The river was cold, Julia Schmidt thought. But their destination was only a few more miles, according to what her captors said. For it was winter and they too were chilled. They kept telling themselves that warmth and comfort were but a few miles and once they crossed the Amper River they would be within sight of their destination. So, Julia Schmidt too, felt some of their relief once the Amper was sighted.
But she was scantily clad in a one-piece woollen suit and cloth coat. These Nazis had given her no time to dress adequately for the journey. They had arrested her and some of her artist friends outside a small cafe in Munich. Right on the cobbled street Julia and her companions had been judged and sentenced.
There was no place for pacifists in the fatherland, they had been informed. Julia, numbed by the shock, hadn’t resisted. Some of her friends had run and been caught. They were herded into an alley between the beer hall and another building and machine gunned.
The gutters gushed with blood. The screams of the condemned clattered. Julia Schmidt had silently watched, tense, every nerve alive. For as the carnage was being perpetrated, something rose inside her guts, a feeling that she had never felt before.
And the tall, slim, long legged blonde watched while the butchery went on and on and with each hoarse kicking explosion from the automatic weapons, Julia Schmidt flinched. Each involuntary spasm of her nerves caused another and stronger impulse to shoot through her belly, igniting her cunt. Her panties were soaked at the crotch, but she was only vaguely aware of what the slaughter of her friends was doing to her vagina. All she knew was that she was horrified and repulsed by this brutal, wanton slaying and, at the same time, attracted to the spilling of blood, the sound of the screams and the muffled impact of the bullets against the young, vibrant bodies of her fellow artists.
When the soldiers took the survivors away in a truck, she felt a hatred for these men who had conducted, with relish, the murder of her companions. But even then, the warmth remained in her belly and cunt, counterpointing the disgust she had for the soldiers.
As the truck left Munich she worried for her parents, middle class Bavarian show owners, and her fiancé: Helmut Fredericks, who, like Julia, was a student of art at the local university. As Munich became enveloped in mists directly behind the truck, her shock abated and she was uncomfortably aware of the two soldiers and plain clothes chief seated on either side of her - and of the two other girls seated facing her.
The soldiers guarding the two girls had their hands on Sonya and Willa and the two students tried to push the boys away.
“What is the matter, Fraulein? We smell too bad, eh?” The soldier held Sonya by her breast and as he squeezed the girl whimpered and continued to fight.
“No, no, liebling,” the soldier crooned, “you must not resist.”
But as Sonya struggled, the pain in Julia Schmidt’s cunt became more severe and she shoved a hand between the folds of her coat and under the hem of her skirt and she spread back the crotch of her panties and the thick hair of her cunt became saturated with lust oil as her fingers brushed the puckered labia.
Julia Schmidt winced and groaned as she pushed back the snug cunt lips and touched her clitoris. Lust juice spattered her fingertips but as the cries of her two friends became louder, as their anguished shouts rose, the anguish in Julia Schmidt’s cunt became more intense.
The high breasted German girl rammed her finger against the sensitive inner cunt muscles and the easing delight of masturbation made her cunt shudder. Julia’s voice rose to match the screams of her friends who were being raped viciously on the truck floor by their husky, blond captors.
Hans Zukor, the only member of the brown shirts dressed in street clothes, remained passive beside Julia Schmidt, watching as she watched. His cock was swollen but he fought the urge to strip and fling himself on this woman seated at her side. He needed more than a naked woman to excite him, but then he smelled the bitter muskiness of Julia’s pussy and heard her outcries and with a hoarse whimper stinging his throat, he turned toward the voluptuous young woman. Her fingers continued ramming her pussy and for a moment he thought she was reaching for a weapon under her coat, missed when she was hastily searched before boarding the truck.
Hans Zukor grabbed her arm, jerked her fingers free and, when he saw dots of cum jammed beneath her long fingernails, he laughed and dragged the struggling woman toward the rear of the truck where there was space.
“Masturbation is such a waste,” Hans Zukor rasped as he forced Julia to her knees. His cock was swollen, and strained against his fly.
“Please,” Julia Schmidt whimpered. She was a virgin, and afraid of this wild-eyed brute of a man, and even more frightened of the sexual ambivalence she was feeling. “Oh, no, please, don’t hurt me.”
