Extract 1 - COLLABORATION
The captain removed his revolver from his holster. He opened the chamber and emptied
out the bullets, letting them spill onto the polished wooden floor. He then reached down
and out of clear sight of the others; he made a show of reloading the chamber with an
unknown number of bullets. The rest of the bullets he put in his pocket. He closed the
chamber and flicked it around. Then he placed the barrel against Francois’ head, the cold
hard metal pressing into her temple. She let out a yelp of abject terror.
“Chances to live; and chances to die,” the captain mused as he waved the revolver in
front of Francois’ terrified face. “I know the odds – you can only guess. But there is a
chance – you have at least one chance to stay alive.
You obviously like to take chances, Francois. You took a chance last night and took
this idiot corporal to bed before informing him of what you knew. Well I’m going to do the
same. Your reward for the information is more fucking; these men here need to let off some
steam. Your punishment for delay will be the chance – a chance to live or to die at the
end of each fuck. Of course the odds will diminish each time, should you still be alive.
The more you get fucked, the more likely it is that you will find a bullet. We’ll let God,
or Fate, whatever you believe in; decide what you deserve, Francois Lambert... for the
strategy you took last night.”
Francois was shaking uncontrollably; her voice was riddled with fear. “No! Please!
No, Messieurs! I beg you. No! Show me some mercy!”
“Mercy?” mocked the captain, his cold steely voice manically laughing out the word.
“What a strange idea! What would you have me do? Cancel the reward. Do you not wished to
get fucked by these fine German soldiers? Do you not wish to get fucked by me?”
“Please; of course I want to... but not... not at that price. Have pity on me.”
“Pity?” laughed the captain again, the tone sending shivers down Francois’ spine.
“Such odd words to be used by a collaborating whore... pity... mercy. I’m surprised such
words are in your vocabulary... I’m surprised you expect them to be in mine!”
The captain traced Francois trembling lips with the end of the revolver then wiped
away a few of her flowing tears. She tensed and clamped her eyes firmly closed. She could
not breathe for fear.
“All right...” said the captain, almost light-heartedly. “I will show you some pity.
I will forsake my own fuck at your filthy whore’s cunt and save you one chance of a
bullet. That reduces the odds of your death quite significantly – that is my mercy; but
there must be a forfeit for such generosity.”
“Yes, of course,” agreed Francois, relieved that some bargaining was now possible.
“Anything! I’ll do anything you ask, sir.”
The captain sneered at her – his disgust was mounting as was his desire to see her
suffer.
Punishment!
Punishment!
The bitch must be punished!
She is to blame as much as anyone else!
“Corporal, how did you fuck her?” asked the captain, wiping from his brow the sweat
that was forming, but not wiping away the pain in his head or the voice that was egging
him on.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” asked Corporal Fischer.
“IDIOT!” snapped the captain. “I asked how did you fuck her... in her cunt, her
mouth... or did you take her up the ass?”
“I ah... I had her suck me then I fucked her cunt... twice, sir,” replied Corporal
Fischer smirking with pride.
“Then it’s the turn of her ass for you, corporal. She is conveniently positioned to
get buggered. But first... take off your belt and thrash her before you fuck her. Thirty
strokes; and make them good ones, or you’ll get the same from me on your back.”
Corporal Fischer had no intention of being flogged; especially if the captain chose
to administer the blows. He had witnessed the captain flog a man a week ago, and had no
desire to be on the receiving end of such a thrashing. It had been a gruesome sight. The
captain seemed to revel in dishing out the torture as if driven by some inner demon. So
the corporal sprung into action. He quickly pulled off his thick army issue belt and got
into position behind Francois’ naked butt.
“Schultz, Muller; hold her arms and pull her head up so I can see her face as she
pays the forfeit for me sparing her my cock, and the chance of finding a bullet that would
come after the reward.”
The two bully-boy soldiers happily complied. They stood either side of the captain’s
desk and roughly pinned Francois’ arms down. Each took a handful of her wavy brown hair
and pulled backwards so her face was directed upwards towards the captain who sat grinning
in his chair. He toyed with his gun, twirling the chamber round and round then pointing it
at Francois who winced in terror. Enjoying the moment, the captain reclined backwards then
placed his boots upon the desk right next to Francois’ face. He nuzzled one boot under her
chin, straining her neck all the more.
“Begin!” he commanded.
Corporal Fischer doubled up the belt then drew it back. He delivered the first
buttock numbing stroke, bringing it down onto Francois’ ass with all his might. The sound
of the contact echoed around, followed by the scream from Francois’ mouth.
“Aaaaagh!” Francois howled as the full force of the doubled up belt sent searing
pain across her buttocks, along her spine to her selfish brain where it exploded in a
cacophony of blinding light.
