The truck roared through the grim night, carrying the six bound and bloody French girls to their hideous destination. Brigitte whimpered with fear. She cried pathetically, at last arousing the wrath of the brutal animal guarding them. He lashed out with his hobnailed boot, smashing her mouth. She screamed as her mouth exploded blood and bits of teeth. Her head cracked against the steel frame of the truck paneling. She slumped unconscious, her eyes rolling up.
The brute rose to his feet, eyes gleaming with sadistic cruelty, small pig eyes set in a huge, fat pig face. He readied a kick to crack her jaw, but the girl who was the leader of these resistance fighters, Lola, rose to her feet and straddled the body of her sister, ferocious eyes grimly boring hate into those of the SS trooper. Despite the Schmeisser sub-machine gun cradled in his arms, the man felt nervous, fear gnawing at his spine. She was shackled and chained thoroughly, yet her eyes promised death if he continued. He had the gun and with one blast could wipe them all out, but this one had something terrible behind those azure eyes. She had a reputation that approached legend, she was said to have killed more than forty men, many with nothing more than a knife.
"Sit down, Schwein," He roared," Or I'll blow your dirty French head off."
"Touch her again and you'll have to kill me too."
"Do you think I won't?"
The girl laughed, a grim terrible laugh. It made his spine run cold to hear it, he had heard that laugh from some of his officers when they had a large group of victims to kill or torture. He had not heard that laugh outside of the ranks of the SS before.
"If you kill me, shiteating pig, you'll be sent to the Russian front. Kommandant Ilse Boehme personally ordered that I be sent to her torture camp. She will be very much offended if I fail to arrive."
The man gulped with fear. Kommandant Ilse Boehme, the most feared bitch in the SS. She would have his hide if he cheated her of her prey.
He smiled, showing his dirty yellow teeth. "If that is the case, dear Fraulein, I would not dream of cheating the good Kommandant of her prey. Oh no, I won't do you that favor. You shall die in slow pain, day by day. Your beautiful body will be whipped to torn trash, your skin will be flayed away with dull knives. Your face will be burned with matches, your breasts shall be roasted with a blowtorch until they burst. Thousands of needles will be jabbed into all of your tender places and your cunt shall be burned out with tufts of cotton soaked in gasoline. I would not dream of killing you and saving you from such an ordeal."
Cries and moans of despair arose from the other girls but blonde haired Lola stood there coolly, calmly, showing not a trace of fear. Her courage unnerved her grinning captor who longed to see her face show the terror of all of the others he had transported to that hellhole.
"Are you insane. Have you no fear, you're going to be tortured to death in the most infamous chamber in all of Europe."
"Your SS superiors would break you down to the rank of private, scum, if they heard you refer to their camp as a horror chamber." It was her turn to laugh at the look of fear and utter panic that crossed his face. His pig features twisted into a grimace of animal hate. He wanted to tear her limb from limb with his bare hands.
"Sit down, you slut. Sit down or I'll empty this machine pistol into your friends. I'll say that you attacked me. If I bring you in, I'll still be alright. I've kill loads of prisoners before. You're the one I have to safeguard, not your friends."
Lola sat down. There was nothing to be done. There were two motorcyclists armed with submachine guns riding ahead of the truck and two others behind. There was the driver, and this pig guarding them. She and her five comrades were shackled and hobbled effectively. She could barely move about. And this three hundred pound animal never took the gun off them for a moment. One fast burst in that crowded truck would wipe out all her friends.
She looked at them; her sister Brigitte, young Catherine-only sixteen, red headed and lovely Michelle, Yvonne, and Arlette. Their bodies were scarred by the whip and the club. Their breasts, buttocks, and cunts had been seared with cigars and matches.
She probed her own mouth where two back molars had been battered loose. Her ribs ached where brutal hobnailed boots had stomped them. Her breasts were criss crossed with the marks of the riding crop wielded by the SS colonel who had questioned her.
Her friends were worse off. Poor Yvonne had lost ten teeth to ham sized fists and pliers. Her nose was a twisted, broken lump. One of her wrists was wrapped in a crude bandage, a sadistic hauptmann had cracked it as if it had been a chicken bone. He had simply taken the hand in his, and broken it back.
The others were also badly beaten. Three of her girls had already been tortured to death.
Poor Monique had been hung by her breasts while her ass had been burned to a blackened ruin with tufts of cotton soaked in kerosene. But she had told the pigs nothing. None of them had broken, they had all held their silence.
Now they were doomed to be tortured in Kommandant's Boehme's Special Discipline Camp, Stalag 44.
It was said that the female sadists of the SS and Gestapo were even more blood thirsty and psychopathically sadistic than the men. She shivered when she thought of the stories she had heard. Teeth drilled to small pieces, every nerve probed by the drill in the hands of an expert. Then the broken bits of teeth torn from the bloody mouth. The brand of the swastika seared into the breasts, the cheeks, the forehead, the ass. The skin flayed from soft bottoms, boiling hot fat poured over the flayed buttocks, and then the tearing, barb wire whips slicing the burned, flayed meat to pieces.
She forced herself to think of other things. She was the hope of her group. Where there was life, there was a chance. She knew that she was good, so incredibly good that she might find a way where there was thought to be none. It was for this that she kept going, hoping for a chance, however slim, that would mean life for herself and the others. Besides, she had been watched to closely for a suicide attempt to succeed.
She forced her mind to go back to the last battle. She looked at the fat, red faced, muscle ape that guarded them, a real Boche with his sour, pigmeat smell. She thought of a running crew of SS men with their machine gun, charging forward to a new position to set up their weapon. And her submachine gun blazing at them, cutting them all down. The three of them, keeling over with belly wounds. What a beautiful sight. She hoped to see it again.
She had killed five others. Three with a grenade and two from short range with a blast of her machine pistol. But they had swarmed from all sides, and their orders were to take some of the group captive for questioning and the pleasures of a slow death.
They had been betrayed, that little rat Pasqual had turned them in for the reward. It was inevitable anyway, they had been too bold, forgetting the caution that keeps small guerilla bands in existence. They had attempted too much, too eager to shoot it out with the enemy.
She remembered dead Germans, and the thought filled her with pleasure. Happy memories. The roomful of officers blown apart by a time bomb. The vehicles shot up, mined, bombed, the men killed. The group had accounted for over three hundred of the enemy. But fifteen had been taken alive, and now they were paying. The male prisoners had already been tortured to death, and only the six of them survived. Six captives.
Yvonne, Michelle, and Arlette, had been their spy system, brothel girls who picked up all of the information that gave them so accurate a picture of the German formations, from the Germans themselves. Arrogant, loudmouthed merde.
It had been a difficult thing for them, to prostitute themselves to the Boche, to fuck with the pigs in order to gain information. Now their valor and sacrifice would be paid off in death and agony.
Brigitte groaned. A running flood of blood still dripped from her bruised lips. Her teeth had been half loosened, pieces had been chipped off. Lola tended to her young sister. The poor girl. So soft, so tender. Her body already scarred by the Nazis. And the torture yet to come, perhaps it would be best to take her head and beat it against the steel paneling of the truck, to beat out her brains and put her out of reach of the enemy.
The things they had already undergone. The raping. She shuddered, remembering the fat, smelly, big boned bodies rolling on top of her one after the other. Three of them holding her down, two holding her legs spread wide and the third pinning her arms. Their paws groping and crushing her tits which still bled from the sting of the whip. Her breasts kneaded and pulled, yanked until the blood came spurting out of the wounds. The animals going on her like bulls, plunging their things into her as if to break her in two, and then ramming out to shove all of the way in again in hurting strokes. In and out, the heavy bodies coming up and smashing down with all of the weight behind the thrust.
She could still see her sister under the pack of rapists, her youthful shapely legs spread almost to the point where the pigs were breaking her apart, her body threshing under a massive, fat ass pig. Up and down the animal pounded on her, making grunting noises. It was a crew-cut, pigfaced Gestapo man. He smelled of beer and sweat, even across the room to where Lola was being tortured. He smelled like the animal he was.
He bit poor Brigitte as he raped her, chewing her face and breasts, almost tearing hunks of the white flesh loose with his animal's bite. He dribbled his slimy saliva into her mouth, holding her lips closed and making her gulp it down.
"No, no, stop it, EEaaaaahh."
Brigitte's screams echoed through the room, the room heavy with the stench of sweat and the menace of the torture.
The others fared no better. Arlette was hanging by her wrists, in the grip of two of the hairy, blond brutes, fucking her front and back at the same time. Her asshole was split open, her cunt burned with raw ache as they fucked away at her like madmen, both of them shoving deep into her in synchronized rape.
It hurt her to think about it. The horrible memories, soon to be crowded out by still more terrible things awaiting in the future. And why did she go on? Why not break her sister's head and throw herself at the animal? She could lunge for his eyes, and he would have to kill her. But no, she was too heavily shackled to be so much a menace. He could take her alive, as he intended. And her sister, she would be dead. What if there was still a chance. Life was precious, better to hold on to it, to try and survive. There was always a slight chance.
And what of the others? They could not all do away with themselves before they could be stopped. And they were depending on her. She was the strong one, the leader. They still trusted in her abilities. It was a horrible responsibility, and somehow she would have to justify their faith in her.
"What are you thinking about, French pig," the evil faced guard growled at her.
She cradled her sister's head in her arms and ignored his question. She dabbed at the swollen lips. Her sister groaned, and her head moved feebly. A mouthful of blood was spat out, along with a few pieces of broken teeth.
"Are you all right, sister?"
"Ha ha ha. You ask her if she is all right? You stupid, Communist pig bitch. You are going to a death camp. If you survive at all, it will be due to the fact that you become the broken sex slaves of the guards. Better for you all to be dead."
"Shut up, damn you. Pig faced Nazi scum. Your Fuehrer sucks ass."
The guard went white faced. Then his face flushed with purple, and the prominent veins in his temple throbbed. He pulled off the safety on his submachine gun.
"I could kill you now, except that you are still wanted by Kommandant Boehme. But I will make a report to her on what you said. She will hang you by those big nipples of yours, whore."
Michelle shrieked at Lola in a horror of fear. "Stop it, don't provoke him any further. You'll get us all punished."
The guard laughed, his good spirits restored. "You see, bitch, already your friends are breaking. They fear the pain to come, and rightly so. This one will be crawling on her belly licking the boots of the SS girls who wield the power over them. This one will lick up spit, eat shit, do anything to survive."
"Never."
"You delude yourself. She is ready for it now. Let me show you."
He extended a foot toward Michelle."
"Come here and lick my boot. Otherwise, the moment of your death is at hand."
The girl hesitated, but the fear of death was too strong for her. She crawled on her belly over to the guard and offered her pink tongue to the boot. She swirled it over the filthy leather, cleaning off the accumulation of mud and dirt.
"See. And at the camp, at Stalag 44, she will clean shit off of boots."
"She may break, but you will never break me. Never all of us."
"Nobody ever holds out at Stalag 44. Can you imagine the pain of having a dull blade probing around the inner walls of your bitch's cunt, while another dull blade twists around up your backside. Think that you can resist such pain, fraulein?"
"Fuck you."
He laughed. "Perhaps I will have you fuck me before we end this trip."
"You would have to kill me first."
"Stop it," Michelle screamed. "Stop it, he'll kill us all."
"In any event, we will be at the camp within the hour. Your fate is sealed."
"Damn you, Nazi trash."
"And I know what you were thinking of, French slut. You were dreaming of escape. How you do delude yourself, there is no escape from Stalag 44 except death."
Perhaps the pig was right. Death would be better than the awaiting horrors. Still, there was hope while life lasted. And Lola did not intend to give up yet. There was her ability, her instincts for inflicting death and destruction. The Nazis would not be expecting a tigress in their trap.
CHAPTER TWO
The camp was a horror show, a hell on earth. From the guard towers, the machine gun crews made obscene gestures at them, yelling out imprecations. One opened his trousers and shook his prick at them, screaming that he would soon be ramming it down their throats.
The yard was full of instruments of torture under the blazing summer sun. There were X-shaped crosses, target boards, pillories, racks, gallows.
Lola felt the screams of the girls in various horrible ordeals crawling over her skin. There was the sound of whipping coming from a large, ominous building. And the screaming never stopped.
A tall, naked girl was standing on a small box, her neck in a noose. Her skin was peeling off her flesh, burned by the sun. Her breasts were criss-crossed with deep welts, and her belly and crack were wrapped in barbed wire, blood oozing from the places where the barbs sank into her flesh.
A girl hanging from her thumbs was obviously dead. The flies buzzed in swarms around her corpse. She had been wrapped and bound in barbed wire from her neck to her feet. Half her skin seemed peeled and scraped away. A guard shoved her feet, making the body swing from side to side. She laughed at the horror on the faces of the newcomers.
There were six girls lying in spread eagle bondage bound between stakes, legs spread so wide that their cunts were almost splitting open. The girls had huge, wooden rods rammed into their vaginas, splintery rods coated with horse liniment. Their mouths had been filled with shit. Flies swarmed upon their shit smeared faces.
A girl was tied to an X-cross, her back a mass of brand wounds. A guard took another hot iron from the fire and touched it to the right buttock. There was the horrible sizzling of flesh, smoke curling up from the burned rump. The woman screamed and screamed again. Then her ass was slapped and pinched by the grinning guard, a bitch with waist length blonde hair. She pinched all of the marks she had burned upon her victim's skin, then set to work with a long horsewhip, slashing away at all of the soft skin, whipping the areas that had been burned.
The slash of a whip across her tits, sending a blaze of pain sharp as a knife through her flesh brought Lola back to attention.
"You seem to be distracted my dear. You're looking over our deluxe accommodations. Well, you will soon be enjoying them."
The woman standing before them, brazen in a shirt open to her waist spilling out her large and lush breast, was the feared Kommandant, Ilse Boehme. She was a tall, statuesque woman, every curve of her body revealed more than concealed, accented and shown off by the costume she wore. The bitch was tall, with her hair brought back and tied in a ponytail at the back of her head, before cascading in waves down her back. The blue eyes were mad, insane eyes, full of burning malevolence.
"You girls are all resistance swine. Killers of innocent German soldiers. For that you will pay. That is why you are here, at Stalag 44."
Flanking her were two Amazons in SS uniforms, their breasts also half spilling out of open shirts. They were Hauptmann Elke Kemph and Hauptmann Helga Bauer. They were two insane sadists, delighting in inflicting degradation and suffering upon their prisoners.
A naked, dark haired Mediterranean beauty groveled at the feet of Use. Her face filthy with shit, blood, and spit. Ilse dug her heel in between the girl's rump cheeks, grinding into the cleavage line. She raised her boot and smashed the sharp heel into the center of the rump. A spurt of blood broke from the hole in the soft bottom. She stomped upon a swastika brand burned into the tender ass. Then she rolled the girl over with one boot, and spat full into the center of the pretty face. She spat again into the dust of the sandy, dry ground. The girl lapped up the slime.
"This girl is a once fierce French partisan, Communist bitch such as you six are. She was a tough one, an unbreakable hard little slut. A bandit, a killer like you. But now she crawls over the compound, my faithful little hound."
She spat again into the mouth of the girl, held open for her slime. Then she pointed to the filth left by one of the vicious mastiffs that the guards used to control the inmates. A guard was walking off with the snarling doberman on a leash.
"Clean that up."
The pathetic girl scurried on her belly over to the pile of dogshit. She mashed her face into it, gulping huge mouthfuls of the filth down her throat.
Catherine vomited in disgust. Ilse turned to her, eyes ablaze with madness and hate.
"Discipline her."
The two hauptmen and three others guards fell upon the girls. They clubbed and slammed them aside, then they all fell upon Catherine. A knee exploded into Catherine's groin. A club smashed five teeth from her mouth. Handfuls of her hair were torn out.
"Enough."
The guards fell back. Catherine writhed on the ground, her face a mask of flowing blood.
"It is time for you bitches to be marked with the sign of the Swastika. All of the scum here and branded with the Swastika. I think that the right breast will be perfect." Brigitte became hysterical. To have the horrible brand of the Swastika, the mark of the Nazi horror upon her flesh, was the ultimate desecration of her body.
"Sister, help me, do something. She threw herself at her sister's knees, her face twisted up in horror, her voice filled with the desperation of the damned.
"Better to pray to me, then to beg your sister, for there is nothing she can do for you." Ilse looked closely at Lola, sizing her up. She had the look of the born killer about her, a certain deadly quality that distinguished and set her aside from the others. It was easy to believe that she had killed many soldiers. "Brand me twice, in place of my sister."
Ilse was astonished at this request. She would not have risked the hair on her head to save the life of her own mother, and this feeling of sacrificial love for the younger sister was as inexplicable to her as her own psychopathic fury was to a normal mind.
"So, my heroine, you wish to save your sister from the marring of her beauty by the mark of our glorious Swastika, do you. Look about you, scum animal. Every prisoner here bears the mark of the Swastika on her flesh. But for your sister I will make an exception. Yes, you shall bear her brand for her as well as your own. But both irons shall brand your flesh simultaneously, both breasts shake, smoke, and sear at the same time."
"I thank you for your kindness."
"Are you still capable of sarcasm. I see you shall be an interesting case."
A blinding pain exploded in Lola's back. A heavy club had been smashed into her kidney.
"You forgot to address me by my title. You must never forget to do so again. I am always to be called Kommandant."
"Yes, Kommandant."
"That is an improvement, but there is a clear trace of insolence in your tone. I want servility in your voice, bitch."
Again the club hammered into Lola's back. "Speak, bitch."
"Yes, Kommandant. I am sorry, Kommandant."
"Still better. But enough of this waste of precious time. Take these bitches over to the crosses. Heat the fires, and turn those irons red hot. There is French meat for the roasting, my friends."
