"Francoise Chambet, Ex Model. Ex wife, and soon to be Ex Publisher." The thoughts wouldn't leave her. Here she was, two years into the war, and now the Boche have murdered her editor. It had been bad enough when her husband Gilles had been killed at the beginning of the war, but at least he had died fighting, and had also left her his fortune and publishing business. Life had been tough. At first, as Nazi censorship took hold, all pretence at objectivity became futile, and Francoise had decided to give up. Let the Boche publish their own lies. It had been Bernard who had persuaded her otherwise.
"Run the paper for them, but use your contacts to help the Maquis" he had said. So she did. And now, probably by accident, she was alone. The air raid had been precise, the old police station reduced to rubble, her Editor-Brother killed by allied bombs as he cultivated his contacts in the local Military headquarters., leaving her staring at the flickering flames wondering what on earth she should do. Somehow she had to find a way of keeping the information flowing.
She looked sullenly around the huge room she was sitting in. Memories of the five years she had shared with Gilles before the war came flooding back. In her mind the room took on it's previous glamour. She remembered how the Chateau used to be the social centre of the district.
"That's it" she thought bitterly to herself. If society is to be run by the Germans, then I will offer them the premises from which to do it.
"Hierein!" Ernst Hartmann sat behind his huge oak desk, revelling in the space afforded him in his new, if temporary office. At One metre 80, he was not amongst the tallest of men, but he was tall enough, good looking, and exuded that indefinable authority that made people accept his orders without question. The allies had done him a favour, wiping out much of the hierarchy and elevating him to Regional Head of the Gestapo. From here, he would be more able to effect schemes that not only served his masters, but also allowed him to practice being one.
The young woman dressed in full military uniform stood stiffly to attention in front of the desk. "Corporal Monika Glasneck at your service Sir" she shouted.
"At ease! Corporal." I will call you Monika in private, you will call me Sir! Understood?"
"Yes sir". She adjusted her stance, dropping the salute, resting both hands clasped together in the small of her back, feet slightly apart, heels closer together than toes.
"Well then, Monika, tell me about yourself"
"Yes Sir!" Her heels clicked, despite being "At Ease". "I am 22 years old, married, from Dresden, Sir. I joined the Hitler Youth at 16, joined the Administrative Corps two years ago after I married. My husband was posted to North Africa so I volunteered for special duties, and was posted here as secretary to Colonel Grauhof, Sir!" Although not overly well developed, her chest swelled with pride as she yelled her CV.
Hartmann stood up, and walked leisurely around the desk. He stood behind Monika, legs slightly akimbo, tapping his stick gently against his leg. "What do you know of your assignment?"
"I am to provide secretarial services to the Colonel, but am covertly assigned to your section, Sir! My orders are to follow your orders, Sir"
"And did they teach you to take orders, Monika?"
"Yes Sir, without questioning, Sir"
Hartmann stroked his cane against the seam of her stocking. She stood still, not flinching as he ran it between her knees. He tapped the cane gently between them, encouraging her to spread her stance. She did so, immediately, unquestioningly.
"Were you not taught to put your stockings on properly? Your seams are not straight"
"Sorry, Sir", she replied, knowing full well she was being tested. Her seams were immaculate. They always were.
Hartmann smiled to himself. He had been told that having a compliant obedient indoctrinated little bitch like this one was a perk of rank, but he never expected to get the opportunity to savour it so swiftly. I can't let you out like that Monika, can I? I will straighten them for you. Bend over and place your hands on my desk".
"Yes sir". Keeping her feet where they were, she leaned forward, extended her arms and leaned forward until she almost lost her balance. She felt Hartmann's stick climb higher between her legs, lifting the hem of her skirt above her stocking tops. She heard his intake of breath as her best silk knickers came into view. Despite her curious situation, she felt strangely aroused by her position. She could feel the juices lubricating her innards, and when the stick stopped its movement, withdrew, and let the hem of her regulation skirt fall back, she felt the sharp pang of disappointment. Any such feeling was short-lived, however. Almost immediately she felt a cool waft of air as Hartmann lifted her skirt high over her back, leaving her exposed to his gaze. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him bend over and smooth the tops of her stockings with a gentle stroking motion of his hands. He stood up, moved beside her, placed one hand firmly on her bottom, leaned over mimicking her own stance, and whispered in her ear.
