather thongs stood out in lascivious patterns.
A second stroke caught her across her belly, and she lunged backward, only to shriek again as the cruel traction and pressure on her thumbs became a martyrdom all its own.
As she stared down at her shuddering body, Dolores Encito could see the smears of her own dried blood-the blood of her ravaged maidenhead, on her upper thighs and in the hairs of her curly pubis. And when she stared out beyond the sadistic officer who was whipping her, she uttered a wild cry of horror at the sight of the skulking, booted, naked one-eyed ape-man who lurked at the back of this dungeon, faithfully ready to answer any of his master's orders. He was a creature devoid of pity or remorse, for his mind had been warped as had his body by the brutality and the poverty of childhood in the slums of Buenos Aires.
But before she could think such thoughts again, the whip hissed and cracked wickedly right over her loins, biting into the tender lips of her already chafed and sensitized young cunt. Her maddened scream rang out piercingly in the dungeon, and Juan Felipe Santiago roared with salacious and sadistic laughter. "But that is only the beginning, muchachita," he chuckled. "These are only the caresses of a lover, such as I am and will be to you, querida!"
And once again the whip returned across her naked boobies, and then her belly, and finally her loins, attacking the soft curls and the tender twitching lips of her cunt hole beneath until she was jerking and twisting like a puppet on strings controlled by invisible masters.
This was it!
Now he moved behind her. He touched a switch on the wall set into a panel, one of several. It immediately set a spotlight bearing down upon her, illuminating her magnificent nakedness with a stark intensity. Agony-sweat trickled down from her mossy armpits. Whimpering, her face twisted and wet with tears, she tried to turn her head back to regard him. As she did so, the whip again returned to agonize her, slashing across the tops of her lithe hips, and then again over the ripest curves of her voluptuous young ass. Once again her deafening cries filled the dungeon as she lunged forward, to escape that merciless thrashing. But there was to be no escape for Dolores Encito.
For fully half an hour, the Tacuara officer flogged her from her neck to her heels, until blood flowed down her back and thighs and calves. And then the slavering naked monster hobbled forward with a bucket of salt brine to slosh over her bleeding body and to draw her back from the merciful boon of unconsciousness again.
Then Juan Felipe Santiago fucked her, thrusting his finger deep into her maiden asshole, and out of fiendish sadism, using his other forefinger to rub her clitoris until, against her very will, against all her nerve and her maidenly modesty and decency, the unfortunate naked captive was compelled to yield the orgasm of her warm young flesh in such a brutal travesty of union. Panting, moaning, half-fainting, she hung, her thumbs horribly swollen and a dark-purplish. But he was not finished with her yet.
Because Dolores Encita would not reveal any of the names of her associates, Juan Felipe Santiago had her put upon the rack. It was a medieval apparatus, with his own ingenious embellishments. It consisted actually of a frame about waist-high, with a sharp-ridged section of wood in the very middle, over which the naked back and buttocks of the unfortunate young woman were pressed. Her wrists and ankles were corded, and these cords passed through holes pierced into the vertical uprights of this frame which was left open in its middle. Then the cords in turn were united with two small metal windlasses except in the middle and the bottom of the frame, so that each or both could be turned as desired. The Tacuara officer himself controlled the windlasses and at his whim would first turn one and then the other and sometimes both. The naked olive-skinned body of Dolores Encita was stretched atrociously, and the sharp ridge of the horizontal piece on which she rested was forced into her deeply hollowed spinal column and also into the crease between her ass cheeks, a torture of unspeakable agony for the chaste and sensitive young woman.
Then, since her legs were spread hugely and obscenely, Juan Felipe Santiago stepped into the middle of the frame and stood upon a stool which was planted at a convenient location so that he might straddle over the horizontal ridge and, leaning forward, his hands squeezing poor Dolores' heaving, whipmarked titties, thrust his stiff prick deep into her martyred cunt and fucked her until he ejaculated his bubbling gism deep into her chaste young womb.
When he had finished with this, he summoned his creature Jorge who, mounting upon a similar stool and nodding his head with fiendish glee, compelled the unfortunate young woman to suck and lick his thick cock which was still smeared with the blood of her cherry-an act so abhorrent to poor Dolores Encita that it was necessary for Juan Felipe Santiago to take long color-headed pins and thrust them as far as they would go into her heaving titties before she could at last force her crazed mind to surrender to that abysmal degradation.
For a week, Juan Felipe Santiago kept this unfortunate young woman a prisoner in his dungeon beneath the Villa Mercadito, subjecting her to every possible torture and shame. She was buggered by Jorge while the Tacuara officer fucked her so that she stood between them both and received a double violation, her arms stretched out and crossed and her wrists tied to a round shining metal pole, with a collar tightly strapped around her slim throat and two hooks on the collar clinging to the pole so that she was unable to lower her arms or to move without strangling herself.
Repeatedly whipped, branded, stuck with pins, and finally sentenced to death at the end of that grisly week of horror, Dolores Encita at last perished, and willingly so. Placed upon a barrel, her hands bound behind her back, a noose around her neck fixed to an overhead beam in the dungeon ceiling, she was whipped off the barrel and indeed, at the very first stroke of the lash with a cry to her Maker to pardon her transgression, she leaped from it in search of the death which would be a release from her ghastly sufferings.
This, then, was the head of the Tacuara in Argentina, a man now ranked as major and in command of many soldiers of the Argentine Army of the Republic who shared his barbarous and sadistic views in restoring the sign of the swastika to the power and the glory it had known during the era of Adolf Hitler.
When Trude Reisthenfaler accompanied her father and Gretchen Harnoyer back to her father's luxurious apartment in New York, the golden-haired beauty noticed with some surprise that the governess was wearing a large diamond on the third finger of her left hand. Also, that her father seemed sunken and weak, listless and with all spirit gone. She withheld her curiosity as long as she could, until about the second day back in her apartment, and then she went to see Gretchen who was preparing a stew in the kitchen.
"Fraulein Harnoyer, may I ask you something?" she timidly said.
The tall, domineering woman turned, and her blue eyes were no longer pleasant but keen and shrewd, her keen lips curling in a kind of mocking smile: "What is on your mind, Liebchen?" was her counter.
"That diamond ring-I don't understand-is it my father's?"
"Of course it is, you silly girl! I'm his wife now, and your stepmother, Trude."
"My stepmother!" the golden-haired girl gasped, her eyes wide. "But Father never told me!"
"It happened only about a month ago, my dear child. Surely you don't begrudge him a little happiness in his last years-let us resign ourselves, Trude. He has had several strokes, the doctors are very worried about him. After all, he's an old man, considering the hectic life he's lived. You know very well that he escaped from Germany when Hitler and all the rest were defeated, and made his way to Lisbon, and came to this country where he married your mother a few years later. She died in childbirth, and since he knew me from the old days, he wrote me asking if I would come act as your governess and replace your poor dead mother. Well, now, after all these years, he's done me the honor and the courtesy of making me his wife as a kind of payment for my loyal services." Her tone was light, but her eyes and mien were mocking and cynical, and Trude felt a strange presentiment. And yet it would explain so much. Gretchen Harnoyer was an indomitable dominatress with her forcible mind and will. Could it be perhaps that while her father was ill, this woman, in the guise of a companion and friend, had forced him into marrying her? And yet it did not matter so much to Trude; what did matter was her father's health.
"Your father was nearly thirty when he left Germany, Trude. He was already an extremely wealthy man, you see. That is why he was able to understand, since he was involved in finances and speculations, that Germany would collapse. He had his money in Switzerland, and he made his way to the Swiss border and then to Portugal. Of course, the alien registration act prevented him from becoming a citizen, so he had to come in illegally, and he paid dearly for that. But since then he's lived honorably and he has earned his citizenship a thousand times over. This name you have, La Cochen, is really not your name or his; he changed it so that there could be no danger that the authorities would transport him back to Germany. This is why we did not talk of it, and why you must forget at once what I have told you right now, verstehe?"
Trude nodded. Her mind was awhirl with wonder over all the new things she had learned after so many years.
And then it came to her suddenly that perhaps her father had been one of those Nazis who had escaped Germany when all was going up in flames, to avoid prosecution as a war criminal. Timidly she ventured, "Tell me then, Frau Gretchen, was my father-was he one of those?"
The last word was left unsaid, but the governess, now her stepmother, understood. "Oh no," she said glibly. "He hated the Nazis. He was clever and they let him stay at the bank and work with the stocks and the investments abroad, because they wanted to rely on and profit from his great knowledge and skill. When Germany was crushed by the Allies and Hitler died, my dear child, there was nothing left for your father. And he was terrified at the poverty and ruin and destruction which had engulfed his beloved Vaterland. Yes, that's why he came here. Now we shall talk no more of it, understood?" Again Trude nodded. And then she went back to her own room, puzzled, wondering what her life would be if her father were truly to die soon. She'd never believe that such a thing was possible, for as a child he had been so good and kind to her. Even the governess had been gentle in a way. And yet now there was something-she couldn't put her finger on it-something almost feline and sneaky about the woman. She knew one thing: she would never call Gretchen Harnoyer, now Reisthenfaler, by the name of-mother.
Mother-that is a sacred word!
It was the day before her nineteenth birthday, but there was no joy in Trude's heart. Her father was dying, and the old white-haired doctor bending over him with stethoscope against his heart shook his head ruefully and then turned to look at her and shrugged with compassionate resignation. Her governess-now her stepmother-stood solemnly beside the bed, holding Johann Reisthenfaler's hand, so emaciated and bony, and her face was stolid.
"It's all over," the doctor murmured. "I'm sorry. But those strokes before weakened his heart, and there wasn't much hope. At least he died without pain."
"Thank God for that," Trude sobbed, and covered her face with her hands to mourn her father's passing.
It seemed a nightmare to the golden-haired young woman to have the woman who had been her governess now assume full control of this household. Authoritatively, Gretchen Harnoyer (Trude simply could not bring herself to associate her father's name with the governess) telephoned the undertaker, made all the arrangements, and two days later she and Trude, both dressed in black, stood at the cemetery for the services and watched the coffin being lowered into the earth.
Then she put her arm around the trembling golden-haired girl and murmured, "Now we shall go back home, Liebchen. And now there are things both of us must do. You have to take up your life where it left off, and you must forget your schooling, except the veneer of culture it brought you. We must find you a nice young man to marry."
"Oh no! I don't even want to think of that, not with my poor Vater dead," Trude groaned.
She did not see the look of gloating triumph on the face of the tall, imperious woman with her pompadour and her cold blue eyes and her thin mouth. She did not know what was in store for her, or perhaps, like Hamlet, she would have flung herself into the grave and begged for justice and compassion.
"I'm going to send you to Paris to a dear friend of mine, my dear child," Gretchen Reistenfaler said with an ingratiating smile. "I want you to spend several months there, brushing up your French-yes, I know, you studied it at the Ulri and you speak it very well, but it is necessary to be quite fluent, and besides, Delphine is going to help educate you in certain things which I'm sure you never learned in school. You see, it was your father's wish that you marry. He knew perfectly well that you wouldn't be happy with me-let's admit it, my dear, I've outgrown my usefulness as far as you are concerned. As a governess and when you were a child, that was fine. Now, as your dead father's wife, you and I have very little in common. But don't you see, he simply married me as a kind of payment for my services. Yet I agree, we mustn't think of the past or feel that you are going to be a prisoner with me in this apartment. And I, I need a little vacation too. The last few years have been very trying, looking after your poor father." She added a cold laugh which somehow sent chills up and down Trude's spine.
"Well, perhaps you are right," Trude dubiously agreed. "I've always wanted to see Paris again. But when I come back, I'd like to go on to college and prepare myself for some sort of work."
"Your father left a great deal of money. You needn't work, however, unless you really wish to. Besides, I swear to you on your father's memory, he did say just before we came to the Ulri to get you and bring you back home, that he wanted you to be married to a fine young man. In a way, Delphine is going to help you get ready for that man-of course, none of us knows who he is now, but there'll be one soon, never you fear. What a beautiful young woman you've become! Oh yes, with that golden hair and that soft pink skin like a baby's bottom and that magnificent butzen and your lovely big round hinterbocken, you'll be a prize indeed!"
Trude blushed. For her stepmother had used vulgar German words which meant titties and ass much as if she herself were nothing more than an animal at a county fair being auctioned off to the highest bidder. And until now she had no thoughts whatsoever of marriage. Indeed, all Trude knew of sex was the sweet and tickling sensations when, late at night in her bed at the Ulri, she had sometimes put her finger to her pussy and rubbed gently until bliss and drowsy languor overcame her.
CHAPTER TWO
Delphine Surcroit was a svelte woman, as tall as Gretchen Harnoyer herself, with blue-black hair that was thickly streaked with gray and set in a prim bun at the back of her neck. She had hazel eyes, an aristocratic aquiline nose, and a decisive mouth and chin. Her skin was exceptionally pale-white, although Trude was sure that she must be at least 50. She spoke German with an excellent accent, and fluent French, with all the Parisian argot.
Gretchen Harnoyer Reisthenfaler had taken Trude on the Air France jet to Paris at Orly Airport where Delphine Surcroit had been waiting to receive them. The two women hugged and kissed each other, and then Trude observed that Gretchen was whispering something into Delphine's ear and that the latter was nodding vigorously, covertly glancing at her and then smiling as if something were being plotted between the two women which concerned her.
Again her vague presentiment grew, and she began to wonder why this trip to Paris had been so important, since she did speak French well enough. And who was this woman, to be so close to her governess, and had her father really urged that she marry? It was all a mystery, and yet she was still shaken by his death. Now, in truth, she was an orphan. Her mother had died giving her birth, and she had seen her father buried. It was true that she was nineteen and in the full bloom of her golden-haired beauty, and yet life was still mournful for Trude.
Her former governess and now stepmother accompanied them as far as the little apartment near the Sorbonne which had been rented for Delphine Surcroit and Trude. She spent the night there, and then in the morning kissed Trude formally on the forehead and told her to be a good and dutiful girl and that she would see her in a few months. With this, she took a cab and went back to the airport, obviously to fly back to New York. Trude was not overly fond of her new companion. Delphine told Trude that her father had been in the forestry service and had found employment as a minor government official, while her mother had worked as a concierge in a large apartment building, both laboring very hard so that she might continue her education. Indeed, she boasted, she had been a Sorbonne student and had graduated with high honors.
The first day or two, the two spent pleasantly enough touring Paris, and Trude renewed her knowledge of the Eiffel Tower, the Champs-Elysees, and the Bois de Boulogne as well as the famous Arc de Triomphe. But on the third, all this changed. Delphine became sly and mysterious, hinting that Trude's education had not been completely rounded out and that it was her duty-indeed, she had been paid for it by Trude's stepmother-to edify her about what she called the tender passions.
"But Mademoiselle Surcroit," Trude blushingly protested, "I'm not the least interested in love or romance. When I meet a nice young man, and whenever it happens, then things will happen as they are meant to happen. Why do I need instruction and education in love?"
"Ah, ma petite," the Frenchwoman smiled and wagged her forefinger at the golden-haired young woman, "because you are still such a naive virgin that even if you did fall madly in love with a very fine man, you would not even know how to please him. No, no, don't shake your lovely head, it's useless. I have my duty, I've been very well paid, and you must stay here with me and do what I tell you to." And then her eyes narrowed and she added, "Sinon le fouet!"
Trude started, her eyes widening, as if she could not believe what she had just heard, for the Frenchwoman had said, "Otherwise, you'll be whipped!"
"But this is ridiculous!" she gasped, wretchedly feeling how red her cheeks had become at the mere thought of such a juvenile and humiliating chastisement. "By whose order? I am full grown, and no one is going to whip me."
"We shall see about that, Ma'am'selle Trude. Now tonight, I'm going to take you to a very elegant house. We are going to watch something most interesting. I have said that I would whip you, and that is true. But first I want you to see what the whip is like. I think you will change your mind a good deal."
"But this is madness-who paid you to whip me? My governess-my stepmother? She has no right to do this. My father would turn in his grave if he knew that I was brought here to be treated like a child," Trude Reisthenfaler indignantly defied the tall Frenchwoman.
And to her horror, Delphine Surcroit slapped her face and remarked, "I am tired of your little airs, my pigeon. If you don't come along quietly with me this evening, I shall have Hans Glogau, who is my very good friend and who is an expert at making obstinate, naughty girls behave, take you along with him and make certain that you do not act out one of your tantrums."
With sinking heart, Trude realized that somehow she had been duped, that this trip to Paris had had some sinister and hidden meaning for her, and she could only wait to find it out. She, always so gentle and timid during her school days at the Ulri, could not bear to think of violence and pain and suffering. Till that moment, indeed, she had never seen any girl struck or whipped; her cheek still throbbed where the Frenchwoman had slapped her and she wanted to cry in very shame. Only her pride kept her from doing so, and so with a dull voice she remarked, "Very well, I'll do what you want. Do I get back to New York after these months are over?"
"But of course, little one!" Now the Frenchwoman was all smiles, patting her on the cheek where she had formerly slapped her. "Now that is more reasonable, tu vois. Allons, you and I will have a great deal of amusement while you are here, so why should we not be friends instead of enemies?"
* * *
They had had supper at an elegant cafe and dined on escargots, a veal cutlet, a superb salad, and strawberry tarts. Then Delphine Surcroit hailed a cab and gave the driver an address on the northwest side of Paris, telling him that he must first make a stop at Numero Cent Treize de la Rue Strasbourg.
The cab stopped at this address which was just outside of Montmartre, and from a doorway and out of the shadows came an ugly man, nearly bald, with what little hair he had being gray, a broken nose, a full sensual mouth, and heavy jowls. He was stocky and even though he wore evening clothes and spats and carried a walking stick with an ivory handle, he looked like a depraved bully, one of those who back in the days of Hitler had gloatingly watched women beaten by their Nazi interrogators or stretched out on their backs and spread-eagled on the floor of a damp cold windowless cell, and themselves applied a rubber truncheon to the kidneys and the insides of the thighs and titties and even the cunt until they obtained the information they were seeking.
Trude felt a shudder of revulsion seize her as the man entered the cab and took his place between her and her companion.
"This is Herr Glogau, my dear child," Delphine Surcroit purred. "I want you to eat him now, before we go any further."
Trude gasped, but in a moment, the man was naked and she was also, and delving between his legs, forcibly held to this sexual act.
They stopped at last at a two-story house on the outskirts of Paris, along a block where there was very little else. There was an iron grill, head high, all around the estate, and at the back Trude could see a distant garden and a little gazebo. There were lights in the house, and there was the sound of music and laughter.