The girls were set upon by the horde of guards. Their few remaining rags were torn off and they were as naked as the rest of the hapless prisoners. They were dragged away by the vicious blonde bitch pack, hands up their twats, rough nails ripping and splashing their tits. Their breasts and buttocks were fondled and mauled by obscene hands. Lola felt her blood boiling as fingers hooked up her cunt-hole and groped in and out of it. She looked at her sister, now being subjected to the horrors and loathsomeness of lesbian abuse.
"Stop it, damn you."
She went wild and swung her shackled hands, downing Hauptmann Bauer. A club then cracked into her skull, spilling her to her knees with a trickle of blood leaking from her gashed scalp.
"For that, you foolish bitch, you shall have three brand marks."
They were bound to the X-crosses. Manacles of iron bound them fast. Whips slashed and stung their flesh, cracking open small cuts in the flesh, blood trickling down their naked bodies. Their cunts were fingerfucked, their mouths were wedged open and filled with spit.
"This one is to have no brand," Isle said, her hand twisting Brigitte's nipple until it was almost wrung from her torso.
Yvonne had her mouth filled with dogshit. The guard who tortured and abused her filled her mouth to the bursting point with the foulness, just ramming it in. Then she clamped the jaws shut and taped the girl's mouth. The face turned ghastly white as shit flowed down the throat. She fought to hold down the vomit that would have choked her.
The irons heated in the fire. Swastika branding irons, the horrible symbols three inches high and wide. A permanent scar, a permanent reminder and sign of their slavery and shame.
Lola was to have three of these brand marks on her body. She looked away, her head on fire from the clubbing wound, her cunt reacting to the cunning fingers that moved in and out, in and out of her hot box. She looked away, feeling a flush of raw sensuality by it. She experienced the degradation of a sex flow out of her pussy, with the triumphant bitch working on her knowing her triumph. The blonde Nazi laughed at her, fingers crushing breasts, sinking her claws into the ivory meat.
Lola turned her gaze to another victim tied to an iron stake with ropes. The girl was beautiful, obviously Jewish. Her two huge breasts with the large nipples bled from the whip cuts that had almost torn them apart. The whip welded by a huge blonde amazon continued to fall across her tits, slashing blood that formed into pools in the dirt. Her thighs had been filled with nails, and blood ran down her legs, gory blood from serious wounds. The poor girl looked finished.
"Please, don't do this to me. I'll eat shit, I'll be a slave, don't do this."
It was Michelle, ready to crack, pleading with the hated and merciless SS. Lola felt disgust grow in her. That one of her group should break and plead so cravenly to these loathsome monsters.
"Be quiet, Michelle."
Ilse raised her boot and planted it in the pit of Lola's stomach, knocking the breath out of her.
"Don't presume to talk that way again. These girls do not take orders from you, but from me. I am the mistress of this place, I am the God of this camp. You will obey me and worship me if I so choose."
She walked over to the red-haired Michelle and took her face between gloved hands. She inspected the face, marred by vicious fists, blackened and bruised. Teeth had been punched out or broken, but there was still beauty there. Use deliberately, and without any attempt to conceal it, began to want only to rub herself off on the body of the French girl. She kissed the bruised mouth, brought blood to the lips with her sharp teeth and kissed it into her throat. She laughed at the helplessness of the girl and her plight, rejoicing in the degradation and fear that was already turning her into an abject sex slave.
"Perhaps you shall make a good slave."
She sucked the dirty armpits of the abused prisoner, ate the blood from her wounds. She sucked blood out of the fresh whip cuts on the tits, split open the lips of the sex and played her thumbs around inside the pussy. She opened up her shirt and wiggled her bobbing, bouncing tits into the tits of her prey. She bit out a chunk of flesh from the right breast, a small piece of meat, and chewed it very slowly to a fine paste which she passed into the mouth of Michelle. Michelle became violently sick. She vomited and vomited, while Ilse moved behind her and played with the tormented breasts.
"If you are to be one of my own personal, scum slaves, you shall have to learn to overcome your squeamishness, you bitch."
But now the irons were red-hot. The sweating, trembling girls awaited their fate. Only Lola was calm and stoical, gritting her teeth and tightening up her body, preparing for the hellish dose of raw agony.
"Do not think that you can bear this pain," a new arrival to the scene, Oberst Erika Mickle, informed her.
"She thinks she can resist this pain, liebschien," said Ilse, seizing the nipples of the Oberst, and playing with them through the thin material of her shirt. "She will soon know better. She is to receive three brands."
"Three. At one time? That is a new record. What has she done to earn so much punishment in so short a time."
"One brand is in place of her sister. And the third is for sin of pride. But now, it is time for the branding. I want to handle this myself."
Ilse took a hot branding iron out of a fire. Her body quivered with sexual thrill, she was in the grip of nymphomaniacal excitement. She walked over to Catherine and plunged the iron into the right breast above the nipple. Catherine lunged against her bondage, eyes rolling, mouth frozen into an endless blood-chilling scream. The flesh burned, the skin blackened and poured off smoke. When the iron was removed an ugly, deep wound that would remain for life was branded into her flesh.
It was the turn of Michelle next. She begged and babbled, all semblance of pride gone, but Ilse planted the iron in her flesh and ground it in. The small bite wound disappeared under the branding bite of the iron.
Yvonne and Arlette were next. They screamed but did not plead, their bodies spasming in the throes of pain before they plunged into blessed unconsciousness.
Now it was Lola's turn. She braced herself, knowing how futile it was. Her entire body was awash in mucky, fear sweat. She had been saved for the last because her suffering would be all the greater after waiting.
"You asked for this, my dear bitch."
Two irons burned into her breasts. Her flesh burned, smoke seared into her nostrils. Her tits convulsed and spasmed, her bladder released itself. Pain of unbearable intensity made her scream and bang her head upon the wood. And as she hovered near the black pit of oblivion, the third iron burned her stomach, her belly writhing in tight knots as the last burst of pain sent her into a coma.
CHAPTER THREE
It was forty-eight hours or so later that Lola was fully awake and out of coma. She was on her back, the scars on her breasts and belly covered by crude gauzed bandages. It was the minimum treatment necessary for her survival.
Loud noise, screaming and laughter assailed her ears. She looked about her. She was in some sort of a barracks. A naked girl was hanging from a roof beam, her feet burned almost black over a charcoal brazier. Her ass was filled with pins, nails, needles, and corn cob holders.
There was another naked girl, a huge, seven foot creature whipping her breasts with a strip of heavy leather.
"W-wwwhere am I."
Lola moved her arms, finding that there were no restraints upon her.
The creature whipping the girl turned and came over to her. She spoke to Lola in poor French, then switched to German when she realized how clumsy her French was.
"I see you are awake, swine."
Lola stared at the Swastika brand in the center of the creature's right breast. The woman glared at her.
"Yes, I am a prisoner, the same as you, French Communist scum. But there is a difference. I am a Croatian. I am part of a conspiracy that tried to over throw the appointed head of Croatia and install a new government, even more extreme in its adherence to the principle of Nazism than the National Socialists of Germany."
"I don't suppose they appreciated these efforts at still greater purity of madness," Lola answered in German.
"No, they did not. I was arrested, and along with me three others. The women members wound up here. But we are still part of the new order, and even though we have been punished and forced to see the error of our ways, we are better off than you."
"That is hard to tell."
The woman looked down at the brand mark on her tit with fondness. She pinched up the scar and caressed it.
"I wear this mark proudly, swine. I do not consider the branding of my body with the Swastika a punishment. I am proud to bear this mark all through life. But now, listen to me, you filthy dog. I am in charge of this barracks. I and the other kapos of this barracks, we five watch over the two hundred girls who rot here. We prevent disturbances, suicides, and vain plots. In return, we remain untortured, and share in several of the privileges of this camp. We eat as well as the SS themselves."
"How kind they are."
"In time, through hard labor, we shall expiate our offences and be permitted to rehabilitate ourselves all of the way."
"How fortunate you are."
The creature caught Lola by the throat in a massive, gorilla like hand.
"I was the strongwoman of Croatia, you slut. I can break two men in half. I was the first attraction of a circus with my power. Do not provoke me, you Red bitch."
Lola was released from a girl that would have strangled her if it had been maintained. She thought to herself that this bitch was too powerful to be fought in the condition Lola was in. She would need to recover her strength fully, before her savate could master such a monster.
"I run this place with an iron hand. I can do what I please, as long as I do not interfere with the pleasures of the SS Masters."
She dragged Lola to her feet, one hand holding her by the scuff of the neck with murderous power.
"Let's have a little tour of this place."
She took Lola around, showing her the various girls in their misery. Most of them were chained by the wrist or ankle to their bunks.
"Not all of these girls are doomed to die. Some will earn the right to be sent to a labor camp. It is this hope that keeps them going, and obeying the rules. Better even a slim hope than nothing. And so, they fawn and grovel."
"The Kommandant has other plans for me, I've heard."
"She will torture you to death with her own hands, when the time is ripe. First, she will play with you for many weeks, perhaps months. She will keep you cornered like a mouse, playing with you until she is ready for the kill."
"Do you have a name, you oversized specimen."
"I am Projakj. You can call me mistress if you want to, my pet."
She seized the breasts of Lola, crushing them in her huge hands. Intense, burning fiery pain blasted through her big breasts. The brand scars came alive, the wounds throbbed and the pain of the branding was alive once more. She crumpled to the floor with a shrill cry of pain echoing through the room, a cry that went on and on as she strove in vain to hold in her response.
"See how easy it is to make you feel the agony of the damned. Those brand wounds on your breasts are very, very painful still. And all I have to do is touch your breasts to completely wipe you out."
"Have your fun now, my turn will come."
"The SS enjoy the rule of force in the barracks. I am allowed to do anything that I can force the others to bear. There are none strong enough to dispute my authority."
She ran her hands through the hair of a young, Greek girl whose hands were chained to the top of a table. She took the honey gold hair and let it trail through her hands. She put her right hand to the girl's mouth and the girl responded with a slavish licking of the palm.
"This is Ketty. She is one of my favorite pets. She was a very stubborn girl, until they put her nipples into the grip of the nipple screws. Look at her nipples."
Projakj held one of the pink orbs between thumb and forefinger. It was stretched and half crushed, black marks and angry broken vein lines showing the terrible effects that the torture had inflicted upon it. The Greek girl's face slowly contorted into an expression of shocked suffering as the nipple was half crushed in the iron hard grip.
"But I am sure you are wondering what has happened to your five friends in the time you have been asleep."
She lifted Lola to her feet and dragged her across the barracks to where a naked female body dangled in eagle spread from a series of pulleys and chains. The legs were gaping wide apart and the two tender orifices had been stuffed with large, thick candles.
"This is Yvonne. Your friend. She was in fit shape to endure further punishment yesterday. Look at her ass, how badly whipped it is. The skin has been half flayed from these shapely buttocks."
Indeed, the ass was a mess of wounds and weals. They ran over the full expanse of the heavy rounded bottom, trailing up the small of the back. The evil Croatian Fascist slapped her strip of leather across the rump, making Yvonne scream and shake. Her belly was pinched, her face slapped. The evil Projakj lit a cigarette. She put out the match between Yvonne's breasts. Another terrible groan that denoted vast suffering poured out of Yvonne's mouth.
"This one does not make much noise when she is hurt. A stubborn one."
The bitch ran the cigarette up and down the cleavage between the breasts. She rubbed it into the crotch and the armpits.
"I hate French bitches. You all degenerate, soft, pathetic bourgeois little whores. Communists, and Jews, the lot of you. I also hate Greeks, Belgians, and Poles. Jewish sluts most of all. Come see what I have done with one of them."
The girl she took Lola to was a tall, well built girl with short brown hair and dark eyes. She had a beautiful body, except for the hideous brand of the swastika on her breast and the many whip marks scarring her skin. Her arms and legs were pulled almost from their sockets by the chains that held her in racking agony. Her skin was awash in sweat and blood.
Her mouth, cunt, and ass were filled with the foul shit that the evil SS bitches were so fond of stuffing into their captives.
"I believe that your sister is among your captive friends. Is she not?"
The Croatian smiled at the look of alarm on the face of her victim.
"Would you care to know how she is faring and where she is right now."
"Yes, I would be interested in that."
"She is with Oberst Micke and Oberst Mieth. Erika and Ida are fun loving girls. They will take good care of your sister. She should enjoy the experience."
"What are they doing with her?"
"It seems that your sister is inexperienced in the affairs of love. She showed a very strong adverse reaction when her body was played with. And so they are teaching her the ways of love between women before she undergoes a special ordeal of pain."
"What special ordeal."
"The ordeal that she will suffer because she is your sister. It is all over the camp, how you took a punishment in her place. That brand on your left breast, I believe. Well, she will be horribly tortured in your presence, and you shall watch everything that happens to her. I think you will find it instructive although not enjoyable."
Brigitte was at that moment half smothered under the ass of Ida Mieth. Her face was being smeared under a fat, shit stained ass bottom, the crack of it constantly playing over her mouth. Her breasts were trapped within nutcrackers, her nipples half destroyed every time the pressure bore down. She licked and sucked at the heavy behind that bounced up and down on her head.
Erika Mickle had her own little fun going with the cunt of the young girl. She had wedged into the pussy hole a long wooden phallus set upon a turning screw. A turn of a crank rotated it through a turn and plunged it a little deeper into the hot vagina of the young Brigitte. Her cunt box was already sticky and wet with the creamings of numerous orgasms. The devilish device continued to arouse and torment her as Erika manipulated it back and forth, back and forth, sending it in and out of the hot cunt.
"The little bitch is going mad," she gloated, sending the phallus with a dozen turns another inch deep into the abused vagina.
"You can have your fun that way," her partner said. "I think that riding this mouth of hers is far more amusing. Lick me bitch."
The breast tips were vised in the nutcrackers, which were twisted in the powerful grip further inflicting pain upon her.
"Be careful dumpkoff. Our Kommandant wants the schwein in good condition for her ordeal tomorrow. No further bruises, wounds, or welts to flaw the pain she will undergo. You must be careful with those things or you will injure her breasts severely."
"I know exactly what I am doing."
In a corner of the room, Arlette and a Dutch girl had been bound in a living package of agony, bound arm and leg and torso with barbed wire in the sixty-nine position. Their bodies reeked of sweat, blood, shit and fear. Blood ran in jets and tricklings from the numerous places where the barbs sank into quivering flesh.
Hauptmann Ruth Becker was working them over. She swung a short, heavy club. It smashed into the Dutch girls' gory right buttock, splashing blood from the welts.
"Eat her cunt, you scum. I want you two dumpkoffs to chew the hairs out of each other's rotten cunts."
Their pussies were raw and aching, burnt out from hours and hours and hours of mutual cunt eating. Under the spur of unbearable pain and torment they continued to eat each other, having no choice with the evil Nazi bitch hovering over them, lashing them bloody in endless repetitive agony.
The whip in her other hand descended upon the bound together torsos. It ripped open skin, spilling blood through broken flesh.
In one of the main torture yards, Use Boehme was supervising a mass ordeal of many captives. A long pit filled with burning coals was being prepared. Beyond it the girls lined up, huddled in a fearful naked herd of quivering, whimpering fear maddened animals.
At the feet of Ilse groveled Michelle. The girl lapped up the spit out of the sand. Ilse spat again, right between her shiny, black leather boots. Michelle thrust her face between the boots and lapped the slime with her pink tongue. One of the boots ground down upon the back of her skull, mashing her face into the filthy dirt. Use had already ground her face into five piles of dogshit. The French girl had been forced to lap and chew upon shit, vomit, spit and blood. Her mouth was filled with the horrible tastes of decay and filth.
"You are indeed a servile one. Roll over for me."
She whipped the rolling naked body, curling and coiling her long black whip over the soft curves, making the flesh bleed. She cut welts into the white hips, the buttocks, the soft thighs, the torso. The breasts bled from criss crossed stripes above the nipples.
"Stand up, slave."
Michele stood erect, eyes downcast, swaying with anguish, giddiness, and nausea. A heavy fist smashed into her crotch, and when she doubled up, a knee smashed into her mouth. Blood exploded from split lips. She fell on her face in the dust.
"I have decided to make you one of my hounds. Crawl out of this yard on your hands and knees and find a place for yourself in one of the kennels. You will eat the same scraps as the guard dogs, and share the accommodations with them. You will breath the scent of their shit as you sleep at night. After a time, I might improve your conditions if you amuse me. Do you have any talents?"
"I-I am an excellent cook, Kommandant. I am considered as fine as any professional French chef."
Ilse's eyes lit up.
"Perhaps I shall find a use for you after all. But for now, you shall be a dog. Now, crawl out of here on your belly. The Kennels Master will know what to do with you."
The broken girl was a bit slow. Ilse put a whistle to her mouth and blew a silent call. It was picked up by the keen ears of one of the Dobermans. The hound came hurrying at the run. She pointed to the target. The huge dog sank its teeth into the soft buttocks of Michelle. Flesh ripped and tore under the crunching power of his fangs. He chewed and ripped apart her flesh bottom in a sadistic way that was unnatural for even the most vicious of dogs. She went scurrying over the ground in a screaming panic. Ilse was almost collapsing with laughter before she called off her dog.
Michelle left a trail of blood stains behind her. Flaps of torn flesh, punctured rows of needle sharp teeth wounds, covered her bottom. The rump was well butchered. The kennels master treated it with salt and pepper before kicking her ass into the small pen that was to be hers.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Please, I beg of you, don't torture my sister, torture me instead."
"But that would not be as unbearable to you as torturing your sister, my friend." Kommandant Ilse Boehme laughed, her evil sadistic voice booming out over the confines of the torture yard. She ran her palms over the torn, sweat slimed flesh of Brigette. She traced a pattern of whip wounds tearing the breasts to pulp. She pinched close a tear just above the right nipple, squirting blood out of the butchered flesh.
"Ha, ha, ha. Your sister is a lovely young thing. But her body is becoming hideously scarred, is it not? Still, the three days of recuperation I gave her has left her fresh for further ordeals."
