At Gestapo Headquarters

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At Gestapo Headquarters

by

von Hentzau

Part II

It was nearly sundown when they came for Suzanne. She'd spent most of the day spread eagled against the fence, her breasts pulled through the small rectangles formed by the wire. Throughout the day small groups of the Germans who worked in or had business at Gestapo headquarters came out to stare at her and to make rude remarks. A few had taken liberties, pinching or slapping her helpless body.

She'd been given nothing to eat all day. But they had made sure she had plenty of water. Too much really, for she was forced to relieve herself. Her pleas to be allowed to use the latrine went unheeded. Humiliated, she had to empty her bladder in full view of all. Late in the day a uniformed soldier came out to turn a hose on her. He seemed to take delight in turning it full blast against her crotch.

But finally two guards, the same two who had been on duty the night before when she was brought in, the two who had shorn her hair and shaved her pussy, came out of the building and walked towards her. They unfastened first her ankles and then her wrists. Her wrists were immediately bound behind her back. Then one stood behind to support her while the other slowly worked her breasts back through the wire.

They walked her back into the building, back to the room she'd first been brought to and then through the next door. Back to the torture chamber.

The first thing she noticed on entering was that two trestles had been set up on the far side of the room, a meter apart. Fastened on top each trestle was a block of wood, each with a notch in it. On the floor between the trestles were two low stacks of wood, made up of short pieces of board. Inside each two metal rings were set in the floor.

The two guards took Suzanne directly to the trestles. She was turned so that she was facing the center of the room. They forced her to step between the trestles, and step up so that one foot was on each stack of wood. Leather straps fastened her ankles to the metal rings. One of the guards then went to the corner of the room and returned carrying a length of steel concrete reinforcing bar. He laid one end of this in the notch on the trestle in front of Suzanne.

With a frisson of fear Suzanne realized what they were going to do with ths rough steel rod. And they did. The first guard slid the rod between her legs. It passed just below her crotch. She felt the knobby metal surface scrape along the insides of her thighs. The second guard caught the end as it pass out between the lower parts of her butt cheeks and guided it into the notch on the rear trestle.

The two guards stepped away. One went and took a seat along the wall to Suzanne's left. The other remained behind her. And they all waited.

It seemed like another hour or more before the colonel, Oberst Pflueger, entered the room. The two guards jumped to attention when they saw him. He motioned them to be at ease, then came directly to Suzanne. For several long minutes he looked her up and down, as if inspecting the preparations. He reached out and lifted one of her breasts, inspecting the scratches that had been left by the chain link fence.

"Ah, Suzanne, Suzanne," he said with a heavy sigh. "This is all so unnecessary. Simply tells us all you know about the Resistance and we won't have to be so unkind to you."

Suzanne looked past him. She had nothing to tell him, literally. But would he believe it? She only hoped they would give up on her without inflicting too much torment.

“We can start small, perhaps?” the Oberst said, with a hopeful tone to his voice. “Just give us a name and we'll postpone the rest of this unseemly process. Just a single name. And perhaps we won't have to continue.”

“Ah, well,” the colonel said, turning and walking over to a chair. He dragged the chair out to the middle of the room and sat down, directly facing Suzanne, casually crossing his legs. He made a motion with his hand and the two guards took up position, one kneeling by each of Suzanne's feet. Each grabbed one of Suzanne's ankles with one hand and with the other, in unison, pulled the topmost board from each stack. Suzanne dropped about a centimeter and a half. The bar was now pressing against her vulva, uncomfortably but not unbearably.

“So, Suzanne,” the Oberst said with a smile, “you can see how lucky you are that I am the one asking questions. I believe in applying the minimum amount of pressure necessary to gain the desired effect. There are others here who believe in going immediately to the most forceful means. But do not mistake me, dear Suzanne. I will do what I need to find out what I want to know.”

He made another motion with his hand. The guards each pulled another board out. Suzanne's weight was now fully on the bar. It was beginning to dig into to her most tender areas unmercifully. She could relieve the pressure slightly by going up on tiptoe, but that quickly just moved some of the pain to her calves.