Somewhat reassured, she accompanied the man and her companion. Up the steps, after Delphine Surcroit had first unlocked the gate and then locked it after them, to the huge door which had a brass knocker in the middle. It was the Frenchwoman who seized it and struck twice, and after a moment, a lovely quadroon, wearing a lace cap, a black satin dress whose skirt came down only as far as mid-thigh, charcoal-brown sheer nylon hose and red leather high-heeled pumps open to them.
"We wish to see Madame DuTroz, if you please, Ernestine, cherie," the Frenchwoman said haughtily.
The lovely quadroon, who could not have been more than eighteen, bowed her head and ushered them ceremoniously into a little salon just off the lobby of the huge house. Beyond them was a stairway which wound its carpeted way to the second floor. The laughter and the music came from there, rather than from the first floor which seemed deserted and dark.
She brought them each a glass of champagne, and assured them that Madame DuTroz would be with them shortly.
After about five minutes, an imposing, big-busted, bleached-blonde woman entered in a black satin evening gown cut very low at the bosom and at the back.
She wore jewels which glistened, and her face was garishly made up. She must have been at least fifty, and she strove to appear thirty, and Trude thought it was disgusting. But still more disgusting was what Madame DuTroz presided over: for this, Delphine Surcroit whispered to her charge, was a maison de specialite where rich people came for their amusement.
"Oh, Mademoiselle Delphine, what a pleasant surprise!" the robust woman exclaimed. "I have something specially in store for you, and I'm sure that Herr Glogau will especially enjoy it. Indeed, he may wish to avail himself of a little more private entertainment after that, but we will speak of that later, hein? Do come along, and our little Erne stine will be along directly with refreshments."
So saying, she led the way down the corridor of the first floor of this huge house to the very end. Trude, more and more disconcerted and worried, saw heavy doors and felt her feet sink into thick carpeting as she followed. Arriving at the very last room, the proprietress unlocked the door and ushered them in with many differential gestures and obsequious flattery.
It was a rather narrow room, but what struck Trude as most amazing was that the wall to her right was a full mirror, not so much a mirror as a window, since it looked into the next bedroom, where there was a huge low double bed, a couch and several chairs and a low, flat wooden bench.
The furnishings were more modest: a couch drawn up in front of this mirror-wall, an armchair to its left, two or three love seats and a reclining chaise lounge.
"What is this?" she turned to the Frenchwoman. But before the latter could answer, Madame DuTroz snickered and herself answered the question: "Why, pigeonne, it's a salle pour voyeurs, that's all! You see, some people enjoy watching how others make love, and they pay quite a price."
"But, that's horrible, and besides, won't they see us?" Trude gasped.
"You are truly an innocent," Madame DuTroz giggled. "Of course they won't because this is one-way glass. It's very expensive and that's why I must charge so much. But then, your dear friend Mademoiselle Surcroit will acquaint you with all these things. Now I'll send Ernestine in and soon you'll see the treat I promised. A bientot!"
"I don't want to see any of this. I want to go," Trude gasped as soon as the madam had gone.
"You will sit down there on the couch beside me and you will keep your little mouth shut, or my good friend Hans will whip you to the blood," the Frenchwoman hissed, as she took hold of the golden-haired girl's right wrist and dragged her down beside her.
Hans Glogau at once gripped one of Trude's slim wrists from the left, while the svelte Frenchwoman imprisoned her right hand and whispered, "Now you are going to shut your little mouth and watch and learn, and tell yourself also that if you are not a good obedient girl, the same thing is going to happen to you."
Sickened with fear and also nausea with the nearness of this stocky, obese, brutal man beside her, Trude Reisthenfaler closed her eyes and shuddered, but a savage digging of the Frenchwoman's fingernails into her slim and sensitive wrist made her cry out and open her eyes once more.
"I told you, watch! We'll see that you don't close your eyes, you obstinate little slut!" Delphine Surcroit hissed.
And now, through tear-blurred eyes, the golden-haired young woman saw two women drag in a younger, dark brown-haired victim. The victim's hair was shaped in a chic oval bun at the top of Her head, leaving her dainty little ears and the nape of her neck quite bare.
Her skin was warm olive. Her face was an exquisite cameo, with dainty upturned nose that boasted thin, aristocratic nostrils; a small, but ripe mouth with insolently curved upper lip.
She was struggling frantically with her two tormentresses, one of them being gray-haired and wearing black leather boots to mid-thigh as well as a one-piece black leather body sheath which took her from neck to crotch and gusseted between the thighs as well as shoulder-length gloves of the same glossy, shining substance.
Her other assailant was perhaps a decade younger, and still quite handsome, with neatly bobbed black hair embellished with a single broad silver streak. She was taller than the older woman, and she had tawny skin, sparkling dark blue eyes, an oval-shaped face which registered an imperious and haughty expression.
All she wore was a leotard and sandals: her breasts were like two large ripe hard pears which thrust boldly against the thin filmy black fabric of the sheath, allowing the well-developed nipples to be observed plainly.
They flung the woman down upon the bed on her belly, and swiftly tied her wrists and ankles with cords to the bedposts. Next, the older woman rucked up the victim's fine brown silk skirt and embroidered lace-trimmed slip, to expose a superbly saucy, delightfully well-rounded bottom snug in thin flesh-colored nylon panties.
The victim had sleek, long thighs and sinuous calves enhanced by very fine charcoal brown nylon stockings, which were kept in place without a wrinkle by the narrow tabs of a white satin elastic garterbelt.
All the while, the young woman, who was about twenty-five, shrieked and denounced her tormentresses. "Stop this! You've no right to treat me this way. I shall tell my husband. You will go to prison, I tell you. Stop that! Why are you undressing me?"
"I think this little bitch deserves a well-merited lesson, Amy," the younger woman said to the stocky companion. "Don't you agree?"
"To be sure, Madame!"
"Oh, you shall have your turn, Amy. Never fear. I shall teach little Lucette here the meaning of obedience," the leotard-sheathed younger woman declared.
At her gesture, the older woman drew off her right glove and handed it over to her and the imperious black-haired dominatrice tugged it on, flexed her fingers and approved the fit.
Then, very calmly, while the young woman called Lucette continued to struggle to jerk at her bound wrists and ankles, she reached out and began to pinch the victim's jouncy asscheeks through the thin and very taut panties.
Indignant cries responded to this first, and then plaintive sobs and imploring prayers to be spared, questions as to why this was being done to her. To all of this, the black-haired woman responded not at all except now to raise her gloved hand and begin to spank with real authority the shuddering and jerking asscheeks of the beautiful young victim.
One could see gradually, and even through the voyeur glass panel connecting the two rooms, that Lucette's bottom had begun to turn at first bright pink, then a fiery and finally angry dark red. The panties were gossamer, and moreover they fit like a second skin because the pinioning of the young woman's body had the effect of making them adhere almost to the tearing point.
Now Lucette's shrieks were hoarse with really sincere cries of agony. "Ow! Oh, you're hurting me. How dare you! Oh, I command you to stop. It's too much. Stop it!"
"I think the panties are too much protection, don't you?" the black-haired woman at last paused rather breathlessly as she stared at her stocky companion.
"I think they should come down, indeed I do, Madame Eulalie."
"Oh no, you shan't do that to me, you shan't!" Lucette screamed, beside herself with fury and shame.
She arched and twisted and wriggled, trying to break the cords which held her wrists. Then, to her utter consternation and frantic mortification, the woman called Amy thrust her bare hand inside the waistband of those thin panties and ripped them down and off, laying Lucette bare from her chinbone to the tops of her struggling thighs.
All of this, needless to say, was plainly visible through the one-way glass. Moreover, through ingeniously concealed microphones connecting the two rooms, Trude was able to hear every syllable, every inflection of breath, every sobbing gasp of this incredible tableau.
"May I try my hand a bit, Madame?" the stocky, older woman deferentially asked.
"By all means, Amy. Enjoy yourself," the black-haired woman in the leotard laughed.
The stout gray-haired, gloved and booted tormentress laughed softly with a gloating anticipation. She raised her bare hand and began to use the tips of her pudgy fingers as one would use the thongs of a whip, flicking them all over the shivering and huddling naked globes.
It seemed to be an innocuous chastisement, but after about some twenty of these flicks, Lucette began to cry out shrilly.
"Please don't. It hurts me too much. Stop it. Oh, you're hurting me so. I beg of you to stop! I'll do anything you want. I'll pay you anything you want."
It was amazing, Trude thought, her cheeks scarlet with shame as she was forced to stare at this obscene drama going on before her, how the naked behind of that lovely brown-haired victim began to leap and bound and twist and jerk, in the most immodest and lascivious manner. She could even see the pink cleft of the young woman's cunt, framed by its dark brown silky curls.
Nevertheless, the stockier woman continued to flick that agonized and beautiful bottom until it was almost entirely covered with new splotches which stood out as if superimposed upon the flaming red which the younger woman's spanking had just imparted.
Her cheeks congested and drowned with tears, her fingernails clawing the sheets of the bed, the victim tried with frenziedly energetic twists and jerks to get loose. And now her voice took on a much humbler tone.
"Oh, I beg of you, please! No more, I'll be good. I can't stand anymore!"
Finally, the younger woman gestured to her companion, who at once applied a final violent smack with her palm right over the crease of both shuddering, reddened ass cheeks, drawing a frantic wail from the sobbing victim. Then she demanded, "If we stop, Lucette, do you agree here and now to carry out any order we give you without the least question or rebellion?"
While poor Lucette tried to find her breath between her sobs and groans, the woman in the leotard reached out and with thumb and forefinger applied a cruel pinch right in the victim's tender ass crease.
"Oh yes, anything in the world you want. Ow! I can't stand it. I tell you I can't!" the young woman shrieked.
The two women now set about untying the weeping victim's wrists and ankles, helping her down to her feet on the floor. She was then ordered to strip absolutely naked, except for stockings, and when this was done, and her lovely round uptilting closely spaced titties were seen in all their exquisite beauty with dark coral pouting nipples and narrow paler aureolae, Trude again could not believe her eyes.
From a little table near the bed, the woman in the leotard took a three-thonged martinet and at once lashed Lucette across her titties, commanding her to kneel down on her palms.
With a wild cry of pain, the young woman obeyed. Then, straddling her legs boldly, the imperatrix commanded, "Now come forward respectfully. Put your hands on my bottom and press your mouth against my sex. Then you will suck and kiss and lick it, through the leotard. Here, take the martinet, Amy. Thrash her well if she doesn't obey."
"Oh please, I don't want to, I don't want to watch this anymore," Trude whispered, half-fainting, cheeks scarlet with mortification.
"But you will, you will, and you'll watch and learn," the Frenchwoman beside her hissed, digging her sharp fingernails into the thin blue cotton dress which shaped out Trude's beautifully rounded young thigh.
"They can't hear you in there, though we hear them. So you don't have to whisper, you stupid little virgin! This woman has been unfaithful to her husband, and he's paid to have her punished. You'll see how he avenges himself in short order. Watch and learn."
Trude could not understand for the life of her why this ugly man and this perverse Frenchwoman into whose charge she had been consigned insisted that she see such a degrading spectacle. But terror for her own safety made her sit there passively and watch, though she yearned to close her eyes and blot it out forever.
Lucette hesitated, tilted up her poignant, agonized face and babbled, "Oh, Madame, cherie. I've never done such a thing, oh pardon, don't ask that of me. I implore you!"
But her prayer was interrupted as the stockier of the women, Amy, slashed the three-thonged whip across her already inflamed and swollen naked ass, and with a maddened shriek of despairing torment, the unfortunate dark-haired young woman capitulated. Her hands pressed tightly against the firm, jouncy bottom globes of her tormentress. She plunged her trembling mouth against the apex shaped out by the thin fabric of the leotard and began to suck and lick and kiss as bidden.
From time to time, the whip encouraged her with a deft flick here and there, and her wails and prayers only seemed to add to the two dominatrices' cruel joy.
But at last the black-haired woman with the streak of silver had her climax. She laughed softly and nodded to her companion. Casting the whip onto the bed, the woman called Amy went to the door, looked down the hallway, and then swung the door open. Then Trude gasped, and suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth to conceal her outcry. She could not believe again, still less, what she saw.
There were two naked men, the one about forty, slim, insolent-looking, with a supercilious little moustache. The other was a burly young man in his mid-twenties, who looked like a professional wrestler, or at least an athlete.
"The older man's Lucette's husband, Trude," the Frenchwoman beside her whispered into the golden-haired young woman's ear. "The other is his good friend, Albert. I suspect that Albert is bisexual and enjoys at times his friend's sexual favors. But now he's going to prove that he is really a man after all. Watch!"
"Oh, pity me. Don't make me see such filthy, horrible things!" Trude moaned.
But at that moment, Hans Glogau's right hand gripped her elbow so cruelly that Trude thought he would break it, and with a moan she straightened against the back of the couch and stared helplessly at what was taking place before her.
The two men at once seized the sobbing, pleading and certainly broken dark-haired naked young woman and dragged her back onto the bed. This time, however, they forced her down on her back and quickly tied her wrists and ankles to the bedposts as before.
Now, taking a wide, flat ruler from the hands of the stockier woman in boots and gloves and the leather body sheath, the husband began to smack Lucette's heaving titties while her head turned helplessly from side to side, her teeth bared in a rictus of unspeakable agony, her raucous and wordless cries filling the room.
"Are you going to be a good girl and let us watch while you service Albert then, you faithless bitch? Admit it, you didn't think I'd catch you with that little Maximillian, that student painter from the atelier on the Rue de Chambourd, did you?" her husband taunted.
Now he began to smack her belly, then the inside of Lucette's naked thighs, as she frenziedly tried to clench them and to arch herself and to break the bonds, but all in vain.
"Oh, have pity, Joseph. I'll do whatever you wish. It was only a mild flirtation. I swear, that's all it was. I didn't let him love me, truly I didn't. I love only you! Have pity. Yes, I'll service Albert. Oh please, I want to." Her voice rose to shrill, breaking pitch in her torment.
"Go ahead then, Albert, my little wife is inviting you to partake of her hospitality," the husband jeered.
The brawny young man flung himself upon the bed, stretched himself between Lucette's shuddering naked thighs, and with a single thrust impaled her to his very balls.
Then his hands under her already inflamed bottom, gouging and squeezing the burning cheeks, he began to fuck her while Joseph continued playfully to spank his wife's reddened, swollen titties, concentrating on the nipples until the unfortunate young woman was nearly hysterical.
Then as a finale, he cast aside the ruler and knelt down upon the bed, straddling over her bosom. He pressed his prick towards her panting mouth and Lucette willingly accepted it and began to french him while still groaning and gasping under the vigorous thrusts of Albert's deeply imbedding cock.
It was too much for Trude Reisthenfaler. She uttered a feebled little cry, her head slumped forward, and merciful unconsciousness at last claimed her.
CHAPTER THREE
When Trude Reisthenfaler came to, she found herself still seated upright on the couch, sustained by Delphine Surcroit, who had an arm around her shoulders and who was grasping both Trude's slim hands in her own.
"You've wakened just in time, pigeonne," the Frenchwoman purred gloatingly. "Now watch my dear friend Hans operate, and remember that if you are disobedient, he will do the same thing to you."
Trude uttered a cry of loathing and fear. Now she saw the man who had sat beside her on the couch, inside the room through which the one-way glass panel permitted total view of all that took place.
The young wife, Lucette, was strapped to the bed, her elbows tied with rope to another young woman, and both were crying hysterically. The man, Trude saw, was nearly naked, equipped only with a jock strap that covered a bulging cock, and in his hand was a wooden-ended whip which he was furiously using on the two women.
Trude shivered and her stomach convulsed with nausea. The other man who was in the room was Albert, who was also attacking the women furiously with his own version of the other whip.
Both men were sadistically enjoying the pain of the two defenseless women and continued their whipping ceaselessly.
When at last the scene was over and the sobbing Lucette was helped off the bed, dressed and led away by her husband and the other man, Hans Glogau remained, flicking the whip about in the air and smoking a cigar. The door opened again and Madame DuTroz entered, shoving ahead of her the lovely quadroon maid, Ernestine. The girl's eyes were filled with tears and horror as she allowed herself to be pushed along.
In her right hand she held a long-handled bath brush with stiff bristles, and she now commanded Ernestine to strip naked except for garterbelt, hose and pumps, and join Hans Glogau on the bed. Ernestine tremblingly obeyed, her limpid dark-brown eyes filled with glistening tears as she silently besought her mistress to spare her this ignominious and brutal sacrifice. But it appeared that Madame Dutroz was using this as a way of punishing the quadroon for an alleged theft from a drunken client's wallet a few nights before. Though Ernestine sobbed out her innocence, she had already been adjudged guilty and there was no appeal from that sentence.
Her body was really magnificent, and the pale golden-tanned skin, which made her look almost white, was satiny-soft and flawless. She had an enormously thick pussybush, and now at Hans Glogau's order, the weeping maid was obliged to kneel on the bed with her legs spread wide apart, her hands supporting her weight, while Madame Dutroz took a pair of scissors and sheared the pubic bush until the dainty pink lips appeared, twitching in a justifiable apprehension.
Trude watched, her mind swirling under all these lecherous and incredible tableaux, always dominated by the Frenchwoman beside her who whisperingly threatened her with all manner of horrid torments if she dared to close her eyes or look away.
Now the naked man crushed out his cigar, tossed the whip to Madame DuTroz, who tucked it under one arm and then he stretched out and pillowed his head on his arms, spreading his legs and letting his massive prick stand up in obscene invitation.
Whimperingly, poor Ernestine crawled towards him and, opening the lips of her quim with one hand, guided the massive cock with the other into her pink love-bower, then slowly sank down over him till she had impaled herself to his balls. Now, at the irritated order of her mistress, she stretched out over him, applied her mouth to his, put her hands under his shoulders and began to arch herself up and down slowly, having been warned by the proprietress of this brothel that she was not to let his organ slip out, unless you want an extra dose of thrashing. Then, before Trude's horrified eyes, Madame DuTroz began to spank the lovely quadroon with the bristle side of the long-handled bath brush. Wild cries and shrieked entreaties broke at once from the naked victim, but she was so well trained and subjugated by the buxom madam that she was able to keep up the lascivious rhythm of fucking without once letting Glogau's prick slip out of its exquisitely warm, moist moorings. The brush thudded against her jouncy bottom cheeks, decorating them with angry little red dots, until soon the golden-tan skin was thus stigmatized and turned from dark red to bluish-black. Meanwhile, the German retained an incredible self-control, tilting back his head, closing his eyes and grinding his teeth, while Ernestine frantically arched herself up and down, trying desperately to get him to have his orgasm so that her punishment would be ended.
He prolonged this cruel game for at least ten minutes, and Ernestine's bottom and upper thighs were bleeding by the time he at last uttered a grunt and ejaculated, at which moment the brothel-keeper laid down the brush. Then the room was emptied as Glogau led the half-fainting girl out, one hand squeezing one of her titties, muttering into her ear, while the unfortunate beauty nodded weakly, and her mistress followed behind her, smirking with content.
