GESTAPO SS-LIEUTENANT Hans Von Yurt stood at ramrod stiff attention before the desk of his Commandant, SS-Oberf ührer Otto Stemp and watched and listened as the man ranted and raved, banging his fist on the desk for emphasis. He had rarely seen the man this angry.

So far, SS-Lieutenant Von Yurt had no idea why the man was yelling at him about some traitorous woman who had sided with the Jews. The SS-Oberf ührer soon corrected that lack of his knowledge in the conversation.

"THE TRAITOR IS YOUR WIFE GRETA, VON YURT. YOUR WIFE!" Hans eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe his ears. True, Greta had said some mild things against the Nazi party, to his dismay and consternation, but traitor? Impossible! She was a loyal German. As loyal as Der F ührer, himself. She just had a funny way of showing it sometimes.

"Mein Oberf ührer, I don't believe... "

"SHUT UP, VON YURT! There is no denying it, She is the one I am referring to. She is the one who has used her raggedy and pitiful little weekly newsletter to blast the party's treatment, or I should say mistreatment, of the Jews. She's the one, your Greta, who has created great dissension and discord among the working classes." He paused.

"WELL, NO MORE, VON YURT!" He banged his fist hard on the desk top. "You, SS-Gestapo Lieutenant Von Yurt, are going to personally arrest that little bitch wife of yours and bring her to me. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Von Yurt?"

"Y-Yes, mein Oberf ührer, perfectly clear, sir! Hans stiffened his body and clicked his heels together. He knew better than to say anything else, especially any of the argumentative rebuttal thoughts he now harbored. The man before him was obviously in no mood for a debate.

"Good! Now, go retrieve her, Von Yurt, and deliver her to me, in less than one hour, in my private quarters." The Commandant looked down at his wrist watch. "I want to personally teach the traitorous little cunt some lessons in following party doctrine when it comes to mass media." He smiled at the Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Von Yurt cringed, but saluted smartly, pivoted and headed toward the door. He knew the fate awaiting his beautiful wife of less than five years, but also knew there was nothing he, or anyone else for that matter, could do about it. Their fate was sealed. It was now, he knew, up to Greta as to just how horrible that fate would, or could get.

A short while later, Hans and Greta Von Yurt were in the back seat of a large, black unmarked SS-Gestapo car headed for the Commandant's quarters. Two regular army soldiers sat in front and, one of them, the driver, was humming a tune. It sounded out of place, given the circumstances, but at the same time it sounded normal. A thing a driver would do to pass the time.

Hans hadn't yet told Greta the reason for the trip, but he suspected she knew something wrong was afoot. He had merely told her that the commandant wanted to chat with her and she was not to worry, purposely playing it down so as not to fret her prematurely. Her worry and fret would come soon enough, he well knew.

"Hans," Greta said. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" He nodded, not turning to her, but still staring out the rear window on his side. "It's because of those things I wrote, isn't it?" He nodded again, still staring at the scenery going past. She pumped him further.

"How bad is it, Hans?" She sounded fearful, so he turned to face her. He looked very worried. Childlike in his worry. He took her right hand into both of his and squeezed. He could sense her fear. He had that fear in himself.

"Very bad, I'm afraid, my liebschen. The Commandant has labeled you a traitor..." He let the words just hang there, waiting for her response.

"Traitor? That's nonsense, Hans, I'm a loyal party woman, you know that. So, I played Devil's advocate with my odd views, but... "

Hans shushed her. "Liebschen, we don't have much time. We must talk before we get to the Commandant's quarters."

Hans leaned over and said something to the driver. It was said too low for Greta to hear, but a moment later she heard the man say, "Ya, Lieutenant!" and pull the car over to the curb and kill the engine. The two regular army soldiers then left the car, slamming doors behind them. Hans turned to her.

"Hans, I... "

"Greta, my liebschen, please, we don't have much time, so listen to me and listen very carefully. I am helpless in his matter and cannot do a thing to help you." He squeezed her hand. "I could shoot the two men with us, but that wouldn't save us, or you. We'd never even make it to the border or, even if by some incredible miracle we did, we'd never get through without a border pass.