"Save me, Lola. Oh mon dieu, save me. Save me, I can't stand any more pain."
Ilse gripped the girls right breast and gave it a horrible twisting wrench, almost tearing it apart.
"Your poor sister is breaking, my stubborn bitch. Soon, you will scream and plead as she does."
"Don't torture me," I beg of you. I'll do anything you say, but don't torture me anymore."
"Stop it," Lola screamed at her sister. "Don't give that merde the satisfaction of seeing you crawl."
Ilse laughed, then she smashed her fist into the tender cunt mound of the young girl. As Brigette screamed in an unbelievable paroxysm of pain, she tore at the straps binding her to the X-Cross. The straps were stained with the blood of the many victims who had suffered in their embrace. The wood of the cross was spotted and stained with many flowings of blood, until the wood was one deep, crimson mess.
Ilse patted the tummy of the young girl. There was a bit of soft baby fat on that little paunch, that cutely, curved belly mound. She smiled with delight. She traced a closed scab on the stomach, and then a long, scar tissue closed welt mark from ribcage to ribcage, curving along the flank to the back.
"Now I'll show you the things that can be done with simple tools. A piece of sandpaper, a pot of boiling fat, and ice cubes."
"No, no, leave her alone," Lola screamed. "I'm the one you want to destroy, why must you do this to her."
"Torturing her, I torture you at the same time. Perhaps it is worse than if you were the recipient of her pain. You bear her swastika mark on your own breast. Now you will watch as she suffers to the point of madness."
"Someday retribution will overtake you. Then you will suffer the horrors that you inflict upon us."
"Never, the Third Reich is invincible. It will go on forever. But now, enough of this talk. It is time for my sport. Your sister shall scream, and thresh, and bleed."
Ilse picked up a piece of sandpaper from the torture table. She wrapped it around a block of wood then gently ran it over the tummy mound of the young girl. Brigitte shivered, and a raw, nauseous feeling ran through her guts. She trembled and shook, her eyes bulging in their sockets with fear, transfixed to the piece of sandpaper. Then it was running, sawing, grating, back and forth, right and left, across her skin. Her belly was covered by dozens of small, ragged, scratch marks with every sweep of the sandpaper. The sandpaper was drawn from one flank to the other, digging into the skin. The entire flesh from just under the hanging breasts to the small patch of groin hair, was soon a mass of thousands of small scratches, and dozens of scrapes, oozing a thick, dark coating of blood. It trickled and flowed down her thighs, streamed in small, slow runnings into her pubic pelt.
"Eaaaahhhhhhh." The screams split the air, blood-chilling cries of pain. "Eaaaaaaaeeeeeiiiii. Aieeeeeoooo, aaaahhhh."
Then the sandpaper was dropped to the floor. Ilse took the belly skin between her fingers, wringing and rending it. She squeezed and squirted blood out of the torn open scabs and welts. She split open all of the closed scar tissue that remained of the long welt trailing around Brigitte's body.
"You filthy, shitsucking, fucking bitch," Lola screamed at the monster torturing her sister. "Sadistic, mad animal. Scum."
Isle stuffed a shit smeared rag into Lola's mouth. She taped it into place. Then she smashed a barrage of belly blows into Lola's guts. Lola sagged in her bondage upon the X-Cross.
"You must learn the mannerly way to address me, French trash. I do not like the insulting mouth you have. For that, I will tear out every tooth in the mouth of your sister, and the others."
Then she stalked over to Brigitte and smashed her fists into the raw, half flayed belly. Her fists sank into the soft, tender belly flesh right up to the wrist. She laughed, her cunt brimming over with juice. A flow of cunt oil leaked from under the leather V of material that covered her cunt. She wiggled her psychotic-nympho snatch around, experiencing multiple orgasms. She poked her fingers into the tender gut, sinking them into a quivering, pulp of blood and flesh.
She took off the fire the pan of boiling fat. It crackled and smoked. The bubbles danced and broke through the simmering mass. Then she slowly poured a thin, boiling stream of hot fat on the belly of Brigitte.
"Eeeeeiiiaaaaaeeeeeiiiiieeeee."
Brigitte's eyes bulged in their sockets. She strained in convulsions, almost ripping her ligaments apart, actually breaking one of the straps that held her to the cross. Her blood stained limbs spasmed against the restraints, tearing her tender skin to bloody rags.
Only the blood covering her belly gave her any protection against the boiling, dripping fat. As she spasmed, and the fat boiled upon her flesh, the blood almost smoked and boiled, a protective layer burned through by the bubbling, hot fat that poured upon her flesh. Her skin turned to puffy, red hued scar skin.
At last Ilse put aside the boiling fat. She almost collapsed with the thrill of the torture, the music of the screams that sent her into a transport of ecstasy. She doubled up under the explosion of multiple orgasms racing through her body.
She poured a bucket of ice cold water over the girl. She used a rag to wipe away the fat, sweat, and blood upon the tummy. The belly was a mass of scars and wounds, welts, scrapes, abrasions, and the boil marks of the hot fat.
"Very, very pretty."
Brigitte dribbled foam from her mouth. Small, babbling entreaties and imprecations purred from her lips. She was smeared with a running flood of sweat, and her head tossed from side to side. She looked as if her insides had been torn out and then put back. Ilse touched the belly. It quivered and shrank from her touch. She took two ice cubes and ground them into the scars left by the boiling fat. She crushed them into the flesh, trying to rip the ice right through the flesh into the guts. The girl's face once more twisted into a horrible mask of pain. Her eyes rolled up, showing the whites. New beads of sweat stood out upon her forehead, foam poured down her chin.
Ilse finished with the ice. She doubled her hand and crashed it into the soft midriff. She pinched up the scarred flesh, and then released it as she dealt it a stinging slap.
Laughing insanely, her own lips flecked with foam, she stood to the rear of the cross rubbing off her now fully exposed cunt upon the wood. She crushed her cunt mound into the torture implement, murmuring mad words as she attained one orgasm after another. She spanked the buttocks of Brigitte, redding the soft globes. It was so minor a pain compared to what had gone before that Brigitte scarcely noticed it.
"Ah, liebschein, you seem to be bored by my hands spanking your fat little rump. Well, perhaps I can find ways to catch your interest."
She went to work on the girl's tender face. She slapped her across the cheeks, her hands strong and stinging. The head snapped from side to side, blood trickled from the nose as the stinging power increased. Then her hands became hard fists. One solid punch after another landed on the tender flesh under the eyes. The familiar black swelling began to rise under the eyes of the girl. A few small cuts soon masked her face in blood.
"Now, we'll see how you enjoy some dental work."
A pair of pliers was the instrument she chose. Lola knew what she was going to do. Her eyes widened in horror, and she voiced protest muffled by the gagging. The bitch advanced on the young French girl, showing her the instrument that would bring pain to her. Brigitte had recovered enough from her previous agonizing ordeal to face the new terror with full consciousness and response. She strained at her bonds, which refused to yield a fraction of an inch.
The pliers were jammed into her mouth. She tossed her head from side to side in a futile attempt to avoid this. Then the jaws locked about one of her back molars. There was a needle sharp, piercing agony that burned through the nerves of the tooth. One short, heavy wrench and it came out, a bloody white shape held in the jaws of the pliers. A spit of blood dripped from the battered mouth.
"One tooth, my pet."
She shoved the pliers in again and hooked them onto a front canine. She tore it out and flipped it away, the body wracked with pain going into spasms. She caressed her hand over the fried and scraped belly. The skin shrank back from her touch, quivering as if the flesh had been cut away and the raw nerve endings exposed.
Lola feebly wondered why she had allowed her sister to reach this place alive. It would have been better to have killed her, death would have been preferable to this endless horror. And what of the others, she thought.
At that moment; Catherine, Yvonne, and Arlette were undergoing the horrors of the gauntlet. A line of SS girls, armed with whips, chains, clubs and straps awaited them and a dozen torches. Beyond the line of girls stretched the pit of burning coals.
"Come, my beauties," Hauptmann Kemph ordered. "Get your asses moving."
They hesitated, torn between conflicting fears. The hauptmann held two large guard-dogs in check. She released one. It sprang at one of the girls and tore open her thigh with its sharp, foamflecked fangs. She tore away from it, blood streaming down her thigh. She plunged into the gauntlet, the others crowding at her heels.
Heavy blows rained upon bare, unprotected flesh. Chains ripped apart soft skin. They went staggering through, under a rain of crashing blows.
Arlette caught the heavy swing of a chain across her tits, the swastika brand mark catching the impact of the slashing iron links. Blood oozed through a split open gash in her boobs. A strap exploded across her wiggling buttocks, the buckle coiling around her hip and scraping her pelvic mound. A club thundered into her ribs, another blow cut open her face. Blows smashed into her everywhere.
She tottered through the gauntlet line, bleeding from wounds and lacerations everywhere, a rib cracked and three more teeth smashed loose from her broken mouth. As she staggered forward, she heaved across the field of burning coals. The soles of her feet smoked and blistered, the skin turned black. She took three desperate running steps, before her feet went out from under her. She rolled across the burning coals, her breasts, thighs, ass burned and fried. She rolled off, her body a smoking, scarred mess. The others came piling through, she was on the bottom of a heaving, screaming mass. She looked up into the horror contorted face of Yvonne. Yvonne's forehead was streaming blood from a deep cut. Her right eye was covered by a great rising mass of bruising, her eye staring through a slit of flesh.
The broken girls were sorted out. One still lay, roasting and burning in the coals. Her body was a blazing torch, the horrible odor of roasting human flesh filling the air, delighting the SS psychopaths.
One girl could stand the horror no more. She broke for the electrified barbed wire. She never reached it. Before she could get very far, the machine gunner in the nearest guard tower cut her down. Her bleeding corpse, riddled from neck to belly with bullets, was left hanging on a gallows as an object lesson.
Lola would not have found this ordeal very much better than the one her sister was undergoing before her very eyes. The girl was nearly toothless now, a great flood of blood pouring out of the mouth down her body. A pool of red formed between Brigitte's feet.
"It will be so hard for your poor sister to eat, my dear. I have been quite wicked with these pliers. I've pulled fifteen of her teeth out. And she had already lost others. But that is not so terrible, some of the girls here have no teeth left at all. Still, it will not interfere with her talents as a cuntlicker."
Lola looked at the tormenter with all of the hatred that can be registered on the human countenance. Even though she had full control in every way, that horrible look made the SS Kommandant's blood run cold.
"Don't you look at me that way, you scum." She picked up her whip, long and black, the end tipped with a barbed claw.
"I'll show you what it means to stare at me that way, you French schweinhund."
She lashed out. The whip streaked across the right breast, splitting a four inch long gash over the nipple. She crossed the next lash blow over the first weal, the blood exploding out of the point of intersection of the two slash lines. She slashed deep down vertically into the cleavage between the breasts half a dozen times, blasting open the flesh along the inner curves of the tits, making the splashing, flying droplets of blood arc through the air.
"I will show you how bad the whip can hurt."
She whipped across the swastika brand scars. Blood oozed from the half healed black designs of scar tissue flesh. The pain made the body quiver and spasm, rigid fixidity setting into the limbs. She whipped the brand scars again, blood coating the tender body.
Lola felt herself totally engulfed in endless pain. The probing, evil whip moved down to her pussy mound. The long black tip of the whip moved along her pussy box exploding in and out of her lisp, ripping into her body with a power that almost destroyed her. Her flesh trembled, and she began to come apart. From within her cunt the juices began to mix with blood, and the wastes came flooding out of her front and back, mixed with these fluids. Her body was gripped in a wave of pain that sent her out into coma once again. The unconscious body was still flailed by the aroused Ilse, who was in the throes of nymphomaniacal orgasming and could not stop herself. She kept at it, whipping away while her pussy sent out a steady stream of juice from one climax after another. She came close to finishing her victim right then, but stopped herself in time.
CHAPTER FIVE
A dozen well fleshed, big breasted young Jewish girls had been bound to the torture tables in the butchering room. Their asses and tits were smashed with whips, slashed to shreds. Their bodies were riddled with pins.
Erika Michle worked upon the best of the girls, a young, fiery girl named Emma, a tall, dark, sensual beauty. Erika blackened her eyes, smashed teeth from her mouth. She used a pot of water to make a mess of loose shit in. She broke up the brick of shit and made a messy stew out of it, a mud of shit which she stuffed down the throat of the Jewish girl.
She filled the breasts with needles. She poked them through the nipples, stabbing them back and forth, in and out of the bleeding holes. She pinched up the nipples around the needles, squeezing out the drops of red blood. She stuffed back the filth vomited out of the girl's mouth, cramming it stinking and foul, down her throat.
Crack. The heavy whip tore apart a quivering, wiggling buttocks cheek. She smashed a dozen bleeding slashing whip weals into the bottom globes. Blood oozed from the criss crossed welts cut in the buttocks. Erika dug her claws into the hams, ripping apart the cuts and smearing the flesh in a red wetness.
Erika clawed the buttocks bloody. She ripped the ass apart, spanking the cheeks, pounding them with her fists. Blood splashed through the air. The body quivered and went into spasms and convulsions of pain. Shit burned from the stomach to the mouth. The reeking stench curling like acid through the nasal passages.
Erika lit a cigarette. She snuffed out the match by stuffing it into Emma's asshole. She burned the crack of the ass with the cigarette.
She seared the buttocks, stabbed into whip weals, seared whip cuts. She tore out handfuls of the cunt bush, and rubbed out the hot cigarette's flame upon the lips of the pussy.
Erika whipped the big, fleshy tits. She kneaded the bleeding tit meat through her hands, scratching and cutting the flesh, inflicting bruise and pain upon the globes. She pinned the needles right through the tit globes, pinning the flesh to the table. The girl quivered and convulsed in a pool of her own blood.
Erika pounded the face with her cruel fists. She worked upon the ridges of black around the eyes, punched the face until it was a swollen lump of pulp.
She coiled hairs through her fingers, waist length hairs, beautiful and glossy and black. She wrapped a dozen together, tangling them, then with a wrench yanked them out of the scalp. She repeated this action a dozen times.
Erika dug her riding crop into the broken mouth, making it into a bridle to buck the head of her captive about as Erika rode her back, coming off in her uniform upon the back of her captive. Shit flaked and fell out of the mouth, as the crop tore it and almost split the jaw apart.
Erika finished the torture. The room rang with a continuous horrible uproar of torture sounds and screams. Erika dropped the bleeding body to the floor. Emma tossed about in a spasm of pain that covered her body from head to toes. Her flesh was a mess of whip cuts, burn marks, bruises and abrasions.
Erika kicked her in the ribs. She delivered another heavy boot to the ribs.
"Get to your feet and suck my whip."
Emma staggered erect. Then her eyes became those of a mad animal. She hurled herself at Erika. She scarcely felt the smash to her skull with the heavy handle of the whip. Her claws raked the SS sadist's face. She smashed her knee to Erika's cunt, then cracked her face into the table. A wild, piercing, mad cry rose from Emma's throat. As three of the SS girls strove to tear the madwoman off of her target, Emma smashed Erika's face to pulp upon the table, striking the head into the wood again and again. The teeth went flying out of the mouth, the nose was mashed flat, a broken useless piece of the cartilage. Before Emma slumped forward unconscious under the hammering to her own head, she had smashed the cheekbones and splintered the jaw in eighteen different spots, breaking pieces of bone off it.
Emma went down under a clubbing attack, hands tearing at her wounds. They stomped and booted her, and then she was dragged off to her fate, to pay when she was revived and revitalized for the attack upon Erika.
A half hour later, Kommandant Ilse Boehme was in the hospital ward, surveying the damage wrought upon Erika Mickle. The oberst was in a private room, reserved for staff. Indeed, it was rarely used. The penalty for attacking and half killing one of the SS elite at the camp was too awful to contemplate.
Ilse surveyed the broken head of the oberst, swathed in bandages. The fool had hurt the discipline of the camp by allowing a pig of a Jewess to break her head in.
"Stupid, incompetent fool. To allow a half dead prisoner to do this to you. You'll endanger all of us by allowing these swine to see that an attack can be made upon us."
She lashed out, tearing three bloody slashes into the tits of the crippled girl. Erika clutched the bloody red lines etched into her tits. She doubled up, writhing in pain.
"You'll pay for this with your own stupid ass. You know what the penalty is for such negligent incompetence."
Indeed, the penalty was severe. Erika herself would undergo punishment. It would be a cruel and painful penalty, but what did it matter to her with her face smashed in.
Use thought of the broken face of the oberst, with sadistic thrills. It would be interesting to break down the stubborn bitch who had accomplished this devastation. Back in the butchering room, the torture went on. Eleven dark haired bodies rolled and heaved upon tables drenched in blood. The air was filled with screams, the stench of blood, sweat, fear, and fire filled the room. And also the odor of sex, creeping from the crotches of the torturers.
Helga Bauer had a hot swastika brand heating in a brazier. The swastika glowed red hot. She touched the buttocks of the girl she tortured, handling and fondling them. She shoved a piece of wood in and out of the asshole, then reamed out the shaft of the sexhole with it. She clawed the ass globes, whipped the cheeks bloody. And still the iron heated in the fire.
"Now, my girl, we'll see how your meat takes to a good roasting."
She picked up the iron in her gloved hands. She placed it gently upon the right buttock. The flesh sizzled and burned. She ran it along the buttocks, turning it in a curved, black line bored into the tender flesh. The body heaved and trembled. A soundless scream blazed from the lips. The ass sent up a cloud of smoke, a brief crackle of flame died down after a few seconds. The ass had been marked with a circular scar burned into the buttock.