Corporal Fischer looked down on where the belt had landed. He grinned with
masochistic delight as he watched the change – the blow turning Francois’ pale wobbly
round buttocks to a healthier shade of pink, the long shape of the leather belt was
clearly imprinted across the middle of both her ample cheeks.
The captain saw none of this. Instead he looked on her agonised face; more tears had
formed in her weary eyes and were running down her cheeks.
“Keep going!” the captain ordered. “Flog her till I tell you to stop.”
Whack! Whack! Whack! The belt came thundering down again and again and landed across
Francois’s buttocks, adding a new layer of burning heat to the shaking mass of wobbly
flesh with each stroke the corporal made.
Francois continued to howl.
The German soldiers laughed at her screams.
And in a tortured head that knew no peace, a voice egged the beating on:
Punish her!
Punish her!
Make the bitch suffer!
Two hours she waited – think what that could have bought!
Two hours of warning that could have saved their lives!
“HARDER!” yelled the captain.”Harder, I say!”
Extract 2 - RESISTANCE
She felt his soft strokes, and the gentle massaging of her breast; she felt his
fingers teasing her nipple, trying to arouse her with such subtle pressure; forcing it
hard with his deftly work; tormenting her with despicable gratification that she cursed
for the effect that it had on her treacherous body – the body that she accepted was no
longer hers and must be forgiven for what it was made to do.
She tried to make her mind blank. She tried to ignore the sensuous touch – the
circling of her aureole and the tweaking of her nipple. She tried to ignore the tingling
of her skin and the waves of erogenous pleasure that was radiating upwards from between
her legs. She cursed the captain silently in her head. Then she cursed him again as she
felt the searing heat!
A scream erupted from her unsuspecting lips which had been defiantly holding in her
treacherous moans. The tip of her nipple exploded with pain as the captain drew his cigar
over the blood hardened bud and rested the glowing head for a second or two.
“Tell me who else is working to undermine the German Army. Give me the name of your
controller in the Resistance.”
Marie was shaking in her bondage; the sudden change from pleasure to agonising pain
had taken her totally by surprise. Now her mind gathered its wits, sharpened by the
torture – adrenalin flooded her system bringing her to full alert; but her flight or fight
reactions were of little use when she was tied so helplessly to the rack.
“I am not part of the Resistance; I have no controller. I have no names I can give
you. Torture me if you will; but I cannot tell you something I do not know.”
“LAIR!” screamed the captain.
Marie screamed in return: her yell the result of the captain grabbing the rack’s
handle and pulling it upwards to tighten the ropes. Bolts of white light flashed around
her head as her limbs were pulled in opposite directions. Her joints were exploding in a
symphony of pain as tendons and sinews were tortuously stretched. Marie thought her arms
might pop out of their sockets; the tension created was beyond belief.
The captain straightened up and towered before her. He looked at her trembling body
and her agonised face. Tears were streaming from the corners of her eyes to wash down her
pretty flustered cheeks.
“Names!” he demanded. “I want the names! You will give me them! I will have a name
before I am done! We have just started with the torture should you chose to resist. Hours,
perhaps days of torment lie ahead; so why suffer when you could be spared?
Through her trembling lips, Marie forced out a reply.
“Go to hell, Nazi bastard!”
That earned her a hard crack across the side of her face. The captain threw his
cigar onto the floor then lashed out in a single fluid motion. Marie’s head spun around,
reeling from the severity of the open handed blow which turned her cheek a vibrant red.
“Have it your own way.” the captain snarled. “Schultz! Bring me the Pear of
Anguish.”
Private Schultz rushed off to the other side of the dungeon where he took down an
object that was hanging from a hook on the wall. Grinning from ear to ear he brought it
over to the captain.
Captain Bramkamp held it in front of Marie to see. It was a pear shaped object made
of four metal leaves with a screw down the centre and an ornate handle at the top.
“The Pear of Anguish,” announced the captain. I believe this model was meant for
women. There are different types of course; used in the Middle Ages to punish different
crimes. The Pear was inserted into a body orifice dependant on the crime; hence the
different types. Liars and blasphemers took it in the mouth; faggots got one up the ass;
women who performed miscarriages had it placed in their cunt – the punishment always met
the crime, you see. Then the handle was turned...”
The captain demonstrated for Marie, he turned the handle and the leaves started to
open.
“...and the orifice that had offended, in one way or the other, got slowly stretched
as the leaves separate from each other. It was left to the torturer to decide how far to
take things. He could simply tear the skin open, but if the criminal had offended him or
he was just that sort of nasty person; he could expand the Pear to its maximum and
mutilate the victim. Now which of your orifices would be most fitting for the crime that
you have committed?”