"They would arrest us and kill us, after putting the two of us through holy hell." He squeezed her hand again. "Remember Anna?" He knew she did. She nodded silently. Poor Anna, she thought. Anna had also been called to have a little chat with the Commandant. She was now hospitalized and in a mostly vegetative state. Her mind had snapped.

Before her mind had gone, she had told Greta most of the horrid details. What she told Greta had seemed incredible in this day and age. Impossible, even.

Anna had fought the Commandant wildly, even going so far as to bite his penis when he had attempted to put it into her mouth. He had beaten her severely and told her he would kill her entire family if she didn't cooperate.

She cooperated, as best she could, but that still wasn't enough for him. He meant to teach her a good lesson. After raping her night and day for a week, he had turned her over to what he called the barrack's boys, 160 of his regular army soldiers. They had used her night and day, every day, without any mercy, for eight months. Anna didn't go into great detail, but she did say it was the most horrible thing imaginable, and beyond.

Anna did mention being tied to an army cot, night and day, while a long line of soldiers waited outside the door for their turn at her. And Anna's crime? She had called an SS-Gestapo officer a pig after he had pinched her behind in the restaurant where she waitressed. But how was she to know he was Schutzst äffel? The dreaded SS. The man was in plain clothes.

Anna's ordeal might have gone on until they tired of her or she died, but Anna got pregnant. Most of the men wanted to kill her then and there, but the barrack's boss, a kindly Corporal F ürst, took pity on her and sent her home to have the baby. Upon her leaving, F ürst had told her to go and have a healthy, German soldier boy.

Anna wasn't home three days when she miscarried and lost the baby. Whether this fact contributed to Anna's deterioration or not will never be known, but Anna collapsed soon after and lost all sense of reality. She now spent her days in a home for the mentally insane.

But that was then and this is now.

"Well," Hans was saying. "Anna had no idea what fate was waiting for her when she fought the commandant. How could she? But, you, my liebschen, are a step ahead of it all. That could save you from a very terrible time of it." Greta thought about the barrack's boys. Hans knew what she was thinking. He spoke again, still very rapidly.

"Yes, that would be terrible. Terrible. But you can prevent that from happening to you. By not being you, the strong-willed woman, the woman who takes no crap from anyone... including me." He chuckled softly. It sounded to Greta like a gallows chuckle. She tried to chuckle, too, but found she couldn't. Her throat was too dry.

"Liebschen," he continued, talking rapidly. "While it kills me inside to say this, you must humor the man and do everything he tells you to do, sexual and otherwise. It's the only way, believe me. I've seen and heard this man in action. He's a beast, a depraved beast. He enjoys telling stories of how he made the woman fight back, on purpose, by having her do things she found truly repulsive and the joy and exhilaration he felt in turning her over to his wretched henchmen.

"At all costs, you must not fight him. It will only play into his hands. If there is any hope of you coming out of this, my liebschen, and being spared Anna's fate, this is it. Use any ability you have within you to play-act, pretend you like it even, but just don't get the man angry. Do you understand, my liebschen?" She nodded meekly. God, she thought, oh, God. What is to become of me? Of us? Hans had said something more, again rapidly.

"... will insist on oral and intercourse, undoubtedly, but he will also make you perform anal sex. I know, I know. This is something you absolutely detest and I understand, my love, but he will give you no choice in the matter. It's do it or suffer Anna's consequences." He looked at her, great fear and love showing in his pool blue eyes. And tears. "And, as I well know from listening to his many ugly stories, his men will use you that way anyway, so please, liebschen, keep that in mind." He had more tears in his eyes. He's trapped, she thought, just like I am, but I must now be the strong one. If we are to survive at all.

One of the soldiers tapped on the rear car window and said, " One more minute, Lieutenant, sir." Hans turned to her.

"Greta, our time has run out. Do you think you can be a convincing actress with this vile bastard?" He looked anxious and afraid. Wanting her to say she could, but hating the fact that she had to.

"Hans, my liebschen, I love you. I can get through this. But will you? Will your knowing what I have done with this man hurt you so deeply it kills your love for me? That would kill me quicker than a bullet to my head."

