I am wrenched into consciousness by the smell of ammonia wafting into my nostrils. As I
choke, I open my eyes and find myself suspended in blackness, arms above my head, with
only a dim light glowing from the rear of the room. My wrists are chained to two large
iron poles that are on either side of me. The pain in my wrists from the cold manacles is
lessened, only slightly, by two small pieces of metal, attached to the poles, on which my
wrists rest. By contrast, the pain in my ankles is much more intense, and I realize that
they are bound to yet another set of bars, located farther apart than those restraining my
arms. My ass is spread widely.
After what seems like hours, but is probably only minutes, I hear a door open slowly
behind me.
“Hello…” I whisper tentatively, after there is only silence for several awkward
moments. A door slams shut, and slow, deliberate footsteps begin to approach me from the
rear. I can tell they come from leather boots, by the dense crunching sound.
“Guten morgan, fraulein,” a husky, masculine voice counters, in a thick, theatrical
German accent. “You appear to be relatively rested as opposed to when I last saw you,”
the unidentified man says, rolling his “r”s like a freight train.
“When you last…?” I blurt out, confused, though a tiny ball of terror is beginning
to form in my guts. “I don’t...where am I? Who…are you?”
“Ah ha ha,” the man laughs, actually saying “ha ha.” “A little joke. We are not
amused.”
“I have no idea who you are,” I spit, with just a touch of anger spilling into my
tone.
“Ah, yes. I am sure you do not,” the disembodied voice continues, imperious, and as
cold as the wretched room I’m trapped in. “Patience, fraulein, patience. All in due
time. Let us now turn to a subject of mutual interest --- that of your charming, young
daughter.”
My breath freezes in my throat. Janice…what do they want with Janice? My mind
races with panic. Could they really have my baby girl?
A few more footsteps, as he draws closer to me. Without warning, I feel the cold,
forceful penetration of a long stick plunging into my ass, snaking up my colon with swift,
ruthless brutality. I smell an overpowering musk of old tunic, stale cigarette smoke, and
expensive whiskey as the man sidles closer. He continues to delve deeper inside of me,
and I can feel that the stick has been wrapped with something coarse. Every time he
twists it, it feels as if tiny nails are ripping my insides. The baton mingles with my
sweat and bodily fluid, creating a ghastly squishing noise as it travels further into my
ass, which is involuntarily pumping and writhing.
The torture stops abruptly, though the stick still remains within me, slowly
distending my throbbing rectum.
As the man moves in front of me, I can see only bits and pieces of his form in the
room’s low lighting. He makes a few motions with his hands that I can barely make out, and
then a lighter suddenly illuminates his hideous face. He is older than I’d imagined from
his voice: a corpulent, full-faced man of diminutive stature --- large, flabby jowls, a
wrinkled face. His bald scalp catches the soft light occasionally, and I notice that it’s
polished to an unearthly gleam, wisps of white hair circling the perimeter. He’s wearing
a black uniform, emblazoned with SS insignia, snugly tailored around his enormous belly
and bulbous, bulging ass; matching flared breeches make his already large hips appear
larger than any part of his ungainly physique.
A foul smile spreads slowly over a pair of thin lips, as he brings a black cigarette
holder, easily a foot long in length, to his mouth, with aristocratic precision. Puffing
deeply, he exhales the smoke upward, where it forms a whitish-blue cloud that floats
around my head.
“What do you know about my daughter?” I demand uneasily, turning away from the
obnoxious smoke and his fierce stare, which is burning a hole in me through an elegant,
gold-framed monocle.
He ignores my question and bellows: “Lights!” Instantly the room is flooded by
harsh, white light, so bright that my eyes blink for several minutes, before the small,
dismal, cinder-block room comes into focus. My heart races as I realize I am chained to
some kind of frame, almost four feet from the ground
The pompous fat man continues to stare at me, smiling hatefully, his beady, cold
eyes that of a ravenous swine. “Now, now, fraulein. We do not know anything of your
beloved child, other than that she exists. However, with a bit of well-executed
persuasion, that will change.” He laughs at the helplessness and fear welling up in my
tear-streaked face.
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” I say, after finding my voice.
“Oh, I think you do,” he says, sighing heavily. “You have just not been properly
motivated.” He gestures with his cigarette holder to someone behind me. A uniformed
henchman appears, wheeling over a large steel rod mounted to a small cart, pointing
upwards at a slight angle. I note a power cord protruding from the base of the cart, and
tremble uneasily. Electricity, they’re going to use electricity. I start to shake, sweat
covering my breasts in a chilly glaze.
The henchman advances toward the cigarette-smoking man with a bowed head and places a
small, wired device with two buttons and a dial into his hands, which are sheathed in
expensive-looking black gauntlet gloves.
The big man smiles, fondles the remote, and says: “Forgive me, fraulein. I have not
properly introduced myself. My name is Commandant Colonel Von Helsing. We will be
spending much time together.” He walks over to me, pauses for a moment, and then slowly
begins stroking my sweaty thigh with his hand. The smell of fine leather drifts up to me,
both intoxicating and chilling me. He lets loose an evil, deeply melodic laugh, and then
stares past me, absently pulling on his cigarette holder.
“Major Enrique!” he thunders abruptly, jowls inflating like hot air balloons.
“Prepare her!”
The attending thug pivots the monstrous rod so that it rests lightly in the crux of
my pussy lips, and then locks it into place with a lever on the cart. “I…I’ll never let
you hurt my daughter…” is all I can manage.