The captain closed the Pear again then reached down and forced his hand between
Marie’s legs. He curled it round and pressed his fingers to her asshole. He tried to force
through, but Marie tightly clenched.
“No! I didn’t think so,” the captain said with a laugh. “Good Catholic girls don’t
take it up the ass – not willingly, anyway!”
Marie blushed, recalling what she had considered doing with Jacques. Then she cried
in her heart for the loss of her love and the horror of the violation that was being
considered.
The captain meanwhile, drew his hand round so he covered Marie’s sex; her pussy was
at his mercy. He massaged the lips and fingered the slit then forced a digit through.
Gently he searched the entrance to her vagina, but he found nothing to suggest that Marie
was a good Catholic girl in this particular respect.
“You’ve been fucked then!” he told her with a grin on his face. “And there is no
wedding ring on your finger! Naughty, naughty, girl! Perhaps we should punish you here for
your sins of fornication. Stretch your filthy French cunt, unless you have a name to tell
me.”
“I have no name for you. Do what you will,” Marie defiantly replied; though fear was
vibrating in her trembling voice.
“Hmmp!” mocked the captain as he explored Marie’s cunt: his fingers sampling the
moistness of her vulva and penetrating the warmth of her vagina. His fondling was delicate
and irritatingly sensuous; so at odds with the threat he had just given.
“Tempting!” he announced with a grin on his face. “But I think we’ll save your cunt
for a different type of stretch. My men and I have our own tools that we prefer to use. No
– your crime is refusing to give me a name, and that is an offence of the mouth. So that
is where we’ll use the Pear of Anguish. Perhaps once we’ve loosed your jaw you’ll be more
willing to co-operate and tell me the names of your friends in the Resistance. Open up!”
Keeping his fingers wedged inside Marie’s pussy, the captain brought his other hand
which held the Pear of Anguish up to Marie’s face. He pointed the rounded end right at her
mouth. Marie clenched her jaws tightly shut.
“Hold her head still,” the captain ordered.
Muller sprang to obey and held Marie’s face firmly in his hands. Then taking her by
surprise the captain trapped one of Marie’s pussy lips between his forefinger and thumb,
and he squeezed with all his might. Marie instinctively screamed out as the pain ripped
through her. Then that scream was muffled as the Pear of Anguish was forced into her
mouth. Marie tried her hardest to force it back out, she pressed on it with her tongue but
to no avail; the bulbous metal contraption was firmly wedged inside her.
The captain gave her pussy another teasing play then he freed her sex so he could
turn the screw of the Pear, and little by little the leaves started to open.
Marie’s jaws were forced apart, wider and wider, and her cheeks were forced outwards
stretching the skin. It was unbelievable agony for her. The muscles in her cheeks felt
like they might rip, the strain on the hinges of her jaw was horrendous and her throat
became partially blocked so it was almost impossible to breathe; Marie was sure she would
die from asphyxiation. Her eyes were bulging out of her head. She tried to close them but
the stretch in her mouth made it difficult to do so. She had no option but to gaze through
her tears at the sadistic captain who in turn looked back at her.
Punish her!
Punish her more!
Fuck the bitch and fill her with spunk!
Then start on her again – the night is young!
Her screams of anguish should herald the dawn!
Punish her! Punish her! Punish her!
All thought about getting a name were now far from the captain’s mind. That voice in
his head didn’t care about names – all it wanted was vengeance and to make her suffer. And
the cock in his pants didn’t care about names either – all it wanted was to fuck her, then
fuck her again.
Extract 3 - SURRENDER
The captain cared little for her obvious discomfort. He suckled and groped and
ravished her young tits as she squirmed under his brutal attack. He nipped and she panted,
gasping for air; he bit and she squealed, he chewed and she howled. He gathered her
breasts and squashed them together smothering his face in mammary flesh. He drowned in her
body whilst she moaned, and she moaned – drowning as well in her glorious relief.
The pain had flowed through her and Chantal had yelled and yelled, yet despite all
the torment and agony he caused with his mauling of her virginal breasts, something else
was flowing as well. Despite her determination not to succumb, Chantal was still oozing
juice from her cunt; and that forbidden warmth that he had drawn with his caresses, was
perversely even stronger under the captain’s vicious attack.
Through his crazed and frantic lust, the captain became aware as well that Chantal
was taking a warped pleasure from the pain. She was screaming as he ravaged, but those
screams were not purely of suffering. Her skin wasn’t appalled at his vicious attack - it
hurt but it also rejoiced. Her nipples which he devoured didn’t shrivel and rebel, but
instead they grew fat and hard. Her brain might say no for a thousand different reasons,
and the captain would not refute a single one. But her body had no means to reason; it
could not muster conscious hate – it responded favourably to his lust, despite its German
roots; and more than that – it responded favourably to his pain.