At another table the girl had been turned face up. Elke Kemph was enjoying herself with this one. She straddled the soft tortured figure, her hands wandering up and down the curves of the torso. She bunched up handfuls of the flesh in her hands, fondling, squeezing, kneading. She broke open wounds and inflicted deadly hurt upon them. She split welts apart and drank the blood like rich wine from the wounds. She probed along the whip welts with her sharp fingernails, opening them up.
She pinched up the right nipple and pierced it with a needle. She skewered the left one as well, then formed a ring of stab wounds around it. She ringed it with the pins, thrusting in and out, then started a second circle. She stabbed every inch of the breasts with the pins, in and out, in and out. Blood flowed as thick and free as water. And still her lust for blood was Stalag 14 Bondage unsatisfied.
She lapped the wounds, sucking flesh into her mouth and draining the wounds. She licked the eyelids of the girl, tortured her throat with biting kisses, filled her shit smeared mouth with piss. She trailed wet kisses down the belly and drank the nectar of cunt juice out of the pussy. It took time to arouse it, but the powders she poured into the cunt box helped her.
"And now, you bitch, a few new little tricks to make you know that you are in hell."
The cruel SS Nazi took a surgical suture and strong surgical thread. She pinched a strip of cunt lip between her fingers. Without any preliminaries or sanitation, she shoved the surgical needle through the two flaps of cunt lip, left side and right, pinning them together. The girl became hysterical, realizing that the mad SS fiend was going to sew up her cunt. She screamed and shrieked, and her eyes almost burst from the sockets. The relentless needle stabbed into her flesh and out again. Slowly the stitches multiplied, and the cunt was sewn up. There was no mercy, no hint of pity. The only concern of the SS sadist was that her victim survive the ordeal and not cheat the evil bitch of her sport.
All around the room the bodies exploded and threshed in the desperation of torture. They all lived, surviving the ordeals stopped short of killing them.
The Greek resistance girls, in another one of the many torture chambers, a small elite knot of five girls who had together inflicted much damage upon the Germans, underwent torture at the hands of the Croatians, who had been given this prize at the personal request of the Kommandant, who was interested in their techniques. It amused her to turn these girls over to the Croatians, to play off one group of inmates against another. She practiced the old rule of divide and conquer. She granted one group privileges that she withheld from another. She turned suspicions into hatred, starting rumors of betrayal.
Once she had instigated the death of a holdout at the hands of her own friends and comrades. It had been a Dutch spy, a girl who had held up even when her nipples had been torn off with pliers. She had been condemned by the mistaken belief of her companions that she had broken and fed information on them to Ilse. They had killed her by stuffing her head first down a shitpit. She had been found sticking out of it, her feet up in the air, her head smothered in crap.
Afterwards it had been quite amusing to tell the pigs the way in which they had been tricked and used. It had quite destroyed the little remaining morale they had possessed.
The hulking animalistic Projakj led the Croatian girls. They were a motley lot. They had little resemblance to the Aryan specimens they claimed to be. Just another bunch of inferior subhumans, Ilse thought. They were vicious enough, and such qualities could be useful to the master race. But they were undeserving of a full share in the new world to come. But they were utilizable: Croatians had slaughtered three hundred thousand Serbs already in the dismembered Yugoslavia.
The Greek girls were dangling by their thumbs. Blood slowly dripped down their arms from the half torn joints of these delicate fingers, almost torn from their sockets by the strain on them.
The girls were under the bite of the whips. Lashes sliced bloody gashes into their buttocks, tore great chunks of their breasts asunder, bathed their bodies in blood.
The face of pretty Papia had been shredded by the lash. One of her cheekbones had been exposed by a deep cut, her brows had been torn open and the blood pouring into her eyes rendered her blind and panicked her. A split nose, and lips shredded to bits completed the picture.
Projakj was working on her victims with lit cigarettes. She concentrated on the sex organs. She burned the cunt lips and the anal rings, shoved cigarettes up into the vagina and crushed them out, burned the nipples and the armpits. She rubbed her smokes back and forth along the crack line between anus and cunt.
A whip slashed through the air and coiled around Katina's breasts. The tip lanced her back, slicing open another wound.
Jojo's nipples were crushed in the grip of the breasts screws. They bulged through the grasping, grinding screws, blood running from the tips of the nipples, trailing in two curving, twisting lines down her torso into her pelvic hair patch. The screws were tightened. Her shrieks filled the air. Her nipples were bursting, veins exploding, flesh being crushed and ground into pulp.
One of Use's pets was at her feet. The head was buried under the skirt that the Kommandant was wearing sans the panties. The long tongue slushed in and out of the hot cunt box.
"Is this not a delightful pageant of torment, my dear, is it not?"
The cigarette in the holder of the Kommandant dipped down and poked between the buttock cheeks. The girl flinched and screamed. She poked her head out from under the skirt to look at the torture ordeal breaking the bodies of the Greek girls.
"Do you not enjoy the sight?"
The Slavic girl remembered her own ordeals. And the sight of the Croatian girls filled her with horror, for they were personal enemies of Serbs and Slavs. They would be her fate if she displeased the Kommandant.
"My boots dog."
The girl put her mouth to the boots and kissed them all over. She licked her tongue over the shiny leather. One boot was balanced upon the heel, and she took the offered toe into her mouth. She sucked on it, then her mouth moved to the underside of the boot. There were shit stains and mud stains and blood stains on the bottom of the boot. She licked and chewed the mess off, her face twisted up into a grimace of nausea.
"Poor little pet. You seem to find this so distasteful. Perhaps a session on the rack would change your mind."
The girl's eyes pleaded silently. She pressed her tongue to the task with renewed vigor.
Ilse turned her attention back to the torture. One of the Croats took a cotton tuft and sprinkled gasoline on it. She stuffed it just inside the lips of the vagina of Nausico. The girl threshed and kicked her legs about trying to dislodge it, but the whip thundered into her buttocks, ripping pieces of her rump. She lost her strength, and the hands of her torturer held the cotton tuft inside her. Then a match was struck, held close to her face. Eyes alive with pure horror watched the movement of the match. Down to her vagina it went. The cotton ignited, flamed, exploded out a sheet of flame before it burned out. The vagina opening was seared and roasted. The girl went into a series of convulsions, flesh rolling and tossing. Her eyes rolled back to expose the whites.
The cruelty of the Croats impressed her, if not their inventiveness. This was standard torture in the SS, but they had a certain way of giving it an additional bit of cruelty. They would be very much surprised in the end, when they found themselves in the front lines of the Russian front. How they would scream and curse, and remember the Kommandant.
CHAPTER SIX
Several days of recovery had gone by for the French resistance girls. They were all together, in one section of the barracks run by the Croatians.
Lola was shocked and appalled by the changes wrought in her companions. Their ordeals had broken down their spirits. They had abandoned all hope. They were pathetic, doomed creatures, the same as the others. They took solace in the comforts of one another's bodies. All except for Michele, who had been separated from them, a pet of the Kommandant.
Arlette and Yvonne were engaged in sixty-nine. They caressed and petted one another, licking and comforting and fondling, trying to ease off the pain. The Kommandant had not informed them of when they would again suffer punishment. It was another form of torture, torture of their nerves. And it was working. The waiting was the most awful torment of all.
Lola looked about the barracks. The air was thick with the stenches of many unwashed bodies, of sweat and blood and wounds that had been scantily treated or left to fester.
Projakj was working on one of her favorite victims, a young Cretian girl. The girl was hanging by her big toes and thumbs from one of the pullies in the roof beams. Projakj grabbed her cunt mound in one massive hand and ripped out half of her cunt bush. She shoved thick, dirty fingers into the delicate cunt, her fingers clawing the insides of the vagina bloody. She lit a taper and played it about the pussy lips, slowly searing them brown. Screams split the air, horrible screams.
"I can't take any more of this," sobbed Brigitte. She buried her face in Lola's lap. Lola caressed her hair, sadly contemplating her sister's almost toothless mouth. The atrocities they had committed upon her.
One of the Croats came stalking over to them, arrogant and bloodthirsty. Her hands smashed out into Catherine's stomach.
"On your knees and lick my ass."
The French girl dropped off her bunk onto knees scraped raw with sandpaper. She mashed her face to the fat, unwashed bottom. Her tongue thrust between the cheeks.
Lola could stand no more of it. She had enough strength now to make a fight of it against the bitches. She half swung off her upper level bunk, smashing her feet into the ugly face of the Croat. The nose collapsed, and teeth flew from the smashed mouth. The girl went toppling over, her head cracking hard against the bunk of Catherine.
"What the fuck is going on, you schwein-hunt."
Projakj roared her hate and came lumbering across the room. Lola had no intention of fighting her before she had disposed of the others. Those heavy hands and massive muscles had to be avoided. Lola vaulted over a lower bunk, shoving a naked, terrified girl out of her way. She came running down a row and out into the open square in the center of the barracks. One of the Croats was working on the girl hanging from the ceiling. She turned to her enemy, rearing back with a large club. Lola smashed one foot into the meat of her snatch. As the girl doubled up in a screaming ball of pain, Lola followed through with a spinning side kick to the point of the jaw. There was a crunching sound. As the animal collapsed Lola gave it a last kick to the temple.
Projakj was bearing down on her. Lola climbed a top bunk. Projakj was followed by two other Croats. Lola leaped over the big animal's head. Her feet smashed into the face of one Croat, turning it into a red, blood smeared ruin.
She landed lightly on her feet. A kick smashed a kneecap. A second ruptured a pelvis, and a third cracked a collar bone. The Croat went down.
The uproar and pandemonium brought a guard patrolling the outside of the barracks square to a window to take a look. A hasty glance through the bars informed her of the riot going on inside.
Lola was now up against the gigantic Croatian bitch. She lunged forward, ramming her in the head when she was expecting another attack with the feet. Lola felt her head smash into layers of fat and muscle. There was a faint whoosh from her battered opponent, but no sign that any serious damage had been done.
A heavy paw grazed Lola's skull as she backed off. It smashed her to the floor, half stunned. It had been a graze from a hand that could kill with a single blow.
Lola wrapped her legs around the heavy limb that tried to stomp her. She jackknifed and twisted, turning her body. The heavy woman sprawled to the floor. Lola gave a half roll and shoved up to her feet with the skill of an acrobat. She met the labored rise of her opponent with a kick square in the teeth. A second kick smashed the ugly nose. The Croat sprawled against a lower bunk. She gripped a girl by the tit and crotch and swung her naked body like a club. She lifted it overhead. Lola smashed in with a kick to the knee. It failed to break the kneecap. The naked body smashed down into her, spilling her down.
As Projakj loomed over the trapped figure to crush the skull, Arlette sprang upon her back, inspired to resistance by Lola's example. She sank her teeth into the right ear. As Projakj screamed and clawed at the fury on her back, Lola extricated herself from under the body pinning her. Projakj ripped Arlette off her back. Her ear came off in the mouth of the French girl.
"Eaaaaahhhhhh."
The Croat became a terrifying, maddened animal. One hand half tore the hair from the scalp of Arlette while the other locked around her neck. Projakj smashed the head into one of the main support beams of the barracks, splitting it open as easily as bursting a melon.
"You fucking bitch."
Lola sprang in from the side. Her nails ripped across Projakj's eyes, clawing the right eye bloody. Projakj threw her hands over her face panicked and screaming for help. Lola rammed her fist into the cunt mound and belly smashing her hands into the fat.
At the doorway Kommandant Boehme and three guards armed with submachine guns watched the battle. One guard raised a gun but Boehme smashed a cut into her face with a riding crop. She was engrossed in the bloody spectacle, her cuntbox simmering and exploding out the hot juices. She wanted to watch the nightmare horror to the end, she wanted a climax, a bloody ending.
Lola was smacked aside by a wild backhand. The animal, one eye out of commission came after her, hands reaching for her throat. She pinned Lola against the bunk. Lola whipped a ragged blanket over her head, then smashed two chopping blows to the base of the neck. She wiggled loose and followed up with a kick to the cunt and an elbow to the belly. The animal tore away the blinder.
"I'll tear you apart."
Lola dodged a massive fist and landed a short chopping punch to the cunt. She followed with a fast roundhouse right to the tits. Projakj staggered back. Lola leaped to the top bunk, and then lashed out. Both feet crunched into Projakj's face. Projakj spun around. Lola smashed into her back, feet first. She landed, rolled, and came up under the tottering beast. She smashed both feet into the meat of the cunt. Projakj did a jackknifing fall, smashing over a bunk. Lola smashed into her head kicking and stomping. A heavy hand spilled her feet from under her.
As Projakj crawled over the floor, a broken, frightened animal, one of the Croats charged in with a club. It smashed into Lola's shoulder, numbing it.
"Now you die."
The triumphant Croat raised her club overhead for the finisher. Brigitte caught her from behind by the hair. Lola smashed into her, spilling her back. A fist smashed the Croat's teeth down her throat. Claws ripped her eyes bloody. Her head was cracked against hard unyielding wood.
"Where's that damn Projakj."
"There she goes," Brigitte yelled, pointing to the pathetic figure.
Ilse was laughing, laughing, laughing. She was in ecstasy, her cunt juice pouring down her legs. She had not enjoyed a fight so much since she had turned a pack of dogs loose within a barracks filled with starving Russian prisoners of war in 1942. The dogs had been overwhelmed and eaten alive by the starving POWs while she had churned herself off with both hands watching at a barred window. This spectacle was even more stimulating.
Projakj saw her and the armed guards. She rose to her feet, head dripping blood, and lunged for her, arms outstretched in entreaty.
Ilse drew her whip from her shoulder and lashed out with it even as she uncoiled it. She split open Projakj's lips. Projakj threw her hands up. Ilse gave her another lash across the face, right over the stump of the right ear.
Projakj whirled, blinded and bewildered by pain, a terrified, helpless creature. Lola was right at her heels, swinging the club with her left hand. The right arm was numb, but one hand was enough. She hammered upon the hard skull, reaching up and out to crush down the big Croat. She split the skull open with a flurry of blows. She hammered Projakj to her knees. Projakj looked at her through her one good eye, an eye glazed over and half blinded. Her scalp was leaking heavy streams of blood. She was finished, and Lola knew it. She drew back for one final two handed blow. She put all of her remaining strength into it, splitting the skull wide open. Blood poured out of the broken head. The dead thing fell forward on its face.
Lola tottered, half collapsing herself. It had been a tough fight. But the animal lay dead at her feet.
"Throw down that club."
It was the harsh, authoritative voice of Ilse.
Lola dropped her weapon.
"You are indeed an excellent fighter. I've rarely seen such an exhibition. You are an expert in the art of savate, are you not?"
"Yes, I have a small knowledge of it."
"Enough to destroy the strongest woman I've ever encountered."
"She was nothing, a clumsy ox."
"The bull and the matador. Still, it was no easy thing chopping down her and the others."
"You allowed me to. You could have stopped this fight if you wanted to."
"Why spoil so entertaining a battle. Besides, the stupid schwein was a real dumpkoff. She had the idea that she was some sort of temporarily fallen member of the Aryan super race. Well, she has learned differently."
"And permanently."
"Now step back, and get back to your place." The guards, after taking away the weapons and clubs of the Croats left the girls to their own devices.
"You may finish off any of the Croats that are still alive," Ilse informed them.
She laughed as she went off, thinking of the horrid massacre of revenge she had unleashed upon the poor Croats.
Three of the Croats still lived. The girls they had mercilessly abused and tortured fell upon them. Hands clawed them naked, plucked out handfuls of cunt and scalp lock, gouged eyes and tore away nipples.
They were dragged on the floor, their arms and legs broken, fingers and toes cracked. A Greek girl rubbed the face of one of the Croats into shit. She filled the mouth, the nostrils, the eyes with it.
One broken body was held down upon a table, while one of the tortured Belgian girls ripped open the guts with her bare hands. She shoved her fingers into the belly button, hooked them in under the navel and ripped it open. She had the maddened strength of the tortured, and her hands tore apart the flesh of the midsection. She split it wide open and then with the help of two other girls split the body open from breast to pelvis. She tore out the guts, ripped the insides apart. Slithering, slimy, blood and gore smeared ropes of intestine were dragged out of the torn guts. The internal organs were ripped apart, the heart torn out, still beating.
Lola turned away from the butchery, appalled. They had all been reduced to the level of animals by the ordeals they had suffered. It was horrible.
Ilse was flying way up high, almost unable to walk after witnessing the wonderful slaughter. She passed the body of a Jewish girl, crucified to a cross with barbed wire. She lashed out with her whip, cutting up the soft breasts. The quivering flesh ripped and tore upon the barbs. She rammed a wooden club up into the snatch, twisting it and shoving it in too deep. She split open the crotch, the club half buried up the womb, and then left the naked body there to burn itself up in its agony.
She walked on. A Serbian girl was nailed to an X-cross, her hands and feet pierced and bleeding, heavy spikes hammered through them. Ilse whipped her belly, her snatch. She whipped the lips of the cunt. The girl was cut to shreds. She was bleeding in a dozen places. Ilse wedged open the mouth with one hand, and spat down the throat. She kissed the girl full on her bloody lips, ran her tongue over the face. Her hands gripped the breasts, pushed them together, mashed them wide apart.
Ilse selected a small piece of cotton. She dipped the tuft into oil, and stuffed it up the snatch. She rubbed the whipped pussy lips, her I hands smeared with the blood. She lit a taper, held it under the nipples, scorching them black and brown. She put the taper to the cunt. The cotton flared and blazed. The body ripped itself bloody upon the spikes, the hands and feet torn bloody. The girl slumped back, in desperate condition. Ilse propped her head upon the palm of one hand and examined her face.
"Save this one. She amused me, and I intend to have some more sport with her."
Erika Mickle was undergoing her punishment for her carelessness further along the row of torture devices, racks, and crosses. She was staked between two iron posts, her hands chained behind her back. A spiked iron helmet covered her ruined face, shielding it from the sight of her contemptuous superior.
"Stupid bitch, I shall see that you learn this lesson well."
