At Gestapo Headquarters

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Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Since I may wish to publish it again at a future date permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial use.

At Gestapo Headquarters

by

von Hentzau

It was nearly midnight, near the end of her last performance, when the Gestapo arrived. Two of them, tall, broad shouldered, unmistakable in their arrogant bearing, walked into the small night club. Had they wanted to be unobtrusive they still could not have escaped notice. The club was nearly empty. Very few of the normal patrons of the club dared to be on the streets of occupied Rouen late at night.

A few of the handful customers attempted to quietly slip out the back when they realized who had just come in the front. They returned just as quietly and resumed their seats, followed by a pair of uniformed, helmeted SS men.

One of the Gestapo officers motioned towards Suzanne.

"You will come with us," he said quietly. He added a perfunctory "Please" at the end. It sounded odd.

Numbly Suzanne stepped down from the stage and walked towards the Gestapo agents. The moment she had feared for so long had come. How much did they know, she wondered. Rene had always said not to be afraid. Often they picked people up at random, just to shake the tree and see what would fall out. Oh, please, she prayed silently. Let them just be shaking the tree.

Suzanne passed between them. They fell in behind her and followed her out the door. Outside she saw their black Mercedes parked at the curb. Behind it was a military truck. A squad of heavily armed SS men were positioned on both sides of the street. One of the Gestapo officers opened the door of the Mercedes and slid onto the back seat. The other held the door open for Suzanne. She realized he'd positioned himself to block her if she made a break for it. Obediently she slid onto the seat. The Gestapo agent followed.

Once they were in, Suzanne sandwiched between the Gestapo men, the driver, without command, slowly pulled away from the curb and accelerated down the street. Neither of the men said a word.

Suzanne wanted to cry out, confess that she had passed notes for the Resistance. Her lover Rene had coaxed her into doing it. As she worked the crowd at the club a patron, usually someone she'd never seen and would never see again, would whisper a phrase. She would pass a small sealed envelope to him or receive one to give to Rene. What was in them? How should she know?

"If you know nothing, there is nothing you can tell," Rene had said many times.

"I know nothing," she wanted to cry out. "All I did was pass little envelopes."

But she kept quiet. Rene had told her not to volunteer anything. Once they started you talking, it was over. You couldn't stop. They wouldn't let you. So Suzanne sat in silence as the car navigated the narrow streets.

Fifteen minutes and many turns later the car turned into a gated entryway. Guards, machine pistols at the ready, stopped the car, shone flashlights on the occupants, then waved it through. The car moved forward, pulled up along side a rambling brick and stone building. Suzanne recognized it. It was the headquarters of the local German security services. The building housed offices, barracks, prison cells and, it was whispered around Rouen, a torture chamber.

They entered the building through a side door and went down several passageways, the Gestapo agents flanking her and indicating turns with a light touch on the arm. Finally they stopped in front of a solid looking wooden door, marked only by an anonymous number. One of the Gestapo men opened the door and all three entered.

Suzanne glanced fearfully around. The room was sparsely furnished. It was an inside room. There were no windows. Another blank wooden door was centered in the wall opposite the entry. On either side of the room a wooden desk was pushed up against the wall. A black uniformed guard sat at either desk, one apparently doing paperwork while the other clearly had been waken from sleep. A heavy straight backed wooden chair was centered in the room. One other chair, alongside one desk, completed the furnishings

The two guards stood up and approached. One of the Gestapo men handed a document to the guard who had been doing paperwork.

"Very good," he muttered. Then to Suzanne he said "Have a seat, mademoiselle." His french was passable, but he could never have passed as a Frenchman.

Suzanne seated herself. Before she realized what was happening the other guard had stepped behind her and grasped her by the shoulders. She squeaked out in protest but he ignored her. The other guard then came over and strapped her wrists into leather cuffs at the back edge of the seat. Then he knelt down and strapped her ankles into cuffs fastened at the base of each leg. With Suzanne secured the guards went back to what they had been doing when she arrived.

She sat and waited. And waited. And waited. There was no way to tell what time it was or how much time had passed. There was no clock on the wall. In fact, there was nothing, no pictures, paintings or other decorations on the dingy yellow walls. Nothing to distract the eye. The two guards were totally ignoring her. One had dropped his head to the desk and gone back to sleep. The other was busily examining papers and periodically scrawling upon them.

Suzanne wondered at the delay. The Germans were famously punctual. Then she realized it was all part of their method. Let her stew. Let her worry. She resolved not to give in to them. The minutes passed slowly. She lost all sense of how long she'd been waiting.

Finally the door opened. An older, somewhat grand fatherly looking man entered. He was dressed in a civilian suit rather than a uniform but the two guards snapped to attention when they saw him. One of them stepped forwards.

"Herr Oberst," the guard said smartly, handing the older man a folder. The colonel motioned him back, then opened the folder and glanced quickly at it.