"No, liebschen, I know you will have had no choice. My love for you will remain as srong as it is now. I promise." He reached out and kissed her. A long kiss. "We have to go now. I love you." He held her close. "I love you, my liebschen."

Just as the car door opened, Greta whispered, "I love you, too, my liebschen Hans." The two soldiers rejoined them in the car and in less than a minute they were once more underway.

Hans and Greta sat in the back seat, holding hands, both staring straight ahead at the backs of the soldier's heads. They both had tears in their eyes. The car turned a corner and there it was, the posh hotel that housed the SS-Gestapo. And, as Hans well knew, the personal penthouse quarters of SS-Oberf ührer Otto Stemp. The SS-beast. The SS-beast, Hans thought, who would soon have his dirty hands all over Greta's lovely body. Making her... Hans stopped thinking about it as the car stopped and the two soldiers got out.

AS GRETA STOOD, all alone, in the middle of the Commandant Oberf ührer's living room, she concentrated on steeling her will for the ordeal she could only imagine lay ahead of her. She was sure she could do as he wished, the bastard, and then blot it out of her mind later, unlike poor Anna, but she had to call on all the fortitude within her to play-act her part in the horrible scenario to soon come. Later was later, she thought, but now, damn it, was now.

A door opened to her right and SS-Oberf ührer Otto Stemp entered the room. He was barefooted and wearing a dark purple robe with twin yellow lightning bolts embroidered on the breast pocket. The insignia of the SS, the Schutzst äffel, the feared quasi-military arm of the Nazi party that served as their special police force. The dreaded Black Shirts. Stemp had a drink in one hand and was smiling at her. She felt immediately nauseated. And truly frightened.

As he stepped even closer to her, she realized he was a bigger man that she had remembered. Well over six feet, muscular, but with a pronounced paunch for a stomach. His chest looked extremely hairy as it peeked out of the purple robe's vee at his neck. His bare legs, below the robe, were also extremely hairy. The words hairy beast ran through her mind.

But it was his face that got her full attention. He was ugly. Not horribly ugly, but ugliness showed through nonetheless. His face was fat, wide at the jowls, with a close cropped moustache that reminded her of Hitler, their beloved F ührer. His lips, the bottom one very fat, wore a scar that crossed diagonally over them both, making them somehow look very evil. His ears looked too big for even his big face. They had little hairs growing out of them that repulsed her and reminded her of a man who should be older than he appeared to be.

"Good evening, Frau Von Yurt. How are you this lovely night?" The way he had said it, with a slight sneer in it, spoke volumes to her. She knew he was cat and mousing her, looking over his prey, which he knew had no avenue of escape. And the bastard, she also knew, was enjoying it immensely. She was sure he had done this before and was very well practiced in it. Anna flashed through her mind. Anna had probably stood in this very same spot. And had the same fears.

"I'm fine, Oberf ührer. May I go home now, I have many important things to do there, if that's all right with you." She was immediately sorry her mouth had gotten ahead of her brain, but, at the same time, she was pleased with herself. She'd caught him off guard, the bastard, by the looks of him. He was flustered. But, she reminded herself to be careful with him. She was in his home court, without any advantage. And it was he, not she, who would always be the clever one.

He started toward her. "Home? My, my, you've only just arrived here, my dear. Besides, we haven't had our little chat yet." He was now standing a foot away from her. "YOU TRAITOROUS LITTLE SLUT!" He slapped her hard across her right cheek, knocking her head to the side. The pain was awful and immediate. "HOME! HAH! Until I say so, you Jew loving little cunt, this is your home!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly from side to side.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" He put one hand under her chin, gripping it strongly, and forced her to look directly at him. She saw that he had spittle on his chin from the yelling.

"Y-yes, Oberf ührer. I'm sorry if I misspoke. What is it you want to talk to be about?" She looked pitifiul. He stepped back a few feet and looked at her, taking her entire body in and making her feel naked. He read her mind in that direction.

"Before we have our little chat, my dear, I want you to remove every article of your clothing, every last stitch, and stand at full attention. Now! AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT!" He smiled at her. He knew she was trapped. And she knew words were useless with this type of man, one who wielded power without any thought to another's feelings.