It was a nightmare, a lewd and violent, brutal revelation for the golden-haired nineteen-year-old virginal daughter of Johann Reisthenfaler. Her stay in Paris lasted nearly three full months, and at least twice a week, the imperious Frenchwoman who was both her jailer and companion, compelled her to accompany her to various other bordellos de luxe throughout the City of Light. Once, Trude wept in horror and, even at the risk of being whipped herself, turned her face away from a glass one-way panel through which she saw a pretty fifteen-year-old auburn-haired girl posed on all fours with her wrists and knees chained, the chains fixed to tiny metal pegs hammered into the wooden block, suffer the bestial punishment of being compelled to fellate a gigantic Sengalese wearing jackboots and applying a short leather whip to her tawny-sheened, slim, naked flesh, while and elderly man (who was her uncle and whom she had enraged by refusing to let him fuck her,) guided a Great Dane to mount over her out-thrust, shuddering naked bottom cheeks and take her virginity.
Nor could Trude escape the constant vigilance of the Frenchwoman who at every moment lost no opportunity to relate all the salacious details of some of the most incredible sexual adventures conceivable, whetting her own morbid lesbian passions by dwelling on the punishments given naughty girls who would not obey or faithless wives who tried to deceive their husbands, or frigid sweethearts who agonized their lovers without requital. Once poor Trude sobbingly demanded to know why all this was being forced upon her, and all that Delphine Surcroit would reply was an enigmatic, "It will serve you well in the future, ma belle, when you are married. You will not be surprised, therefore, at anything your husband wishes to do to you. You have been too cloistered, too incredibly pure and innocent and you will perish in today's world of reality if you are not acquainted with all these vagaries, all these ways in which lust becomes delight, and pleasure becomes pain."
CHAPTER FOUR
Gretchen Reisthenfaler flew to Paris to bring back her stepdaughter, and found, just as she had so cunningly planned, a timorous, nightmare-ridden yet "enlightened" virgin, as she herself amusedly remarked to Delphine Surcroit. At the airport at Orly, enroute back to the plane for New York, she shot Trude a glance and saw how the young woman's lips trembled and how her eyes were downcast and there were circles of anguish under them, speaking of endless nights of horror and brooding. She smiled to herself, knowing what she knew-which as yet her stepdaughter did not-could not.
And yet, paradoxically, as soon as they arrived in New York, it was the same indomitable Gretchen Reisthenfaler who urged Trude to go out to the theater and to the fine restaurants in which New York abounded. It was also the same imperious woman who, one late fall evening, hinted mysteriously that she had found a suitable escort for Trude. Half an hour later the doorbell rang, and Gretchen Reisthenfaler admitted a handsome young man of about twenty-eight, with curly brown hair and a pleasant face, who introduced himself as Claude Dalby. Trude blushed at the young man's frank and admiring appraisal of her, which she could read in his eyes, and Gretchen Reisthenfaler smirkingly introduced the two young people, saying, "Claude is a very fine young man and your father knew his father very well. His father is dead, too, like yours, Trude dear, and he has taken over his father's business. Isn't that right, Claude?"
"Yes, Frau Reisthenfaler," Claude Dalby respectfully inclined his head. "It's a great deal of work and lots of responsibility, but I thoroughly enjoy it. You see, Fraulein, my father was the celebrated owner of a fine rare-book store, and I've always loved books since I was a child, so I took to it like a duck to water. It's fun and it's profitable, too."
"Well now, Liebling, you see?" Trude's stepmother purred. "He has a lot in common with you, for you love books, too. You retreated from the world so often, thinking you could escape reality by reading. But here Claude will show you that one can still enjoy famous books and yet be practical. Isn't that right? Well now, you two young people go on, and I'm not at all worried about how late you stay out, Trude dear. Claude's a very reliable young man. And as I say, your father knew his very well. Away with you both!"
Trude was puzzled at her stepmother's sudden cordial generosity. And yet, she was only too happy to accept that invitation. It would mean freedom for a good number of hours in which the very presence of her stepmother seemed to remind her of the dreadful exploits in Paris, of the terrible compulsion that was placed upon her to observe the horrid and orgiastic means by which men brutally and cruelly accomplish their lustful ways with their helpless female partners. There were times when she could not even bear to have Gretchen Reisthenfaler look at her, for it at once recalled to her her stepmother's perverse companion who had threatened her with such indignities and punishments if she dared refuse to watch all these spectacles which had been deliberately paraded before her.
Claude Dalby took her to LeMarmiton, an elegant little French restaurant with a cheerful family atmosphere, superb cuisine and wine. Thence, he escorted her to a Broadway musical where for the first time in many months Trude was able to laugh until the tears came to her eyes.
A few minutes later, he hailed a cab and, helping her into it gallantly, gave the driver an address on Riverside Drive. When he took his place beside her, Trude stared at him with questioning eyes.
"It's all right, Trude. Your stepmother said it would be all right, you know. I just want you to have a nightcap and see some of the Goya reproductions I have, and some of my books, too," he said casually.
For a moment Trude had a mild presentiment that this pleasant young man was not quite what he seemed. Then he banished it. She had come to distrust people ever since Paris, and certainly he couldn't be blamed for that. It would be harmless, just as he said. But once he had given her a Benedictine and shown her the many lithographs of the "Goyescas" which in their era immortalized the terrible fratricide of Spanish civil war as murderous and villainous as that which took place just before Hitler unfurled his swastika upon the terrains of Poland and Czechoslovakia and Holland and Belgium and France, he suddenly took her in his arms and kissed her on the mouth. As she struggled, she felt his hands reach to her bottom and squeeze the cheeks. With a startled cry, she broke free, her face scarlet.
"Claude! Why did you spoil everything? It was such a lovely evening-we've only just met-why did you do a thing like that? I'm not that sort of a girl at all-"
"Oh come off it, honey," he drawled with a cynical smile. "At your age and with your background? You German girls just love to be on your back spreading for a real man. I'll bet all you've ever done is play pussy-finger with your girlfriends in that European school they sent you to. Isn't that right? Well, I'm a pretty good lover, and I think I can satisfy your itch, Trude honey."
With this, he again seized her in his arms and crushed his mouth on hers. In her frantic attempt to escape, Trude ripped her dress at the shoulder. Then, pale and shaken, she panted, "Take me home, for God's sake, take me home. I-I never want to see you again!"
He shrugged. "All right, baby. There are plenty of fish in the sea. But from the way that nice stepmother of yours talked, she practically gave us permission to have a quickie, and I think it would do you a world of good."
"Stop talking like that! Just take me home," she begged, very nearly in tears.
She was silent in the cab, and when she got out of it to walk into the lobby of the building where she lived, she didn't even bother to thank him for the evening. As she fumbled for the key in her purse outside the apartment door, she only hoped that her stepmother had gone to bed. But when she entered, she stood there with her mouth agape. Gretchen Reisthenfaler stood there in a green satin hostess gown and highheeled pumps, smoking a cigarette in a long ivory holder, and her face was a mask of hatred and fury.
"It's past one o'clock, you little "Dime!" she snapped. "I thought you'd have more sense than to fall for the first man you go out with, now that you're in my custody."
"You have no right to call me that, Gretchen," Trude faltered. "We went to a restaurant and then the theater and then he asked me to his apartment for a nightcap. Then he tried to kiss me and I-I tore my dress when I got away from him. I made him bring me home, and that's the truth."
"Oh yes, you little whore! And even if it is, I know you wanted him to fuck you, now didn't you?"
Trude's face was scarlet, her eyes enormous as she stared incredulously at this formidable woman who had shaped her life, perhaps even long before the death of her father. She hadn't been prepared for such a vile accusation.
"No! It's not true!" she at last managed in a trembling voice.
"We'll see. I've wanted to punish you for a long time, you little slut," was the answer. "You don't know how my hands have itched to take a whip to you, all those years you snubbed me and looked down your pretty nose at me. Well, I was a governess, a paid servant, yes. But now I have your father's name, yes, and I have you in my charge. Come along with me!"
With vituperative malice, she suddenly seized Trude by the elbow and forced the astounded golden haired beauty into her bedroom. Shoving her in, she closed the door and locked it, then stooped to her dresser and took from the bottom drawer a brown leather whip with a heavy, short handle and a sinuous, pointed-tipped thong about twenty-two inches in length. Straightening, she faced the startled young woman and abruptly brought down the whip across one of Trude's panting titties. With a shriek of pain and stupefaction, Trude stumbled back, but Gretchen's arm rose and fell with expert aim. Trude turned to one side and the whip coiled around her shoulders, then across the middle of her back. Shrieking she ran across the room, with Gretchen in pursuit. As she turned, her back against the wall, her hands raised to fend off the lash, her stepmother slashed her across the belly; then, as she rubbed that burning spot, cut her again across the breasts.
Trude, tears running down her cheeks, her mouth gaping with cries, sank down to her knees.
The whip fell pitilessly now and swiftly on her neck, her shoulders, her arms, and as she tried to twist and turn, she found her bottom and thighs exposed to its biting kisses. Even her clothes did not protect her, and finally, crouching on all fours, whimpering, hysterical with pain and incredulity, she lifted her haggard face to the mocking woman who towered over her, the whip upraised.
"Get up, take off everything! At once!" Gretchen venomously hissed. And when Trude had obeyed, hardly knowing what she was doing, seeing only that broad, sinuous thong which had left streaks of fire all over her tender young v i r g i n al body, Gretchen Reisthenfaler tugged down the zipper of the green sheath which clung to her Amazonian body, let the garment fall to the floor, and stood naked save for her pumps. Though she was surely in her mid-fifties, her body was remarkably firm, her skin smooth and glossy, with that carnation tinting of the true blonde. Trude's eyes fixed with a kind of agonized fascination at the thick, dark-blonde pubic bush at the apex of those long, strong thighs.
But Trude was not to be granted the simple, though frightening attendance of just her stepmother.
"Downstairs!" snapped the harsh woman. "There is someone waiting for you!"
Trude shook in a near-hysterical manner when her stepmother pushed at her body and forced her down the steps. She saw, waiting at the bottom, a young man, clad only in two metal-studded straps, and equipped with a heavy belt.
"No!" screamed Trude, stopping suddenly on the stairs.
"Get down there!" hissed her stepmother, and shoved Trude down the last few steps.
Before she knew it, Trude was bound by the wrists and fastened to the wall, naked and brazenly available to anything the young man might choose to impose. She twisted and turned wildly as his belt snapped in the air and then smashed down onto her soft young skin.
Her tears, her screams, her cries for help provoked nothing but laughter from the stepmother, who smiled as she watched Trude go through the tortuous scene.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was morning, late morning, when Trude stirred out of the drugged and feverishly imaged darkness into which she had been plunged by the perverse rape of her virgin cunt. When she stared down at her trembling, naked body, she could see the darkening welts of Gretchen's whip. A few minutes later when her stepmother entered the bedroom wearing only a a slip and sandals, with makeup that made her seem even more youthful than the night before, Trude covered her face with her hands and turned away, whimpering with shame.
"Come now, Liebchen," Gretchen purred, "admit that it did you no harm. You were overtense, and you've been that way ever since Paris. Yours is the soul of a masochist, of yes, don't try to deny it-you longed for the whip, and even when you went out with that man, you hoped he would try to make love to you. I wanted to see how much you'd learned from Paris, little pigeon."
"Oh no-how can you-how can you play games with my life this way?"
"Because I'm your stepmother. From your father you've inherited something more than money. A secret, my darling. A secret that I mean to know. And now that I've found out how passionate you really are, I'm going to find a husband for you."
"Oh no!"
"Yes." Gretchen was smiling and firm. "Now get up and dress and be a good girl. We're going out to Bloomingdale's this afternoon and get you some really pretty dresses."
"I don't-certainly I have a right to my father's money-oh, why don't you let me alone, Gretchen?"
"Because, dear, there is a stipulation that your money will not be given to you until you are twenty-five or, failing that, that you marry. Yes, if you marry now, you may have your money and your freedom from me. It will be a man who will regulate your life and understand your needs. I will choose him carefully for you, my little one. Come, get up and I'll soothe and solve your hurts. I didn't mean to whip you quite so hard, but oh, how passionate you were after you'd felt the good whip on that lovely bottom and those sweet breasts!"
Shuddering and blushing scarlet in her mortification at this reminder of her own weakness, Trude Reisthenfaler slowly got down from the bed and hastily seized the discarded hostess gown her stepmother had worn last night, donned it, though it was far too large for her. Then amid peals of Gretchen's mocking laughter, she hurried to the bathroom.
A week had passed, and to Trude's further mystification, her stepmother had been benign and gentle with her, making not the slightest reference to that sadistic compulsion by which she had compelled the young woman to become her unwilling lesbian partner. She had suggested this afternoon a walk through the United Nations building. Trude readily agreed, for she had never visited there. As she and Gretchen followed the crowd attending the lovely Eurasian girl guide, Trude suddenly uttered a cry of alarm. A fat little man had seized her purse and was running down the hall with it.
"I'll get it for you, Senorita!" a man cried. Trude turned, her eyes widening, and saw a tall, handsome, black-haired, elegantly groomed man run down the hall after the fat little thief. He overtook him, twisted him around, seized the purse from the thief's hands, then swung out with a blow which struck him in the jaw. Then he ran back towards Gretchen and Trude, holding the purse, smiling reassuringly.
"I hope he has not damaged it, Senorita," he said to the bewildered Trude as he handed her the purse. He smiled, showing strong white teeth. His face was bronzed from the sun, and his accent was Spanish, though he spoke English flawlessly.
Trude was scanning the contents of her purse swiftly. "Everything seems to be there-thank you so much, sir!"
"It was my pleasure, Senorita."
"This young lady is my stepdaughter, Trude Reisthenfaler," Gretchen now swiftly intruded, with a beaming smile. "That was very brave of you, and we both thank you. You seem Spanish."
"I am Argentinian, Senora. My name is Esteban Corrado, a sus ordenes. I should like to offer you some refreshment, both of you, if I may."
Gretchen smilingly accepted, and over coffee and cakes in a nearby little restaurant, Esteban Corrado introduced himself as a reporter for a South American political journal. His parents, he said, owned a magnificent hacienda in one of the swankiest residential suburb of the great Argentinian capital, and an estancia (ranch) some hundred miles to the southeast of it.
Trude Reisthenfaler could not but be impressed with the suave good manners, the courtly and diplomatic tactfulness and the magnetic good looks of Esteban Corrado. When he asked permission to call upon her and turned inquiringly to Gretchen, the latter smilingly replied, "You see, Trude dear, here is a man of Continental manners who knows the propriety of things. He is asking me, your stepmother, who is actually functioning as your duenna, for permission to call upon you. And I give it willingly, Senor Corrado!"
And thus it was that Trude Reisthenfaler found herself courted by one of the most handsome men she had ever seen in all her life, and within a few weeks she knew she was helplessly in love with him, to such and end, indeed, that exactly three months after he had captured the thief who had taken her purse, Esteban Corrado stood before the priest in the little church of Our Lady of the Flowers in Queens and heard himself and Trude pronounced man and wife, with Gretchen standing behind them, beaming her approval.
It was strange, thought Trude Corrado-it had taken her a little time to get used to her new name-that her husband Esteban had not yet made love to her. He had at first talked of taking her back to Arosa and giving her a honeymoon in the Alps in a little chalet where they would have wonderful food and good wine, ski to their heart's content, and at night lie in a feather-down bed and make love. But instead, after a limousine had whisked them away from the church, Trude discovered that her stepmother had packed her suitcases and had them put into the trunk of the car and that they were heading directly for the airport. She was thinking how wonderful it would be to see Switzerland again, and perhaps even to visit again those two old women who had been so stern and yet so goodhearted at the Ulri.
But to her amazement the limousine had halted at the gate marked, Avianca Argentina, and she turned to Esteban Corrado with wide, questioning eyes. "But, my darling, I thought you said we were going to Switzerland?"
"My parents wish to see my new bride. And I, as their son, my dear one, cannot question their demands. But never fear, you'll love Argentina. Buenos Aires is a magnificent city, and in my father's villa, you will be a queen of beauty." He turned to her and kissed her tenderly.
There was one thing more which Trude Corrado remembered with a certain curious feeling that had some weighty significance. Just as they had been leaving the church, her stepmother had come up beside her and whispered, "In the big brown suitcase, in the second partition, Liebchen, you'll find a black leather case. There is a small metal box inside it, and this is your father's legacy to you. Guard it well, but if your husband asks for it, give it to him, since he can be trusted as one of us."
As she boarded the plane and fastened her seatbelt, Trude Corrado pondered on what these words really could have meant. Gretchen had told her just before the wedding that the money of her father's estate was being held in trust in a New York bank, and that as soon as the marriage had been formally registered with a notary and recorded with the executor, she would then be free to draw upon it, even from Argentina.
With the whirlwind courtship and the preparations for this marriage, that detail had been overlooked, and only now did Trude remember that no such deposition had been filed with the New York bank executive.
The flight took ten hours and thirty-five minutes from New York, and Trude was somewhat surprised when she disembarked from the jet liner, since she had half-expected to find herself surrounded by tropical jungle. This impression of hers was at once dispelled and she could almost have believed she was back in Paris. There was much physical similarity, for the shade trees were set into the sidewalks, just as they were in Paris. She could see honey-colored stone houses of comfortable middle-class appearance of the Quinzieme Arrondissement (one of the most attractive residential sections of all Paris), even the house numbers suggested the City of Light, as did the decorative wrought-iron railings which set the buildings apart from the street. Here there were coffee houses and tearooms, and outdoor cafes with tables stretching to the curb, leaving narrow aisles of sidewalk separating the tables. It was, in a word, a wonderfully cosmopolitan city, but then, she had not yet seen the villas miser ias.
From the airport, they took a taxicab which drove past the great cemetery of the Recoleta, perhaps the most elaborate in the world next to California's flamboyant Forest Lawn. Beside her, Esteban Corrado acted as a kind of guide to his native city, and he told Trude that it was much cheaper to live like a millionaire all of one's life than to be buried in the Recoleta. There was even a social register which decreed whether or not a person would be eligible for burial in it.
And at last, after what seemed at least an hour-long drive, the taxi stopped in front of the hacienda of the Corrados. There was a lawn, great trees framing it, a mangificent patio, and beds of flowers everywhere.
"Oh, Esteban," Trude breathed, her eyes shining. "How wonderful it would be to live here, mi amor!"
"I could live with you even in one of the villas miserias, my darling," he replied, and he kissed her on the mouth. "Tonight I shall come to you," he whispered, and Trude thrilled to that knowledge, feeling her thigh twitch with the exquisite anticipation that meant the end of her virginity.
