Sonata Of Pain
by Woodburn
1.
¡°Why have I been detained, herr Commandant?¡± she asks him. She is angry
and her rage only intensifies her exquisite beauty.
Flanked by two of his men, one holding each of her slender white arms,
the bitch in the blue-sequined gown is a gorgeous example of Aryan
beauty: blonde with blue eyes that match the expensive fabric of her
elegant dress, statuesque, shapely, big-titted German frau. And she is
absolutely indignant, her full mouth pouting, her eyebrows scowling.
He just smiles and takes a deep draw on his cigarette.
White smoke swirls up toward the bare light-bulb which hangs from the
high ceiling casting nebulous shadows in the small bare room.
The S.S. Commandant has been sitting in a chair behind a small wooden
desk but now he rises to his feet and approaches the pretty captive.
The two soldiers that hold her are impassive. They are strong and
brutal men and their big, meaty hands hold her upper arms, just above
her elbows, like steel manacles.
The Commandant now stands directly before her.
He takes the cigarette from his lips and places it carefully on the
edge of the desk behind him. He removes his black-visored cap and sets
it down beside it.
Suddenly he rears back, teeth bared and he slaps the blonde woman.
She cries out as her head swings around from the vicious blow against
the shoulder of the soldier on her right. She staggers in the iron grip
of the helmeted men who keep her from moving or reacting to the cruel
slap.
¡°I will ask the questions here, Fraulein Schmidt!¡± the Commandant
snarls.
When she turns back to him, a dark red smudge on her pretty cheek, a
glimmer of tears in her big eyes, the indignation is almost but not
completely gone and there is a hint of fear in her expression.
He watches as she tries to compose herself and he sees her angry
posturing return but enjoys the fact that now she is less sure of
herself.
She struggles against the soldiers who hold her.
¡°You...you struck me!¡± she whines. ¡°Do you realize who I am?¡±
He stares at her, his eyes fierce, his uniformed and jack-booted body
coiled like a spring.
¡°I am Helga Schmidt... Colonel Schmidt¡¯s daughter! You fool, I¡¯ll see
you court-martialed for this outrage! What right do you have to arrest
me...and to...to...strike me! ?¡±
There is the hint of a cruel smile on his thin lips.
He is going to enjoy this one.
Without warning he slaps her again, backhands her, striking her other
cheek and swinging her face the other way toward the soldier on her
left.
¡°Hold her,¡± he tells the men.
Taking his time he smacks her face with his open palm back and forth
six times, sending her lovely head flying, blonde hair swirling and
cascading. Lovely feminine squeals follow each of his blows. As always
the cries of woman-pain make him hard. He stops to catch his breath and
then as she her incredulous eyes return to him he thrusts his fist, with
all his strength, into her belly.
¡°Uggghhhh!¡± she grunts, her pretty face twisted in a grimace of agony,
winded, unable to bend forward, held upright by the soldiers. The two
uniformed youths breathe hard from the exertion of keeping her still
but also with masculine excitement. They, like the Commandant, are
eager for a long night of woman-torture.
He cups her chin in his hand and raises her bruised face to his. A
trickle of blood
runs from a corner of her sensual mouth. Her lovely hair which had been
neatly coiffured is now coming undone.
¡°There isn¡¯t going to be any court-martial....Your father is - dead,
Helga,¡± he tells her enjoying the shock his words now write on her.
¡°Yes... that¡¯s right...dead....As you soon will be if you do not
co-operate. We know you and your father have been smuggling jews out of
Berlin. You are traitors to the Reich....¡± She shakes her head, but the
confidence has disappeared from her eyes completlely now. ¡°Oh yes...we
know what you¡¯ve been up to you filthy jew-loving bitch...and you¡¯re
going to tell me all about it, aren¡¯t you?¡±
Now his hand grips her face hard.
¡°AREN¡¯T YOU?¡±
Tears are running from her eyes spilling mascara down her flushed
cheeks.
¡°No....Herr Hauptmann...no...you are wrong...please...there must be
some mistake...I...¡±
¡°I¡¯m afraid there is no mistake, Fraulein Schmidt. We will need to know
your contacts in France and Switzerland. Give them up to me now and
spare yourself. I will see to it that you have a speedy trial. You
will do some jail time, nothing serious.¡±
¡°Please, Herr Hauptmann... my concert schedule...I was going to play
for the Fuehrer next week...I swear I know nothing about your
accusations...¡±
¡°Yes...I have heard you play the piano, Fraulein. You are quite good.¡±
He takes her by her hair, his face up-close and mean.
¡°But if you ever want to play again you will give us the information we
need. Now.¡±
Her eyes are spilling tears now and he reads her terror, his powerful
erection swelling against the tight gray fabric of his tight S.S.uniform
pants.
¡°I swear...oh God, please...I swear I don¡¯t know anything, Herr
Hauptmann...its a mistake...a MISTAKE!....please...¡±
He lets go of her hair and stands stiffly in front of her.
¡°Take her to interrogation room five. We¡¯re gonna break this cunt.¡±
The men drag her toward the door.
¡°No!¡± she cries out.
He likes the pleading look on her face.
¡°No, Herr Hauptmann, pleeease!¡±
The soldiers take her. He hears them walk her down the hallway, she is
still pleading. He hears the heavy wooden door opening and then, after
it closes, stillness.
He picks up the cigarette from the edge of the desk and takes a long
deep draw.
Then, going out into the hallway and closing the door of the room
behind him he makes his way to the far end of the building where his men
have taken Helga Schmidt.
The smile of pleasure on his face is unmistakable. He is glad the bitch
did not take the easy way out. He didn¡¯t expect her to.
Its going to be a long and delicious night.