Her breasts had been pincushioned with knitting needles. Her tits had been pierced until they were sieves. Her ass had been flayed with steel wool and sandpaper. Salt and pepper had been poured into the bloody rump, and the ass had then been whipped with barbed wire. Patches of flesh and long strips of skin hung from the bleeding rump. It had been so badly cut up that pieces could be pulled loose from the shredded meat.
Ilse burned the tits and ass with her cigarette. She stuffed it out up the cunt. The bitch was truly learning her lesson thoroughly. Ilse pointed to the cunt. "This bitch has a hot pussy. Cool it off for the schwein. Wash it for her."
Erika's cunt was douched out with a high pressure hose. The water flooded out her chamber, numbing and battering. The water washed over her body, smashing her flesh, making her agonies grow and fill every nerve with fire.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A few days had gone by since the episode in which the Croats had been destroyed. And now the five French girls were tied to wooden stakes before Ilse Boehme. Chains bound their hands behind their backs. The stakes were spiked with dull, short iron points. Ilse rubbed their bodies into the spikes, making them suffer as she rubbed her cunt off orgasm after orgasm on them. She plucked hairs out of cunt nests, eyebrows, eyelashes, scalps, and armpits. She dribbled saliva into mouths, kissed and lapped all of the tender portions of the anatomy. She kissed the bellies, the tits, nibbled on the flesh.
"Too bad about your friend Arlette. Well, that still leaves five delicious French whores. MMMMMMM."
She bit into Michelle's nipple. The girl was panicked and shaken to find herself suffering once more with her friends, that was evident from the expression on her face. It amused Ilse to keep her so uncertain and frightened. She took the girl's breasts and sank her teeth deep into them, drawing blood.
"Tasty flesh."
She plucked the cunt lips apart, and ran her thumbs along the vagina. This was also amusing. She filled the cunt with red pepper, spraying pepper into the nostrils, the eyes, the mouth. Michelle, screamed, and sneezed, her eyes watering, vagina ablaze.
"What a superb body you have, Lola."
She approached Lola and gripped the nipples, trying to excite them.
"I might go easy on your sister today if you are cooperative. Your killing of that pig has excited me, I want you very much."
She kissed Lola on the mouth almost tenderly. She kissed her all over the face, the shoulders, the throat and breasts. The tongue washed the three swastika brands, one on each breast and the third in the center of the stomach. Lola responded to her love play.
"Better, liebschein. That is more like it." She mashed her body to Lola. Their pussies ground together. Ilse's pussy squirting juice down their thighs. She rubbed off on her captive, making sounds like a cat in heat. She forced the French girl's body back harshly against the spikes, grinding her into them. It added to her own thrill. She clawed her nails into the shoulders. Then she drew her nails down the body, from the shoulders to the waist. She ripped over the breasts, clawing rows of criss crossed lines into them.
"Ahh, so much for my pleasure. Now for the torture you all so richly deserve for the cold blooded murder of our Croatian Kapos."
"You allowed it to happen."
"That has nothing to do with the present situation, has it?"
She took a hot iron from a brazier. She touched it to Catherine's inner right thigh. The flesh sizzled and scorched. Ilse rolled the iron around and around in her hands, drawing it up the thigh, toward the crotch. The pubic hairs smoked and scorched. Catherine slumped into unconsciousness.
"Such a weak girl. She has passed out on us again. I fear she will not last too long." Ilse revived the girl by grinding out the last heat of the iron in her armpit.
"Now, let us see how you react to it," she said to Yvonne.
Yvonne whimpered and hung her head in despair. An iron with an arrow shaped head was chosen. Ilse wedged the point between the breasts. She burned the inner flesh of the two mounds as she drew the point of the iron down the cleavage. She burned a line down to the navel. The girl screamed in pain. Ilse punched her in the belly.
"I feel in the mood for a good beating. You, Michelle, shall be my target."
"No mistress, I beg of you."
The first punch in her stomach shut off her pleads. Ilse smashed her fist deep into the softness, left and right, making the flesh shiver and heave. Her fists vanished up to the wrists. The flesh turned red and black, the breath exploded out of the mouth in bubbling gasps as each punch landed. She worked slowly, methodically. She worked on the ribs, landing a heavy punch on each rib, cracking a few of them.
The breasts were her main target. Her fists smashed into the bags of flesh, ballooning them up, making them explode in swollen size. The breasts grew, great big punching bags, bleeding and blackened, the marks of whips, claws, and fists marring them. The breasts were smashed again and again, ridged and lumped. Still they grew in size under the beating to them.
Michelle was hysterical with pain. Words and groans poured from her lips. Foam dribbled down her breasts from her slack mouth. Still the breasts were hammered, hammered, hammered.
Lola closed her eyes, trying to shut off the dreadful sight. Ever since she had slaughtered the Croatians her feet had been bound together within iron cuffs connected by a short length of heavy chain. Except when she was on some instrument of torture those shackles would remain on her. It had been a bad mistake to finish off those Croatians. She had shown the Kommandant just what she was capable of. It had been a costly bit of foolishness, and had not gained her one real advantage.
"Now for you, Lola. I have something special that I want to try with you."
Ilse blew her whistle. A crew of guards came in, bearing whips, needles, other implements. They set to work on the other four girls. They burned cunt lips with matches, and tapers, seared nipples and armpits. They whipped tits bloody, battered faces, pounced ribs. They pressed needles under toenails and fingernails.
Ilse knelt before Lola, licking her cunt. She bit the lips and clitoris with too much force, hurting the girl severely.
"My, what a tasty body you have. But I believe that I've already told you that."
She gripped the big toe of the right foot in her hand. She picked up a pair of pliers, a small pair. She gripped the toenail in the pliers and began to slowly jerk and heave at the stubborn nail. A long, low, wailing scream erupted from Lola. Ilse came in an explosive sadistic nympho series of orgasms pulling the nail out of the socket. She flipped the bloody nail away and out her lips to the bleeding toe, licking and kissing the raw bleeding toe.
She stabbed her fist into Lola's cunt. She ripped her fist all of the way into the box, jamming her entire hand inside.
"Does that hurt, love."
She stood up and reached for a long, limber bamboo stick. It had a brush flayed end, the bristles of bamboo flaring out. She began to brush it across the breasts, gouging the hurt, bloody places. Lola shook and trembled, her back bruised upon the spikes. Then the flexible stick was bent double in Ilse's hands. She snapped it into Lola's breasts. It smashed across the two big breasts. Lola spasmed with pain.
"Lets see what we can do with those breasts of yours." She whipped the bamboo stick back and forth, back and forth upon the breasts. She stuck glancing, stinging blows. She whipped them with the many strands of bamboo, and the accumulating damage made the breasts turn pink and then bright red. They were stained crimson, and they began to grow and swell up under the continuous hammering: Ilse creamed herself with one hand buried in her pants, while still whipping the tits continuously, mercilessly, endlessly. The breasts were dark red, scarlet, still growing, still expanding and swelling. They grew to twice normal size and continued to grow. She screamed and shrieked, maddened by pain.
The other girls suffered various horrid and painful ordeals even as she was the recipient of this hideous torture from Ilse Boehme.
Ilse was angered by the still stubborn refusal of the French girl to plead for mercy. She continued to flog the breasts. Her bamboo weapon beat a tattoo upon the enlarged nipples the size of saucers. The breasts had mashed together, closing off the cleavage. Ilse's arm was weary. She did not know how long she had been beating the French girl, but a considerable time had passed.
She crushed her fingers into the breasts, kneading and pressing the flesh through her hands. She mashed and molded it, hot and puffed up in her hands. She sank claws into the huge bags and clawed them. She drew her hands back and smashed both fists into the breasts right up to her wrists, burying her fists in the inflated tits.
Lola gasped. Her eyes rolled up and the lids flapped shut. She slumped forward, unconscious.
"No, my beauty, you do not pass out on me yet."
Ilse took out her knife and whittled on a match. She whittled the match until the end was sharp. Then she stabbed a knitting needle into Lola's right nipple. She gouged a hole into the flesh, rolling the needle around inside the chasm. She pulled it out, threw it away, and stuffed the match into the hole right up to the head. The girl feebly groaned, beginning to come to under the assault of fresh pain. Ilse lit the match with another. The head flamed, and the fire burned down to the skin. The match burned within its prison of white flesh. Lola came to screaming.
Her breast smoked, a burned out match in a bloody wound, nerves almost exploded within her body. Ilse fingered and pinched the injury. As she crunched and crushed the patch of flesh, breaking the match up inside the hole, tearing burned flesh, she made Lola experience unbelievable horror.
Ilse lit a match. She ran the flame along the undersides of Lola's breasts. She left a dark line of scorched skin along the curve. She flipped away the match on Lola's torso. Another small burn mark on her body.
"How beautiful you are in pain, French bitch. I could torture you for days."
Lola knew that she was close to her breaking point. She could not take much more of this terrible battering.
Ilse lit a cigarette. She puffed it for a few seconds, then touched it to an expanse of snow white thigh. She burned a small brown spot into the skin. She rolled the cigarette down the thigh, thinking as she did so of a skier going down a stretch of white snow. She ran the cigarette up the thigh again, snuffing it out as she did so. Lola groaned, her head snapping from side to side.
Brigitte was being horribly tortured by one of the Hauptmenn, a tall girl with a dueling scar extending from forehead to chin. The scar marring her beauty made the woman hateful of all attractive women. She took out this hatred upon the prisoners.
Into Brigitte's bloodied cunt she stuffed a long rod with four arms, four adjustable, short and narrow arms manipulated by a lever to extend outwards from the central rod at variable degrees. The SS girl stuffed the device up Brigitte's cunt. She shoved it in and out, masturbating the hurt box with the object. Brigitte stiffened up and clenched her fists, trying to brace herself for the onslaught of agony.
"French bitch. Murderer of our troops. Enemy of the Third Reich. Now I will punish you for all of your offenses against us."
"Mercy, mercy."
There was no mercy for Brigitte. The girl opened out the object inside her vagina. It stretched out its arms, opening them outwards, stretching out and expanding the walls of the cunt. As her pussy box was wrenched open to the point beyond which it had been designed and structured to open up to, the pain grew in her cunt. Her belly expanded, the leg of one arm clearly visible through her flesh. Still it opened up, making the pain grow and grow inside her. Her lips burst open, the box took on a shape as wide as it was deep, it became an ellipsoid stretched bloody raw, expanded and misshaped to the point of rupture.
"Eaaaaeeeee."
The scream was so terrible that everyone turned to see what horror was being committed upon poor Brigitte.
"You promised to be easy on her," Lola reminded the Kommandant.
"So I lied to you. Complain about me to the League of Nations."
"I'll get you for this, somehow I will."
"You're never going to get anybody, you French whore, not ever."
She stabbed a knitting needle through the nipples of Lola's breasts, again and again. Blood leaked down her flesh. Ilse punctured the bottom, stabbing in the needles and then walking around the body, stabbing at other tender places. She pricked the areas and spots that she had burned, stabbed the flesh that had been branded with swastika marks, then ran the point of the needle along the arms of the Swastikas, into the burned flesh.
"Ahh, you're killing me."
"Nein, my friend. Not yet. There is much for you to suffer before the mercy of death releases you."
The bloody device was closed and drawn out of Brigitte's cunt. A trickle of blood flowed down her legs. The eyes were glazed and shocked.
The girls were close to the limits of torture that could be borne in a single session. At a signal from Ilse, all of the guards withdrew from the torture chamber. She seated herself in the center of the circle of stakes, watching them suffer and bleed.
"My, my, I'm afraid some of you require medical attention. I think that some of the guards were just a little bit extreme with you."
"Yes, yes, please get me a doctor," Michelle begged.
Ilse laughed. She opened up her uniform and exposed her cunt to them. She walked over to Michelle and rubbed off on her once again. The body of the girl was coated with blood and sweat, all of it rubbing off on Ilse as she plastered her skin to that of the prisoner.
"How much would you do to avoid torture, my dear?"
"Anything, anything at all."
"Would you betray your friends?"
"Yes, yes, gladly, without hesitation."
"You were a stubborn one during your examination by the SS and also the Gestapo. You told them nothing."
"All that has changed now. I would do anything to avoid pain."
"Would you be a Kapo?"
Lola screamed out at her. "Stop it, you traitor, don't accept that offer."
"Pay no attention to her," Ilse sneered. "What help can she be to you, or herself, or anyone. Now, would you be a Kapo for us."
"Yes, yes, I promise to be loyal."
"Would you torture fellow prisoners?"
"Yes, yes. I would."
"Well, soon enough we shall test your sincerity. If you are lying, you will know the real meaning of agony."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ilse inspected Oberst Erika Mickle. The body of the disgraced oberst was a mess of scars and cuts. Ilse circled the girl, a predatory beast. She probed the still fresh wounds with her riding crop, flicking it savagely upon the tender places.
"Well, fool, I have a new assignment for you. One which you will perform in a poor manner as you performed your duties here. You are going to a brothel. With that ruined face of yours, I am sure that you will be as unpopular with the soldiers as you are unpopular with our prisoners. So, you should have a nice rest. I think, though, that if they throw a sack over your head, it might work out."
"Please, I have always performed my duties. It was only one careless moment, and I am the one who has suffered for it."
"Yes, one careless moment. But you showed the prisoners that they can attack a member of my staff, that they can inflict hurt and damage. Now, I must destroy this Jewish bitch very slowly to show the price of such folly. Still, the memory of it will linger. Perhaps another will try. The fault is yours. And you must pay for this black mark against my camp. Stalag 44 is less secure because of your stupidity."
"Please, not the brothel. Anything but that."
"There is an alternate choice if the thing is so repellant to you. But I doubt if you will like the suggestion I have."
"Anything but the whorehouse. I'll be beaten and raped. With my face I'll get the worst of the men, the cruelest. They'll do awful things to me."
"I'll grant you a way out. I'll hand you a razor blade. You can cut your throat with it."
"Kill myself?"
"It is an honorable way out for an SS Woman, a true and pure Aryan."
"Yes, yes, I'll take it."
"Fine, I have always wanted to watch a suicide."
Erika's heart sank. So her death would provide excitement and pleasure for Ilse. How ironic.
"When can I do it?"
Ilse opened her drawer and took out a pistol and a razor blade. She threw the blade to Erika. Erika cut her hand catching it, and it fell to the floor. She reached down and picked it up. The thought of taking Ilse with her entered her mind.
"I know what you're thinking. Don't try it. I'll shoot you in a non fatal spot, and you'll die flayed alive. Now, at the count of five, I want you to cut your throat. If you fail to do so, I will shoot you in the belly."
"You leave me little choice, Kommandant." Ilse laughed. "None at all, you incompetent fool. Now get on with it. I'm going to begin counting."
Ilse's face lit up with sadistic satisfaction. She counted slowly, drawing out the agony, making her victim suffer. She tolled off the numbers, her face twisted into a sick grin. The gun in her hand never left its target. She watched her victim sweat and tremble. Tears flowed down the cruel cheeks. The arrogance was all gone, the face was ashen grey, fearful.
"Five."
The number sounded out, a death knoll, as loud as the drop of a guillotine. The shaking Erika put the razor blade to her throat. She drew it across her neck, splitting her throat open. Her life's blood spilled out and squirted in thick jets. She staggered, remained upright for a few more seconds, then keeled over, her death rattle sounding through the room.
"Sweet dreams, Oberst. Reserve a place in hell for me, fool."
Ilse put her hands under pants. The fingers lunged up into her cunt. She poked them around inside her hot pussy, excited by the show of death that she had arranged. As the body kicked in death convulsions, she came again and again.
She rang the buzzer on her desk. Blood still oozed from the neck of the corpse. How much blood there was in a body, it seemed that it would never stop flowing.
Three guards answered her ring. They stood at attention, pretending not to notice the dead thing on the floor.
"Take this schwein out of here. Dump it in the furnace and burn it with the others."
The dead thing was dragged out of the room. A naked blonde Dutch girl came crawling into the room. Her body was a mass of fresh whip welts. Ilse pointed to the pool of blood still fresh on the floor. The girl recoiled in horror from it. Ilse cracked a whip at her, cutting a gash in her cheek.
"Clean that up, pig. Get a brush and a pail of water and clean it up. You may hold the brush between your teeth while handling it. That will make it extremely difficult.
The girl crawled out of the room. Ilse lashed her bottom as she crawled. The whip coiled between her legs, digging into her ass crack and pussy mound. The poor thing went hastily wig-ling out the door, leaving a few drops of her own blood behind.
"That is one part of the problem. Now, I have that bitch Emma to take care of. Since the slut is a prisoner I shall not show her the same tender mercy that I showed to Erika." Ilse left the office, feeling no remorse at the death of one of her former subordinates, a trusted underling and friend. She felt only keen evil pleasure at witnessing her death.
Emma was in a small dungeon room, tied to a chair. Her face was battered to a pulp. She looked out through narrow slits, her eyes buried in swollen flesh. Her mouth was lumped and puffed up beyond recognition, her face covered with lumps, cuts and bruises. Her breasts were burned everywhere with matches and cigarettes, her belly covered with whip welts, her thighs seared with hot oil.
Ilse plucked the girl's head up on the palm of her hand, staring into the battered features.
"Not so pretty now, are you bitch. Well, you'll be happy to know that Oberst Mickle is no longer with us. She put a razor blade to her throat and slit it."
Through puffed lips, a rasping, broken voice answered her.
"That really breaks my heart."
"Yes, I thought it would, swine. Well, your heart may not break, but other parts of your body will. Oh yes, many parts of your body will break."
Ilse looked around the torture chamber, trying to decide what to use first. There was such a large selection of instruments and devices. She decided that the cauldron of bubbling hot fat would be the perfect device to use.
"Take this bitch and dip her breasts into the hot fat."
"Nooo, not that, You Nazi scum."
"I am delighted to see that this still arouses fear in you, whore. You will scream, you will beg, you will plead."