He stares at me, obviously unimpressed, and says in a business-like, almost apathetic,
tone: “We shall see. Major, grease it up.”
The colonel takes several paces back from me as Enrique retrieves a small step
ladder, which he positions in front of my body. Enrique is young, muscular, and has
smooth, olive-colored skin. As he climbs up, he leers at my heaving breasts hungrily. I
watch as he takes a small tin of something from his coat pocket, and opens the lid. He
removes his glove and scoops out a small amount of what that looks to be Vaseline,
dutifully coating the poles that secure the manacles to my wrists.
Von Helsing is puffing importantly on a fresh cigarette, watching me slowly go
crazy, with malevolent, twinkling eyes. I begin to sob, enraged at the indolent manner in
which these men are carrying out their sadistic savagery.
“‘Where is your daughter?’ --- such a simple question,” the colonel gloats,
obviously immensely happy with himself, “seeking an equally simple answer.” He laughs,
holder jauntily set into the corner of his mouth. “You have far more control than you
realize, fraulein. Tell me what we wish to know and you will be freed. Refuse…and we
will continue.”
“Fuck you, you filthy Nazi pig!” I scream instinctively, instantly regretting my
response.
He chuckles, folding his hands, seeming almost pleased with my answer. “fraulein,
you will now place both your hands over the two rods that the major has kindly prepared
for you.”
When I do nothing, Von Helsing glares at me, and returns to my rear. I feel him
grasp the stick in my ass and I wince as he gives it two swift twists. My asshole --- now
swollen and inflamed --- contracts spasmodically at his further torment. My eyes widen in
shock, and I begin to scream. The stick is removed suddenly, and I get a brief look at
it, as it rests in the colonel’s hand. It is a wicked-looking riding crop, covered with
sandpaper. Agony pierces my right thigh as he slams it fiercely into me. “When I give
you an order, you obey!” he shouts, dealing twelve swift cuts from the flexible whip, now
moist from its contact with my body.
When he finishes, my shaking hands move slowly over to the two greased poles that
secure the manacles. It takes much effort to hold my hands in place, and I grit my teeth
as my grip keeps slipping.
The commandant returns to face me and it is obvious that this overweight,
self-important prick is not used to carrying out his own dirty work. Wheezing slightly,
he lights another cigarette, wiping small beads of perspiration from his large brow with a
white silk handkerchief.
“Now…” he intones, in a low villainous hiss, “remove the wrist rests.”
Enrique quickly detaches the small platforms on which my wrists had previously lain and
steps down from the ladder, allowing the manacles to begin sliding freely down the poles.
I grasp the slick surface wildly with my hands, stopping myself in mid-air, as I feel the
long steel dildo easily enter my pussy.
“Consider this an initial test of your strength, my beauty,” Von Helsing snickers.
“The longer you can keep your pretty twat free from that wicked device, the longer you
have to think about the answer to my little question. I, however, am not a patient man,
so I have taken the liberty of hedging my bet that you will fail, by making those poles
difficult to cling to for any amount of time.” He laughs smugly, puffing thickly on his
holder, blowing a stream of smoke rings lazily into the air, toward my face.
As the foul smoke envelops me, I begin to choke, and subsequently lose my grip on
the metal, sliding downward. The dildo plows into my pussy like a battering ram, and a
sharp cry is torn from my throat.
“And now, while I have your attention,” the commandant grins cruelly, “let us see if
your memory has returned. Where is your daughter?”
He casually depresses a button on the device in his right hand, and a low charge of
electricity surges quickly through me. He laughs hysterically as I dance like a puppet for
his whimsy, impaled on the highly-charged steel.
“I…ahhhh….I…..AHHHHHHH!” I find myself screaming incoherently, as I scramble to
pull myself up from the dildo’s infernal invasion. I finally do, after several seconds,
and look down at the devilish tool, as it buzzes below me, emitting tiny sparks.
The commandant chuckles lightly to himself and disappears around to my rear. As I
struggle to keep myself suspended, I feel the warmth of his pudgy face leaning into my
sweat-drenched ass. His vile, wet tongue begins to lap at my asshole, and I cringe with
disgust.
“Please stop…please,” I beg the maniac, but he only laughs and begins to lick me
even more feverishly, gripping my twat from behind and fingering it greedily. “When I am
through with you, my lovely fraulein,” he pants between strokes of his tongue, “you will
tell me everything about where I can find your little baby. Won’t you?” Pain sears into
my ass, and I can tell from the heat and moisture that he is biting into it. I howl in
pain. My entire body is alive with fear, hatred, and dread. I start to lose my grip on
the poles, but somehow steady myself, thinking of my Janice, my dear girl.
A sharp sizzle pierces the silence. I feel a sharp stab of agony, and a deep
burning sensation. The pain retreats, only to be replaced by a mind-bending after burn.
The fiend grins insanely, peeping from behind the iron frame, grinning at me like a
naughty child, a smoldering butt hanging from his cigarette holder.
“You…fucking…animal!” I wail. I jerk my head back, nausea flooding me, as I smell
my burning flesh. I feel ready to pass out. I surrender my grip, falling once more onto
the dildo as the commandant laughs victoriously.
Von Helsing faces me once more, adjusting a dial on his remote, and then leisurely
opens his cigarette case, hunting for a fresh smoke to place in the now vacant golden tip
of his holder. A contented smile spreads over his face, devouring what little humanity,
if any, ever resided there, as his gloved finger gently taps the button of his remote
control torture device.
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