The chauffeur carried the baggage up to the elegant veranda, bowed low and hastened back to his cab. Esteban, with an affectionate smile again at his beautiful golden-haired bride, took the beautiful brass lion's head knocker and struck it twice. In a moment, a delightful little maid with long, wavy dark hair and enormous eyes to match, perhaps at most sixteen, admitted them both and enthusiastically curtsied to Esteban. He spoke to her in voluble Spanish, which of course Trude could not fully understand.
She knew by now, however, what a Porteno was and what a proud heritage it meant for such a man. It was one of the original families of Buenos Aires, and it meant also a man who could live nowhere else in the wold without knowing that he still belonged to Buenos Aires. In his speech, the Porteno thickened his vowels and the letters. Y and LL were pronounced like J. Thus, with the little Castihan pronounciation Trude had from her days at the Ulpi-and she had had a course or two in Spanish-she found herself mainly ignorant of what her husband was saying.
He took her hand and led her into a beautifully furnished salon, with huge oil portraits on the walls. What struck her at once, even as she saw a distinguished looking gray-haired man and a short, plump, equally gray-haired woman displaying the clear traces of what must once have been famous beauty-beyond them, at the farthest wall, was an oil painting of Adolf Hitler.
"Mi padre, it's good to see you again," Esteban Corrado exclaimed as he went forward to the tall man and shook hands with him. Then, turning to the woman, he bowed low, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "Madre mia, your son is home once more." Then, turning back to Trude and beckoning for her to advance, he added, "This, my beloved mother, is Trude, of whom I have written you. Trude, here before you are my mother, the Senora Evita Martinez Corroda, and this, my father, Don Jose Alejandra Corrado."
"Welcome to this hacienda, Esteban's father spoke haltingly in English, inclining his head. "We shall meet soon again at dinner." With this, to Trude's surprise, he took his wife's arm and walked out of the salon.
"Don't they like me?" Trude innocently inquired.
"It is a custom, my sweet. We shall have dinner and then you shall learn a great many things," Esteban Corrado said gently. But as she glanced at him, it seemed to her for an infinitesimal instant she could see the glint of cruelty in his dark eyes, in the thinning of his lips, those lips which she yearned to have press upon her body tonight and waken her to the burning ecstasy of first surrender to the male!
Much to Trude's surprise, that first night in the home of the parents of her handsome husband, there was another guest, a guest whose beauty and cyniscism and utter perversity startled the beautiful golden-haired young bride.
Once Trude had been installed in her beautifully spacious and magnificently furnished room, Esteban Corrado seemed to lose all interest in her, kissing her on the forehead and telling her rather casually that he would see her at the dinner table and that the maid Dolores would summon her to table.
She had bought a beautiful black satin evening gown, and, wanting to make an impression on his parents, she donned it before the mirror. Her finest hand-embroidered slip, a matching peach-colored bra and panty set, and cobwebby smoke hued nylon stockings, with a pair of neat black suede pumps, completed her attire. The black contrast made her soft pink skin seem all the fresher and more temptingly firm, and she blushed to think that perhaps late that night, the handsome Esteban would undress her, and be the first man ever in her life to see her naked titties, the dimpled goblet of her belly, the soft dark-golden curls of her maiden cunthole and all those other bewitching charms which had not till this hour been profaned by man.
A further surprise to the lovely new bride was caused by the charming sixteen-year-old maid Dolores who brought her coffee and a sandwich about six o'clock that evening. The exquisite young girl spoke passable English, and so Trude, mystified at this service, asked how it was that food should be brought to her when dinner would be served at almost any moment.
"Oh no, Senora," the young girl replied with a soft giggle, "the family will not dine until nine o'clock. It is the custom of the country. That is why, knowing you come from the Estados Unidos, I took the liberty of bringing you this little refreshment which will keep you from being too hungry until dinner is served."
"How sweet and thoughtful, Dolores! Thank you so much!"
Once alone again, Trude ate the sandwich and drank the coffee, and reflected on the fact that now she was about to start a new life. There would not only be the problems-delicious ones, as she anticipated!-of adjusting herself to living with a man who would have every right of possession over her tender young body, but also the strange new habits of South America, the foods and the clothes. It would be well to learn more Spanish, so that she could speak and make herself understood by the household, she told herself.
But when at last Dolores came promptly at nine to invite her to come to the dining room, the unpleasant surprise was the presence of a tall black-haired young woman, with diamond clips in her earlobes, wearing a yellow satin evening gown even more daringly cut, so that it showed off the closely spaced, high-perched, bold round globes of her titties, and the magnificent warm olive skin embelished by a black beauty spot just at the collarbone.
Not even her husband rose when she walked into the dining room with Dolores beside her, and so it was Dolores who graciously drew aside the chair so that she might seat herself. A kind of stony silence greeted her, making her flush with embarrassment and feeling for the first time perhaps the loneliness of coming to a strange country with a strange man and entering a strange house.
"Trude," Esteban finally spoke as he sat down his wine glass, "I wish you to meet Constanza Delregado, who is a dear friend of our family and whose father is one of my father's closest friends. He owns a coffee plantation beyond the pampas, and he has been to your country many times."
Trude dutifully inclined her golden head towards the black haired young woman, who only arched her thin and delicately penciled eyebrows in sign of recognition.
Then at once the family fell to eating, drinking their wine, and to conversing, but Trude was left out as a kind of unwanted guest at the feast. She was ready to cry with vexation, and even though she sat with her husband to her left, she could not get his attention at all.
However, she found herself ravenously hungry, and the fare was bounteous. There were chickens, chorizos (link sausages) and mollejas (tender sweetbreads), the native potatoes and vegetables, and a superb native red wine which was drunk diluted with an equal amount of carbonated water. And in addition there was beef, cooked in succulent asado style, skewered and stuck upright in a circle around a fire of tough quebracho wood. It resembled charcoal-broiled steaks which Trude had had in New York, but the flavor was different because of the unusual characteristics of this pungent Argentine wood.
When the conversation went on without her, Trude understood enough Spanish to make out a little of what was going on. First, they were talking about the consumption of meat in Argentina as compared with what this golden-haired gringa (meaning herself) consumed. The average Argentinian eats about two hundred pounds a person per year, almost twice as much as the average American, and Argentina has forty-five million cattle and half as many people. But on Mondays and Tuesdays, Buenos Aires restaurants imposed meatless days as the result of a great drought which caused the death of thousands of heads of cattle.
As she listened, Trude finally frowned in dismay, for now Esteban's father was speaking with anger against the Norteamericanos who had caused Argentina such national dishonor and shame by placing an embargo against their great beef. "Si, our country would have still less poverty if the Americans would only have the common sense to realize that ours is the best beef in all the world!" he declared.
Trude tried to defend her country, her country, but her first faltering remarks in Spanish were swept aside by Esteban who turned to her and whispered almost curtly, "Mi corazon, please do not enter into a family discussion, you are not one of us yet. I will talk to you later."
And once again tears came to her eyes at this rude rejection. But it was not the last by any means she was to encounter!
It was nearly eleven o'clock at night when dinner was finished, and the family rose, together with their elegant and beautiful guest Constanza Delregado. Esteban turned again to his wife and murmured, "Give me about an hour, querida, and I'll see you then."
Trude bit her lips and nodded, and then, making a bow towards her husband's father and mother, turned and walked out of the dining salon. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. As she went up the stairs to her room, the little maid hurried after her. "Please, Senora, you mustn't be unhappy," the girl whispered. "This is their way, and it is not against you personally. I know that the Senor Esteban loves you very much, he has spoken so much about you."
"You're a darling, Dolores, and I thank you very much for your kind words," Trude said in a choking voice. "I-I'd like to be alone for just a little bit, if you don't mind."
Alone in her room, she finally gathered courage for the night ahead. She removed her gown and the fine slip, and finally her underthings and her stockings and shoes and was naked. In the bathroom, she took a little atomizer which she had brought in her suitcase from New York, and applied a delicate perfume to her armpits, her belly, the soft insides of her thighs, blushing furiously as she regarded herself.
Then she put on a sheer white nylon nightie, and slipped her feet into a pair of fluffy blue mules. And thus, seating herself in a chair near the huge bed, she awaited with pounding heart and quickening pulses for that moment when her husband should enter and claim her as his wife and lover.
The dock struck midnight, a little ormolu clock on the mantelpiece of her room. And still there was no Esteban. She rose, nervously pacing the floor. And then suddenly the door was flung open and Esteban Corrado himself appeared in the threshold, his eyes cold, his lips tight. "Will you do me the kindness of following me at once, Trude," he said in more the tone of a command than a question.
"Wait, I'll get my robe, darling," she stammered.
"There's no need! Come as you are at once!"
Puzzled, blushing, aware of the filmy and transparent quality of the bodysheath which she had put on solely for the pleasure of her husband, Trude Corrado followed him down the thickly carpeted hallway towards a room at the very other end of the floor. He flung open the door, and, seizing Trude's wrists, pulled her inside, then closed and bolted the door behind him.
The golden haired young woman uttered a cry of horror and put both her hands to her mouth.
Her wrists were bound with ropes and she stood, nearly pulled off the ground, in front of a troop of men and women equipped with all sorts of sadistic devices-whips, belts, and chains.
"Meet my entourage, my dear Senora," cackled Esteban, and Trude looked at him with hopeless tears in her eyes.
She knew she was about to confront the most horrible punishment she had ever experienced, and she stood pale and quivering in expectation, almost afraid to breathe.
"But, but I don't understand this-Esteban, for heaven's sake, why are you having me whipped?" Trude gasped, turning to her husband.
"You have no right in this house to ask questions or demand any favors, Trude," his voice was cold and contemptuous as his face now. "If you must know, you are being punished for acting as if you were my wife, an honor which you do not merit, since you are not."
"But-what are you saying, not my husband! Esteban-you know yourself we were married."
Trude stammered, paling.
"That American marriage was a farce, and it does not constitute legal union in Argentina. We should have to be married in the church of my father and his father before him, and that is not going to be, Trude," was the terrifying, bloodchilling answer.
CHAPTER SIX
"N-Not your wife, Esteban?" Trude repeated in a trembling tear-choked voice, a hand at her throat, staring at the suave young Porteno as if she were seeing him for the first time, which indeed she was. "But I don't understand."
"Oh for the love of all the saints, Esteban, darling," Constanza Delregado impatiently interrupted, "tell the little bitch what we want of her and why she is here! This comedy has gone on quite long enough. How do you think I felt, Esteban, when this little puta on the couch had the audacity to say to me that the Senor Esteban had the loveliest wife in all of Buenos Aires!" She looked at Dolores, who was also bound in ropes. And then, with a vicious twist of her insolent thin mouth, she raised the quirt and brought it down with all her strength, diagonally over the already furiously stigmatized plump round buttocks of the unfortunate young girl.
Dolores uttered a shriek of intolerable agony, her body jerking fitfully against her bonds, and turned her tear-stained face towards the horrified golden-haired young bride in her diaphanous nightie, to sob out, "Ayudame, Senora Trude, make her stop, oh please, it hurts so much, I cannot bear any more!"
"Esteban, I demand to know what all this means!" the golden-haired young woman indignantly exclaimed. "Are you going to stand there without a heart and let that poor child be beaten like that by that woman? Who is she, and why does she take offense when Dolores only told her the truth?"
"You are really a stupid cow, my little one," Esteban Corrado jeered as he took out a silver cigarette case, extracted one and lit it with a monogrammed lighter. "Haven't I already told you that our marriage in New York isn't recognized here in Argentina? But it was the only way of bringing you here of your own free will, you see."
"But of course-I love you-"
"You little fool, you aren't capable of love, you, a timid virgin!" was his contemptuous reply, and Constanza Delregardo uttered a sarcastic laugh. "Gretchen told me all about you. All you know is what you have seen in Paris, yes, and perhaps a few kisses from that young man who took you out to dinner in the theater that one evening. As for the rest, I personally know that you have slept with a woman, but I do not hold that against you-in fact, I look forward to initiating you and to making a true woman out of you. My wife? Never. I am betrothed to Constanza, as I have been for the past two years."
The room seemed to reel around Trude, and she groaned aloud. How could she have not comprehended the evil genius of her governess who had become her stepmother, who had dominated her poor father in the last years of his failing life and so taken such vindictive control of her? And yet why, why had this ghastly mock-marriage been solemnized in a Catholic Church in New York, and what was the reason that she must come here of her own free will?
"The little one is really stupid, as stupid as the child I am thrashing," Constanza Delregado impatiently remarked, her magnificent bosom rising and falling with emotion. "Tell her what you want of her, Esteban, and be done with it! Then I can finish with this little bitch here, and we can have our pleasure with your charming yellow-haired gringa! You say she had slept with a woman? Excellent! I covet her myself."
"Then you shall have her, querida, but only after I myself have broken her in," Esteban Corrado heartlessly laughed.
And then, turning to Trude with such a vicious smile and such a glint in his dark eyes that she cowered before him, he snarled, "I want that little metal box you brought with you to Buenos Aires, Trude. I will have the maid get it, so you will tell her where it is. Be quick about it, or you will be whipped. Show her, Constanza, my beloved!"
"Gladly, querido," the tall black-haired e vening-gowned brunette laughed cruelly. Turning back to the couch, showing her teeth as her lips bared in a sadistic rictus, she raised the quirt and brought it down with all her strength, straight across the base of both shuddering and huddling naked ass cheeks. And once again Dolores uttered a poignant, high-pitched and prolonged scream of unspeakable, intolerable suffering:
"Awwrr-ahh-ohhh-ouuuu!!! Oh, no more, por el amor de Dios!" while her body arched and jerked and weaved madly against her bonds.
"Oh stop, stop, you hateful, horrible woman!" Trude sobbed out. The darkening streaks of the quirt were turning bluish over the ripe summits of the weeping young girl's shuddering ass, and her face was drenched with tears and congested with burning agony. "How can you do this to a mere child, she can't be more than sixteen!"
"Oh she's that, she's that," Constanza Delregado agreed with a brittle little laugh. "But don't think she's so pure, you stupid gringa! Esteban has already fucked her and I've watched, and then she's come into my arms and I've consoled her. The female servant here in a house like this, Trude, is little more than a slave, do you understand that? And your position is no better. Now tell Dolores quickly where that box is hidden and have her bring it to me, unless you wish me to whip you and her to the very blood!"
"Oh heaven-no-let her go-I'll tell her-put down that dreadful whip!" Trude panted.
"Be quick about it, then or else-this!" the brunette hissed as once again she brought the quirt down over the tops of Dolores' struggling round brown-sheened thighs, eliciting a new strident scream from the unfortunate young sufferer.
"In the suitcase, the brown one, Dolores, you'll find it at the bottom, oh, let her go now, let her go!" Trude sobbed, bereft almost of her reason by this incredible travesty which had brought her to another world.
Esteban Corrado bent and united the wrists and ankles of the weeping maid, and then, plunging the fingers of his right hand into her tumbled, dark-brown hair, jerked her to her feet with a ruthless gesture. "Be quick, little one," he warned, "or back you go for more of the quirt, and this time I myself will use it!"
Stumbling, sobbing pitifully, her clothes still rucked up about her waist, kicking off the twisted and descended panties, the unfortunate young girl hurried out of the room, her sobs drifting back down the hall. Trude regarded the suave black-haired man with an inexpressible loathing. "You could have asked me for it and I would have given it to you, Esteban," she said in a trembling, faint voice. "There wasn't any need for such cruelty to a mere child!"
"A child who is already a little whore and who, when we have done with her, will earn her bread on her back in one of the huts of the Villas Miserias!" Constanza Delregado sneered. "She has earned twice that much whipping, gringa, for insulting me, who am to be Esteban's proper and true wife very soon!"
And Trude groaned, for that vicious remark had cut her even more cruelly than could the quirt in the brunette's hand.
In a few moments, the little maid returned with the iron box, and Esteban seized it from her. "It's locked-diablo! Where is the key, Trude!"
"In-In my purse-on the keyring-"
"Go back and get it, Dolores, and don't delay unless you want more of the lash," he snarled.
And once again the unfortunate young girl scrambled out of the room, heedless of her shameless half-nudity, the dark angry marks of the quirt marring the lovely smoothness of her plump young bottom and thighs. She returned with the keyring, and Esteban, with an oath of joy, chose one and fitted it into the lock and then opened it.
Through her tear-blurred eyes, Trude could see a pistol in a holster on whose faded leather there was embossed the terrible sign of the swastika, and a black armband with that hideous symbol repeated, a gold ring, and a little key.
Esteban took out the pistol holster almost reverently, and showed it to Constanza Delregado. "To think, querida," he said in a voice of awe, "that once this was Der Fuehrer's own weapon, and this armband on his right arm, the arm that upheld the sword of victory for our Fatherland!"
"Oh heaven!" Trude moaned. "You-you're a Nazi!"
"No," you stupid slut, a Tacuara! It is the new order of the National Socialist Party, and here in Buenos Aires we shall make another Berchtesgaden, the home of the new birth of this new order of our beloved Fuehrer! But the little key, Trude, that is the key to the vault in the Swiss bank in Zurich where that swine of a father of yours kept the money he had stolen from the Nazi Party. Oh yes, you didn't know that, did you? But Gretchen did."
"Gretchen-" her mind was clouded, and it seemed laborious to force out even a single word as the golden-haired young bride stared in fascinated horror at this man who was her Judas.
"Of course! His name wasn't Reisthenfaler at all, but Reichmann. Otto Reichmann, assistant treasurer of the Nazi Party. He disappeared about a year before our glorious Leader summoned him and his superior Hermann von Gruesfeld to collect all the sums stored in the vault in Munich in a little basement in a bierstube so that it might be used to build more planes and tanks to destroy the accursed English. But your father had seen his chance, the filthy thief and traitor, and he had absconded with all that money and taken it to Switzerland and escaped on to Portugal and so to the United States."
"I don't believe all this-it's not possible-"
"Oh, but it is possible, you gringa slut!" Esteban Corrado hissed venomously. "Gretchen Harnoyer was sent by the Gestapo to track down your father. She was a young assistant wardress in Belsen, and she was known for her beauty and her cruelty towards the detested inferior women from the captive races which our Leader had dragged down from their stupid freedom into their rightful slavery. She found your father, and she was clever, Gretchen was. She became your governess, Trude, and then your stepmother. And that is why you are here now, and your father's treachery is being paid for. There is half a million dollars in that Swiss vault and it will be put to good use to promote the achievements of the Tacuara!"
"Oh good heavens-my father a Nazi? Oh it can't be true-and yet if it is, if you've got what you wanted, in the name of mercy let me go back to New York to lead my own life and forget your treachery and your cruelty to me, Esteban Corrado!" Trude brust into tears.