Should he continue and deliver her more?
He knew that he would.
The voice was egging him on.
Hurt her more!
The slut enjoyed that!
Make her suffer!
Stop pleasuring the bitch!
Stop treating her like a lover!
Treat her like an enemy!
She helped the airman!
She’s to blame for their deaths!
Give her to those animals if you’re not up to the task!
The captain was feeling oddly confused. He was driven by the voice to seek his
revenge; and to include Schultz and Muller in the torturing of the woman - yet still he
wanted Chantal for himself.
But she was the enemy; there should be no special treatment – her beauty did not
excuse her for the crime she had committed – for fighting against him and defying the
German Army. He was a soldier, not some love struck teenager. He was the commander and she
was his prisoner. He needed to remember that.
“Take your turn to chew on her tits!” he yelled.
Muller and Schultz had been watching whilst stroking their blood engorged pricks
which throbbed in their uniform trousers. They sprang to obey, delighted to at last get
involved and share in this incredible bounty. They pounced on Chantal like a pair of
hungry Alsatian guard dogs and devoured a nipple each; sucking and chewing the already
tortured organs to agonising effect. For a moment Chantal forgot about the captain as she
struggled to cope with the savagery of his henchmen, then suddenly the captain was again
foremost in her mind.
Rudi Bramkamp had gone to one of the dungeon walls and selected a whip. He returned
a moment later and struck out immediately, landing a sharp blow across the top of
Chantal’s back. Chantal let out a yelp of surprise and pain. Confusion ran through her;
then the lash struck her again. Now she realised what was occurring and in her warped
mixed up mind, she silently gave thanks for this heightening of the punishment she was
receiving. Her skin tingled violently under the impact. She jerked her head back and
pushed out her chest as if encouraging the two soldiers to chew her breasts all the more
violently. Then the lash struck again across her shoulder blades, this time even harder.
Chantal let out a sigh as the pain shot around her body - for that pain was deliciously
cleansing.
The whip struck her again. She could feel her skin rip under the vicious impact. She
screamed with all her might and writhed around; then the endorphins exploded in every cell
of her body and flooded her with such sensuous relief. The captain struck her again, and
again and again. The pain he gave her cut cleanly through everything else. Its intensity
was so great it was all consuming there was no room in her mind for anything else but the
clarity of the pain that felt so right. This was what she deserved – this purity of
suffering. Through the pain she found relief from the guilt that she bore. She welcomed it
with all her heart.
Hearing her cries; encouraged by her tone; the captain struck harder and harder. He
moved down to her lower back, and yielded the whip with savage force. Sweat pored from his
massive body through the exertion of the attack. The captain did not relent. He continued
to deliver blow after blow; the whip swooshing through the air to land on every part of
Chantal’s back, cutting the skin and making her bleed.
The blows rained down on her time and time again until Chantal was hanging limply
from the chain, her head exploding with the pain, yet her heart still rejoicing in the
suffering - for the suffering wiped away her crushing guilt which was far more torturous
and unbearable.
Then the whipping halted.
The pain lingered in Chantal’s body.
The guilt crept back into her mind but its hideous nature had been tamed by the lash
that the captain had so firmly yielded. She placed it away in a corner of her brain. It
would never completely disappear. But the pain of the whip if regularly absorbed would
prevent it from crushing her again. Chantal knew what she must do – her strategy was now
clear – only through the acceptance of subjugation could she keep the guilt at bay.
Her body was in agony – but for the first time in two years, Chantal Dubois was at
peace.
Returning to the front, the captain forced the two soldiers away from Chantal’s
ravaged breasts. He looked at Chantal hanging limply from her bondage; he placed his hand
under her chin and raised her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks; her chocolate
eyes had melted to liquid; her ruby lips were quivering through her pain. The captain
waited on a word; a plea for him to stop. He had savaged her back and his men had savaged
her breasts – the poor girl might be his enemy but she had suffered sorely. Those eyes
were pleading, the lips started to move – the word was coming and he wondered if he had
the strength to refuse.
Yes!
You must refuse!
Make her suffer even more!
Blood is on her hands!
German blood!
Bramkamp blood!
She is your enemy!
That means she murdered your family!
Show the bitch no mercy!
The captain braced himself. The voice in his head was so strong, but her eyes were
so warm. Could he ever refuse those eyes? Could he ever deny a word pleaded from those
lips? Could he deny her mercy?
The answer came surprisingly easy – for the word was not what he’d expected.
“Merci!” she said.
It wasn’t mercy that she asked for. She thanked him for thrashing away her guilt.
She thanked him for her deliverance.
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