Somewhere I read another story similar to this. I can't find it to give proper acknowledgement. It may have come from Powerone. I can't find it. Anyway, the other story was filled with violence; beating and every kind of sexual punishment you could put a woman through. I am not much better, but I have tried to put a different slant on a similar story about a woman captured during World War II. If another writer emails me that they had the original idea, I will pass it on somehow
I also have been given excellent advice on how to improve my stories; rewrite. Somehow, I can't wait to post something as soon as I'm finished. If enough people email me that they like the story, I will consider re-writing it.
Gabriella had led a privileged life. She had been raised in France by her parents who had been diplomats from Denmark. Before the war had started, he had been called back to Denmark. They had moved back to Helsingor, which was right across the channel from Helsingborg, in Sweden.
As a child, Gabby would stand on the hills along the coast and wonder wistfully what life across the channel would be like. She could see the beautiful buildings along the coast and the beautiful boats going up and down between their two countries.
Her husband's family had a generous sized villa overlooking the shore and a wonderful view of the city across from them. Gabby loved taking her young daughter, Genevieve, to the shore to play in the cold water. Genevieve was a young woman now, almost fifteen and her interests had changed. She was more interested in learning to dance like her mother. Gabriella had been trained in ballet during her early years in France.
Things had changed now. The threat of war was not a threat anymore. The Germans had invaded and their occupation was spreading throughout their country. Her husband had been frantically hiding all of their expensive silver, paintings, fine china and even their cars wherever he could think of. He had found a large building near their villa that had been bombed. He moved enough of the rubble to excavate a large cavern through the back of the stone foundations into a new room back into the hill. From there, he stored most of the family fortune.
They moved into a small abandoned farmhouse nearby, away from their villa. Hans had changed their expensive clothes for clothes still in the closet of the abandoned farmhouse. Genevieve was disappointed and was pretty ignorant of the danger they were in.
Hans and Gabriella saw the long line of military vehicles coming down the road. They tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Instead of standing at the side of the road and watching, they went into the back of their property where they began hoeing weeds out of the large garden.
The long line of cars stopped in front of their farmhouse. Several soldiers carrying rifles stepped out of the sidecars attached to the green motorcycles. They came around the house. They told Hans that they were low on water and needed some for several of the cars. The trucks carrying gas, water, food and ammunition were too far behind to be of much help.
Hans tried to keep his wife and daughter out of sight as he brought a bucket of water from the well and tried to be pleasant as he helped fill up one jeep. One of the commanders felt they needed more water and wanted it quicker, so he went around the house looking for more buckets when he spotted Gabriella and Genevieve in the back. Angrily, he asked them to help with the water. Terrified, the two women picked up two more buckets each and filled them with water.
The commander walked along behind them. He noticed that although they had very modest and shabby clothes, they both seemed to have very clean hands, no blisters and modest signs of being in the sun. They did not look like the ordinary peasants who worked in the fields. They struggled with the buckets of water and seemed unsure of where the water was supposed to go in the trucks.
The commander chatted with the Colonel, Klaus Von Schmidt. He expressed his skepticism of their appearance. The guards split the family up, taking Genevieve into the back yard, Hans on the other side of the convoy, and Gabriella over to the front porch. An interrogator went with each one, and asked them questions; what kind of work they did; where they lived; what their background was; things about farms, etc.
When they were all brought back to the front porch, the interrogators spoke briefly in German about what they were told. Commander Von Schmidt knew they were lying, and could have them killed. They were probably part of the resistance. He told Hans and Gabriella that they were taking their daughter, Genevieve to their temporary headquarters, Kronborg Castle. They needed a few servants for breakfast, dinner and housework.
"Please, Commander, please don't take her. She is our only daughter. We have heard about what soldiers away from home can be like. Please don't take her there. I am begging you." She pleaded as she dropped to her knees in front of him.
The commander was quiet. "You shouldn't have lied to us. I can have you both killed. I need some time to think about it. We will be having supper in a few hours. Why don't you and your husband come over to the Castle for supper tonight while I think about it? Perhaps you can talk me out of it." The commander smiled. Hans and Gabriella didn't like the smile, but did not see any way out of it.
The convoy headed on down the road to the Kronborg Castle, which they had appropriated for their headquarters.