"Your knickers are wet. Did you know?"
"Yes Sir" she stuttered whilst maintaining the Military discipline she knew was expected of her. She was less sure when she felt his hand ingratiate itself into her pants, drawing them down around her knees. He stood up, moving away behind her, leaving her confused but still strangely excited. The stick returned! This time higher up her inside thigh. She shivered as it wormed its way into her slit, pausing when it teased her clit. A couple of gentle prods was all it took to have her on the verge of orgasm, the tension unbearable. Still it did not stop. A short pause, and on it went, pushing and prodding up her crack until it rested gently against the bud of her arsehole.
"I think you have been well trained, Corporal Glasnek. I look forward to taking full advantage." She felt the point of the stick twist lightly in her bottom as, with a slight push, she felt it ease past her entrance, penetrating to the point of discomfort. "You also have a nice arse, he muttered, did your husband use it?"
"Then I might also enjoy introducing you to the pleasures of Sodomy."
"Thank you, sir" she replied nervously, not sure how to respond to his disdain.
She had no time to worry about it. The rustling of his trousers as he unfastened his buttons was followed immediately by the soft PLOP as he withdrew his stick. She was ready for anything, but still the single thrust of his enormous penis into her vagina took her by surprise. She rocked forward on her hands, forced against the desk, painfully squashing her breasts against the cool woodwork. She thought, fleetingly, of the gentle wooing from her husband that had left her so unmoved, before being overwhelmed by the crashing orgasm that ripped through her body as he drove relentlessly into her. Her juices flowed. Copious quantities ran down the inside of her legs as he pounded on and on and on. She had never experienced such pleasure in all her young life. When his orgasm came, her own state of excitement was so high that she hardly noticed his dick twitching in her pussy. She felt him withdraw, and leaned, exhausted as he tidied himself up, oblivious to the gooey mess running down her legs.
"Attention!" The command snapped her from her reverie. She snapped upright, clipped her heels, and assumed her previous military bearing. Her skirt fell back over her bottom, her knickers fell to her feet.
"You have done well, Corporal! I am sure you will serve the Fuerher well. Report to me daily. You are dismissed."
Monika's chest swelled with pride as she stepped out of her knickers, spun on her heels, and marched briskly out of his office, eager to do whatever the domineering officer required in the name of the fatherland. Behind her, Hartmann picked up her discarded underwear and smiled to himself, pondering the times to come.
Colonel Jacob Grauhof sat smiling grimly to himself behind his new desk.
Nothing had seemed to be going right. Weeks of careful planning and persuasion had convinced the Editor of the local paper to support his programme for maintaining order, only for the damned RAF to kill him in a speculative raid on the local Police Station. Then Himmler's puppet Hartmann had turned up, making life difficult, and accusing him of being stupid to select the Police Station as his headquarters in the first place. Suddenly, there he was, sitting in the shabby lounge of a hurriedly appropriated Hotel, waiting to see the owner of the local paper, knowing that he had objected to Bernard's editorial stance. It could have been a difficult day.
A soft knock on the door announced the entry of the lovely Corporal Glasneck.
"The Owner of "Le Tribune" is here to see you sir."
Grauhof felt the disdain in her voice as she swivelled on her lovely ankles and swayed back to the doorway. He knew she was going to make him pay for his earlier clumsy attempt at seduction. Things were definitely not going well!
His mournful reverie was interrupted. A low swishing sound and the clicking of feminine heels caused him to look up into the frank confident gaze of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
"Colonel Grauhof!, I am Madame Chambet, Owner of Le Tribune. I believe you wished to see me".
The room was cold and dank. The girl stood in the middle, between two soldiers. No-one had said anything to her since they had picked her up outside the farm three hours or more ago. They had made it sound like an invitation, but it clearly was not one she could turn down. It had been hot then, a fine summer's evening, but now the chill in this cellar was cold on her bare arms and legs. A light summer dress was inappropriate garb for such a place. The bang of the door startled her as a tall German Officer strode briskly into the room.
"Good evening Fraulein Gilbert. Isobel, isn't it?"
His smile, disarmingly warm, caused her to relax a little. Perhaps this was routine after all.
"I have a little matter to resolve, and I am told that you are able to help me resolve it"
"If I can, I will"
"Good", he smiled again, "that is exactly what I would want...," he paused before adding "...and expect".