The girl was released from the chair and hoisted aloft on a pulley arrangement. Ilse whipped her bloody ass with a knout, tearing chunks of it raw. She knocked loose a flap of skin, flogged away a small bit of flesh. The girl was hoisted over the cauldron, her arms strapped to her sides. Ilse held her head and slowly the pulley was turned, lowering the body toward the waiting fat. Ilse caressed the battered face with her gloved hands. Babbling sounds of fear came from the girl.
"Lower her tits into it."
The breasts were dipped into the hot, bubbling fat. Ilse leaped back to avoid the splashing liquid as the body convulsed and heaved. The girl was lifted up again quickly, clear of the hot liquid. Her breasts were puffed and red, the skin boiled.
Shit was stuffed into Emma's mouth. Her screams were muffled by the filth.
"Let me help you, poor thing. I'll clear that mess off of your breasts."
Ilse toweled the hot fat off of the scalded breasts. She bore down with all of her strength, inflicting still greater pain upon her victim.
"Eaaaahhhhh." The cry came out loud right through the filth clotting Emma's mouth.
"No appreciation at all."
Emma was lowered to the ground and her bondage slipped off. Ilse loomed over her, a vicious grin on her face.
"You were brave enough before. Let's see if you can do anything now."
Emma staggered to her feet. She fell back down again. Her toenails had been torn out, her feet were masses of festering blood and gore.
"Come on, let's have some sport. Come on, try and get me. Maybe you'll get lucky." Emma staggered to her feet, pulling herself erect on the chain rings in one of the walls. Ilse spat into her face, flicked out a stinging, slapping hand. She took a stance with a whip ready for her victim.
"Come on."
Emma saw with terrible clarity that there was no way she could get to her tormentor. Suddenly she lunged away from Ilse, right toward the cauldron of fat. Ilse saw in sudden alarm what the girl had in mind.
"Get her."
Use's whip smashed out and ripped open Emma's back from her shoulder to her ass. Emma seized the cauldron with her bare, unprotected hands. Her hands sizzled and scalded, but she ignored the horrible pain. She lifted it with maniacal determination, as Ilse scrambled away from her. But Emma had no intention of trying to reach Ilse with the hot fat, and making a wasted effort. With a triumphant grin on her face, even as her hands burned and the skin boiled away, she turned with the cauldron and threw the hot, bubbling liquid over the face of the nearest guard, trying to grab hold of her from behind.
The fat splashed over the guard. Her flesh burned, her face became a mass of boiled, scalded meat. She went down, kicking, screaming, horribly disfigured, ruined for life.
"Stupid, rotten Nazi scum."
Emma had one moment of triumph before Ilse and the others swarmed over her. She knew that they would finish her in short order. She spat a mouthful of her own blood defiantly at the SS bitches, before she went down under their attack.
They stomped her, kicked her, whipped her. Ilse kicked in her ribcage and stomped her head until it split wide open. She whipped the tits until she split one down the middle.
Ilse looked down at her, sick to the stomach. She had lost, of that she was certain. The bitch had taken another one with her. Now Emma lay at her feet, a disfigured corpse. But the horribly mutilated guard was still kicking in agony.
Ilse snapped out orders to the others.
"Clean up this mess. Throw this corpse in the furnace. And get this wounded comrade out of here. Get an SS doctor for her and then have her transferred out of here. And I want all details of this kept secret. This was an accident, she fell down and knocked over the hot fat on herself. It was an accident. If word gets around that the prisoner was able to do this, I'll have you all shipped to front line brothels in Bessarabia."
This threat would keep them silent. But it was still a defeat, even if the secret of that defeat remained with her.
It had started off as a special day, and now a defeat had ruined it for her. Well, there was a lot of flesh in the stalag, flesh that was here to do with as she willed. Somebody would pay for her loss.
She picked up half a dozen guards and stalked over to Barracks Number 5. The prisoners became a frightened, shattered herd when she stalked in on them. They cowered and shuddered, a few literally wetting themselves. She took her time, walking around, exchanging pleasant little greetings with the fearful girls, selecting a dozen of the strongest and most sensitive. She marched them out in front of her, the whips of the guards slashing their hips and bottoms. She took them to a large exercise yard, and there she stripped off their rags and inspected them.
Her hands probed up into cunts, fondled tit�, goosed bottoms. She inspected their teeth, the remaining teeth anyway, as if they were cattle at auction.
"Excellent. All healthy specimens. Then you should be able to put on a good fight for me. I want you to mix it up and fight till only one of you is left standing. The winner shall return to the barracks, and escape torture. The losers shall endure a rather painful afternoon. Now, at the count of three, we shall begin."
Friendships were forgotten. There would be no holding back, with an escape from pain as the prize. She counted off the numbers. At the count of three the entire group fell upon one another in animal fury. Hair was torn out, faces ripped by fierce claws. Breasts were pummeled, twisted, ripped.
A tall, Cretan girl clashed with a short Norwegian. The smaller girl closed in with her opponent. She clasped her teeth to her opponent's breasts. She chewed and tore the shapely mounds, blood gushing from deep bite wounds. The screaming Cretan girl wrapped her hands in the hair of her smaller foe and tore her away. She smashed her fist into the short girl's face again and again. One blow broke the Norwegian girl's nose. The smaller girl hooked her hand into the crotch and ripped upwards, thrusting her clawed fingers into the vagina as she split open the lips. Then she brought her knee crashing into the crotch. The taller girl buckled, clutching at her hurt pelvis. The shorter girl brought both fists smashing into the other girl's pendulous breasts. As she doubled up and began to fall, a knee to the face finished her. A few stomps to the head made certain of it.
The Norwegian girl had no chance to celebrate her victory. She was seized from behind, her hair caught in the hand of another winner, who smashed her other fist around into the face of the short girl. She then grabbed her by the hair with both hands and threw her to the ground. The attacker straddled the body of her victim. They clawed and tore each other bloody. The Norwegian dug her nails into the cheeks of the attacker and ripped her from her cheekbones to her breasts. The attacker brought up both hands and smashed them down into the breasts and face of the Norwegian girl again and again. She battered the breasts, her hands sinking into the battered bags. The Norwegian girl passed out as her jaw cracked.
The attacker was trying to rise when the last girl standing on her feet, a tall blonde, kicked her square in the head. She keeled over on top of her own victim.
Ilse pointed toward the barracks.
"You won. Now get out of here, on the double."
The winner jogged off, weaving and staggering, her face covered with blood. It had been a hard victory, and she had escaped the torture that would befall the others. Ilse rubbed her hands together, thinking of what she would do to them.
CHAPTER NINE
Oberst Mieth thrust a long, thin splinter into Yvonne's quim. The flesh quivered once again as the long splinter pierced the flesh. Mieth took a long drag from her beer, then selected another splinter. She put this one into the corona of the right nipple. She thrust half a dozen more splinters into the quim, then a dozen into the fleshy tits.
"You are beginning to look like a porcupine."
The French girl's body was indeed riddled with the sharp splinters. Blood slowly leaked from many of the splinter holes. Mieth ran her hands up and down the white thighs. It was glorious sport to torture the pretty French bitches. She especially enjoyed torturing this one.
The Kommandant was personally working on her favorite victim, Lola. But Mieth had the pretty blonde whore to play with. She patted the riddled cunt, her fingers shoving a few of the slivers of wood in deeper. She trailed her hand along a whip welt that encircled the belly.
"Do you know what I intend to do with you now, you dirty French pig?"
Mieth lit a taper. She applied the flame to the tip of one of the splinters in the quim. The French girl's face showed her fear. She wiggled about frantically, trying to shake out the flame that rapidly blazed down the length of the splinter. Then it was sizzling her flesh, right under her skin, burning out inside her flesh.
"Arrgggggg." Yvonne threw her body back and forth, frantic with agony. The sadistic SS Oberst laughed and laughed, almost hysterical with pleasure. She opened up her uniform and let her hairy blonde bush thrust out. She rammed a thin dildo up into her cunt, and shook it around inside herself while she played with the victim.
Another splinter was lit, and then three more in rapid succession. Four slivers of wood wedged into the quim burned down simultaneously. Yvonne went into wild spasms and quivering fits of convulsion.
Mieth tapped her on the thighs with her riding crop.
"That put some liveliness into you. Now I have to think of something else."
A group of Gestapo officials came by at that moment, inspecting the camp. They were actually there to enjoy a personal orgy of torture upon the bodies of the captives.
A short, bespectacled, bald runt with an oversized nose was in charge of the group. Despite his impeccable Aryan background, he was indeed an inferior specimen. He was the feared Oberst fuehrer Heinrich Schultz, and he was a notorious sadist in his own right. Of course, he could not compare with the SS sadists of Stalag 44.
He let his hands wander over the flesh of a woman strapped to the Spanish rack.
"Wonderful. Excellent. But you should have spikes on this rack. It makes the pain even worse."
He looked over at Yvonne, suffering her torture at Ida's capable hands.
"That bitch looks half dead. I think I'll light one or two of those splinters myself. It looks to be an excellent game."
He lit one of the splinters in the right breast. It rapidly burned down and inflicted a stinging scorch upon the soft underside of the breast. The way the flesh quivered made him hot and horny. He casually opened his fly and stepped around behind the girl. He parted her ass cheeks and poked his fingers up into her asshole.
"An excellent gate. Very loose and well used. A lot of service has been taken up here. Well, she shall take one more right now."
His cock was rammed up her ass. She quivered and heaved, groaning with misery. Still, he had a small cock and so the agony was not as bad as it could have been. She had serviced many Germans, it had been part of her function as an agent. Still, the touch of Boche flesh always made a part of her mind squirm.
The Gestapo man took his time, slowly buggering her asshole. When he had shot his load into her, he stepped back and patted her benevolently on the ass globes.
"A good whore. Such a pity that she is wasted in here with all of these women."
The colleagues and subordinates laughed at his little remark. He petted Mickle on her tits.
"Carry on with the good work. That fat ass of hers will make an excellent target for your splinters."
He moved on with his group. He wondered how many times he could raise it before he left the camp. It was a pity, he thought, that his sexual abilities could never come up to his desires.
Kommandant Ilse Boehme was working on Lola. She was torturing the girl with fire and ice. A bit of heat applied by touching her with a plastic bag filled with boiling water. Cold applied by touching her with ice. She traced over the contours of the body, working on all of the sensitive areas. It was a torture that could be applied for a long time as it did no damage and left no marks on the flesh. It was a pure pain torture and left the flesh ready for an application of more damaging punishment later.
At her feet groveled Michelle. The girl pushed her tongue in and out of the asshole and the cunt. She sucked the crackline, licked the boots, ate out pussy and asshole. She had already been well trained in the rhythms and methods that pleased Use. She was developing into a useful slave.
Use ran a needle along Lola's thigh, up and down. She channeled a groove into the skin, piercing it slightly. She began to spin the needle around in her hands, drilling it deep into the flesh. She thrust it four inches in.
She took a short whip and began to flog the stubborn French girl. The blows fell upon her soft bottom. The fleshy ass had already been well slashed by the whips. The welts were deep and thick and long, great scar tissued, half healed masses of white and red. Ilse whipped these scabbed wounds open, spilling the blood that she so loved to strike down to.
Michelle groveled at her feet like a faithful dog. She ran her tongue all the way up along the ass crack, sloshing back and forth and then into it. Ilse patted her on the head. She gave the girl an affectionate lash on the bottom with the whip.
A guard came in and goosestepped to attention.
"The Gestapo Inspection Team is coming this way, Kommandant Boehme."
"Fuck. Damn it. They'll want in on my sport of course, the pigs."
She laid on a last series of cutting lashes into Lola's back. Then the Gestapo delegation was there.
"Greetings, Kommandant Boehme."
They exchanged the Nazi salute and the required Heil Hitlers.
"How do you find what you have seen so far?"
"Excellent, you have the necessary firmness with these scum. Show no mercy."
"There is not the slightest trace of mercy in this place."
The head Gestapo Official pointed to the figure groveling at her feet.
"What is that pet of yours?"
"This creature is a French resistance fighter. As you can see, she has become rather cooperative now."
"Yes, I can see you have done fine work with her. Send her over to me, my boots are dirty."
Michelle scrambled over on her hands and knees. She began to clean the boots off with her pink tongue.
"Excellent. Yes, well trained. And what of this other one? That one has a fiery look. Is she some special case, she has the look of leadership about her."
"Yes, this schwein was one of the leaders of a large bandit group. Our glorious forces have of course destroyed it, and here she is. I shall teach her the folly of resistance to the Third Reich. Yes, she is a notorious one. She has personally killed many of our brave men." The brows of the Gestapo man quivered in rage, and his fat, puffy lips trembled. He looked like a frog sitting on a hot log.
"Remove her gag and let her speak. I want to question that fucking, shit kissing bitch." The gag was taken off. The Gestapo official came over to her, playing a riding crop through his hands, twisting it into a pretzel.
"I have a few questions for you, and I want you to answer them."
Lola looked at him through pain dulled eyes. She had no intention of talking to the creep. They could kill her now if they wanted. Perhaps her lack of subservience would get Ilse into trouble.
"Fuck Heinrich Himmler's syphiletic sister's ass," she answered him.
The riding crop slashed across her face. "One more word out of you like that and I will flay the skin from your breasts and turn the dogs loose upon your skinned tits."
"Remember," Ilse reminded him. "This prisoner is mine. There are orders from high authority that she suffer a slow and painfully prolonged death. But I promise you that she will remain reasonably polite. If not, I will burn out one of her sister's eyes."
The face of the Gestapo bastard twisted up into a gnomish grin.
"That is more than satisfying to me."
Lola lost all of her bravado. They could always threaten her sister or one of the others. They had her and there was no denying it.
"Have you killed any Gestapo men, Miss Resistance Heroine?"
"Yes, I have."
His face darkened.
"How many Gestapo men have you slaughtered, bitch?"
"Three," she answered, casually. No, actually four. He had already been shot in the belly by one of his own men. I finished him off by slicing open his throat with a knife. I think you have most of this in your SS dossier on me. But anyway, I finished him. However, since he probably would have died from the bullet in his stomach, I suppose you could discount him if you want to."
Ilse laughed at this dryly related account. She caught herself quickly, snapping herself erect and militarily precise. It would not do to show sadistic delight in the account of the killing of Gestapo Agents.
"So, you admit to your crimes."
"There would be no point in denying them, since they are the reason that I am here."
"You realize that no mercy will be shown to one who has murdered high officials."
As he slowly and emphatically intoned these words, he took up a set of thumbscrews. He plucked up one of Lola's nipples and thrust it into the screw. He turned the crank, screwing her nipple into the crushing embrace of the torture implement.
"Let us torture her sister before her very eyes, that should make her suffer."
"We have already done this many times, and it is quite effective," Boehme explained.
"Sometimes in exchange for not torturing her sister we force her to undergo with a certain degree of cooperation extremely degrading ordeals. Very severe ordeals."
"Jawohl, you are indeed a cruel one."
She tapped him on the chest.
"You yourself are not noted for kindness." They laughed together, birds of a feather enjoying flocking together.
Brigitte was subjected to an ordeal of agony before Lola's anguished and heartbroken eyes. She was strapped to an upright rack. Slowly the rack was tightened up, the wheel turned, the limbs drown out. Stain ripped through her bones and ligaments and sinews, her body stretching out under the application of tension. The pain of the rack was a constant, dragging pull tearing at her joints, threatening to rip her asunder. Her suffering was quite severe.
"This is a pleasure I always enjoy, the rack. How strange that after all of these centuries nothing can quite match it for certain applications of pain. I suppose that the old ways are indeed the best."
"You are a traditionalist," Boehme said. "I don't think you should voice such sentiments to your Gestapo superiors. They pride themselves on the new methods that the Gestapo has invented."
"Only the tools are new. A few refinements on old techniques. A few more tools, such as electrical voltage. But the principles of torture have remained unchanged for thousands of years."
"Indeed, mankind's oldest art."
Whips were brought to bear upon the taut body. They gashed and tore the girl's flesh from neck to toes. The whips split open her skin in methodical carnage.
In her extremity of pain, Brigitte called out to her sister for aid, as she was wont to do when under the extremity of agony.
"Lola, help me. Eaaaaahhh, I'm being torn apart. Save me, please."
Ilse laughed. "When she goes half wild from pain she cries out to her sister for aid. Of course, her sister is as helpless as she is. It is all so futile, but quite amusing."
"Someday I'll be able to help her. You will see that day soon enough," Lola shouted.
Ilse had to hold her sides to avoid rolling on the floor laughing. She walked over to Lola and tightened up the screw crushing her nip-pie. She locked the other nipple into a screw and gave that one a vicious twist until it was a flattened out bloody sack of meat.
"This will give you something to think about yourself. Maybe this pain will silence your foolish voice."
One of the Gestapo men came up behind Lola, and opened his pants. He pulled out his cock and shoved it, rigid and hard, deep into the pit of her anus. He fucked her furiously while the torture of Brigitte was recommenced.
Brigitte's cunt was stuffed with red pepper and itching cream. The concoction was rammed home into her box, stuffed in and added to. She screamed, shrieked, tore at herself with her teeth in her maddened convulsions. Her cunt was fingerfucked, fingers smashing into the horrid mess stuffed in her hole.
Her body was laced with salt and pepper and vinegar. It was poured into her wounds, her mouth stuffed with a handful of pepper as she screamed out her pain. The burning powder poured down her throat as she screamed. It set fire to her passage, burned the sockets, her screams rose until her voice cracked. All of the muscles and organs of her body misfired and the shit and piss came pouring out of her. At least it helped to clear out some of the mess in her vagina. She went deep into coma shock, her sister staring with horror stricken eyes, scarcely noticing her own misfortune and the animal raping of her ass. Lola soon followed her sister into unconsciousness as the screws were tightened upon her nipples to the point where blood flowed in thick streams out of the tips.