"We need to make a run for it." Hans told his wife. "I don't think so, Hans. I think they have guards on motorcycles around our property. I think they are waiting to see what we do. Let's just humor them. Maybe we can get away with just having dinner with them. Maybe we can put some of our silverware back in our house and let them find it; maybe one of the cars. Hans didn't have a better answer. As a trial balloon, he would get out one of the sedans and drive it over to supper with it. Maybe they would take it and that would be the end of it.
They left Genevieve home that night and went to the Castle for supper. Hans wore a grey suit and tie. Gabriella wore her long reddish brown hair in a tight French braid that started at the top of her head and ended up about even with her waist. Her wire rimmed glasses framed her beautiful green eyes but could not mask the apprehension in them. Her high heeled boots which stopped just below her knees were obscured by the long silk button-front dress. Her long silk stockings were not held up by a garter belt. They were from France, and had an elastic top in a lace pattern. She didn't want to look enticing, but on the other hand she needed some balance of good looks in order to be persuasive to the Commander. She was, after all, fighting to keep her daughter away from them.
When they arrived, it was dark, and the castle was lit up like a Christmas tree. There were guards and guns everywhere. They were led up to one of the smaller ballrooms. With her left arm tucked nervously around her husbands, they were led into the ballroom where about a dozen officers were seated around a long oval table. Colonel Von Schmidt was seated at one end. He gestured for Hans and Gabriella to come over, where he offered Gabriella a seat on one side of him, and Hans at the opposite end of the table. Hans was insulted not to be offered a seat beside his wife, but knew better than to protest.
Gabriella felt naked without her husband to defend her, but also felt she was desperate and her main goal was to divert the Colonel away from her fourteen-year-old daughter. "Thank you so much for inviting us to supper tonight Colonel. I have always been intrigued with this castle and have never been here before." She said, thinking numbly of a way to initiate some kind of conversation. She felt if she initiated the conversation, she might be able to guide it somehow to plead for consideration for their family.
"You are welcome Mrs. Jorgensen. However I forgot to ask you how to dress. I like your dress, but something is missing. My men and officers have been away from home for a while now. We miss our home cooking and hospitality. I like your dress, but am somewhat of a deviant when away from home. I am curious to see how you would look without that brassier under that dress." The colonel said softly, appearing to Hans at the opposite end of the table, to be participating in innocent dinner conversation.
Gabriella was stunned. She knew there was danger of impropriety, but this was outrageous. She just sat there, looking straight ahead at the wall; refusing to admit what she had heard and unable to respond. Slowly she turned to look at him. She had not misunderstood. His eyes told her he meant business.
"Where can I go change? She whispered numbly as her cheeks turned red.
"You can't go anywhere. You can stand and do it here. Stand; unbutton your dress, take off the bra; take it over to your husband and have him keep it for you until we are done. You have a choice. You can do this or we can have our guards go get your daughter. I am certain she will be easier to manipulate than you. Which will it be?"
Gabriella almost gagged. There was no question of what she had to do, but she struggled to control her hands and legs. Her arms could not push back the chair. Her legs could not raise her. She looked down the table at her husband.
"Oh, please forgive me, Hans for what I am about to do." She said to herself as she pushed back her chair with her knees. She didn't know which was more humiliating; knowing what she was about to do, or thinking that her husband was seeing her do this as if on her own accord.
Hans could not see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes because of her wire rimmed glasses. All he saw was that his beautiful forty-year old wife seemed to be drawing attention to herself as she stood. Wait; she was reaching for the top of her dress. She and the Colonel were making eye contact as she reached for the top button. Was he seeing correctly? He was sure she had unbuttoned one button.
"Sit down, honey." He thought. "What are you doing?" he thought as his own face reddened. He watched, not believing that his wife had lowered her hands for the next button. He could now see a large expanse of her lightly tanned chest. The next button showed her lacy, almost transparent brassier. "What was going on?" he asked himself.
Gabriella was struggling with her buttons as she opened the last one above her waist. "Does she take her dress off completely?" she wondered. She stared at the Colonel. They seemed to have some kind of mental telepathy going. Without being told, Gabriella shrugged her shoulders and twisted her shoulders out of the top of the dress. She reached around to let the sleeveless dress fall away from her arms. She folded the top down over her waist, exposing the mostly transparent brassier to the men at the table. The room was now silent. Nobody was eating. A few chairs squeaked across the honed limestone floor as they turned to get a better view.