Resigned, and without a single word of protest, she started to disrobe, feeling the full, aching pain of humiliation and embarrassment creeping over her. I love you, Hans, she said to herself, fighting back the urge to cry. Crying now, she feared, might make the beast angry. And she knew where his anger could take her.

As she stripped before him, her hands trembling, he said, "I've had my eye on you for quite some time, Frau Von Yurt, but I suspect you know that. Tonight, my dear, I'm going to use you as you have never been used before." She was now down to her bra and panties. She heard him draw in a gasping breath. "Ah, lovely, lovely, my sweet one. You are, forgive me for saying it this way, what those fool American's idiotically call, stacked like a brick shithouse!" He laughed, which added to her overall embarrassment.

As she was about to unhook her bra, he placed his drink on the desk, stepped toward her and said, "Here, let me." He went up to her and put his thick arms around to her back and deftly undid the clasp. She could smell alcohol on his breath as the heat of him seemed to ungulf her. He stepped back, the bra in his hand. He tossed it willy-nilly in the direction of his desk as if female underclothing meant nothing in his world.

As she now stood there, the perfection of her young, firm breasts fully before his lecherous gaze, she felt the nipples go rigid from the coolness of the room. This embarrassed her even more and she was tempted to use her hands to cover herself. She resisted this as Stemp now moved closer to her.

"They are beautiful, just beautiful, your perky little titties. Oh, yes, my little Jew loving cunt, I'm going to enjoy you tonight." He reached out and, with both hands, started to squeeze and knead the twin orbs, tweaking the nipples very hard.

He bent over and put his scarred lips on her right nipple and started nursing on it. His lips felt rough and sandpapery. She stood there, trembling and wanting to die. He worked both her breasts for a few more minutes and then stood back. "The panties." was all he said, a wide grin on his face.

Oh, God, she thought, as she lowered her panties, exposing her unshaven groin area to his unyielding stare. Remember Anna, she thought, remember what happened to Anna. Play-act. Oh, God, and it's only going to get worse, much worse, Oh, God, I love you Hans.

She stepped out of the panties, unable to look at him. Then she realized not doing so might anger him. She looked at him. He looked demented, depraved. He was drooling. His mouth hung down, making the scarred bottom lip look even bigger and rougher. Play-act, she reminded herself. Remember Anna.

Thus, with a will of iron and the hidden talents of a Sarah Burnhardt, she said, "Do you like what you see, Oberf ührer?" Her mouth felt dry. She had said it coquettishly, which surprised him, as well as herself. She now stood at full attention before him, totaly naked, her beautiful breasts and pussy unhidden to his eyes. She noticed that he had his drink back in his hand, the ice clinking even as it melted. He sipped at it.

"Oh, yes, my dear, what man wouldn't? But you disappoint me somewhat. I had expected more of a fight out of you, more, shall we say, revulsion at the idea of it all. But, no matter, I have many little tricks that will test your feminine mettle. Many tricks, my dear. As you shall discover. But for now, let's chat, shall we?" She stood there as he walked all around her, taking an occasional sip from his glass.

"We will chat about your feelings for the Jews later, but for now I will ask you some questions and you will answer each with a nod or a shake of your head. Understood?" She suspected he was about to test her further. She nodded.

"Good. Now, do you know, Frau Von Yurt, that we are going to have sex tonight or, as some say, fuck?" She nodded. The word fuck had forced her to cringe.

"Good again. And you know you are going to suck my big, hairy cock, don't you, my dear?" She shuddered and nodded. She heard him behind her, taking a sip.

"And my old, hairy balls... ?" She shivered all over, but nodded again.

"And if I tell you I want to put my prick into your tight little ass, you will tell me to go fuck myself. Right?" She almost nodded, but caught herself in time to shake her head from side to side. She heard him laugh behind her. He was enjoying himself at play with his mouse.