CHAPTER TEN
After the orgy of torture the French resistance girls had several days to knit back together. They would soon be ready for more ordeals. Ilse decided to inflict a continuous, drawn out series of atrocities upon them, keeping them in bondage day by day and slowly destroying them.
All except Michelle, who was coming along in fine form. Michelle was in her customary position at Ilse's feet. She was chewing and sucking the shit piled into her dog dish. There was a contented expression on her face. Ilse gave her the boot in the ribs to catch her attention.
"I've been pleased with your progress, trash. You show the proper spirit of subservience to the Reich. But now, if you wish to become a Kapo, you must show more than a groveling acceptance of abuse."
Michelle bowed to her mistress. In the back of her mind there were things stirring that Ilse had no knowledge or suspicion of, but to Ilse she presented the whining, begging face of the submissive.
"Anything that you wish me to do, I will."
"You realize what is required of you, bitch?"
"Yes, I know what you expect of me. I must become one of you the way the Croatian Kapos were. I must torture the prisoners. Well, I will do it without hesitation. My agony at your hands has given me the taste for suffering torture as well as inflicting it. I will gladly do whatever you require of me."
"Would you even torture your fellow French?"
"Even Lola and the others. I am loyal and wish only to have the chance to prove it."
"Well, you can begin with some Polish garbage. We have three new Polish girls and I wish to initiate them properly to our rest camp. I will allow you to initiate them into agony."
"I hear and I obey Kommandant."
"Say, Heil Hitler."
Michelle sprang to rigid goose step attention like a stormtrooper.
"Heil Hitler, Kommandant."
"Good girl. Now finish your shit and then you will have a chance to demonstrate your technique upon the Poles."
Within five minutes they were standing in front of three naked bodies, sweating and roasting under the hot sun. The bodies hung by the wrists from three beams of wood set at right angles to stakes driven into the ground. Sometimes the victims dangled from these beams by the neck, swinging dead and cold. But these three were alive. Their feet were tied to large iron balls. The additional weight was breaking their bodies, slowly racking out their limbs.
"These poor flowers will wilt soon in this hot sun, so you should begin now."
Michelle selected a thick, horsehide whip.
"I have not used a whip before, Kommandant, so my technique will be very poor."
"Think nothing of it. This will be a training session for you. Before long, you should be quite an expert. You shall begin now."
Boehme expected hesitation, but Michelle lashed out at the nearest girl without a trace of it. The lash was aimed at the breasts. It looped around her body leaving a red circular streak on her torso. She shrieked with pain, but her skin was unbroken.
"No, no," Boehme instructed. "You are too close to her. Move back one pace. And stand a little to one side. Grip the whip closer to the handle. Aim carefully and try again."
This time the whip hit the breasts, splitting open a ragged, nasty gash. The tip tore the girl's chin.
"That was better. Never mind the mistakes and the mess you made. Just whip away and enjoy yourself."
Taking the Kommandant at her word, Michelle began to flog the breasts to pieces. Her whip slashed over the body, hitting it in many places outside the area of her targets. The whip split open bloody gashes in the belly. Trails of blood ran down the body. The girl spasmed and kicked.
Her two friends watched in utter horror, realizing that their own time was coming next.
"Excellent, excellent. Keep it up."
Ilse took off her trousers, and flipped away her brief, silken panties. She rammed a dildo up her cunt and seated herself to watch the sport. Other SS girl troopers gathered to watch the slaughter. It was a novelty, seeing prisoners being so abused and mangled by another prisoner.
Michelle stalked around her victim, whipping every part of her body. The fleshy, wide buttocks quivered and split apart in many places under the sting of the whip. A series of stripes was cut into the back, running up the broad and well fleshed torso, over the breasts. Michelle whipped her way around the screaming, maddened girl. Then she dropped her whip and closed in on the Polish girl. She gripped handfuls of the ample flesh of the tits, almost ripping it loose, holding it in her hands and digging in with her fingernails until the blood seeped from the spots where her nails had literally sunk into the flesh.
She rammed the butt handle of the whip up the cunt. She impaled the girl on it, shoving in with all her might. The Pole felt a pain of an intensity and magnitude she would not have believed possible.
"Is this good, Kommandant?" Michelle asked. "Is this a good technique?"
"Jawhol, it is an excellent technique. You have picked it up from me, the very best of teachers."
Michelle filled the cunt with her fingers. She dug deep into the soft tissues, ripping until a small stream of blood flowed from cuts on the inner lips. She rammed the butt of the whip all of the way in again, twisting it around and around in the tight passage.
The second whipped girl became her victim once again. Michelle picked up a knife, a dagger with a long, sharp blade. She turned it around in her hands, examining it, letting the light reflect off of the menacing edge of the blade.
"No, no, screamed the hysterical girl, in Polish. She almost tore her arms from their sockets trying to angle her body away from the blade.
Michelle stabbed it deep into her hair. She casually pulled it back, cutting away a mass of hair, letting the girl know just how sharp the blade really was. Then Michelle pressed it to the nipple. She twisted the point back and forth from left to right. It penetrated a quarter of an inch into the nipple. Blood flowed from the wound.
"Don't cut me, don't cut me," the Polish girl screamed in her native tongue. Michelle could not understand her anyway.
"Now, we'll try a bit of fun with a different sort of knife. This one isn't sharp at all, but you'll find no relief in that."
Michelle took a long, dull knife, and tested it upon the buttocks of the girl. It would not cut, which made it ideal for her purpose. She pressed the point against the puckered anus ring. The ring was a bit dirty with brown shit stain and sweat muck. Michelle pressed the point of the knife into the girl, up her asshole, corkscrewing the blade from left to right, scraping the inside of the asshole, making the whole process very painful.
"Aiiieeee." The girl cursed and pleaded in her native language. Her body was impaled upon the dull blade of the knife, a blade pressing left and right, moving about from one direction to the other, the point sliding along the wall of her hole, the dull blade faces scratching along the passage. Michelle began to turn the knife blade a full turn inside the Polish girl's asshole. Her victim convulsed in total agony.
The blade was drawn out. It was stained with mess. Michelle cleaned it off by rubbing it clean on the girl's face. Then she pressed it into the other hole, the tender vaginal passage. First she pricked and jabbed the tender lips, the outer lips first and then the inner lips. The girl suffered terrible pain, trying this time to maintain an iron silence. But this proved to be too difficult a test, and she let out the horrible cries of agony that mesmerized the perverted Ilse into true transports of ecstasy. The woman played with herself once again. It was disgusting to watch her playing with her orgasming cunt, the heavy discharges of cunt juice flowing down her thighs. The Polish girls loathed her, the way she enjoyed herself while they suffered.
Hauptmann Ruth Becker came into the torture session while it was in progress. She was surprised to see how viciously the French girl was torturing the big breasted Pole. She drew the blade in and out of the vagina, fucking the girl with it, stabbing away at the most tender of tissues, the inside of the vagina.
"Aaaahh, Becker," Ilse mumbled, half drunk with schnappes and sex. "How do you find the new girl's talent for torture. She is almost German, is she not?"
"Heil Hitler. Yes, she is almost fit to be a member of the SS. But I find this most surprising considering her background in the Resistance."
Ilse looked at her sharply. "You mean the Communist bandits, do you not? The resistance is what the pigs call themselves. It is not what we call them."
"Sorry, I was not thinking."
"Do not make that mistake again."
Still, it was apparent that the girl was indeed an artist at torture. She was now drawing the dull blade along the grooves cut into the body by the whip. Spasms of horrible tortured pain wracked the Pole.
"Becker, you look uncomfortable. I think that you want a part of this sport."
"Yes, I would enjoy torturing the third one."
"Go to it. Until our French Kapo is ready to go to work upon her, she is yours."
Becker appreciated the generosity. She took from a table a long dildo, with spikes along the huge shaft. She strapped it on and stepped up to the Pole, whose face reflected the horror that she felt. Ruth opened her up, parting the petal lips of the cunt, then inserting in one foul lunge the long rubber object. Deep, deep into the cunt it went. Ruth shoved back and forth, rising to a fast tempo in her desire to make the girl immediately begin to suffer as much as possible. And Ilse was in ecstasy.
She had two wonderful scenes of torture to watch. She filled her vagina with a dildo, and squatted down on it. She bounced up and down from a sitting position, thoroughly enjoying herself. The flow of come out of her box never stopped running.
Ilse took up the whip that had torn the body of the first victim. She lashed out, striking a ripping gouge upon the tip of the breasts. The two cones wobbled and shook. A welt left in the first whipping began to flow blood once again.
She laid the whip along the insides of the thighs. The whip bit the inner flesh, the columns of long, white softness that bubbled blood when the striking tip of the whip probed at them. Ilse whipped the flesh until the blood was pouring down the girl's calves and forming pools at her feet.
Michelle was ready for the last of her three victims. She took the girl's buttocks in her hands, wringing the meat through, splashing blood out of the welts she tore open and ripped apart. The guard, Ruth Becker, was forced to relinquish the Pole to her.
Ilse lashed out at the second girl as Michelle moved to the third. The whip struck a cracking slash over her torso, coiling around her body. The whip then tore her armpits bloody, splashing blood through the air. A lash cut open her cheek. Another tore a four inch cut into her forehead right over the brows.
The Pole passed out as Ilse began to flog her pussy. Ilse tore and slashed the cunt lips. She ripped the thighs, and tore up the hips.
Michelle probed the flesh of her victim with the dull bladed knife. She stabbed into wounds, drawing the point back and forth along the wounds, splashing the blood right out of the flesh.
Ilse tore the skin, turned it into a blood covered nightmare. She stabbed the point into the most sensitive of the flesh parts, into the areas thick with nerve endings. She stabbed the body hundreds of times, again and again and again. She jabbed the blade into the veins prominent in the sides of the neck on the heavy-set girl, and then just slowly sank the blade into the indented flesh, jabbing deep and giving so savage a pressure that even though the blade was harmlessly dull, nevertheless, she almost penetrated the veins.
The three Polish girls had been reduced to bloody messes, their flesh badly butchered. Ilse approved wholeheartedly of their fate. She particularly disliked Poles. Almost as much as she detested Russians and Jews.
Ilse took the French girl by the tits. She jiggled the nipples in her hands exciting and hardening them. She nipped them with her sharp teeth, hungry for the flesh of the girl. "Was I satisfactory, Kommandant?"
"You know you were quite satisfactory. You have a rare talent for cruelty. You really hacked up those dumb Poles."
"It was easy, they have sensitive skins. They are stupid animals, easy to make scream."
Ilse looked at her a bit skeptically.
"You sound very much like a true National-Socialist. You sound like an SS trooper. A very strange change in so short a time. I might be just a little bit suspicious of your motivations."
"You are aware, Kommandant, that I wish to avoid further punishment and to be on the winning side. But I also have a real and growing respect for National-Socialism."
"I am glad to hear that. I would not like to think of you as merely an opportunist."
They went down on the floor. Ilse ripped open her uniform. She plunged eager fingers into the girl, reaming her in and out, in and out. She was eager for the flesh of the French girl. She opened up her uniform, popped the nipples in and out of her mouth. She manipulated them, made them full and heavy with her sucking. They became tight, taut little cones. She dug them around inside her mouth, eating away at the flesh she bit and sucked, her excitement mounting. The continued cries of the three unfortunates still being beaten and abused by Becker added to her sex thrills.
She rolled Michelle over and began to spank the firm seat. The pounding through the seat of her pants made the skin burst out with blazing heat. Ilse spanked the hot cheeks even hotter, bearing down on the bottom, slapping and slapping and slapping it. She kept on pounding and pounding, feeling her self exploding into the heights of nymphomaniacal lust once again. She pounded the bottom with both hands now, her fists smashing with remorseless violence into the hot bottom.
The SS chief considered that is was the ass of a now loyal Kapo that she was busting. If she had known what was really going on in the mind of Michelle, she would have killed her with all of the slow, agonizing attention that she was so expert at.
Michelle was planning treachery to the enemy, and the time for it was close at hand.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Michelle wore the uniform of a Kapo with seeming pride. At first Ilse used the uniform as an object of sport and humiliation, ordering her to wear it with the back of the trousers cut out. Her ass was the target of whips, hands, and teeth. The German SS bitches shoved fingers, sticks, whips, clubs, dildos, and other objects up her ass. They spanked her continuously, hundreds of spanks turning her ass crimson as every passing hand was laid to her bottom. She soon realized that it was a kind of initiation. She passed it with a stoic acceptance of all her punishment.
Ilse was vigorously aroused by the sight of the girl in full cap and uniform slavishly groveling at her feet, tongue washing her boots.
"Now, we'll see if you can live up to your uniform. I awarded it to you for whipping those Polish girls. Now, let's see if you have the courage and ruthlessness to torture your own comrades."
"Kommandant, I thank you for the chance to become a true citizen of the Third Reich. I promise to be a loyal and faithful member of the SS."
"Watch your tongue. You are a Kapo, swine, not a member of the SS. That may come if you show the proper attitude, a place among the foreign auxiliaries."
"I will live up to your expectations. Not only will I torture those whores, but I'll invent new tortures to try out upon them."
"Well, I shall see if you can be so inventive. I'll set them up for you in one of the torture chambers. You may supervise their punishment."
"I thank you, Kommandant."
Two hours later the four French girls were once again about to undergo horrible torture. They had barely recovered strength from the last ordeal. The Nazis were finishing them slowly, keeping them fit and strong, making the punishment last. They would live for a long time before the torture finished them off. They regretted that they had not been as fortunate as poor dead Arlette.
It was a shattering shock to them to see Michelle in the uniform of the despised Kapos. She swaggered about with her tits hanging out of her blouse, as brazen as any of the SS sluts. Except for her lack of arms, the fucking whore traitor looked like just another SS trooper.
Michelle laughed. She gouged her fingernails into Lola's cheeks and clawed them. She landed a solid, crunching fist in the girl's belly. The guards she had brought nodded in approval. They watched the fists batter human tissue to bloody pulp. They stood in place and watched her expectantly.
Ilse was impressed by the start. The French turncoat's eyes were blazing with the sick desire to inflict pain and degradation for her own pleasure. It was a facial expression that Ilse knew intimately. She had seen it in the mirror often enough.
Michelle began with the strongest, Lola. She pinched up Lola's breasts with spiked pincers, gouging bloody saw toothed wounds into the breasts. Lola continuously cursed her and spit into her face. Michelle laughed at her rage, continuing her torture. She gripped the nipples in pliers and twisted them around and around, corkscrewing them almost beyond the limits of elasticity.
"Now we shall see if you get the point of the next torture."
Lola got the point all right. Michelle heated scores of needles red hot, and thrust into the sensitive parts of the body. First she sieved the breasts, piercing the nipples and then shoving needles into all of the fleshy parts of the breasts. Lola was in extreme pain, her breasts punctured by over thirty red hot needles. Her flesh had been so abused with heat that every part of her body was now experienced to the feel of sizzling hot metal stabbing into it.
Michelle stabbed needles into the quim. She chose tender areas that had already been pierced by needles or scorched with cigarettes. She shoved the needles in crooked, joggling paths into the soft tender curved mound of the pelvic triangle. The girl passed out as her vagina was violated by hot needles.
Michelle revived her by holding a bucket full of shit under her nose. As Lola came to, Michelle shoved a large lump of the shit into her mouth and then clamped her jaws shut. As Lola struggled to dislodge it, Michelle wrapped a half dozen rolls of gauze tape around her mouth.
"Very good, you show promise," Ilse complimented her.
Michelle laughed. She kissed Lola on the breasts, then nibbled the nape of her neck. The hands opened up the lips of the sex. Fingers thrust into her, rude poking and exploring fingers. She fingerfucked Lola, playing with her tits, chewing on the nipples and picking at the armpits. Michelle then put her mouth to Lola's ear and began to lick and kiss it. Lola tossed her head from side to side trying to shake her off.
Suddenly Michelle grasped her tight by the cheeks of the ass and began to rub herself off on Lola. As she rubbed she whispered into Lola's ear words that astonished the resistance leader, convinced her of the redhead's perfidy.
"Trust me. It's all an act. It's been an act from the beginning. I had to fool all of them, to convince them. I had to pretend to be first a coward and then a traitor. I am sorry I must torture you so, but I must do it so that they will be convinced. Tonight I will be back with a knife I have stolen and we will make our break from here. You will all be ready for me. Trust in me, I am still faithful."
Lola kept a look of hatred and agony on her face, writhing in the grip of her assailant. It was almost too much to hope for, but it had to be true. Michelle could not have turned into a cowardly turncoat, a sadistic dog of the SS overlords. It had all been a con, a bluff, a trick. And she had believed it the same as the Germans. Of course, that was why it had worked. It had been so convincing because nobody had been in on it, and the hatred and contempt they all felt for Michelle was real. Poor Michelle. Crawling after Ilse Boehme, eating her shit, drinking her piss, accepting the offerance of her spit as if it were candy and gobbling it down.
Ilse was impressed by the ruthlessness and brutality of the French girl. Of course, Michelle was imitating her in style both of torture and sex play. So much the better, it was interesting to have an imitative slave.
Michelle finished her sex degradation of Lola. She rammed dildos up into the brave girl front and back, and then moved on to Brigitte.
She took the girl's breasts and wrapped them in strong iron bands, spiked with sharp needles. As she squeezed and wrapped the bands around the young, tender breasts, they crushed them to bloody pulps, riddling them with spikes, turning the breasts into blood soaked broken bags. Blood poured in streams down the girl's body.
Michelle pretended to have a further sadistic inspiration. She knelt before the Kommandant and kissed her boot tips.
"These dogs, who were once my friends and companions now hate me more than they even hate you. I have a plan to increase their mental suffering and anguish. I will not finish them today, but they will be left here for another session tomorrow. They will spend the night cursing and hating me, futilely imagining a thousand horrible tortures that they would enjoy inflicting upon me. In the morning I will be back, and they will be here expecting me, trapped and helpless, at my mercy, after that long desperate wait, knowing the full measure of defeat and helplessness."