Gabriella searched the Colonel's eyes for some sign of mercy or sympathy but saw none. She tried not to look at the rest of the men in the room. Subconsciously she must have thought: "If I don't look at them, they aren't there." It was ridiculous, but that was all she had.
She tried to turn to face only the Colonel. "Maybe if she faced him, the others could not see." She thought. Gabriella could tell by his stare, that she was running him short of patience. She struggled to force her hands behind her as she arched her back. Her dainty fingers found the clasp and opened it. Gabriella pinned the sides of her brassier between her sides and arms to keep it from falling away. Quickly she brought her hands around in front of her to catch the cups from exposing her. It was useless. Hadn't he ordered her to take it off? She could cup herself all she wanted. The colonel knew it was coming off.
"Take it over there and give it to your husband." The Colonel whispered. The tears were obvious now as Gabriella turned to face her husband. The room was silent and her high heels seemed to clatter like hail on a tin roof as she made the long walk over to her husband. She walked with her arms crossed in front of her, trying to protect her modesty as long as possible.
When she stood in front of her husband she stopped. "I'm so sorry, darling. I'm doing this for us; for our daughter. We are going to get through this." She forced a smile that she did not have as she uncrossed her arms and presented him with the lace brassier.
Gabriella was tall for a woman but more slender than most. Her breasts were melon sized; with no sag to them. Her long stemmed pink nipples were easily twice as long as seen on most women. The areoles were small; or looked small because of the length of her nipples. Her alabaster white breasts framed the pink stems exquisitely. Hans was dumbfounded to see his wife almost strut over to him and hand him her brassier. Had she no shame; no modesty?
Gabriella turned to return to her seat. Her eyes met the Colonel's. His eyes were as cold as an Alaskan night. She knew he wanted her arms down. As she walked back, her long-stemmed pink nipples bounced like manometers to signal each strike of her high heeled shoes on the honed limestone.
When she got back, she crossed her hands in front of her again and sat. "I didn't tell you to sit. We need somebody to serve the water." Gabriella raised the top half of her dress as though to put it back on and re-button it.
"I didn't tell you to put the dress back on. In fact, I want you to remove it. Hurry up; there are a number of men whose water glasses are empty."
Gabriella was stunned. He had ordered her to stand. "What could get worse?" she wondered. "Please Colonel. Can't you let me keep some dignity? If you are going to have your way with me, can't it be done in private?" Gabriella pleaded to him with her eyes that were full of tears. She had always been successful in getting anything she wanted from men all her life. If nothing else, she was always successful with tears.
The colonel's stare made it plain that it would not work with him. He had killed thousands of men just to get here, and he wasn't going to do any favors for her.
Gabriella stood and reached for the hem. She raised the hem and started at the bottom. If she had started at the top, it would have fallen off after two buttons. This was her way of procrastinating as much as possible. Finally, she had the two sides of the open dress in each hand. Von Schmidt held out his hand. Gabriella handed it to him. She stood there, in her high heeled boots and panties. Again, the panties were an almost transparent design because of the lace pattern. They had come from Vienna and were hand woven with black silk.
Von Schmidt extended his arm with his palm up. Humiliated and embarrassed beyond words, Gabriella sobbed as she tucked her thumbs against her hips and brushed them down her legs. Once they passed mid thigh, they dropped until they caught on the tops of her boots. Gabby put her hands on the table for support as she raised first one boot; then the other to free them. She bent over to retrieve the garment and handed it to Von Schmidt.
Gabriella put her hands over her eyes and bent down at the waist to cover her. It was a useless expression of modesty as it left her cleft exposed behind her.
The Colonel pointed to a pitcher on the serving table. Gabrielle walked over to get it. With the pitcher in her hands, she was unable to cover herself. She was humiliated to have to pass close by and among the men to fill their water glasses. The men admired her looks. Her vagina had been shaven which was unusual in those days. The Germans were used to their women completely unshaven; everywhere. They did not shave their legs, armpits or anything.
Gabrielle had been shaven to a "landing strip 'pattern. Her pubic hair above her cleft was a narrow reddish brown testament that she did not dye her hair. Below the top of her slit, she was bald. She would regret that decision to the day she died. She didn't know what possessed her to do that to her; except the women in the French ballet had done it and she had always identified with them. As a young teenager, it was common, but now, at the age of forty, it was kind of pointless.