"Let you go?" Constanza Delregado jeered. "I'm amazed how stupid this little American is. But then, perhaps we mustn't be too harsh with her. Her father obviously couldn't tell her the secret, for fear she might tell Gretchen-although he never knew who Gretchen really was. But we don't dare let her go, do we, Esteban? Shall we kill her?"
"No. I've a better plan. Let her be interrogated by Major Juan Felipe Santiago, the nominal head of the Tacuara. And when he has no further use of her, he can let her earn her bread as this little bitch Dolores shall, on a blanket in one of the huts of the villas miserias," Esteban declared. Then, seizing the quirt from the brunette, he added, with a perverse smirk, "But first, my darling, we shall take a little pleasure for ourselves from this golden-haired whore, who has put on her thinnest nightgown to entice me to her bed. It would not be proper to have her wedding night go without attention, Constanza, mi querida!"
And before she could say another word, Trude was taken from her bindings and thrown onto the floor. A chain and ball were attached to her ankle to keep her secure and her arms were bound beneath her. Constanza Delregado, in the next instant, was sitting over her head with a four-thonged whip, and steel heads glistened from the end of each leather strap.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Esteban Corrado had gone to the door and bolted it again, his eyes never leaving the shivering body of his lovely young golden-haired victim who had believed herself to be his wife. Now, coarsely and with an intent not only to shock but also to degrade the golden-haired Trude, he began to undress until he was down to his shorts and socks. Her blue eyes enormous with fear and loathing, Trude fixed her eyes on the bulging shaft of his sexual weapon, while the svelte black-haired beauty, who had resumed hold of the quirt, watched this scene with a derisive expression on her perversely lovely face.
The terrified and still weeping little maid Dolores stood with her hands clasped over her furry cunt hole, tears running down her cheeks, the marks of the quirt angrily darkened over thighs and bottom. But she was not to be neglected in this horrid travesty of a wedding night. For now Constanza Delregado called to her lover, "Mi amor, let's have them both naked! Then they'll both be at our disposal, and I'm becoming very excited, just wondering what you're going to do to this little gringa puta who thinks she is still your wife. Isn't this her wedding night, dear Esteban?"
"Oh, to be sure, querida," he chuckled as he moved relentlessly towards the petrified golden-haired young woman. "You know I have always liked the rubias, though it is you whom I most desire."
"You had best keep on thinking that, amorcito," the svelte brunette murmured, with a glittering and malicious gaze at the cowering Trude. "If I thought for a moment that you had the least interest in this little whore who deserves nothing more than a long week in the dungeon of Major Santiago, I should myself flog her until the blood dripped down her back and legs. Look at her, cringing there, the little coward! Such an innocent, with those big blue eyes and that yellow hair and that baby-pink skin of hers! She isn't capable of passion, Esteban, not like myself, and you know it well! All you can teach a girl like that is to open her thighs for the insertion of your cock-bah, even this little slut of a Dolores is better in bed than your precious Trude! Fuck her, take her now and fuck her hard and let me watch her struggle when she knows what it is like for the first time to open her legs to a real man, mi amor!"
"Si, mi corazon," Esteban rasped as his eyes gleamingly narrowed and fixed on the shrinking nightgown-clad body of the young blonde captive. For through the diaphanous fabric of her nightgown, he could plainly behold the round cantaloupes of her boobies, the thick dark-golden bush of her cunt, the shaking columns of her virgin thighs. His savage rut grew by degrees as he came slowly towards her, and there was no place to flee to. Now, her palms pushed back against the wall, panting, trembling violently, Trude managed to gasp in a strangled voice, "No, I despise you-I hate you-don't touch me-I'd rather die than let you have me!"
"You almost have the fire of a Portena," Esteban Corrado taunted. Let us see how much fire there is really within you, little Trude." And with this, setting his hand to the bodice of her nightgown he ripped it from her body and Trude uttered a shriek of shame and despair as she saw herself stripped naked before the insolently mocking gaze of the sophisticated and perverse brunette and before this man who had professed to love her and who had stood beside her in a New York church and been called her husband for better or for worse, through sickness and until death.
But now Constanza Delregado had turned her attention to the cringing young maid, and commanded, "Strip naked, you little slut, and be quick about it, unless you want to go back on the couch for another dose of my quirt!"
"Oh no, dear mistress, for the dear love of our Lady the Virgin," Dolores sobbed as she hastily tugged off her remaining clothes and stood naked, exquisite in her fresh youth of sixteen years, bowing her head and putting one hand over the thick fur of her soft cunt-a cunt which was no longer virgin because its maidenhead had long since fallen victim to the arrogant and feudal rut of Esteban Corrado.
"Now come undress me quickly, little fool!" the brunette hissed, brandishing the quirt in the air. Its menace was enough to make Dolores hurry to her, forgetting her own shame of being naked before this man who was her master and lord and this Norteamericano who would now share with her the degradation and the torment meted out by members of the terrible Tacuara to their victims.
Kneeling at her mistress's feet, the naked young maid-slave lifted the evening gown, and Constanza Delregado purred like a cat as it was husked from her olive-sheened body, leaving her all but naked in only the wispiest of white nylon bra and panties and matching panty girdle, whose narrow tabs hugged the tops of her unwrinkled, snug and sheer nylon hose. She made an impatient nod with her head, and the whimpering little maid hurried behind her to unhook the bra and then to draw down the panties, so that Constanza Delregado stood now in only garter belt, hose and pumps, the exaggeratedly thick black triangular fleece of her cunt hole a lewd beacon between the long, sculptured, nervous-muscled olive-sheened thighs. Her hands on her hips, the quirt's handle gripped in her right hand, she watched with avid sensual interest how her lover proceeded against the sobbing, terrified and naked Trude.
He had caught Trude by the titties, and his thumbs and forefingers pitilessly squeezed her nipples as he hissed, "On your knees, you gringa bitch! I'm going to teach you humility. So you think that because your father was clever enough to cheat our Fuehrer himself, you deserve mercy. Oh no, there is no vengeance possible against your father now, because the old fool is dead and escaped us. But you shall pay for those years in which the man who spawned your plump pink body, your cloistered and pampered flesh that has never known a man, concealed money which was rightfully the property of the Third Reich. It is only justice that you suffer a little, gringa bitch, for all that your father has done!"
"No, let me go, let me go back to New York, I will never tell anyone-but in heaven's name, be merciful, Esteban Corrado! I've never hurt you, I've never hurt anyone in my life-I didn't know about my father-the filthy money, I don't want it-take it-only let me go!" Trude cried hysterically as she was forced down to her knees by the atrocious pinching and downward-tractioning pull on her nipples by his sinewy fingers.
"Dolores!" he snapped. "Come here and hold this bitch by the wrists, draw them behind her back and hold on tightly, if you don't want to be thrashed again!"
"Si, Senor Corrado," the young dark-haired maid whimpered as she hurried to obey. His eyes flickered with lust as he watched those lovely round titties jiggling, those cruelly welted ass cheeks undulating and squirming as her naked body hastened towards the pink-sheened, genuflecting body of the young golden-haired captive whom she had dared to admire and to offer deferential service. She grasped Trude's wrists, and yet she managed to whisper faintly, just enough for the sobbing young woman to hear, "Perdoneme Usted, Senora, I can't help it, they're making me do this, I don't want to!"
It was scant consolation to poor Trude, nonetheless, and once more she found herself in a different sort of bondage. Dolores pulled her to her feet and clamped a manacle around Trude's neck and in turn clamped the chain to a hook on the wall. Esteban grabbed her in a passion and threatened her with a thick-buckled belt-not to mention with his thick cock that was protruding from his shorts.
"Now, little Trude," he mouthed gloatingly, "you're going to perform your first act as a woman for her man. Watch!" With this, he unbuttoned the fly of his shorts and let his long, lean, throbbing prick thrust out in all its obscene rigidity. "Open your mouth and kiss and suck it, mi corazon!"
"Oh no! You monster, you demon, I detest you, I would rather do that to the devil himself than to you! I would die before I would do such a thing!" Trude cried hysterically.
"Constanza querida, see if you can't persuade this little gringa to show more docility," he remarked in a mockingly benign tone as he turned to stare greedily at his magnificent naked mistress-for such she was although they were betrothed and intended for holy wedlock.
The feline perverse brunette, her svelte tall naked body seemingly the more wanton in its provocative accouterment of garterbelt and hose and pumps, Constanza Delregado moved slowly and deliberately towards the three other participants in this erotic tableau. Gripping the quirt, she lifted and struck, slashing the thongs viciously across Trude's panting, tautly jutting naked titties. A frantic cry was torn from the sufferer as she jerked to and fro on her knees, trying madly to drag her wrists free of Dolores' hold that she might rub the agonizing burning pain away from those magnificent love-globes.
The darkening welts on the fair pink skin told at once the atrocious agony that lash must have cost the unfortunate, traduced young woman. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her teeth were chattering, but she managed with a kind of ebbing and desperate courage to stare at the mocking faces of her two pitiless tormentors, as she panted, "No, kill me first, but I won't ever do that, no, you-you N-Nazi beast, you filthy, vile woman, oh yes, I see now, you make a perfect match, and I was wrong in ever thinking I could love a man like you, Esteban Corrado!"
"You whore, to speak to me that way, when my family is older by centuries than yours, which crawled out of the muck and the trees in the forests of the Huns?" Constanza Delregado snarled venomously, her eyes pinpoints of sadistic fury; she drew back the quirt and struck again and again and again. First across the heaving titties, then across the shuddering belly, and finally with fiendish accuracy, sending the tips of those two elongated and tapering things right into the furry nest of Trude's maiden cunt hole!
The blonde young victim wrenched at her captive wrists, struggling on her knees to rise, managing to lift her right knee when a new lash swept so furiously across her heaving titties that it fairly took her breath away. The angry red, darkening streaks on her soft pink skin and the salacious "smackkk!" of the leather thongs made both Esteban Corrado and his evil brunette mistress gasp with mounting lust. And her eyes fixed on the savage thrust of his throbbing prick, as she hissed, "I'll make her do it for you, querido!"
"No, kill me, kill me, you filthy brute!" Trude shrieked, beside herself with pain and despair. But anew the brunette attacked her with the quirt, and this time lashed straight downwards, sending the tips of the bands over her left shoulder and back, while the forward part of the whip wickedly stung her upper left titty.
Mad with the torment, the golden-haired young woman closed her eyes and twisted her face away from that obscene symbol of male power and ruthlessness. Behind her, through the swirl of agony which clouded her mind and spirit, she could hear the little maid's compassionate whimpering, and yet she knew that Dolores did not dare to release her lest the evil fury of the naked svelte brunette be vented upon her tender young body once again.
Now, his rut at its zenith, Esteban Corrado cupped Trude's face, his fingernails sinking into her jawbone, and forced his prick against her panting mouth. "Suck it, you whore, lick it and love it, you gringa puta!" he snarled.
Summoning all her resistance, Trude clamped her teeth together, and managed to twist her face away even though his nails scratched her tender skin and made it bleed. His face livid with frustration, the man who had professed to love her and who had seemingly married her, drew back his right fist and crashed it against her cheekbone, stunning her and making her topple backwards. And then once again Constanza Delregado flailed her with the quirt, cutting twice across her bouncing titties, and a third time over the sweet boss of that shuddering dimpled belly.
Her inhuman, prolonged cries of pain were strident, wordless, and her eyes bulged in their sockets, glassy with tears and shadowed with the crux of the pain and indignity being wreaked upon her. But not to be denied his will, the naked Porteno now twisted his fingers in her hair and yanked at her scalp, while he prodded his prick against her chin and mouth, panting, "I command you to do it, do you hear me? I'll have you flayed alive, I'll have you staked out in the garden and let the scorpions and the marabunta taste your gringa flesh!"
Once more he yanked savagely at her hair, and Trude cried out, the pain was scalding-hot and intolerable. But still she would not yield. And then she heard Dolores whisper, "Por piedad, oh do what he wishes, oh please I cannot bear to see you hurt this way, Senora?"
Once more the quirt had its will as it whistled through the air and smacked loudly over Trude's arm and shoulder and upper left titty. Again she cried out, hoarsely, her throat aching from all those agonized shouts of torment. But her teeth ground together, and she stared through her tear-blinded eyes at the grotesque rigidity of Esteban Corrado's proffered prick.
"Perhaps she prefers to meet a girl, querido," came Constanza Delregado's mocking taunt. "Here, darling let me try a little, you take the whip. And thrash that little whore Dolores with it, that'll make this tenderhearted Norteamericano decide to obey, you'll see!"
"Very well, I'll try your way for once, Constanza!" he pinted huskily. Seizing the quirt, he stationed himself behind the frantic naked young maid, who glanced back in terror over her shoulder, cringing as she saw the serpentine things of the quirt rise in the air above her. "Ohh, no, Senor Corrado, no more, oh please, I'm doing what you told me to, oh don't whip me any more, I can't bear it, truly I can't!"
"Then make that bitch do what I tell her to," he snarled as he slashed the quirt over Dolores' already furiously striped shuddering bare ass.
A wild cry of pain attested to the torture of that biting kiss of the whip, and Trude felt her wrists gouged by the young maid's fingernails, as Dolores convulsively dug them into her flesh under the access of torture which dominated her girlish body.
But now Constanza Delregado mockingly, her own slim fingers entwined in Trude's disheveled golden hair, had forced her victim's panting and contorted face against her groin, and rubbed the thick silky black curls of her cunt fur against the chaste and revulsed mouth of the unfortunate young American.
"I can feel her lips against my pussy, querido," she exclaimed to her lover. But he, the quirt again raised in the air, was too intent upon compelling poor little Dolores by her own ordeal to compel Trude to accept her lot. Twice more the whip whistled and smacked with an infernal, greedy sound over Dolores' ass and thighs, drawing piteous shrieks. And then, weeping bitterly, to save the poor girl more torture, Trude yielded as the lesser evil: her soft panting mouth applied a grudging kiss upon Constanza Delregado's perfumed cunt hole.
"Ohhhh, the bitch is doing it, oh Esteban, how lovely it feels!" the aristocratic brunette gasped in an excited tone. "Whip Dolores harder, harder, I say!"
"No-don't torture that poor child any more, let her be-I-I'll do what you want, you horrible, depraved creature!" Trude's voice shook and was husky with the onslaught of all her pain and degradation.
And so, while the cowering and weeping little maid still knelt behind her and gripped her wrists as tightly as she could, naked golden-haired Trude mouthed Constanza's pussy, while the latter ground herself lasciviously back and forth over those soft lips until at last she achieved a shattering orgasm.
Esteban Corrado could no longer endure his frustration. With a brutal backhanded blow of his right fist which knocked poor Dolores falling to the floor and whimpering, almost fainting, he flung himself upon the still courageous and heroic, naked, golden-haired Trude, thrust her down onto her back on the floor and mounted over her. His fingernails gouged into her shoulders, and his eyes greedily devoured her contorted, tear-stained face. Closing her eyes, averting her face from his, she tried to remain impervious to what was to be done to her.
But she could not help uttering a shriek as his prick dug into her mercilessly in a long savage penetration that had no love or consideration for her maidenhood, through the hymen and shattered it, then gorged inside her to his balls as he lay sprawled over her. Then he began to pump back and forth, while Constanza, not to be without her own requital, strode towards the whimpering little maid, bent down and with her left hand dragged Dolores up to her knees by the hair, and commanded, "Suck me, make me come!"
And the groans and sobs of those two victims filled the room, as this despicable tool of the Tacuara and his evil mistress vied with each other to achieve their ignoble lust-fulfillment.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Trude was spared the full knowledge of the contemptuous and brutal rape which Esteban Corrado had perpetrated upon her defenseless, naked, shuddering body. Even as his sperm burst in her womb, she lay inert and unconscious. At that moment, her mind and flesh had given way before the horrifying revelations of the treachery which her perfidious governess had brought about, culminating in this mock marriage, which she supposed to have been true and which she now learned was renounced by this Neo-Nazi hireling. But worst of all, perhaps, was the stunning knowledge that her own father had been in league with those barbarians, those murderers of millions of innocent men, women and children and that the money which had sent her to the Ulri and on which she had lived all these years had been gouged from the tyrannized peoples of Europe and yet stolen by her own father who had had apparently no conscience for the blood upon that gold.
When she came to, she found herself in a storage closet in the cellar of Esteban Corrado's villa, naked as she had been under his brutal violation, her body sore and stiff and aching from the marks of Constanza's quirt upon her tender flesh.
She stumbled towards the door of that storage room, shook it, but it was of heavy wood and would not yield. There were openings in it, and she could see nothing but darkness all around. There was a musty, humid stench to this old cellar, as if she were buried deep in the earth in a tropical jungle. And then she wept bitterly through her own body's betrayal, for having fallen in love with this man who sought to carry on the infernal megalomania of Adolf Hider.
And then she heard the sound of footsteps, and suddenly the door was swung back and a flashlight blazed into her face and made her cringe with the sudden contrast of light in this Stygian darkness. "Good afternoon, little one," Constanza Delregado giggled mockingly. "We've come to take you to a new home, my dear. You've had enough sleep, and we're going to give you a little food and wine and then dress you and take you where you belong now."
"Let me go-if you've any humanity in you let me go-what can you want of me, now that you have the money and everything else?" Trude panted.
"Let you go? You really haven't learned anything since last night, have you? You stupid little bitch, don't you realize that if you once told your story to the American Embassy or perhaps even to the Israeli underground, my darling husband-to-be Esteban and, yes, I myself also, would be in great danger? Do you suppose after all these years of waiting for the glorious hour when here in Buenos Aires the new National Socialist Party is to be reborn, we should risk all that on a stupid little rubia? No, querida, you and Dolores are going to be quartered in the very handsome villa of His Excellency Major Juan Felipe Santiago. For you see, he is the leader of the Tacuara. And he more than anyone else in Buenos Aires will not leave unpunished any slut like you or that silly little maid who would blaspheme or denounce the movement. Come now, it's time for you to be bathed and fed."
"I want nothing from you, let me go!"
"I've had enough of your childish prattle, Trude! Do you want me, then, to tie you up by the thumbs down here and take my quirt to you again? I should love to do it, but there isn't time. The limousine from Major Santiago's villa will be here for you in an hour, so get out of there and come along with me!" Constanza Delregado angrily exclaimed.
But as Trude still recoiled back into the shadows of that storage room, the brunette, muttering a vituperative oath, advanced and, seizing Trude's wrist, dragged her outside and up the stairs down the carpeted hallway to a narrow room. Weakened by her ordeal, Trude was no match for the svelte, tall brunette. And when she was shoved inside the room, she uttered a sobbing cry of compassionate distress to see poor little Dolores, lying on a couch, naked, blindfolded and gagged, and bound hand and foot. There were marks of a new whipping on her breasts and belly and inner thighs as well as on her buttocks and calves and shoulders.