Ilse looked at her with a note of respect in her face.
"Not a bad idea. You have a certain talent for this. I think you have come over to your natural side in this war. Yes, an inspired plan. Pure, uncompromised fiendishness."
"Let them sweat it out."
"You dirty scummy pig," Brigette screamed. "We should have killed you when you first began to talk about surrender to them."
Michelle laughed cruelly. "You should have, but you didn't. You lost your chance for all time. It is too late to do anything about it."
"Kapo," Ilse ordered, "Continue your work." Michelle walked over to Brigitte. She lit a cigarette. Holding it like a dagger she moved it close to Brigitte's face, Brigitte forced her face back as far as she could, until the tension in her bonds held her fast. The cigarette hovered close to her, moving over the area of her body, feinting at nipple and navel. Then Michelle parted the lips of Brigitte's cunt, and shoved it up the vagina, crushing it out along the inside of the tunnel, scorching the sensitive tissue. The girl spasmed so violently that one of the ropes wrapped around her belly snapped.
Michelle continued the torture, slapping-the young girl silly. She had to be brutal, and yet she had to be certain that she did not incapacitate any of them. Despite the damage she did, they would all have to make their break that night. She cracked her hands back and forth, left and right, turning the battered cheeks a bright shade of crimson. She smashed again and again. A trickle of blood began to flow from the right side of her mouth. Then it began to gush from her nose. The girl was dazed, half conscious.
An application of the needles and pins revived her. The torture was agonizing, yet not seriously damaging. Michelle deftly filled quim and breast, buttock and thigh with the sharp slivers. She joggled them around inside the flesh, twisting and turning, ripping savage courses through the body which was soon covered with thin flowing lines of blood breaking forth from numerous puncture wounds.
"Not a bad technique," Ilse commented. As she watched, she began to stroke herself off with her riding crop. It was fantastically exciting to watch the horror.
Michelle stabbed three needles into each nipple. She probed them through the buds of pink flesh, bursting right through the corona skin. She wiggled and twisted them around, crossing them over one another and pushing the needles in and out as she turned the nipples and caused the girl unbelievable pain.
Ilse was at the peak of excitement. She shot off, her clit exploding with the sadistic pleasure of watching the horror. She was now hungry for the body of the fiendish French girl as she watched her torturing her former friends, little suspecting the game of deception that Michelle was playing.
On Catherine, Michelle began with the fish hooks. She stabbed hooks into Catherine's breasts and buttocks. She even ran hooks through the centers of Catherine's nipples. Then she hung weights from the hooks, which bore down upon the flaps of flesh ripped through by the hooks. Michelle gaily tossed and bounced the weights about, pulling on the strands of strong line that they were hung upon. She began to work on Catherine with a cigarette. She bored it into the thighs, inflicting small red burn circles. She ran it up and down the legs, all along the insides of the thighs. She tickled the armpits with the cigarette, and snuffed it out on the nape of Catherine's neck.
"Wonderful," Ilse proclaimed. "Keep up the good work, Kapo."
Michelle probed under the flapping, bouncing breasts with long pins. She probed them along the line of meeting skin between torso and breast, along the undersides of the tits. She stabbed straight up parallel to the torso, into the breasts and out the top. Every fraction of an inch she stabbed into the breasts again. Long threads of blood ran down Catherine's body from the undercurves of her breasts.
Catherine passed out when Michelle began to stab the outline of the swastika into her ass with the needles.
"Well, Yvonne. You are next, and the last apparently. But I am sure that you will be as entertaining as the rest of my former friends." Yvonne spit in disgust.
"Filthy traitor. When this war ends, we will find you and hang your skinned ass on the gallows. I will personally slash off your breasts on the guillotine."
Michelle laughed. "The end of the war is a long way from now, my friend. Besides, I believe that the Third Reich will emerge victorious from this war."
"That is the smart way to look at it," Ilse said. "Keep on thinking that way, and you will wisely continue to improve your situation."
"Bitch, traitor. Rotten stinking Judas. I curse the day we made you one of us, you rotten stinking scum. Why don't you go over to the Kommandant and eat her ass, the way she likes it."
"You have a sharp tongue, mon ami. Be careful that we do not cut it out for you." Michelle took a pair of tweezers. She pricked a bit of Yvonne's breast skin up in them and squeezed with all of her finger strength. She ripped off a small patch of skin. She dabbed her finger into the bloody bit of flesh that had been flayed on a small dot of skin, really a tiny piece.
"You're not enjoying this, are you, bitch." Michelle dug the tweezers into the girl's sweaty armpits. She tore out small close shaven hairs, ripping them out at the roots.
"And still more painful ordeals are awaiting you." She dug her nails into Yvonne's right breast. She slowly scraped a jagged, weaving series of nail wounds over the rise of the breast, pulling it through the brand mark, down over the nipple, all of the way, cutting and ripping skin, down the length of the belly to end in the patch of cunt hair clawing the pussy lips. A terrible howl of anguish erupted from Yvonne. Michelle regretted what she had to do, but utter ruthlessness and total brutality was the only hope for any of them. The things she did had to be real enough and terrible enough.
"Let us see how much skin we can remove from your body, whore."
She began to slowly tweeze away tiny flakes of skin once again. She ripped away small bits from the belly, the thighs, and the vulnerable breasts.
"Aiiieeee. Stop it, you're tearing my flesh apart. You dirty, rotten traitor... eeaaahhh."
"Still, you have an evil mouth. Let me see if I can shut it for you."
Michelle dipped a large soup spoon into the bucket of shit, loose shit. She scooped it out and stuffed it into Yvonne's mouth. Yvonne tried to spit out the foulness, but a rag was stuffed into her mouth after the shit, and then taped into place.
"Be careful not to swallow it, my friend. It has rather a vile flavor."
The unspeakable tortures continued for a time, and then tapered off as Ilse became restless to see the torture of other captives. The group was left to isolation and-for Lola -hope. She wondered what sort of a chance they would have if Michelle came through. She began to make plans, to calculate and plot the possibilities of escape from Stalag 44. It was one chance in a hundred, but surprise would be one weapon in their favor.
CHAPTER TWELVE
In her Kapo's uniform, Michelle made her way across the compound, inconspicuous and unchallenged. She paused before one of the wretched girls on a cross to whip her ass and stick a few pins into her, acting like one of the other bitches. She acknowledged greetings from the women she passed, acting like a comrade. She was cool, and managed to avoid giving herself away as she feared she would.
The others were still in the torture chamber they had last been beaten in. She came up to the guard in the doorway, asking for a match. She joked about the condition of the prisoners. The guard never realized what was happening. Her head was cracked against the wall, and as she fell Michelle pulled out the SS knife she had secreted and cut the girl's throat from ear to ear.
"Lola, I'm here."
"Mon dieu, I never thought you would really do it. I was afraid that you would back down."
"I want out of here as much as any of you. It was all an act, from beginning to end. I had to keep my secret even from you, to make it seem real."
It was the work of a few seconds to free the others.
"What can we do now," Brigitte asked. "There are only five of us, and we have one submachine gun and a dagger between us."
"We need more weapons, that is for certain." Lola stripped the uniform off the guard and dressed herself in it.
"We have to move fast. Soon this will be discovered, and we won't have any chance at all." Lola stood in the doorway, looking at the nearest guard-tower. She was forming a plan.
Her German was perfect, without a trace of French accent.
Standing at the base of the tower, under the sweep of the lights, the features of the face are hard to see. Those bitches have a habit of sometimes climbing the towers at night, do they not."
Michelle thought about it.
"I have seen it happen a few times. When these bitches are tired of fingerfucking each other and kissing tail, they sometimes want a man. And so they climb up the towers and spend an hour or two with a guard. There are two in the towers, and as long as one is on duty, the other can have his fun. Of course, this is against regulations, but the damn Kommandant allows it."
Lola pointed to the nearest tower.
"I'm going to walk over to that tower and climb up to the open arms of the two bastards up there. I'll try and finish them fast with the knife. I want you to cover me from the doorway with the gun. If anything happens, all of you make a break for the wire. Shoot it down and run through."
"One chance in a thousand that even one of us would make it."
"Better than staying around to be butchered. Now, here I go, before I have time to think about it."
She slipped the knife under her shirt and began to casually walk across the field toward the tower. She kept on going, her head down, humming to herself, avoiding any glance right at the men in the tower. Once another guard passed within ten yards. She grinned at Lola, knowing what she was up to. A bit of a fast fuck with one of the guards. Big Fritz was in tower Four, randy and horny for it.
Lola came right up to the foot of the tower. The ladder was within two steps of her.
"Hello, Fraulein. Are you looking for something?" The voice was heavy with lust.
"Yes, I am looking for something. Perhaps I should come up there and try to find it." Her voice was promising, teasing.
"Ya, that would be nice. But who are you, fraulein?"
"Why not see when I climb up. A surprise is always pleasant. Is it not?"
"Ya, but I think that you are Britte. You sound like Britte to me."
"Well, when I am up there you will see for yourself, ya?"
Big Fritz turned to his comrade and grinned. A hot piece of ass. All of that torturing made the girls as horny as hell. He nudged Arnitz in the ribs. The smaller man grumbled. The big bastard would have the first crack at her. He would have to sit at the damn machine gun, covering the compound. What a rotten thing.
Lola began to climb the tower. She slipped the knife into her hand, holding it down. As the trapdoor opened, Fritz extended a hand to her. She had a flash of big, white teeth set in a jackal's dirty grin.
"Now fraulein, let me see who you are?"
He looked at her with puzzled eyes, wondering who she could be. Even as he suddenly realized that the face was not in the slightest German, the blade whipped across his throat, shearing it open and spilling out his life.
The smaller man heard a muffled, liquid cry behind him. As he turned a figure lunged up into the tower and swept at him. He had no time to scream or comprehend what was happening to him. The figure swept an arm around his neck, covering his mouth. A long, sharp blade plunged half a dozen times into his heart. He bled out his life, scream muffled in the hand over his mouth.
Lola stood over the two bodies. They had died silently. She hunched over the machine gun. She had handled an MG 42 before.
She made a sign to Michelle. With a casual shrug, Michelle began to walk across the compound. There were no guards turned her way. She climbed the tower, coming up next to Lola.
"You did a good piece of work. Your usual high standards. They never made a sound."
"No, not a sound. Strap this pistol around your waist, and take this Schmeiiser. Get back to the girls and give them these weapons. Then I want you all to make a run for the wire. I'm going to shoot it down with this gun, and then cover you."
"Is that the best way."
"We must act fast. We'll be discovered any time now."
"But that wire is electrified."
Lola found a few grenades in the pockets of the big German. A little insurance just in case there actually was trouble."
"They will handle the wire. I'll string all four together and drop it on the wire next to the tower. It should blow a hole in the wire, large enough to get through. Now hurry."
Michelle started back to the torture chamber. On her way she became aware that a guard was headed in her direction. She cursed under her breath, and bent down as if she were examining her boot. She slipped the pistol into her hand.
"What were you doing up in the tower?," asked the smirking guard. Even as she realized that she was talking to the French Kapo, who was carrying forbidden arms and was also out after dark-another violation, her head was zapped by the blow of the pistol butt. Michelle gave her an additional crushing blow when she was down to finish her. Michelle looked up in alarm. The other towers would spot her. The body would be out in plain sight. But they had not spotted her yet.
Lola readied her machine gun. She had tied the grenades together. She would wait until the others were close to the wire.
Michelle ran to the hut. She slipped inside and distributed the weapons. She and Catherine had the submachine guns. Brigitte had a pistol taken from the guard she had finished, and Yvonne had a pistol that Lola had given her.
"Come on, let's move."
A guard came along, walking past the tortured bodies on the X-Crosses. She whipped a pair of tits raw. She stabbed her cigar between the breasts, then into the right nipple. The figure on the cross groaned.
Suddenly she spotted the body lying on the ground, less than one hundred meters away. She began to run toward it, unstrapping the gun from her back. As she clawed for a schmeiiser on her back, she spotted four figures running out of the hut. Three were in the rags of prisoners. She saw to her horror that they were all armed. As she screamed out her alarm toward the nearest guard tower, not knowing that it was held by another prisoner, a burst of fire from the running quartet cut her down.
Lola blasted a long burst of fire into the tower on her right. It was five hundred yards, but her aim was excellent, and she had a pair of field glasses to aid her. She blasted away the gun crew, blew out the lights. A long burst, one hundred bullets ripping the tower apart.
She turned to the left hand tower. It was two hundred yards away. Already it was firing on the girls. She blasted it apart, blowing out the lights. Even as she blew it apart, killing the crew, there were guards running out of huts and barracks, and out of their headquarters building.
The girls blasted a half dozen guards running out of their barracks. Yvonne took a burst right through the stomach and breasts. She went down, dead. Michelle cut down the bitch who killed her.
Lola dropped the bomb on the wire, at the count of four. It exploded, blowing a huge hole in the electrified wire.
"Come on, hurry up. Let's get out of here."
The girls scurried for the hole, fire whipping at them from every corner of the compound. Lola turned the lights on a running column of SS girls. She recognized Bauer, Becker, and Kemph in the lead. The three terrible hauptmenn. She ripped a long, continuous burst into them. They were smashed to the ground, bodies riddled with bullets. They kicked and screamed and howled.
The girls burst out of the wire. She blazed away, covering them. A half dozen SS guards came running up from the outside. The girls blasted them away. Bullets ripped through flesh. Catherine took a bullet in the center of her forehead. She died with open, staring eyes.
"Run, run."
Lola emptied the belt she had on the gun, the barrel so hot that it smoked. She blasted away running figures, smashed out the windows in the Kommandant's office, blew up oil drums and motor vehicles. Then, as agile as a cat, she sprang down on the far side of the wire, clutching a sub-machine gun. She landed beyond the wire, that crackled and smoked. The girls were fading into the darkness in seconds.
They ran across the road, dodging a stream of fire, the three of them left, dangerous and defiant. A Nazi car came barreling along. There were four SS men in it. As quick and deadly as death itself, Lola blasted away the four SS troopers. She vaulted into the vehicle, the girls crowding in with her. They went around in a half circle and off the road, across the open field. They drove across the field, shots falling behind into the distance. They came out on the road past the SS Trooper's barracks and headed off toward the South. Switzerland was only thirty miles away. They had one chance in a thousand.
Behind them, the SS girls and the SS troopers became involved in a bloody gun battle among themselves, each side mistaking the other for the mysterious, terrifying enemy. In the confusion, prisoners bolted and rioted, attacking guards, ripping SS bitches apart. Obert Mieth was dragged into a torture chamber by a wild, screaming pack of prisoners. They gouged out her eyes with dull knives, skinned her alive, tore off her breasts. They dropped the still writhing thing into a pit filled with poisonous snakes.
Kommandant Boehme shot down half a dozen girls coming at her. One girl got her hands on the Schmeiiser of a guard, and shot down three of the SS girls. Boehme crouched in the dust, avoiding the shots of the aroused prisoner.
Boehme scurried away, bullets whipping around her. She tried to stop the fighting between the two SS factions. A bullet smashed her right arm.
Most of the prisoners were shot down, or returned defeated to their barracks. Scores of others made it out of the camp.
Late the next day the miserable Kommandant Boehme stood naked at attention before a raging SS General, and a high ranking Gestapo official.
"Fifteen SS Guardsmen killed, twenty eight of your own girls dead, and one hundred and twelve fatalities among the prisoners. Quite a little bit of shooting. And what is worse, twenty seven prisoners still unaccounted for.
"It was not my fault."
The SS general signaled a guard standing behind Boehme. The grinning guard lashed her back and buttocks bloody with a whip.
"You'll end up in an SS front line brothel for this. And if those resistance leaders who escaped in the car get across the border to Switzerland, I'll have your forehead branded.
"That is the least this stupid pig deserves," commented the Gestapo man.
There was a ringing of the telephone. Boehme awaited the results of the conversation with fear growing.
"Ya, ya, I see. Damn it."
The SS man hung up, his face glowering with rage.
"You stupid, nymphomaniac slut. They shot their way through a roadblock and a guard position. Another seven dead. They made it across the border to Switzerland. We cannot touch them now."
"But we are the Third Reich."
The Gestapo man picked up a riding crop and split Use's nipples open with it.
"Are you suggesting that we invade Switzerland to get those three. You stupid animal, you will end up in a brothel. We shall see if you can serve the Reich with your ass if not with your brains."
"Please, I have been loyal."
"Take her away. Brand her on the forehead, and whip her until her flesh hangs in pieces. Salt and pepper this bitch well after she has received two hundred lashes on every part of her body."
They dragged her out, a pathetic, pleading figure. They took her away and tied her to one of her own crosses. The frightened figures watching in the barracks had one fleeting bit of pleasure, watching her take what she had dealt out to so many. Her forehead was branded with a hot iron, branded with the mark of the swastika.
Then the whipping began. The leering, lustful guards who tortured her, examined her ripe body, fondled and handled every curve, fingerfucking her, sticking their hands up her ass. They jiggled her tits and made obscene remarks about her body. Miserably, she thought that once she could have had them shot.
The whips began their task. Her tits exploded in blood. Skin was flogged away. The whips coiled over her cunt, slashed the pussy mound with bloody lines and stripes. Her ass was torn up, demolished. The whips split open the globes, slicing the cakes up into small segments, splashing a mass of blood all around the flailing body. She slumped forward, half conscious, the whips tearing every part of her body. A pool of blood formed under her. She was barely aware of when the salt and pepper were rubbed into her wounds, but soon she became very aware of this torture, as every nerve in her body caught fire. The SS men salted and peppered her, and played with the quivering piece of screaming meat that had once been Kommandant of Stalag 44.