The veiled threat was not lost on Isobel, as she realised that this was no ordinary soldier standing before her.
"And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" She stammered, attempting to demonstrate a confidence she did not feel.
"Herr Ernst Hauptmann, at your service, Fraulein", his heels clicked quietly as he leaned forward in a slight bow. "I am head of the Gestapo here, and I need to find your brother".
"I expect he will be at home, by now" Isobel blurted out as the seriousness of both her and her brother Gerard's situation became clear to her.
Hauptmann closed the gap between them and raised his hand. As he spoke, the menace in his voice grew, and he slowly drew his knuckles down her cheek until he lightly held her chin between thumb and forefinger. Isobel felt as if the room had just cooled by another five degrees, as she struggled to break his gaze.
"We both know, liebtschen, that your brother has not been home for two weeks. You and I both know he is leader of the local resistance cell, and will soon be called to account. Isobel shook her head in apparent disbelief, as Hartmann continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as he moved his head closer and hissed into her ear. "You, my pretty one, know where he is, and you can either tell me the easy way, or not. Either way, you will tell me all you know."
Isobel moved to step backwards as she protested her ignorance of any such activities. She got no further than half a step before she found her two escorts closing down her retreat. Strong arms gripped her elbows as Hartmann leered into her face. "So, we do it the hard way, eh?" His grip on her chin loosened, and, tracing his index finger down the length of her throat, began to gently stroke up and down her cleavage. "Please tell me, where has your brother been during the last two weeks?"
Isobel stared at him, like a frightened rabbit in a car's headlights. "I don't know", she muttered, "I don't know".
Hartmans eyes never left hers, as he repeated his question. Whilst doing so, his fingers flipped open the top button of her dress, revealing the lacy top of her slip. Two more repeats of the question, followed, each meeting the same response, her dress unbuttoned to the waist. "I think you can see where this is leading, little one". She began to struggle, but only succeeded in dislodging one shoulder of her dress, which fell down her arm revealing the lacy strap of her slip, and the swell of her breast. Hartmann's fingers continued to release her buttons until the whole of her dress flapped loosely. A slight relaxation of the escorts grip on her elbows and suddenly her dress was round her ankles, leaving her standing shivering in the cold dank air.
Isobel glanced sideways at her captors. The look of lust in their eyes confirmed to her that even if she told Hatmann what she knew, she would never get out of here unharmed. Her resolve stiffened, she would not betray Gerard!
Hartmann was experienced. He had been here before, and knew that even total degradation and pain would not be enough to loosen the girls tongue. He had seen it before, that steely look was only too familiar to him. Fortunately, he was also experienced enough to know how to deal with it, but that could wait. First, he and the troopers might have a little fun. He reached out, stroking her breast through her slip, with the back of his hand. He no longer felt the need to question the girl, telling her that he would stop when she agreed to co-operate was enough. He knew she was probably cold, but the shivering was definitely fear induced. All the better!. A quick tug on the front of her slip was enough to leave her standing in her knickers and stockings, her breasts firm and well formed, her nipples standing out erect in the chill of the cellar.
Isobel knew there was no turning back, but even she did not expect the next move. Hartmann's hand returned to her breast. "Please", he said gently, "kneel down"! She ignored him, looking him straight in the eye with a defiant stare. His fingers began to gently roll her left nipple, stimulating it until it began to tingle. "Please", he repeated, his eyes never leaving hers, "kneel down". She continued to ignore him as the grip of his fingers tightened. Swiftly what had been irritating became painful, until his fingers were tightly squeezing her tender flesh. Tears began welling in her eyes as she felt her resolve weakening. His grip changed slightly, still squeezing hard, he began to pull downwards, extending her nipple before dragging her slowly to the floor as she submitted to the pain.
"Good", he whispered, still maintaining the incongruously placid tone of voice. "I see you are beginning to understand". " Please open your mouth". She looked quizzically at him, not really understanding what he meant. "Come on now, don't disappoint me again"! She parted her lips and formed a small "O". "Wider", she complied, feeling stupid kneeling here on the cold floor, her nipple burning with pain, and her mouth open for no apparent reason. Hartmann nodded almost imperceptably at the guards holding her arms, and she felt the release her. For a moment, she held out the hope of an end to her torment, but it was rudely shattered by the sound of belts being loosened and trousers being removed behind her. "Keep it open"! Hartmann growled at her as she relaxed her gape, allowing her mouth to close slightly to relieve the tension in her jaw. As he spoke, one of the guards, now naked moved to join him in front of her. His penis, already erect, jutted in front of him as he positioned himself in front of her face. She clamped her jaw shut, determined to resist. Hartmanns tone didn't change. "Please open your mouth" "you must do as I demand"
"Never", she hissed through gritted teeth.