"Ah, Suzanne," he said in a tone that an old family friend my use. "I've been expecting you for some time, you know. We've been watching you, of course. More than one of your fans has been working for us. So let's make this easy. Just tell us everything you know about the Resistance and nothing will happen to you."

The Colonel waited expectantly.

"But I know nothing," Suzanne said quietly. She almost added "All I did was pass notes back and forth." But she caught herself. To admit that would be to admit complicity.

"Very well," the Colonel said. He turned to the guards. "Strip her."

The guards quickly unfastened Suzanne and stood her up. It took only moments before she was standing completely naked before the Colonel. He eyed her up and down. She was a splendid young woman. Tall, with an exquisitely feminine frame, full pendulous breasts, round, firm buttocks.

The guards went over her clothes, checking for anything hidden. Then one of the guards inspected Suzanne. He forced her mouth open. She blushed as he forced her to bend over and spread her sex.

"Microfilm," the Colonel said. "It can be hidden in the most ingenious places."

Upright once again, Suzanne glared as the Colonel slowly walked around her, admiring.

"Such a shame to have to risk damaging such a magnificent body," he said. He brushed the fingers of one hand along the curve of a buttock. "If you force us to resort to more severe measures, young lady, there is no guarantee you will be quite as beautiful when we've finished."

He returned to face her.

"So, tell us now. Everything you know about the Resistance." He waited. Suzanne stood silent, looking past him. "Prepare her for interrogation," The Colonel said to the guards and left the room.

Suzanne was pushed down into the chair against and strapped in place. One of the guards brought out a pair of clippers. Quickly and crudely he clipped off her long blonde hair. Then she was released from the chair. Her wrists were pulled behind her back and cuffed together. The guards then led her from the room.

They led Suzanne down a nearly deserted passageway to a shower room. A men's shower room. Two surprised occupants were just finishing their showers. They finished dressing and stood back to watch.

Suzanne was taken into the showers. One of the guards pushed her down to sit on the cold, wet tile floor. The other left briefly, then returned with a pair a leather cuffs. These were strapped around Suzanne's ankles. Then each guard grabbed an ankle.

"Give us a hand here, eh?" one of them called to the onlookers. They came over and each grasped an ankle.

Suzanne was upended, lifted by her ankles. Rings on the cuffs were slipped over hooks mounted in the ceiling of the shower room. Suzanne was left dangling upside down, legs wide spread. The onlookers stood back, gawking and snickering at her predicament. Several more men came in to watch the proceedings.

One of the guards had gone rummaging around the row of sinks and returned with a shaving mug, brush and razor. He lathered Suzanne's crotch and then began shaving it.

"Albrecht isn't going to like your using his razor like that, you know," one of the onlookers called out.

"So how's he going to know?" the guard replied, continuing to remove Suzanne's pubic hair with short, precise strokes.

"Well, maybe because he doesn't have blonde pussy hair on his face he might be just a bit suspicious when he finds it stuck in his razor."

"We all have to make sacrifices for the Fatherland," the guard replied, finishing his task.

The other guard had brought over a hose. He gave Suzanne a good blast of water between the legs, rinsing off the soap scum and severed hair. Then she was lifted up and set back down on her feet. The guards removed the ankle straps. Then they positioned her over one of the drains and forced her to squat.

"Do you have to go?" one of the guards asked.

Suzanne shook her head, no. Actually she did, but she couldn't pee with these crude soldiers watching.

"I think you'd better if you can. You won't get another chance for a while."

Suzanne closed her eyes, tried to shut out her surrounding, the leering faces and snickering laughs. Finally she was able to relax enough to relieve the pressure on her bladder. The crude comments of her audience drowned out the sound of urine trickling down the drain.

As her stream tapered off one of the guards hit her again between the legs with a spray of water. Then they lifted her to her feet. Thoroughly humiliated and dripping Suzanne was led out into the corridor again. Several of the spectators walked along behind them, keeping up a stream of nasty comments. From the snatches of French and the slang that peppered their German Suzanne concluded that most of the discussion concerned the motion of her bottom as she walked.

At the end of the corridor they made a turn and stopped briefly at a gate made of metal bars. One of the guards fished out a key, opened the gate and let them through. They descended to the basement of the building.

It had been converted into a prison, two rows of cells to either side of a long passageway. Some sells were closed off with solid metal doors. Others were merely barred. Most contained occupants.

They led Suzanne to a solitary, empty cell and put her in it. They left the hand cuffs on. She motioned to one of the guards with her arms, trying to draw attention to them.

"No," he said. "Those stay on. Can't have you committing suicide on us."

