Nazi Terror


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by John Savage

As the evil of Nazism spread its dark web over Germany, SS Sturmbannfuhrer Wolfgang Muller was given a special mission. It was the task of his small unit to instill terror into those who opposed the Party in ways they would never forget. It was a job that appealed to his sadistic nature, particularly when he had the opportunity to give his undivided attention to beautiful young women.

But Lorelei was different. Although she seemed to hate all men and her skills in unarmed (and armed) combat were formidable, at the hands (and other parts) of Wolfgang Muller she seemed to be responding in a most interesting way. Perhaps he could put her man-hating skills to good use, and perhaps there might be something more…

Published: 2 / 2014       No. words: 40,550

EX1tMuller stood there like a conquering hero, hands on hips, a sneer on his cruel lips.  His eyes roved over the smaller woman, the one called Elke, and liked what he saw.  Those curves beneath the dress looked to be more than adequate.  She would be fun to punish.  Turning to the other one, he revised his previous estimate as to the quality of the female standing there.  He had not the chance to study her in the house, but now he had all the time he wished, so he gave her a good looking over.

Fraulein, why are you not angry?  Why do you not hurl curses at us and try to kick us in the balls?”

“It would serve no purpose,” she told him calmly, returning his gaze firmly.

Muller lifted one eyebrow but said nothing.  This was interesting, however, a girl who did not cower in fear or scream out in anger.  One might get the impression that she was more in control than he.  Almost.  But he would show her who was the boss here.

“Gunther, strip this one!” he said, pointing to Lorelei.

Eagerly, and with a truly evil sneer, he began to unbutton her blouse.  He was careful, however, not to let her have a good target should she want to kick him in the aforementioned balls.  The blouse front came apart, showing more smooth skin and a bra underneath.  Gunther’s hands pulled the blouse out of her slacks then off her shoulders so that it hung down in back around her bound arms.  The bra he simply cut with a pocketknife, not bothering to worry about future use of the undergarment.

The pair that sprang free almost took away his breath.  All three of the men sucked in air.  So smooth, so firm, so perfectly shaped that it made their pricks stir into life.

“The pants also,” prompted Muller, although that was not needed.  Gunther’s hands took the waistband and ripped the material apart.  As he pulled the tattered remains down, the bloomers revealed were black, the same as the slacks, and rather small.  At least compared to what women usually wore. Gunther was almost fumbling as his hands reached for the final undergarment.  Her body jerked when he pulled it off, ripping the cotton material in the process, but she said nothing.

With her slacks down around her ankles and the rest of her body on display, she still maintained that almost haughty, uninvolved expression.  It was almost as if this disrobing were of no consequence to her.

She might have been ignoring the fact that she was naked, but the men around her could not.  The narrow waist, wonderfully flared hips, and shapely legs were as perfect as any Greek goddess statue.  So fine was this body that it was a while before Muller realized that where there should have been a thick, black patch of hair, there was none.  On display was a Venus Mons with its slit awaiting its opening to reveal the inner secrets.

The moment of reflection upon feminine beauty was broken by Elke’s bitter cry.  “You bastards!  Leave the poor girl alone.”

Muller grinned and turned to the upset woman.  “Very well,” he told her.  “Gunther, undress this one.”

Elke backed against the car as Gunther approached.  The tears she had been shedding turned to a harsh glare as she cursed him, “You cretin!  Don’t you touch me!”

Gunther caught her as she turned to run.  With one hand in her hair and the other on the back of her dress, he pulled her back, then, with experienced hands, he ripped the dress down the back.  Because she fought him, he was both rough in his handling of the struggling woman, and happy because he liked it when they fought.  Soon she was kneeling down, leaning against the car and her clothes tattered and spread about wherever Gunther had tossed the pieces.

She was, as suspected, a good looking woman, certainly no match for her daughter, but a fine catch nevertheless.

“Take that one to a cell,” Muller ordered.  As Gottfried and Gunther lifted the sobbing woman, Muller stood before Lorelei.  “You do not seem to be bothered by being naked before strange men.  Are you a prostitute?  Or a model for painters, always posing in the nude for them?”

She closed her eyes for a second, but the rest of her face did not change.  “No,” she said simply, then glazed at him again.

“Well, there is something you should know,” he told her calmly.  A moment later his fist struck her belly with a hard blow.  Air rushed out of her and she collapsed to her knees.  The force of the blow was not diminished just because she was a woman.  A large man would have collapsed under that kind of strike.  And some had.

“If you truly do not fear us, then you are making a big mistake.  Here you will suffer.  Do not doubt that for a second.”

She did not look up, but stayed doubled over and gasping.

When the other two returned, they stared at the pained woman.

“Just teaching her a lesson,” Muller told them.  “Now you may take her to a cell.  Make sure that she is uncomfortable.  A night of discomfort will help her learn the lesson.”

Grinning, the two hauled Lorelei to her feet and almost dragged her out of the room.

Muller stood there, watching her departure and thinking.  This one was so very different, and, for some indefinable reason, that bothered him.


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