There was a swarthy Argentinian in the room also, obviously a servant of the Corrado villa. He was standing guard, and he had a pistol-belt strapped around his waist. He glowered at Trude who closed her eyes and shuddered at the lechery in his cruel dark eyes and the twist of his fleshy mouth. But then, she reflected, nothing more evil could be done to her than had been done already-and how naive she was in this tragically innocent belief!
On a table there was a tray of food, a glass of red wine, a pot of coffee. Constanza Delregado pushed the naked golden-haired young woman towards it. "Eat and drink and be quick! Otherwise, Esteban will make you do it with the whip. Do you want a good beating? Just persist in this stupidity of yours, in refusing to do what you are told, and you will not only be thrashed by Stefan, but you will have a delightful time with Major Santiago, that I promise you assuredly! No es verdad, Stefan?"
"Si, Senorita Delregado," the swarthy servant chuckled, "I with my own eyes have seen His Excellency at work punishing the wicked Jewesses who go out on the streets with good Portenos. He will make this rubia dance in the air under the whip and plead with him that she is ready to do anything he wishes, even to rubbing her nose along the Calle de Noradio." With this, he burst into bawdy laughter, in which the svelte brunette joined him. Then, slapping Trude's face, she repeated, "I'm giving you an order, now do it! If not, you shall have Stefan to deal with. Do you see the marks of the whip on Dolores? It was he who put them there, so beware!"
With sinking heart, Trude realized there was nothing to be gained by defiance. Moreover, food and drink might give her back her strength. And so, drawing up a footstool, she crouched upon it and, huddling her body as much as she could to prevent its being seen by the lustful eyes of the servant, she made a satisfactory meal.
"Now the bath, puta! You must at least be clean for His Excellency," Constanza Delregado commanded. And seizing Trude's wrist again, she led her into the adjoining bathroom, turned on the shower, handed the golden-haired captive a bar of soap and hissed, "I shall give you five minutes, otherwise I shall come in there with the quirt and turn you over to Stefan before we take you to His Excellency!"
Groaning with shame and helplessness, Trude washed herself. Indeed, it was a great relief for her tired and aching and ravished body, and when she stepped out of the shower and towelled herself, she felt immeasurably better.
T he brunette entered the bathroom, carrying a yellow cotton dress, open-toed sandals, and a cheap white cotton slip. "These are all the clothes you'll need, rubia!" she smirked. "Put them on and be quick, it's almost time for the limousine."
Numbly, Trude obeyed. Then she was ordered to put her hands behind her back, and Constanza Delregado promptly locked them in a pair of nickel handcuffs. "There we are, now you're all ready for His Excellency!" she gleefully announced. "Stefan, carry that little bitch over there out to the patio, and we'll await the limousine."
Then, digging her fingernails into the nape of Trude's neck, she hissed, "March, now, and don't try any tricks! You can't escape, and you'll regret it if you even try or think about it!"
In a few moments, a black limousine drew up in front of the veranda of the house. Constanza Delregado forced Trude into the back of the car and tood her place beside her, while Stefan lifted the naked, bound, gagged and blindfolded body of the little maid and dropped her unceremoniously onto the floor of the back seat. In a moment, Esteban Corrado, fashionably dressed and with bowler hat, cane and spats, got into the front seat of the limousine beside Stefan, who would serve as chauffeur. Then the limousine drove away and in a circuitous route so that Trude would not know where she was being taken.
They came at last after more than an hour's drive to the Villa Mercadito. In front of the veranda there stood two blackshirted guards, with swastika armbands, bearing rifles. They stood at attention as the limousine halted, and Esteban Corrado got out, exchanged a military salute and then gave that dreadful sign of the right palm turned outward and thrust forth as he barked, "Heil Hitler!"
The door of the villa opened and Major Juan Felipe Santiago himself emerged in a military uniform which was an exact replica of that worn by the dreaded SS in the days of Hitler's greatest power.
"Corrado, amigo!" he eagerly exclaimed as he came forward and held out his hand. Trude's betrayer shook it ardently, then said, "Excellency, I have the honor to deliver to you and for your personal use this gringa, Trude Reichmann. I have great news also. I've found the key to the Swiss vault where her traitor father hid the money he stole from the Nazi Party."
"Wunderbar!" the sadistic head of the Tacuara chuckled." Corrado, I shall promote you to captain at the next meeting of all officers and higher echelon. This money will further our cause in Buenos Aires, and make many new converts. Also, it will give us strength to fight the accursed Jews. Is this girl Jewish, this other one I see there on the floor of the limousine?"
"Oh no, Excellency, she's only my maid Dolores. But she showed interest in this rubia, and she may be dangerous. I thought you would care to divert yourself with her."
"You're much too kind, Corrado. The Party will long remember your faithful services. And to you as well, Senorita Delregado, I hereby express my deepest thanks for all your efforts in our cause."
Then, with a leer at the naked body of the little maid and at the shuddering pale-faced golden-haired young woman who stood before him with her hands locked behind her back, Major Juan Felipe Santiago commanded two soldiers standing guard, "Jose, carry that little bitch down into the cellar. You, Ruiz, escort Fraulein Reichmann-get her into my private room-you understand me?"
"Si, mi jefe," the burly older guard eagerly acknowledged the order. With the butt of his rifle, he prodded Trude's back and muttered, "Adelante pronto!"
Trude uttered a groan and turned for the last time to look at the perfidious traitor who had delivered her into the hands of this monster of neo-Nazism. He was smirking at her, and he had his arm around the waist of the svelte brunette, who made a mocking face at her and hissed, "A word of advice, dear Trude! Try to do everything the dear Major tells you to, or I fear you won't be long for this world! Adios, gringa puta!
Trude closed her eyes and moved forward as in a dream-an evil and terrifying dream, the outcome of which she could not even begin to guess. The soldier forced her down a hallway of the villa and made her turn to the right. Then, going ahead of her and opening the door, he ordered her inside.
Behind her, she could hear the booted footsteps of Major Juan Felipe Santiago, and before she could utter a cry at what she saw in that room, he was inside and behind her, and the door was closed and bolted.
It was an enormous bedroom, and the walls and the ceiling were mirrored. It was a room perhaps three times the size of an average living room, and there was a low huge bed to her left. A dressing table immediately to the right, with a mirror also, since the wall formed it. She saw a chaise lounge and several loveseats. On one of the loveseats, she caught sight of a display of cravaches, thongs and straps, a fine supple rattan cane, and a long carriage whip, carelessly tossed there.
But what shocked her into staring with mouth agape was the sight, directly across the room from her and dangling from a wooden bar held by chains set into the ceiling, of a naked young woman who was bound by the ankles lewdly stretched apart to that bar so that she was upside down. Her wrists were corded behind her back, and there were the marks of the whip on her sleek oval bottom cheeks, on her back and shoulders, crisscrossing her naked thighs, and, since the mirror beyond her served to reflect back to Trude's horrified eyes all that had taken place, bleeding stigmatas on her pear-shapted titties and along the insides of her thighs and even the thick auburn fur of her cunt which was stained with fresh blood.
"Ah, I'm forgetting my manners, my dear Trude-or should I say Fraulein Reichmann?" The thick, almost guttural voice of the sadistic Tacuara head came to her ears and she could feel his presence. "Allow me to present you to Bonita Lorendo. She's nineteen, and well made for that age, wouldn't you say? She's a student at the University of Buenos Aires, and she was found guilty by our Tacuara court of giving her favors to a Jewish swine. It's a very grievous sin, because, as a student at our great institution of learning, she ought surely to have known better. Indeed, she's only had half the thrashing I promised her for spitting in my face this morning. You see, I offered her life for shall we say, granting me her favors. I could have had her shot at once, you understand, but the bitch is very uncooperative and ungrateful. Sit there on the bed, Fraulein Reichmann. I want you to observe. I think you will profit from watching."
Her legs faltered in horror at this nightmarish and sadistic tableau, for she now knew she had exchanged one for another still worse. She found a couch and slumped down upon it, closed her eyes and sobbed softly. Juan Felipe Santiago came to her quickly and jammed a hand into her cunt. She couldn't resist. He got up and went over to the chair in which there were piled the many flagellatory instruments and with great care was selecting one for the continuation of poor Bonita Larendo's thrashing.
He chose at last a supple rattan, yellow and flexible, horribly thin and whippy. Then he approached, laid the cane across the young victim's lower buttocks, and applied a sharp flick of the wrist which followed at once with a "Spatttt!" of sonorous crispness. Instantly the auburn-haired victim uttered a wild scream and began to squirm and twist, and the bar swung slowly, her body describing lascivious contortions.
Now the cane tapped her upper left thigh, and after a moment imparted a new welt on the pale creamy flesh. Another frantic cry resounded, and then another as the cane suddenly lifted between her straddled legs and came down with a deft whisk right into her martyred cunt. For she had already been brutally deflorated by the brutal Major of the Tacuara, and she had been threatened with being given to all of his soldiers at the villa if she did not show a more cooperative spirit this night.
He glanced over at the bed and smirked his gloating pleasure at the sight of Trude's tears and her attempt to hide by closing her eyes from the dreadful spectacle which so delighted him. "Some people," he sententiously observed, "would rather hear than see. I will permit it for a time. Listen well. Doesn't Bonita have a lovely voice, a mezzo-soprano, I think-let's see, or is it more soprano spinto?" No sooner had he concluded this satanic question than he lifted the cane and again brought it right down between her legs and into her tender cunt.
"Awrrroooo-aiieouuu-eouwwww!!!!" the young woman's shriek was agonizedly prolonged, and her entire body jumped and jerked and twisted from the bar. She tried to lift her head, to turn her face back upwards and stare imploringly at her tormentor, but her muscles were not equal to the task. The blood had rushed to her head, and her body shook convulsively with a nervous agitation that her cruel punishment had aggravated.
"Bonita, my dear, I shall take a cigar and light it, and put it where I have just put the cane if you don't act more hospitably to me. You know that I can put you to death at once. But I'm going to give you a chance. Either you'll do what I want now, or I'm going to have Jorge come in-I let you see him this morning for just a moment, didn't I.
"Oh no, por piedad! Not that one-oh kill me instead, oh kill me, not that one!" the young woman shrieked hoarsely.
"Yes, querida, it will be Jorge. But first I'll use the cigar, and then I think I shall take some needles, heat them with a pair of tweezers, just a match lit to them will do nicely, and I'll stick them into that saucy bottom of yours. Then you shall have Jorge, and after that all my soldiers. I have a dozen body guards at the villa and they are all lusty young men. I may even stick needles into the lips of that sweet opening of yours which you want to deny me."
"Oh no-oh in Heaven's name have pity, I'll do anything you want, anything, only spare me!" Bonita's courage broke.
"Now that's much better, my dear. Besides, it's only right and fitting that you learn the difference between one of those Jewish swine and a man of good Aryan extraction. See what I have for you, my pretty one?"
He opened the fly of his breeches now, letting emerge his swollen prick. Then he went round the tortured girl, knelt down, and, entangling his thick stubby fingers in her streaming auburn hair, yanked up her face and forced her to suck his prick. Trude moaned, aghast, haggard, but this time there was no unconsciousness to reprieve her. She could not watch long, but she could hear the odious, obscene sounds of that poor girl's mouth frantically sucking and slushing over the brutal Tacuara leader's prick until at last he ejaculated with a bellow of delight and she heard Bonita cough and choke and then whimper like a lost soul condemned to hell forever-
And it was to this new villa of hell on earth that the man who had said he loved her and wished her to be his wife had delivered her!
CHAPTER NINE
At the sight of the atrociously degrading and cruel punishment of the helpless naked college student by the depraved Tacuara chief, Trude sank down on her knees, closing her eyes and praying silently that somehow Providence would save her from a similar fate. But here in the cellar dungeons of the Villa Mercadito, few except that secretly banded top echelon of the Neo-Nazis knew of the whereabouts of any captive who was luckless enough to fall into the hands of Major Juan Felipe Santiago.
When at last the torturer had ejaculated his bubbling essence into Bonita's retching mouth, he languidly rose and beckoned to the shuffling, one-eyed brute, Jorge, who wore only boots. With an answering cackle that made Trude's blood run cold in her veins, the hideous cyclops-like cretin hobbled forward with a teakwood box of cigars. Slowly kneeling down, he opened the box and offered its contents to his cruel master, who patted him on the head as he knelt there, as one might reward a faithful dog. Then Major Santiago took out an excellent Cuban Panatela, as well as a monogrammed silver lighter, with which he lit his cigar. Then, plunging his hand back into the box again but into its right section, he drew out a short red marking pencil, and as he puffed at his cigar, he squatted down again and amused himself by drawing the sign of the swastika on Bonita's belly. Then with his cigar, puffing it until the tip glowed cherry-red, and with a sinister laugh, the Tacuara leader began to brand the marker's horrid and obscene design on the tender, agony-sweating flesh of the writhing, shrieking, martyred young woman. Her body threshed violently about each time the cigar pressed its burning tip along the lines the marker had drawn on her naked skin. Twice she fainted, only to revive as the stench of human flesh burning filled the dungeon and the pitiless cigar continued its journey.
When he had completed the design, Major Juan Felipe Santiago rose and said to her, "All right, now, for the last time, little puta, either you tell us the names of your associates or I'll put this cigar right between your straddled legs. You can guess where it will be, linda."
Mad with pain and terror, the girl uttered a raucous shriek. "No more! I'll tell, I'll do anything you want, only take me down-I can't stand the pain-oh Heaven forgive me, I can't stand the awful pain!"
"Is there no pity left in the world?" Trude sobbed aloud, her mind ready to give way before the horrors she had just experienced and those she was now witnessing.
The Tacuara chief turned towards her, an indulgent smile playing around his fleshy mouth. His prick still thrust out from his breeches, and without the least shame or embarrassment, he smiled at the cringing golden-haired young woman.
"Oh yes, we have pity for those who have been brought up as children by traitors, because we know that children are not always to be blamed for what they have learned if the doctrine is false to start with, querida. But when a child becomes adult, as you are now, Trude, and she is presented with the facts and the truth, and she still persists in her folly and treason, then no, there is none. Profit from this little lesson, because tonight I personally will interrogate you and it will be up to you to determine your destiny."
Then, turning to the grinning one-eyed naked cretin who still knelt before him, he made an impatient gesture towards the naked, shuddering body which dangled from the wooden bar. Jorge grunted assent, and shuffled off to a corner of the dungeon, returning with a German army sabre. Reaching up, and with expert care, he slashed at one of the cords binding Bonita's ankles, and her leg fell free. With a cry of terror, she struggled, trying to right herself, sprawled in reverse, her muscles tortured by the traction of only one leg. With a hideous cachination, Jorge reached up and slashed at the other cord and Bonita thudded to the floor, striking her head and neck and shoulders painfully, and lying there sprawled. Only the erratic rise and fall of her whip-welted titties told that she was still alive.
Tossing the sabre away with a clatter, the one-eyed cretin stooped and picked up the naked body of the young university student in his arms and shuffled out of the dungeon.
"I have told Jorge that he may enjoy that foolish girl. Do not look so horrified, querida! You have heard what you have heard and her life is forfeit, just as you heard me tell her. But since she has confessed, I pardon her, and she will remain here under strict vigilance, as a slave, to please first my faithful servant and then those of my bodyguard who are deserving of commendation for their work in the Tacuara. But at least she will be alive."
"Oh Heaven, I would a thousand times rather die than go through that!" Trude sobbed brokenly.
"Take care now, little one! Esteban Corrado had brought you here because you are suspected of treason, as your father certainly and indisputably was before you. As I say, I do not blame you entirely for persisting in your errors. You must be brought to understand and appreciate the glories of your father's native country, Germany. For this end we strive here in Argentina to restore all the power of the Third Reich. We wage a constant battle against the accursed Jews, and even some of our own compatriots who, tainted by life in this tropical land where discipline is forgotten more than it should be, prefer to renounce their Vaterland. You must be made to be proud once again of your Germanic birth and blood, Trude. If you please me tonight, you will find that your life will not be so hard to bear."
Then, going to the door of the dungeon, he unbolted it and bawled out, "Hermano! Cortez! Adelante pronto!"
In a moment, two uniformed men entered, pistol holsters strapped to their belts, booted, they too wearing the armbands that bore the sign which Hitler had made so infamous throughout the world.
"Take this girl and fuck her-one in front and one in back!"
"Oh no! Have mercy on me! I've done nothing! I beg of you, Major Santiago, all I ask is that I be allowed to go back to New York. Esteban Corrado has the key to that vault where I am told the money my poor father stole from the Nazis is held. I would not want it even if it were freely given to me, I swear it by my life! Have pity! What am I, a woman brought here against her will, believing herself to be married, now finding herself accused and shamed by the man who betrayed me?"
"A very pretty speech, Senora Trude!" Major Juan Felipe Santiago sneered. "Fuck her!"
They did, brutally and passionately, and afterwards, when Trude had turned to try to run, the two soldiers, laughing greedily, seized her by the elbows and dragged her before the bar. One of them thrust his hand into the pocket of his breeches and drew out several lengths of cord, and he and his companion hastily bound each slender wrist, while the Tacuara leader touched a button set in a panel in the wall to lower the bar so that the captive might be fettered without difficulty. In a moment, Trude felt herself drawn up by her wrists, her feet just an inch from the floor.
"Get out!" Major Santiago snarled, and the two soldiers respectfully saluted and left the voluptuary's bedroom that was the orgiastic passion-playground for Major Juan Felipe Santiago-and for his victims, even more fiendishly agonizing than the darkest dungeon in the cellar of the Villa Mercadito.
"Now that we are alone, lindecita," the Nazi chief gloated, "there's time to progress with your education. Si, guapa, that good Esteban has told me how trustingly you went with him to that gringo church in the Estados Unidos and believed yourself to be his esposa. What a shame it must have been for you to realize that on your wedding night, you were no better than that little slut they brought along here for the amusement of my men. Oh, but there is a difference, linda." As he spoke, he began to undress, and Trude, dangling in the air, all the weight of her body suspended from her delicate limbs, stared at him with an incredulous and sickening horror as she now saw him draw off his boots and be naked before her, then don the boots again and stand there, hands on hips, all evil personified in the thick black-and-gray matted hair on his sweating chest, his wolfish face and his dark complexion, the paunchy belly, yet with the thews and sinews in legs and arms and shoulders of a man who had once been an exemplary soldier and had ridden a horse to death across the pampas to escape a savage tribe of native Indians who were pursuing him with the intent to stake him out on the ground for the ants, his body smeared with honey.