And he closed the barred door. The lock made an audible, metallic groaning sound as he turned the key. Suzanne sat despondently upon the rusted metal bed, the sole furnishing of the cell. The cell opposite hers was crowded with men who looked liked they'd been swept up off the street in the worst quarter of town, filthy, drunken swine. Some of them began to stir and noticed the naked woman in the cell across the way. It wasn't long before the crude remarks and catcalls started. One of them undid his trousers and exposed himself to her, accompanying the act with utterly disgusting descriptions of what he wanted to do to her in slurred gutter French.

These didn't seem like the kind of prisoners that should be in a Gestapo prison. These seemed like common scum from a drunk tank. She wondered, was this just part of their interrogation technique? To put her under pressure from the humiliation of being exposed to them? She lay down on her side on the thin mattress and pulled her legs up, making as tight a ball of herself as she could, as if it would give her some protection. The mattress smelled of urine. Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep.

At mid-morning two different men, in undecorated black uniforms, came for her. She was taken from the cell, led back upstairs and into the same room. This time they continued into the next room.

Once glance old Suzanne what it was and her heart sank within her. There was no question but that it was a torture chamber. Various implements lined the wall. The probably uses of some was obvious. Others she didn't understand, and didn't want to think about.

They wasted no time. Suzanne was positioned in the middle of the floor and turned around to face the door. The handcuffs were removed. She was given a few brief moments to shrug her arms and get the kinks out before her wrists were strapped into a pair of leather cuffs in front of her. A rope with a hook at the end was lowered from the ceiling and the cuffs fastened to it. Then her arms were raised up. They stopped when her elbows had come up to eye level. One of the torturers then knelt down and strapped cuffs around her ankles, fastening them to a ring set in the floor. Then she heard a crank turning and her arms began to rise again. They didn't stop until she was stretched tight, only the balls of her feet still on the floor.

The she waited. Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Her arms began to ached from the strain. Finally the door opened and the Colonel walked in.

"Good morning, Suzanne," he said brightly, as if just coming into the office and greeting his secretary. "And how did you sleep? Well, I hope." He paused, as if expecting an answer. "Now, what have you to tell us?"

Suzanne dropped her eyes to the floor and said nothing. She heard a strange whooshing sound and suddenly pain exploded across her butt cheeks. Her eyes grew wide and mouth dropped, but she managed to stifle the cry that tried to emerge.

"A rattan cane, Suzanne," the Colonel said, an amused look on his face. "The nuns at your convent school never employed one? I'm surprised."

Another blow came, this time across the backs of her thighs. It brought tears to her eyes.

"Most unpleasant, as I'm sure you've noticed. Georg here is quite expert in the use of it. Perhaps we could place a mirror here so that you can admire his technique, no?"

Another blow fell, across her shoulder blades. Suzanne began to wonder how much of this she could take. Blow after blow landed as Georg moved up and down, from thighs to shoulders, only avoiding her kidneys.

"But I don't know anything!" Suzanne finally screamed.

The Colonel signaled to Georg, then stepped up close to Suzanne.

"I don't believe you," he whispered. He stood there, intently watching her frightened eyes. The seconds ticked off. Suzanne feared he was about to order the beating to continue.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" the Colonel said softly. He began to stroke Suzanne's breasts, softly, like a lover. His hands moved to her nipples. "You know, this position really does display your charms in a wonderful manner." In spite of herself, or perhaps because of the strange tension of the moment, Suzanne felt her nipples begin to react to the attention. "Can you imagine what we could do to your more sensitive areas if we chose?" One hand dropped. Fingers began to stroke her pussy lips. "Can you imagine the amount of pain we can inflict? Just tell us everything you know about the Resistance and you won't have to find out."

He stepped back, watching her expectantly. Suzanne remained silent, staring past him at the bare wall.

"Ah, well. Perhaps you need some time to think about it," the Gestapo Colonel said. He issued orders to his assistants. A metallic click and the tension on her arms disappeared. Surprised and still shaken from the beating Suzanne collapsed to the floor. The straps around her wrists and ankles were unbuckled and she was helped to her feet. Then she was led from the room and down a hallway. They passed several people, some in uniform, some not. None seemed overly surprised to see a stunningly attractive naked woman being led through the offices.

They turned down a side passage and passed through a door into a small courtyard formed by the U shaped building. Along the open side of the courtyard ran a short length of wire fence, of the sort formed by lengths of vertical and horizontal wire. The wires formed a pattern of small rectangles. The two assistants had positioned themselves on either side of Suzanne as after passing through the doorway. Now they each seized a wrist.

Suzanne was led to the fence, then around one end and turned so she was facing the building. They stopped her at the middle of the fence and roughly shoved her up against it. Her wrists were raised up and out and tied to the fence. The assistants stooped and grabbed Suzanne's ankles. Her legs were spread wide, uncomfortably wide and her ankles were tied to the fence. Two more ties passed around her thighs several inches below her crotch.