"And if my asshole wants to feel the heat and wetness of your hot tongue on it... " He let the question hang in the air. Gritting her teeth, she nodded. Oh, God, help me, she thought, by letting me die this very minute. But she didn't really mean the prayer because it would mean no more Hans, no more us, no more anything. Play-act, she now thought as she nodded agreement to doing the vile act with him. He laughed again.

"You're too pliable, my dear, I have a feeling our little Hansy pansy has prepared you for what is going to take place here. Don't answer. It doesn't matter to me." He came around to her front, threw his drink at the fireplace, where it smashed into many pieces, and dropped his robe to the floor.

He was naked now, too, large paunch and all. The two of them just stood there, both naked now, facing each other in the brightly lit room. His large, heavy, hairy balls hung down, framing his wide and flaccid penis. The head of his penis looked huge, much larger than Hans' more normal looking one. It frightened her just to look at it, but it was also mesmerizing, just as a Cobra's gaze can be to its prey.

"Come to me and put your arms around my neck and show me how well you can kiss, my sweet little Jew lover." Play-act, she thought as she moved toward his hulking shape. As her arms encircled his neck, she could feel the heat of the man. It was overpowering, as was the musky smell of his male sex. To Greta, his heat and the musk smell seemed to permeate the room, cloying her nostrils. This was nothing like Hans' sweet, manly odor. This was more primitive, more animalistic. It scared her.

Greta closed her eyes and sought his scarred lips with her. On contact, she had the urge to vomit, her stomach muscles wretching, churning, convulsing, but managed to control herself. His lips were rough, partly from the scarring, but also from their natural state. They reminded her of the papery, parched-looking lips she had seen on the gorillas at the zoo. Beasts, just like him.

She felt his large, fat tongue enter her mouth. It seemed hotter than hot. And wetter than wet. As he pressed his lips against hers, his tongue delved even further into her mouth, finding her own tongue and playing with it. Kiss him back, she thought, don't anger him. Survive. Her tongue rolled around, exploring the fat, fullness of the intruder. He moaned and kissed her harder, running his hands over her ass cheeks at the same time. Then his hands went up and explored all over her back. Then back over her ass cheeks.

His kissed her for what seemed a long time. Then he kissed her neck many times before he worked his way downward to her nervous breasts. Finding her right nipple, he started sucking on it hard, causing her to wince in pain. He then switched to her left nipple and did the same thing. It felt unbelievably awful to her.

But SS-Oberf ührer Otto Stemp was enjoying himself. After thoroughly suckling on her breasts to his satisfaction, he groped her ass cheeks and then stuck a finger, then two, into her vagina. His other hand stuck a large finger into her rectum to the first knuckle. His big hands now had her impaled between them. He wiggled all his fingers around for a bit as if testing for fit, and then seemed to lose interest in the deed. He looked her in the eyes.

"On your knees, Greta, and suck my cock." He smiled at her and then added, "And do a good job with no biting. If you bite me I will have all of your teeth removed before turning you over to my men." He didn't ask if she had understood. He knew she did.

She knelt down before him, his great, hairy paunch hovering and seeming to sway in the air above her. God, give me strength, she prayed. Play-act flashed in her brain. Then Anna.

Greta took the fat, flaccid member into her right hand and lifted it so it pointed toward her face, her mouth. In doing so, she couldn't help but look at it. It seemed even fatter close up. And wider. At least two inches in girth, perhaps even more. The flange around the ridge stood out, all around, a full half-inch from the shaft, with the cock head's pee hole deeply indented, as a cleft chin might be. The whole appendage was meaty looking and felt quite heavy to her for a human penis. Hans' was nothing like this, nothing at all like it.

Taking a deep breath, Greta moved her head forward and took the monstrous head into her mouth. It was so incredibly wide. As she felt her lips cross the flanged ridge, the plumpness of his cock head filled her mouth, pressing against her tongue. She was reminded of a salami. A thick salami. He moaned above her, placing his hands into her hair and drawing her head even closer to him.

"Suck it, Greta, suck it good." She started a forward and back motion with her mouth, as she had done many times to her dear Hans. As she sucked, she felt the man's cock hardening up. Slowly at first, then more quickly, getting fatter, the head swelling to even larger proportions, the length of the shaft increasing. At full hardness, which was no more than seven inches in length, Greta believed that the wide head would certainly choke her to death. He moaned once more and pulled her head even closer to his hairy groin.