"Now you see me as I am, linda," he purred satanically as he advanced towards her. "But I wish to see you as you are, for I have fucked few gringas. Most of them have been little Jewesses whom our good men have found skulking about with foolish young Portenos who should certainly know better after the glorious example Peron set them. But they are soft and foolish, these Portenos. They forget that a century ago San Martin liberated Argentina, and that after that came the tyranny of the federalistas. The people never learn and they remember very little from history. That is why our beloved Fuehrer very nearly conquered the world, and would have done so had he not been surrounded by soft fools and traitors, but here in Argentina, Trude, I, Major Juan Felipe Santiago, am each new day gathering recruits to the army of vengeance and conquest which will destroy the accursed inferiors and the Jews and build a new and strong race here in South America. It will only be the beginning, because then we will come through Mexico into the Estados Unidos, and soon we will be strong enough to take the world."
He had reached her side now, and she closed her eyes and moaned, sick unto death from his fanatical mouthings-sicker still in her flesh which crawled and cringed at the thought of his bestial maleness and her helplessness here tied before him like a defenseless animal.
Then she screamed, for he had ripped her dress from her, and then the paltry garments which Esteban Corrado had had put upon her before he had delivered his rejected bride to the sadistic master of the Tacuara.
"Que guapa!" he breathed, his eyes devouring the thick dark-golden curls which fleeced her cunt, the dimpled goblet of her body, the satiny gourds of her panting boobies. Moving behind her, his eyes loved the contours of her flinching behind, the elegantly curved sculptuary of her thighs which she strained to clench together so as to diminish all of her nakedness before his lecherous gaze.
"You are very beautiful, Trude. Corrado was a fool. Oh, he will have his reward in the money from the Swiss vault, because it is his right. And with that, he will possibly marry that blackhearted bitch Constanza and use his share of the gold to buy a dozen or more little sluts, prettier even than Dolores, to bed with when he becomes bored with that selfish and arrogant aristocrat."
He turned now to the box of cigars which Jorge had brought, and opened it, and Trude's tearglazed eyes followed his every move in frantic apprehension. He chose a cigar with relish, bit off the end and spat it out, lit it with the monogrammed silver lighter, then approached her, the flame of the lighter still flickering, and held it to the thick bush of her cunt hole.
"Arrrrrrohhhhh noooo!" Trude screeched as she forced her body to lunge backward, sending savaging, hot pains shooting through her tortured wrists, trying to escape the horrid flame. But even that swift reaction was not quite quick enough, and she could hear the crackling of her pubic hairs as the tiny flame consumed them, and she could smell the stink of her own burning hair. She twisted her face and retched.
Major Juan Felipe Santiago burst into raucous laughter. His prick was massive and jiggling as he shouted out his sadistic glee. "Don't be afraid of my lighter, linda," he at last laughingly declared. "I shall burn you with my prick, I shall purge your little traitorous soul with the fire of my passion. You will be my thing, my little slut, and you will crawl to lick my boots and to do my bidding. Because if you don't, mi corazon, you will go where it's not life for a gringa, believe me. But now, let's see what Corrado sacrificed to win my favor and the hand of that black-haired Jezebel by renouncing you, guapa!"
He puffed at his cigar as he moved behind the shuddering, naked, golden-haired young woman. She twisted her face back over her shoulder, panting with terror, sweat of agony beading her armpits and sides. She watched his every move as the stricken bird watches every move of the killer hawk. And he, prolonging the moment of attainment, licking his lips, at last reached out his hand and caressed a haunch, the lovely smooth curve of a side, then ran his palm down a quivering thigh, and moved around and forward until his hand reposed over her navel. Then his hand descended swiftly until it covered her cunt, and Trude tried to kick.
"Oh no, little dove!" he chuckled. Neatly evading this, he squatted down and dragged off her pumps. "Now you may break your dainty little toes, but I shouldn't advise it. Besides, if you try that again, I shall have Jorge heat needles over a charcoal fire and stick them under your toenails, and then you may kick all you like while he fucks you. Would you like to go to bed with him? Even now, I'm sure he's enjoying that little maid Dolores. Shall I call him back? I'm sure he would much prefer you, guapa!"
"Ohhhh, nnnno! For the love of Heaven, not that!" Trude whimpered. She thought she would go mad if this nightmare did not suddenly end. Her wrists ached abominably, long shooting pains were swirling up and down the muscles of her shoulders and into her neck muscles, into her chest where her heart was pounding at a tremendous rate, palpitating like mad-into her armpits, her boobies felt tight and strained, the nipples hardening, and her loins were molten, not with desire but with the sickening nausea of dread and abhorrence at the sight of his evil face, of his turgid prick, of the lighted cigar which stank and which he waved and of the glittering eyes in the vulpine face.
"The only way to save yourself from Jorge, linda, is to beg me to make love to you. If you're a good girl, I'll save you from the firing squad or the gallows. Sometimes, to make a very good example, when we have a real traitress, we use the same brilliant method that our beloved Fuehrer did-the headsman, dressed in black, and the huge axe, and the black wooden block. There's a hollow in it, Trude, for the neck to fit into. And the girl is led out blindfolded into the courtyard. There is the roll of drums constantly to mark her every step, to drown out her cries and prayers, you see. Her wrists are bound behind her, you see, and there's a priest mumbling at her side, but the words don't comfort her at all. She doesn't know what's going to happen. And there's a guard at the other side grasping her shoulder and forcing her on. Then she comes to a little platform, and the blindfold is taken off and the priest steps back, and the soldier forces her up the steps. She screams because she sees the block and the axe and the headsman. She tries to draw back but she can't."
"Oh, stop it, stop it! Kill me, kill me, but without this torture! Oh, in heaven's name, kill me," Trude wailed.
"But that would be desecration, linda," Major Juan Felipe Santiago purred. "You're too much alive, and you're not yet a woman. Corrado tells me he's only had you once or twice-so you're still a virgin, and as I say, I've had rare opportunities to enjoy the flesh of a lovely gringa. So it's to your advantage to please me and delay my orders regarding your disposition. Comprende Usted, Guapa?"
He put his cigar back into his mouth and puffed at it until the red light glowed at the tip. Then very slowly he held it out towards her navel, and Trude began to whimper and to twist, trying to arch herself back. By now her wrists were numb and heavy with pain and she could hardly move. Lightly the cigar touched the tender niche, and she tilted back her head and uttered a piercing shriek.
"But that is not the voice of the little dove," the Tacuara chief now murmured sadistically. "It does not call to mate with the eagle, and this I must hear. Speak to me, linda, beg me to put an end to your suffering and to make you a woman. Quickly, or I shall have Jorge come back from Dolores and take you in his arms and thrust his heavy prick deep into that tender little cunt of yours."
"Oh no-no-have mercy-let me go-I beg of you, let me go-I'll say nothing, only let me go back home!"
"That also I can do, if only I am pleased. Let me hear your voice speak in a soft chant of the little dove that is in love with the eagle. Quckly now! My patience is tiring and my prick demands fulfillment. Choose me or him!" And once again the cigar brushed her navel.
"Youuuu!!!" Trude screamed in her frantic despair, and then bowed her head and burst into racking sobs.
Major Juan Felipe Santiago stuck the cigar back into his mouth, chuckled lewdly. Then he moved to her, and his hands luxuriated as they s q u e e zed and kneaded the shuddering, contracting globes of her naked ass. His prick rubbed against the soft downy fleece on her lower abdomen as it beckoned toward the apex of her luscious thighs. Sick with loathing, weak with terror and pain, she closed her eyes and capitulated, yielding herself to the lesser horror which his cruel mind had portrayed for her so graphically that her mind could not even contemplate it.
And then with an oath, digging his coarse and dirty fingernails into the tender cheeks of her behind, Major Juan Felipe Santiago jammed his prick to the very hilt inside her tight young sheath and began to fuck her. As he did so, he took the cigar out of his mouth and lightly touched it to her back, her shoulder blades, her armpits, and then her bottom, only for a tiny instant, enough to quicken her, as he said coarsely, so she would appreciate what a macho hombre he truly was.
Her body jerked to the tiny brandings, but her response did not satisfy him. When at last he had ejaculated into her twat, he drew back and, going over to a glass coffee table, seized a slim, short flexible cravache. Then, planting himself behind her, he began to lash her with the full force of his arm across the full, opulent curves of her young bottom, till she shrieked and twisted, kicking and lunging, swaying from side to side as he pitilessly flogged her. He moved around to face her, his sadistic fury knowing no bounds. And then the leader of the Tacuara began to whip her across her naked titties, her wild shrieks and incoherent babblings exciting him again, for even through the misty fog of tears which blinded her bulging eyes, Trude could see that his prick was stiffening anew. Finally, lowering the cravache, he swept it up twice into her tender cunt. She uttered a wild, inhuman shriek, her body jerked violently, and then her head slumped forward onto her chest and she hung unconscious from the wooden bar.
CHAPTER TEN
Trude Reichmann woke to pain and then, as consciousness fully returned to her, abysmal horror which gripped her belly like a retching nausea at the recollection of all that had been done to her mind and flesh since she had boarded the Avianca Argentina jet for Buenos Aires, believing herself to be the happy bride of the handsome Esteban Corrado.
She was stark naked, and she lay sprawled on the bed in that obscenely mirrored bedroom of the Tacuara chief, Major Juan Felipe Santiago. Her blue eyes filmed with stinging, hot tears as she saw the bluish-red welts of the lash marring her tender flesh, and she covered her face with her hands and wept unashamedly, and prayed as well.
But to those prayers, as if by blasphemous mockery, the door opened and, suddenly, the vulpine-featured terrible Major Santiago entered, grinning as he puffed at a cigar. He was in rare good humor, fully dressed in the uniform whose insignia proclaimed him a major in the Argentinian Army, but whose black armband had the sign of the swastika to define the perverted usage of his military authority.
"Good morning, or rather, good afternoon. Dios de Santos, but you've slept away nearly half the day, querida! I'll have Elena bring you some food and a little wine to strengthen you. I want you present in an hour for a most important tribunal. It will help, I'm sure, clarify your thoughts on the importance of eradicating from your gringa mind all those treasonable ideas you've been allowed to grow up with."
"Oh-I beg of you-in-in the name of pity, of mercy, let me go-I can't hurt you or Esteban or anyone-you've got what you wanted, all of you-have mercy and let me go back home," Trude sobbed.
His face hardened. "Impossible, linda!" he snapped. "Can't you comprehend that you've only to open that soft red mouth of yours to the authorities, and there would be annoying investigations, probably by your accursed American Embassy? Oh no, we enjoy our life here at the Villa Mercadito, and we've no wish to interrupt it. You shall remain here till I'm tired of you-and I leave it to your imagination to do all you can to put off that unhappy day, for then it will really be unhappy for you, guapa!" Then he smiled wolfishly, his dark eyes glittering as he slowly approached the bed, and Trude cringed back, whimpering as she saw him open his breeches and liberate his prick.
"PI-please-d-don't-I beg of you," she stammered faintly, "I-I hurt so-oh, have mercy!"
He chuckled sadistically, took a puff at his stinking cigar, examining the glowing tip. "I understand, Fraulein Reichmann," he purred almost benignly. "It's been a trying ordeal, this long flight from Estados Unidos. And then the excitement of the wedding night, and the accustoming yourself virtually overnight to another and, I think I may say without boasting, a much more virile lover. No es verdad?" and he burst into braying laughter, while Trude shrank back him, her eyes enormous and shadowed with her abhorrence.
He came closer till he stood beside the bed, staring avidly down at her quivering nakedness, the dark-golden curls of her quim, the heaving turrets of her sumptuous young titties. "Yes, I understand. You were a virgin before you came here, and one must be gentle and considerate, mustn't one? So, to prove I am thoughtful, I shall ask only that you put your sweet mouth to my cojones, and suck and kiss and lick them lovingly. That will tell me, querida, that you're grateful I haven't had you executed as a traitress."
"Ohhhh H-Heaven-oh, no, I-I can't-I can't!" she moaned. "Have pity-oh have pity!"
He scowled at her, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, chuckled. "Muy bien. I will show you that I, Juan Felipe Santiago, have the sensitivities of an artist, not a butcher as I know you think me to be. I will have Elena bring you the food and wine and then help you bathe and prepare you for the tribunal. And afterwards, querida," he bent until his leering face was inches from that of the horrified naked golden-haired captive, "you will surely decide the wisdom of obeying my every command-carramba, better still, that of anticipating all my whims and coming forward to cater to them!"
Turning on his booted heel and with a mocking laugh that made her blood run cold, he left the mirrored bedroom.
A few moments later, a tall black-haired girl entered the bedroom, her enormous dark eyes shadowed with the same nameless fear whose signs Trude recognized only too well by now. She was actually seventeen but so sumptuously developed, thanks to her Latin ancestry, that she looked easily twenty-one. Five feet seven and a half inches in height, with oval face and the high set cheekbones that denoted Indian blood from the Mar del Platense region, her skin lightly bronzed and flawless, Elena was indecendy clad in a pair of highheeled silver-cloth slippers, a sleeveless red silk blouse so widely cut that it showed off fully half of the spectacularly large firm round and closely set globes of her swelling titties, and in skintight black satin tights which molded out the prominent mount of her cunt and the narrowly creased, upstandingly rounded and spacious cheeks of her magnificent young ass.
Her black hair was braided into two plaits that hung below her shoulder blades, and as she approached the bed, Trude could see the faint bluish marks of the lash on her long, deliciously sculptured naked thighs and calves, as well as on her beautifully graceful forearms and upper arms.
"Buenos tardes, Senorita," she murmured in a voice that was almost a whisper, and she glanced nervously behind her towards the door, as if fearing that the Tacuara leader would return at any moment. "I've brought you huevos, tortillas, some beef asado and cafe con leche."
"T-thank you, E-Elena," Trude quavered.
"De nada, Senorita." The tall young girl set the tray down on the night table beside the bed. "When you have finished, I am to help you bathe."
I-I can do that myself, Elena."
"Oh no, Senorita!" Now real fear glowed in those eloquent dark eyes, those young eyes so cruelly old with the wisdom of terror and pain and ultimate degradation. "It is his order, I must obey-or-or he will have me beaten."
"You poor girl-of course, I'll let you do it then. Tell me, Elena-?"
"Si Senorita?"
"Why are you in a place like this? Are you-are you his sweetheart?"
Elena made the sign of the cross, then fearfully looked back over her shoulder at the door. "Que non, jamas del mundo, Senorita Trude!" she gasped. (Oh Heaven, no, never in all this world!) "I-I am a prisoner, like you. But it is not wise to speak of such things in the Villa Mercadito, the house of El Librador, the Liberator."
"Is that what Major Santiago calls himself?"
"Si, Senorita Trude. Entonces, entiende-I-I have done nothing, Senorita. But my father, he works as a clerk in the government, comprende, and it was said of him that he denounced certain people in the Army. And so-and so-" now tears began to well up in her dark eyes-"a month ago, Senorita Trude, the men of the Tacuara came to our little house and they made me watch while they tied my mother's thumbs by cords to the chandelier and tore off her clothes and whipped her and then-and then-"
"Poor little one-don't speak of such dreadful things." Trude groaned.
"But I must, to remind myself that perhaps one day, si Dios le vuelta, these cruel ones will be punished. And-and after they had done with her what-what they wanted, Senorita, they whipped my father till he fainted. Then they took me to the Villa Mercadito. And he-he showed me that terrible Jorge and said I would be given to him unless I was a very good girl and proved I was not as stupid as my father-and so-and so, because I cannot bear pain, I-I gave in to him."
Now the girl was sobbing. Trude, agonized with compassion, tried to comfort her. "Don't cry, Elena, pray. That is the only salvation either of us will have here. One day, the Creator of all things will punish those criminals who have done all this to you."
"Si. I-I pray for that. Oh, hurry, Senorita, eat, you must, or he-he will whip me," Elena gasped.
Trude forced herself to eat, while Elena rubbed the back of her hand over her tearfilled eyes and tried to compose herself. A moment later, the door was flung open and Major Santiago appeared, slashing a black leather riding crop against his booted leg, his eyes glittering. "Chiquita," he purred, "the Senorita hasn't finished her meal yet? Make haste, it grows late, and I would not wish her to be late for my special tribunal."
"Despacho pronto, mi jefe," the tall young girl humbly stammered, bowing her head to him.
He advanced, his fleshy mouth curving in a cruel smile. "You have been gossiping with Trude, haven't you, chiquita?" he slyly insinuated.
"Oh no, Excellenza!" Elena gasped, her eyes huge and dark with terror.
"Pero si, I say you have, puta.'" his face was now a mask of vicious depravity. "You have forgotten, I think, that outside my door is a little metal box, an admirable electronic device made in the very Estados Unidos from which our charming Trude comes. I can hear the drop of a pin when I turn the switch on, Elena. And you told her about your parents, didn't you? Answer me, bitch, or you'll visit Jorge at once!" His voice rose to a bellow.
"And you had to tell her, you stupid young whore!" he finished for her. "I've a mind to let Jorge have you, tired as I am of your whinings and your tearful looks and your prayers all the time when I'm in bed with you. But I'll give you one last chance. Get down on your knees and take off that blouse at once."
With a sobbing groan, the young girl sank down on her knees before the sadistic leader of the Tacuara, and feverishly began to unbutton the blouse, then drew it from her quivering body. She wore no brassiere, and the opulent firm melons of her titties thrust out in all their tempting resilient glory, capped by dark-coral buds in the centers of wide dusky-pink aureolae. Trude stared, hypnotized with terror, cowering back against the pillows of the huge bed.
"Bueno!" he snapped, grinning crookedly at the cowering golden-haired captive on the bed. "Now, puta, open up my trousers and take out mi cojones, por favor! Then you will suck them as if they were your mother's nipples and you were being weaned as in the days of your infancy, Elena!"
"Please, in the name of decency, Major Santiago, don't force that poor girl-" Trude sobbed.
But the vicious leader of the Tacuara interrupted her: "Bastante! Understand this, Trude, if this bitch here doesn't obey me, she'll become Jorge's property, and I'll make you watch them at their loving, par todos los Santos! As for you, if you again interrupt I'll have my guards take you out on the veranda and flog you to the blood, comprende?" He turned back to stare lecherously down at the half nude young kneeling girl. "Now do what I ordered, slut!" he snarled.
Weeping bitterly, the very lovely young black-haired captive extended her trembling fingers to the fly of his military breeches and opened it, then drew out his swollen prick. Trude hid her face in her hands as the shuddering half nude girl bent her head towards that obscene symbol of male usurpation, and applied a tremulous kiss on the glans.
"Now suck it, suck loud so Trude can hear you and learn how well a bitch can be trained to please one so macho as myself, it will be a good lesson for this gringa!" he commanded.
Elena obeyed. Trude had hidden her eyes from the ignoble sight, but she could not shut her ears to the slushing and suctioning sounds, nor the stifled retching gasps of the unfortunate young beauty who was executing this degrading ritual of homage to the lecherous Major Santiago.