"Then so be it!". As he spoke, she heard the hiss of the second guards belt a split second before it struck her. The strap laid a streak of pain across the bottom of her shoulder blade, before the buckle slipped around her torso to deliver a shaft of searing agony to the underside of her right breast. She screamed, long, and loud. As her mouth opened her scream was cut short by the thrust of the guards penis, straight in to the back of her throat. Her attempt to close her mouth was thwarted by the sheer size of the organ between her lips, and she almost threw up as she gagged on its length. As she surreptitiously glanced sideways, she saw Hartmann looking down on her with sardonic smile playing on his lips. She had no time to respond however, as the guard grabbed a handfull of her hair, tilted her head back, and began to thrust in and out of her mouth. As his penis was withdrawn she attempted to expel it further and bite down. A second lash from the belt reminded her of her folly. Her scream of pain muffled by the guards organ was still loud enough to attract attention from elsewhere.
The old woman cleaner hustles her younger colleague through the door.
"Quickly girl! Tell Gerard they have Isobel, tell him Hartmann is interrogating her,... tell him to be careful, and get away!"
Across town, Grauhof's smile widened as he remembered first his surprise, and then his delight at the realisation that the owner was a truly beautiful woman. His delight had been further enhanced by her request that he help her find a suitable editorial replacement. He chuckled to himself as he remembered his telephone call to the hated Hartmann asking if he wanted to take advantage of the situation. It was a favour he had yet to call in.
Now, here he was, installed in the most wonderful building, an office the size of a football pitch, in probably the most elegant local headquarters in the Army. It was no surprise that General Rauenberger had decided to bring forward his visit. If only Madam Chambet's hospitality had extended to catering for his more personal needs.
The corridor was dark and cold. Even so, Gerard Gilbert was sweating, the cold clammy sort of sweat that fear brings on. Clutching his pistol, he followed the faint whimperings he could hear in the distance. He was surprised at the lack of guards, especially since Hartmann was supposed to be in the building. Only the Gestapo would be arrogant enough to assume that no rescue attempt would be made. He was still looking for the trap when he found himself standing outside the cell where the noise originated. The door was slightly ajar, and a slight push opened it enough for him to peer inside. He almost threw up at the sight that greeted him. A girl, Isobel?, was tied face down over and upturned chair. Her rump thrust into the air, covered in blood, faeces and white sticky stuff which could only be semen. Both feet hung limply from the ends of her legs, both ankles clearly smashed.
It was all he could do to stop himself rushing into the room to comfort her, but at the critical point his sense returned as his gaze took in the rest of the room. Two German troopers, clearly drunk, sat slumped in chairs across a small table covered in playingcards. A noise behind him caused him to whirl around, finger tightening on the trigger as he found himself pushing the barrel of his pistol into the chest of his old friend Margaret the cleaner.
Holding a finger to his lips to silence her, he gesticulated to her to wait, and, taking his courage in both hands, dived into the small cell, spraying bullets from his pistol as he did so. His first two caught one of the gaurds full in the chest killing him instantly, but the second was quicker. He grabbed his machine pistol and sent an arc of fire across the room before Gerard's bullet took him between the eyes. Gerard paused, lying full length on the floor to get his breath back, and his wits together. Gathering himself, he turned to Isobel. The guards bullets had drawn a line of small holes across her lower back. Choking back the tears, he cradled his beloved sister as the life ebbed from her body.
"He,...He... He's gone to see Francoise with the General", she whispered through the pain. "he knows... about... you"
Gerard stared, tears rolling silently down his cheeks as she gasped her last, horrified at the loss of his lovely sister, his grief slowly turning to rage as the meaning sunk in. Francoise was in danger, she had to be warned.
He looked up to find Margaret staring blankly at him, and the carnage in the room.
"Please", he sobbed, "Look after her". "Please make sure she gets home."