Zukor twisted her wrists, forcing her over on her side, pushing hard against her outstretched arms, making her lie on the cold gnarled and splintered floorboards. The stink of the petrol, and warped wet wood made Julia gag and her head throb as intensely as the pounding in her vagina.
“Yes, please,” Zukor breathed, pushing her over on her back, “beg for mercy. I want you to beg.”
Zukor pushed her away suddenly and Julia Schmidt whimpered. He flung off his topcoat, then the grey flannel suit jacket. His white shirt gleamed in the glow of the oil lamp in a nearby corner; his dark tie was a rumpled snake spanning his middle up to his throat. As Julia Schmidt cringed, her vagina pulsing maddeningly, the tall intelligence officer unzipped his fly. His cock was enormous; long and thick and red tipped the huge muscle rose toward Julia. She screamed, flung herself back until her shoulders struck the back of the truck. As Julia tried to escape the crouching, advancing, hard breathing figure her cunt spasmed and the pain of her pent-up orgasm rent her clitoris.
Julia Schmidt was unable to control her raging lust but, at the same time, she was frightened. And then Hans Zukor was a foot from her quivering body and the two other girls were screaming as the soldiers repeatedly raped their virginal cunts.
The sight of that monstrously huge prick coupled with the screaming of her friends made Julia Schmidt’s pussy throb and her clitoris twinge like a raw nerve. It was as though she had to have this cold damp truck with the savagery going on within the truck’s narrow walls to excite her surging glands. Julia had never experienced this sort of raw animalistic lust. She was terrified of what she might become if these brutes touched the right nerve, elicited the right response.
If she became what she feared she would be forever damned. Even though she was a virgin from an unsophisticated family, she was still educated.
Hans Zukor watched the girl’s eyes widen, then become glazed and roll as though she were in a faint. The lids fluttered. Her lips pulled across her saliva slickened teeth and she grinned stupidly - a nervous mouth spasm rather than a smile of anticipation.
Yes, he thought smugly, he had chosen wisely. It would not take long.
“Come now, bitch, get your skirt up ... up ...” Zukor snarled, hands on hips, his big cock straining, the veins throbbing with cum.
“No,” she whimpered. But she pulled her skirt higher, to her waist. Her silk stockings were gartered to her thighs and when the thigh muscles rippled the silk danced and hissed.
Zukor undid his belt. His pants dropped to his ankles. He jerked her legs aside. Julia Schmidt cried out, gagged, shivered as slivers bit her buttocks. Terror ripped through her brain but was submerged in a stronger, more urgent emotion of desire. In spite of her fears, the need for this bizarre linking of flesh rose like bile, choking off reason, leaving only the desire.
“Come now, liebchen,” Hans Zukor rasped. “Spread yourself, make yourself wet for your new lover.” Zukor reached down, whipped his belt from his pants, folded the heavy leather belt in half, gripped the buckle tightly.
Julia Schmidt, retching, sobbing, backed into a corner and cringed there like a trapped rat. “No,” the blonde whimpered. “I am a virgin. You must not do that to me. Oh ... oh ...”
The sight of the belt swelled across her field of vision, filled her brain, and every artery of thought was clogged with the vision and the feel of the impending brutality.
Zukor’s laugh rose above the screams of the raped girls. Zukor turned to see what his troops were doing to Willa and Sonya. The two virgins were being butt fucked and their virgin’s blood was matted to their smooth silken thighs and clotted to their thick pubic bushes, and drained along the rutted flooring. Yes, Zukor thought, it would be better if he broke her in slowly.
“Come now,” Hans Zukor snarled. “Over on your face.”
Julia Schmidt saw the fate of her two artist companions and she screamed, an endless ululation. But her cunt surged with lust and her clitoris ached, so she thought she would faint. The rippling of those plump, smooth ovular buttocks set her juices flowing and ignited a fire that reached to the back of her vagina. As the soldiers drove their massive cocks deep into the bowels of her two helpless friends, her rectum tightened and a sharp pain knifed her intestines. It was almost as if she were experiencing the humiliation, the pain.