The Oberst signaled again. Another board was slid from under each foot. Now there was no way she could raise herself up. It was all she could do to steady herself on her toes.

“That can't be very comfortable for you” the Oberst said. "Perhaps you think it can't be made even more uncomfortable? Heinz, we shall move to the next step."

The Oberst motioned to the guard. He stepped out in front of Suzanne, a short piece of pipe in his hand. He rapped the metal bar lightly. It vibrated most uncomfortably, especially at the spot between vagina and anus, where it pressed against bone and pinched nerves. Tears began forming in Suzanne's eyes.

The vibrations faded away to nothingness, but the pain persisted some agonizing seconds longer. Then Heinz gave the bar a second rap, harder this time. Suzanne twisted and squirmed but there was no escape from the painful stimulation.

“Do you see my point, Suzanne? We can make life very uncomfortable for you with just the flick of a wrist. I'll let you ponder this lesson for a little while and perhaps you'll change your mind about cooperating with us. Heinz, perhaps some coffee while we wait?” the Oberst said to one of the guards.

Heinz went to the door. Stepping partway out he called out in German. Moments later an orderly came in bearing a tray with three cups of steaming hot coffee. He made the rounds, presenting the tray first to the Oberst, then to his two assistants. Then, as quickly as he had entered, the orderly left.

As the Oberst took a sip Suzanne noticed something that struck her as odd. German officers, particularly the Gestapo, usually seemed to drink and dine from the finest china they'd managed to confiscate from the occupied countries. But the coffee had been served in plain metal cups, like those used by ordinary front line soldiers.

“Oh, dear,” said Oberst Pflueger, spitting out his coffee. “Why does that orderly always serve coffee so hot. Heinz, is your cup too hot also?”

“Yes, Herr Oberst. Much too hot to drink.”

“Suzanne, what is your opinion of the coffee?” the Oberst asked.

At first it confused her, his asking such a question. But then she saw Heinz extending the cup towards her. At first she thought he meant for her to drink, but then she realized the cup was much too low for that. Heinz was reaching for her breast. He pressed the hot metal against her nipple. The coffee must have been near boiling and cup nearly as hot. Suzanne cried out in pain and tried to pull away but Heinz kept the cup pressed against her for a good five seconds.

“Maybe Gunther's cup is more to our guest's liking. Gunther?”

Gunther approached. He held out his cup as Heinz had, but aiming for the other breast. He made a point of placing the cup directly against her nipple, pressing it in against her breast. Again she jerked away from the heat. Gunther's cup pursued her, splashing scalding coffee over her quivering flesh. Then Heinz was assaulting her from the other side. Again she twisted and turned and pulled her torso as far away from the source of pain as she could, to no purpose. With her legs bound and her hips effectively held in place by the metal bar she couldn't bend far enough to escape her assailants' reach.

Twice more Heinz and Gunther pressed the hot metal cups against her tender nipples. Then Oberst Pflueger spoke.

“I do so enjoy a good cup of coffee. Don't you, Suzanne?” he paused briefly, as if actually expecting her to agree with him. “But enough of our little coffee break. Let's get back to work, shall we?”

Heinz and Gunther took some quick sips of their coffee, the first they'd actually managed, then put the cups down. Gunther picked up the metal pipe. He walked back to Suzanne and gave the metal bar a sharp rap. Suzanne forgot the pain in her scalded nipples as new waves of pain radiated outwards from her crotch.

“Yes, now where was I when we stopped?” the Oberst said. “Ah, yes, I was explaining to you how very uncomfortable we can make you if you continue to refuse to talk to us. Now, have you reconsidered?”

“I don't know anything,” Suzanne whined.

“I'm sorry, but that is not acceptable. I think we'll remove another board now.”

Heinz and Gunther stooped down on either side of Suzanne and slid another board out from under her feet. Now virtually all of her weight was on her crotch, riding on the rough metal of the bar. The pain was unlike anything Suzanne had ever experienced before. She wondered how long they'd leave her in this position and whether she'd be crippled before they were done. But even worse was to come.