Her torturers then went around to the other side of the fence. Suzanne's ample bust was pressed up against the sun-warmed, rough metal. Each of her torturers seized one of Suzanne's nipples between thumb and forefinger. They pulled them through the openings in the wire. Suzanne's breasts were considerably larger than the openings. Slowly they worked more and more of her boobs through the small openings. As they got more through they were able to grab larger amounts of flesh and tug still harder. The rough surface of the unyielding wires scratched and gouged her skin cruelly. After much tugging and twisting they had as much of her breasts pulled through the fence as possible. The poor globes, restricted at their bases by the small rectangles, bulged out as if inflated. As a final touch they tied a length of rope from the fence around her back, to ensure that she couldn't pull her breasts back out through the fence. Then they returned to the building.

Suzanne closed her eyes and tried to pretend this wasn't happening, that she hadn't been picked up by the Gestapo, that she wasn't stripped, shorn and spread out on display for all to leer at. When she opened her eyes she could see people at the windows looking down at her. Every so often she heard footsteps as people, men in uniform mostly, passed by. Some stopped to inspect her. As few dared to fondle her privates that were now on public display.

Three young women came out of the building, none beyond her early twenties at most. All three wore the uniform of the German army women's auxiliary. They were clerks, no doubt. Suzanne watched as they lit cigarettes and chattered among themselves. Then they casually walked over to the chain link fence and inspected Suzanne.

The girls continued to banter back and forth in German, which Suzanne did not understand. But each comment from one of the girls elicited titters of laughter from the others. They seemed to be looking Suzanne up and down, fascinated by the naked, helpless female body tied to the fence. Two of them walked around to inspect Suzanne's battered hindquarters.

"Nice ass," one said in French. Then she gave Suzanne's right buttock a hard slap. Suzanne jerked involuntarily, more from surprise than pain, though the impact of the hand was made worse by landing upon the welts previously inflicted. Suzanne's reaction caused all three girls to giggle like schoolgirls. They inflicted three more slaps, left, right, left again. Then Suzanne felt fingers probing the folds between her legs.

"I think she's wet," a girl said in heavily accented French. "I think she likes it!"

"Let's see what else she likes," the girl still facing Suzanne said.

She reached out and grasped Suzanne's right breast, cradling it in her hand. The other two girls came out from behind the fence to watch. The girl gently began to squeeze the breast, watching Suzanne's face for reactions. She slowly began to dig her nails into the tender flesh. Her face had taken on a devilish aspect, like a schoolgirl about to do something wicked and taking delight in the prospect.

She took the cigarette from her lips, shook the ashes from the tip. Slowly she brought it towards the upper curve of Suzanne's breast. Suzanne watched helplessly as the girl threatened her captive member. With a quick motion the girl brought the tip of the cigarette down lightly upon the bare skin and just as quickly withdrew it.

"Aaaaah!" Suzanne moaned, trying to stifle the reaction to the sudden pain.

A smirk of victory crossed the girl's face. She allowed her hand to slide along the curve of Suzanne's breast until she'd trapped the nipple between thumb and forefinger. She took several drags on the cigarette, making the tip grow red. Then she carefully positioned the cigarette, the tip bare centimeters away from Suzanne's nipple. Suzanne braced herself.

"That's enough, girls," an authoritative female voice said. "Back to work with you."

The three girls came almost to attention at the sound. They dropped their cigarettes, grinding them out with the tips of their shoes, and hurried back inside the building. The source of the command came into Suzanne's view. It was an older woman, dressed in a black uniform dress with the insignia of the Gestapo on the lapels. Her face was thin, razor sharp, her graying brown hair pulled back into a tight bun.

She approached Suzanne. She reached out, grasped the tortured breast and inspected it. There was a small red spot where the cigarette had touched.

"Yes, Renate has a nice touch," she said, though Suzanne wasn't certain if she was being addressed or the woman was speaking to herself. "Torture takes finesse. One should always inflict the maximum pain with the minimal amount of damage. One wants the subject to last. And Renate enjoys it. I may have to give her some instruction and then perhaps an assignment to see how she does. One always wants to promote promising young talent.

"I see by your predicament that you have not yet elected to talk to us. Or you would not be here."

She had released the right breast and now had placed the palm of her right hand against the left breast. She was pressing it backwards, mashing it slowly against the rough wire of the fence.

"Herr Oberst Pflueger told me you were not being cooperative. My dear, I suggest you change your mind or the Oberst, who is too kind hearted to be really, really cruel, will give you to me. And I will greatly enjoy seeing just how much pain it will take to break you."

She was pressing very hard now, flattening out the breast. Suddenly she pulled her hand away. The breast resumed its normal shape, as much as it could with the base compressed by the wire fence. The woman turned as if to leave but suddenly swung around, delivering a stinging open handed blow to Suzanne's breast. Then, without a backwards glance at Suzanne's tear stained face she strode into the building.

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

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