"Take the whole thing, my dear, all of it." He said it threateningly, as if failure in the attempt would anger him. I must avoid that, she thought. She removed her mouth and said, simply, "Yes, Oberf ührer."

Greta had been able to accomodate Hans' much slimmer 7" all the way down her throat, but this cock head now before her was unbelievably wide. She moved down the shaft, feeling the large cock head enter her throat's beginnings. When it hit her gag reflex, she decided to try something one of her married girlfriend's had told her to do, make a swallowing motion. She swallowed, as if eating a large piece of meat, and, to her utter amazement, it worked!! The entire cock head went down her throat with the one simple swallow until the man's pubic hairs were touching her lips. This amazed her. He moaned somewhere above her.

"Gott in Himmel! Ach der lieber!" he said. It had amazed him, too. "No woman has ever taken my cock head that way before. They usually throw up an entire meal all over me. I have often fantasized about a woman doing what you've just done, but I never thought it would ever occur. Now, suck me and swallow my sperm, you unbelievable deviltress, you." He started mouth-fucking her face, the fat-flanged head plunging deep within her throat on every third or fourth stroke.

As she sucked away on him, her saliva sputtering all around her mouth and around his fat-headed cock, they soon got into a syncopated rhythym. It was intoxicating to her, this sucking action, as if she was a baby suckling at her mother's nipple. And, to her chagrin, she found herself enjoying it. The meatiness of his cock head was doing something strange to her lips and tongue. Something very pleasurable.

While she hated this man, hated doing this for him, she also felt the pleasure sucking can bring. Like a pacifier, she thought. A large headed pacifier. This both scared and tantalized her.

As their cock-in-mouth rhythym increased, his moaning increasing along with it, she found herself completely enraptured by it all. She hated herself for feeling this way, but she couldn't help it. And she hated herself for admitting that something else was going on, too. Her vagina was moistening up. She could feel the stirrings, the familiar wetness, as it increased. Sucking off the vile bastard was getting her hot.

And the desire in her welled up, too. Not for the man, but for the moment, the sex, the act, call it what you will. She tried to tell herself it was play-acting, but she knew that was a lie. Perhaps, she thought, I'm a wanton slut deep down and this is merely revealing it to me. Oh, God, I hope not, for how will I ever face my Hans again? How will I face myself again? These horrible thoughts mingled with the pleasure her mouth was feeling and the growing wetness between her legs. Confusion swam through her brain.

SS-Oberf ührer Otto Stemp groaned, a real loud groan. He was, she knew by the gutteral sound of it, about to ejaculate into her mouth. She moved her mouth so just the head was engulfed, as she had many times with Hans, and moved her mouth back and forth over the cock head gently, waiting for his release. A moment later, he squeezed her head with both hands, holding her fast, and spasmed his sperm into her. She had expected him to yell as Hans usually did, but he was merely moaning.

His sperm entered her mouth in large globules, thick and sticky, with the consistency of yogurt. The sheer initial volume of it amazed her. Her mouth flooded up, forcing her to swallow. As she felt the large sea of salty sperm go down her throat, her mouth flooded again. She swallowed once more.

Then, to her utter amazement, her mouth flooded again, even more so than either time before. The amount of it caught her unaware and she felt it splashing out around his cock and dripping down hotly onto her naked knees. Her Hans had never been this copious, not even when he hadn't ejaculated in a week's time. Or even longer.

"Greta, use your mouth to suck the last drops out of me. Vaccuum my cock, my dear." She immediately complied, squeezing her lips tightly around the cock head and drawing her lips back toward herself, maintaining pressure. He was finally satisfied with her work.

He withdrew his cock and lifted her up to a standing position. He reached out and removed a large glob of his sperm from her chin. "Here, suck this off!" The finger was right in front of her mouth, the large glob shiny white. She reached out and took the finger into her mouth and sucked the sperm away. She swallowed just as he said, "After such a wonderful performance, my dear, we must use our first names. Call me Otto from now on, Greta. All right?"