He groaned, grinding his teeth to prolong the excruciatingly sweet torment of Elena's inept but arousing fellatio-for the awareness that this lovely young girl loathed and feared him made up a thousand times over for her lack of expertise in this erotic ritual. Reaching down with his left hand, he caught up both her long plaits and jerked at them, as he ordered hoarsely: "Slower now-that's it-now suck all of my cojones into your mouth that you can-and if it annoys you, guapa, I will gladly let you do it to Jorge instead-ah, I thought that it would quicken your obedience-diablo, but your mouth's soft and how it trembles, chiquita! Wait a bit, you'll come to enjoy this so much you'll be crawling on your knees out to the veranda when I'm reviewing my bodyguard and begging me to indulge you!"
His salacious, brutal laughter made Trude shudder and huddle herself up all she could, wanting to disappear, to escape this abominable nightmare which was all too horrible reality.
The sounds of Elena's frantic gulping and gurgling and slushing reached her yet, and nausea seized her belly, till she bit her lips nearly to the blood to hold back the urge of vomiting.
Major Juan Felipe Santiago studied her abhorrence, thanks to the gleaming mirrors of his bedroom, grinning fiendishly to realize her revulsion and determining to profit from it to the full extent of his viciously depraved, sadistic imagination.
"Now, puta, it comes soon-get ready, swallow every drop," he panted thickly, his left hand yanking Elena's braids till the half-nude crouching girl cried out in a muffled, choked voice, his turgid prick blocking her soft trembling mouth.
Then with a bellow he shot, and Elena coughed and choked gagging on the viscous drench which spattered her gums, palate, mouth, and delicate throat. In a supreme reaction of loathing, she twisted her face away and spat the residual gobbets onto the carpeted floor, then burst into hysterical sobs.
"You filthy little whore," he shouted, "you'd dare spit out my seed, the seed which could breed a race of superior men who can wipe out the Jews and the aristocratic decadents of our nation? You'll pay for that, bitch! Tonight, you'll go to Jorge!"
"Ohhhnoo, noooo, jefe. I-I couldn't help it, truly-oh forgive me, I'll do what you want-forgive me," the half-nude young brunette frantically wailed, wrapping her beautiful bare arms round his booted legs and staring up at him with a piteous entreaty, her cheeks wet with rivuleting tears.
"I'll test you a last time, but by the devil's prick, you'd better show greater humility, or Jorge will enjoy your big tetas and that soft little nest between your long legs," he grinned savagely. "Very well. Stretch out on your belly and lick up the seed you so ungratefully rejected from your mouth-yes, my spittle too-" he hawked and spat onto the carpeted floor. "Quickly now."
Weeping in her shame yet cowed by her craven terror of pain, Elena stretched out on her belly and crawled to the wet spot on the thick carpet where her regurgitated rejection of his spunk had lodged, and, extending her trembling soft pink tongue, began to lap it up. Trude plunged her scarlet face into the pillows, thrust her thumbs into her ears to drown out the sounds of that disgusting degradation.
"That's better," he grumbled in a mollified tone. "But you still need to be punished for what you did-admit it, Elena!"
"Si, mi jefe, I-I deserve to-to be p-punished," the girl's teeth were chattering in abject fear now as she crouched on her knees before him, fingernails dug into her sweaty palms.
"Then put your hands to the back of your neck, bitch, and stick out your big tetas," he ruthlessly ordered. And when she had weepingly obeyed, her jutting love-melons tautly out-thrust to him so that the nipples seemed lewdly to proffer themselves for erotic adoration, he snarled, "Now count an even dozen, and if you dare take your hands away to protect them, puta, assuredly as my name is Major Juan Felipe Santiago, this night Jorge will lie between your legs!"
"Oh mercy, jefe, oh, don't wh-whip me there, oh don't, please, jefe. I'll be good, I'll please you, you'll see-anything you want, I'll do it gladly-oh forgive me this once, jefe!" the sobbing half-nude young girl babbled, her eyes fixing on the leather riding crop which he raised slowly, his mouth twisted in an evil smile of gloating anticipation.
"Shall I double the count, Elena?"
"OH NOOOO, SENOR JEFE, NO, PARA PIEDAD DE DIOS!" she shrieked, squirming about on her knees in a perfect state of mounting terror.
"Then count the dozen and let me hear each distinctly-get ready, puta!" he hissed.
The crop slashed down across both titties, at their undercurves, and it was only out of maddened, sheer desperation that poor Elena managed just not to rush her slim hands to rub the bright red welt that at once leaped onto her smooth bronzed flesh. Eyes bulging and glassy with great tears, she shrieked out, "ONE! AHRR, OHH, MERCY, JEFE, MERCY, NOT SO MANY THERE, POR DIOS!"
"Keep in position! Now, spread your knees all you can, till those rights nearly burst. If you aren't a good humble girl, I'll let your hairy little slit taste a few from this good crop-ah, it stings, no es verdad?" he gloated.
"S-si, mi-j-jefe," she whimpered, crazed with fear and pain.
"That's what it's meant to do, especially to the whorish spawn of a mother and father who are traitors to Argentina," he jeered. And then the second lash cracked wickedly over the tops of her magnificent young boobies, drawing a wailing shriek and the count of:
"Aii-twoooooo ahhhhh I can't bear it, oh mi jefe, mercy!"
Trude was weeping and praying. She could not drown out the horrid crack of the leather whip, nor the hoarse, inhuman shrieks of the martyred, pretty young girl. Somehow, the great, overpowering dread of the alternative compelled the half-naked young brunette to endure the full count of a dozen lashes, and when it was over, she rolled onto her back, clawing at her welted love globes, teeth chattering, eyes swollen with tears, moaning inarticulately with the pain.
"Now, we've wasted time enough," he growled, kicking her in the side. "On your feet and go tend Trude at her bath, it's getting late for the tribunal!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fifteen minutes later Trude, bathed and perfumed at Major Santiago's order and wearing only a form-hugging red satin smock with a low-cut bodice to show the upper halves of her carnation-skinned boobies, and falling to an inch above her dimpled rounded knees, in high-heeled red leather pumps, was led on the arm of the Tacuara leader, as if he were escorting her to a ball.
Sick with loathing and horror at what she had seen and experienced, she was not yet prepared for the grim tableau he had prepared for her "edification" in the dungeon torture chamber of the Villa Mercadito.
At one side of the large, sectioned-off enclosure with all its hellish apparati was a table and three chairs. He took the middle one, and his two bodyguards Hermano and Ruiz seated themselves beside him. When he clapped his hands, the door in the side of the partitioned wall to his left and behind him opened, and two uniform-clad soldiers led in two blindfolded women. Trude had been seated on a low ottoman, wrists locked behind her back in handcuffs, a peargag stuffed into her mouth and its leather straps buckled tightly to the back of her neck, while two short tubular metal shafts projected from the front legs of the ottoman, with metal ankle-gyves soldered to their ends, which locked her slim ankles so she could not escape what she was destined to watch.
The two trembling women were forced to stand before the tribunal table, and Major Juan Felipe Santiago leaned forward, his dark eyes shining with lustful anticipation. "Senora Felicia Rutarde and Senorita Inez Rutarde, you appear at this moment before the secret court of the Tacuara. You are both charged with the treasonable crimes of expressing sympathy for the despicable Jewish swine you saw being punished last week in front of their synagogue, that temple of filth and evil where they butcher infants to sacrifice to their God."
"That is a damnable lie!" the older woman interrupted in a trembling, contralto voice which indicated her cultural breeding and dignity, dignity to be violently stripped from her psyche as assuredly as her garments would be for the fiendish punishment he had contrived for her and her daughter.
"Silence! You will have your chance, you sow, in due course. And also with the crime of declaring to your neighbor, Senora Carterata, who lives next door to you, I believe, that all Nazi criminals should be deported from Argentina and sent to the War Courts at Nuremburg."
"And you with them, you monstruous lunatic!" the woman bravely defied him.
"You'll repent that remark in good time senora," he purred. "And finally, you and your whelp had the audacity to remark that anyone with admiration for the Third Reich should be investigated and, if he were in the Army, dishonorably discharged-is that not so?"
"Yes." Her voice rang out clearly as she straightened her shoulders. "You degenerates wear the uniform of the Argentinian army, but you torture and arrest unjustly as if you were back in the Germany of Hitler's insanity!"
"Hermano, Ruiz, I don't believe we need go any further. This bitch has convicted herself out of her own mouth, no es verdad?" He turned to his men, who nodded. Then, greedily smiling, Major Juan Felipe Santiago declared, savoring each word and speaking slowly, "Senora and Senorita Rutarde, you stand convicted by this tribunal of all the charges brought against you. You are a widow, I am told, and it is fortunate that your husband is not here to submit to punishment, for our reports indicate that he was equally a traitor and outspoken against our glorious cause. Thus you will have to bear the brunt of that punishment. Have no fear, we of the Tacuara are just and merciful. We will not execute you, though in the Germany you decry, you would even now be being readied for the headman's axe. Instead, your house and your personal possessions and all your money shall become the property of the Tacuara, and then you shall both, after punishment, be sent to one of the villas miserias, to earn your daily bread, the money to be made from your whoring to be remitted to the Party. I, Major Juan Felipe Santiago, do hereby pronounce sentence and declare it shall be carried out forthwith!"
Hermano and Ruiz at once rose from the table and seized the two women, who cried out and struggled with their captors. In a few moments both were stripped naked except for stockings and shoes. Felicia Rutarde was a magnificently buxom woman of about thirty-six, her skin a soft golden-brown, with an enormously thick pubic bush, and great big high-perched round boobies with wide dark aureolae, a deeply-indented navel, and opulent bottom globes with a narrow fissure between them. Her daughter, no more than sixteen, had inherited her mother's voluptuous ripeness: Inez was an inch taller, but her young tits were already full and round as cantaloupes with saucily crinkled, well-developed buds, and her thighs were round and deliciously long. Her calves were sleek and highset and her bottom-cheeks were upstandingly rounded but with a broadly deepening amber clefts between them.
Trude, whimpering in heartsick agony, watched the two grinning soldiers drag both naked captives over to a sharp-ridged wooden sawhorse in the center of the torture dungeon and force them astride it, facing each other, drawn up till their naked titties and bellies rubbed together. Their ankles were then corded under the apparatus, their wrists bound behind their backs, while ropes dangling from two overhead pulleys were tied to their thick black hair, which was drawn up and gathered into a compact sheaf.
Inez began to cry out shrilly as the wooden ridge ground against her tender maiden cunthole. "Madre, madre, what are they going to do? Oh, it hurts me between the legs so!"
"Patience, little dove," Ruiz grinned obscenely as he squeezed the blindfolded young girl's flexing naked ass cheeks. "In a little while, you will feel something much nicer between your legs. All ready, jefe!"
"Proceed, then," the Tacuara leader leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar.
"Oh, Dios!" the mother groaned, "in the name of holy mercy, let my daughter go, she's just sixteen, she's done nothing-punish me if you will, but spare her!"
"The whelp is sometimes more dangerous than the dam, you traitorous bitch," the Tacuara leader sneered. "Go ahead, make them squirm, it will excite them for what is to follow."
His two brutal bodyguards grinned and nodded. They had stripped to their boots alone, and the black swastika armbands, and their pricks were already rampantly erect at the exquisitely lewd sight of mother and daughter astride the horse, pressed tightly together so that the least movement would cause intolerable pain. Moreover, with their ankles bound under them, they were forced to rest their loins directly on the sharp wooden ridge, chafing their tender cunts abominably, and already the mother was pale and sweating, groaning softly as she tried to squirm herself into an easier posture-but there was none.
"Console your daughter if the pain becomes too great to bear, Senora," the brutal Nazi chief purred, "kiss her and whisper to her the secrets of pleasing a man. And tell yourself that we shall replace your dead husband with cojones muy macho, ha ha!"
Even as he burst out laughing, Hermano and Ruiz had commenced the flogging: each armed with a riding crop, had applied a slashing cut across the upper globes of both victims' shuddering behinds, and a simultaneous shriek of pain was torn from them.
Trude watched, sick with horror, as the riding crops snackedmacked violently over the writhing victims' bottoms and thighs, or at times the torturers moved to one side and cut at their straining naked titties which pressed together in their lascivious bondage. Not till blood appeared on their flanks and breasts, their bottoms and thighs did the whipping stop. Then, more dead than alive, the sawhorse was slid away from them, and their ankles untied, to totter on the floor, their hair still dragged up cruelly. The pulley ropes were adjusted to move them about six feet apart, and then Hermano stood before the moaning naked mother and fucked her, while Ruiz, gloating over Inez' wild shrieks and pleas for help, took her maidenhead. Finally, the women were buggered and then Major Juan Felipe Santiago rose, opening his breeches, strode to the young girl and fucked her brutally. When he had finished, he gave an order and Trude, nauseated and almost fainting, was removed from the ottoman and dragged off by the guards to be spread-eagled on the great bed in the mirrored chamber of the leader of the Tacuara.
CHAPTER TWELVE
For two dreadful weeks, Trude Reichmann was a prisoner in the mirrored bedroom of her sadistic captor and jailer, Major Juan Felipe Santiago. He had her spread-eagled to the bed on one of his broken and martyred conquests, a trembling, piteously fearful, slim, dark brown-haired girl of about eighteen called Conchita Alvarez, brought in meals on a tray and fed Trude by spoon and fork. Conchita wore only a pair of men's shorts, and a ribbon in her hair. On her olive-sheened body were many marks of the lash, and the mere sight of the leader of the power made her teeth chatter and her eyes widen and shadow with unspeakable horror at the dark memory of things too atrocious to be told.
After her pain, gagged and bound, naked and tied to a stake in the cellar, Conchita had been forced to watch the execution of two youths and a young girl, her own cousin. The two youths had been impaled upon stakes, forced down by two men who dragged them downwards until the stakes piercing their bowels finally attained their hearts. The girl had been whipped to the blood and then a red hot poker was thrust into her vaginal sheath.
Now, her mind gone, a craven creature frightened of her own shadow, Conchita upon a moment's notice, would kneel down and lick his boots, or kneeling behind him, would open up the cheeks of his bottom and lick his anus. Such was the power of the Tacuara over the weak and the innocent, even as had been the power of the Nazis over the little people of the Third Reich and over the Jews, detested most of all.
The more Trude was sickened by the recital of all these horrors, the more the insatiable sadist glorified in filling her ears with the gory details of his tortures and executions. He would lie on his side, fingering her cunt with his left forefinger, squeezing a tittie with the other hand, his lips nuzzling the pure curve of that same tittie, while he told her of this or that infernal torment applied to a lovely young girl or a stalwart young man whose courage he managed to break at last.
And then, when his own recital had inflamed him to new rut, he would fall upon the shuddering golden-haired young woman and fuck her mercilessly, gouging his forefinger into her asshole, and to Trude's shame, there were times when her own body wakened and betrayed her ... At the end of those two weeks, he entered the bedroom one morning in full military dress, his face dark and cruel. The two bodyguards who had tied her to the bar advanced and untied her from her spread-eagled place on the bed. She had been kept there in the same posture all this time, befouling herself, with poor little Conchita compelled to clean up after her, to change the sheets, and feed her as a child might be fed.
Three days later, when she had recovered from an operation, which was a crude hysterectomy, Gaspard appeared He served as a kind of midwife-doctor for the whores consigned to this particular locale. And with him was a brutal, squat, thickly moustachioed man called Alrimante, who held a dog whip in his hand and who sneered down at the cringing golden-haired young woman with an avaricious gaze.
"She's well enough, and Euphemia and Joselita have men lined up outside their shacks. Let's turn some of the trade into this bitch so she can earn her soup," Gaspard declared.
That first night, Trude endured a dozen "clients." She prayed for death, and after a week of this degraded and miserable existence, she wondered how long the Father of Mercy would force her to endure such unjust torment.
It was night again and old Maria had just brought her a bowl of soup and a crust of bread and hissed to her, "Be quick about it. In about ten minutes you'll have your first man, puta."
She knew she must eat, although the soup was greasy and thin and not even hot, and the bread stale. There were bluish bruises on her thighs and belly and boobs where her clients had sadistically clutched her, or dug their fingers into her at the moment of their hasty climax. And then the door to her hut was flung open and a young man entered. Listlessly, she raised her face and stared at him. He put his finger to his mouth to indicate that she must be silent, and then he went outside, and she could hear him saying in Spanish, "I want this bitch for a little longer than just a fuck, old woman. I'll pay five times what she's worth. I want an hour with her, comprende?"
Then she heard the clink of money and the cackling voice of old Maria saying, "Why, for that, senor, you can have her all night alone. Hee hee!"
Then swiftly the young man was back, brown-haired, with intensely burning blue eyes, and he knelt down beside the pallet of straw and whispered, "My name's Ethan Harst. Don't be afraid of me. I'm not here to hurt you, but to get you out of here. I'm one of the Zionists."
Trude stared at him for a moment, her mind and body so dulled by pain and shame that for a time she could hardly recollect her senses. The Zionists were the underground Israeli, those who had captured Eichmann and brought him back to Israel to be tried and condemned and hanged for his crimes against humanity. They were on the trail of leaders like Martin Bormann and other legendary leaders of the Third Reich who had disappeared into Argentina when all was lost in Berlin.
Ethan Harst was a lieutenant in the Zionist forces, and as he explained to Trude, it was customary to check all passenger lists on all incoming flights. The name of Esteban Corrado had been shown, together with that of his wife, Trude Corrado. And for a long while the Zionists had had grave suspicions concerning not only a Corrado, but also Constanza Delregado.
Harst and two of his companions had gone to the Corrado Villa and demanded to see Senora Corrado and Esteban had tried to palm Constanza off as his wife. Taken to Zionist headquarters and interrogated, he proved a coward at the threat of torture, which the Zionists had, in fact, no intention of using, but had made the threat as a psychological advantage. And thus they had found their way to the Villa Mercadito.
Even now, Juan Felipe Santiago was under arrest and a dozen other Tacuara leaders. Trude was free at last.
The money, too, was recovered, when the key of the Swiss vault was found among Major Santiago's effects, and since that money rightfully belonged to Trude Reichmann, it was she who told Ethan Harst two weeks later, "Let the money go to your people, to repay them in a tiny part for the many millions who died in the concentration camps and the gas chambers ruled by the swastika. I would to God I could believe that my father had nothing to do with all that, but I could never have the heart to use such money."
"Then you will be poor, my darling," Ethan Harst murmured, for he had fallen in love with the golden-haired young woman whose courageous valor had won his desire as well as his heart.
"Let it be that way. I can work for my livelihood."
"But as my wife, you wouldn't have to, except of course in the kitchen and eventually in the nursery." He smiled.
Trude blushed. She'd almost forgotten how to but suddenly she felt chaste in the presence of the man who'd saved her.