Heinz left the room momentarily, returning with a blow torch. Suzanne watched terrified as he lit it. He approached her. She shrank back as much as she could. The bright yellow-orange flame reached out towards her. She couldn't believe even these Nazi Germans could be so unhuman as to burn her with the torch. Heinz held the torch up towards her chest, smiling evilly. He swung it slowly in a horizontal arc at the level of her breasts, far enough away to not touch her but still let her feel the heat.

Then he lowered the torch and applied it to the end of the metal bar. Suzanne's relief that he was not going to burn her directly was short lived as the metal bar heated up. Suzanne's toes barely touched the remaining boards beneath her feet. The metal bar was firmly seated, splitting her pussy, crushing her clit. And now it was beginning to fry her tenderest parts.

“I don't know anything,” she screamed. “Please...please believe me! Aaaaaaahhhh! All...all I did was pass notes...Aaaaiiieee.”

At a signal from the Oberst Heinz withdrew the torch. Oberst Pflueger then got up, went to table at the side of room and returned with a glass of water. He splashed it on the hot metal at Suzanne's pussy. The relief was almost instant. He waited until Suzanne's breath, coming in panicky gasps, had settled down.

“You have a lovely singing voice, Suzanne,” he said. “But that's not the song I want to hear. Now, Heinz is going to start playing the melody with his instrument. And I want to hear some interesting lyrics from you. One more thing. This was the only glass of water I had. I don't feel inclined to send for another one. You might consider that.”

Pflueger returned to his chair and seated himself, crossing his legs and laying his hands in his lap as if preparing to listen to chamber music. Heinz returned the torch to the metal bar. Not having cooled down completely it quickly bacame unbearably hot. Suzanne's mind frantically raced, trying to think of someone, anyone she could plausibly turn in as a Resistance agent, anyone she could betray. Her only thought now was to stop the torment.

There was the sound of the door opening and the aide who had brought the coffee in entered. He went to the Oberst and said something to him in low voice that Suzanne heard only as unintelligible whispers. The Oberst responded in a similarly low voice. The aide snapped to attention and said “Yavowl” before turning and leaving.

“Well, Suzanne,” the Oberst said. “As much as I would love to continue this interview I'm afraid I must leave you to attend to some pressing business. I suggest that you ponder the small demonstrations we've made and consider your position.” The Oberst rose and turned to leave the room. “Take her back to the holding cell,” he said to Heinz and Gunther.

Suzanne was taken, half dragged really since the pressure against her crotch had left her legs temporarily numb, back down to the cell she'd spent the previous night in. They flopped her onto the same urine tainted mattress. Another group of rude, obscene drunks occupied the cell opposite hers. This time she was too weak to curl up, to try to cover herself.

Sometime later that night a guard brought in a bowl of thin soup. Despite her exhaustion she managed to crawl over and eat it.

Wan light coming through the tiny barred window set high on the wall told her it was morning. Would they start again, she wondered? Or would they wait until nightfall again? Suzanne lay dreading what the day would bring. It was not long before she found out. Two black uniformed guards came for her.

She was taken back into the torture chamber. The first thing she noticed was that the bar apparatus had been disassembled and in its place stood a single stout wooden trestle. The second thing she noticed was that the severe looking woman who had spoken briefly to her while she had been tied to the wire fence was standing off to one side.

“We meet again, Suzanne,” the woman said. “I fear I did not properly introduce myself yesterday. I am Frau Buesch. And you are a French whore who refuses to tell us what she knows about the criminal scum in the so-called Resistance.”

Frau Buesch approached Suzanne. She reached out and seized one of Suzanne's breasts in her hand, forming the hand into a claw. She began to dig her fingernails into the sensitive flesh.

“What did I tell you yesterday, girl?” she whispered menacingly. “You must talk or my friend Oberst Pflueger will give you to me. That is what I said. And now that is exactly what has happened. The Oberst is busy with another, ah, client. I have been assigned to find out what you know. And I will. You should believe it. I will!”

She gave the breast a final squeeze, then released it. She turned to the guards.

“Prepare her,” she commanded.

To be continued................

Copyright is claimed by the author. Permission is given to copy this work solely for personal, non-commercial use.