At Gestapo Headquarters

The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy get the heck outta here.

 

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

 

Part IV

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suzanne came slowly to consciousness again, to find herself still in the torture chamber. She was lying on her side, her legs bent back and her wrists fastened to her ankles in a hogtie. As far as she could tell from her limited field of vision she was alone in the room.

 

But not for long. Someone must have been watching, perhaps through a peephole, for within a few minutes of Suzanne awakening the two guards entered the room.  They immediately went to Suzanne, unfastened her bonds and helped her to her feet. While one held her steady the other went to retrieve a wooden stool, about eighteen inches tall. He returned and placed it several feet in front of Suzanne. The second guard walked her to it and then both of them helped her step up onto its top.

 

The first guard disappeared from Suzanne’s sight and returned with a short step ladder. He placed it in front of her and then mounted it. She looked up, for the first time noticing a pair of leather cuffs dangling from short chains fastened to the ceiling. The guard raised first one arm and then the other and strapped the cuffs around her wrists. The chains were anchored more than a shoulder’s width apart, so her arms were held in a wide V.

 

The guard stepped down from the ladder and returned it to its place along the side wall. He came back with what appeared to be a sandbag, but with a pair of leather cuffs fastened to one end. He placed the sandbag between Suzanne’s legs and strapped the cuffs around her ankles, the bag resting on the stool.

 

With the preparations made the guard stepped back and his partner pulled the stool out from under Suzanne. She fell a short distance, and then all her weight was suspended from her wrists. She swung back and forth slightly, then hung straight, the weight of the sandbag steadying her as well as adding an extra strain on her wrists and arms.

 

She hung for perhaps ten minutes before the door to the torture chamber opened again. This time Frau Buesch entered, followed by the young secretary, Renate.

 

“Well, Suzanne,” Frau Buesch said, approaching her, “as you can see I’ve brought Renate with me. She did so well with the electric prod that I’ve decided to continue her training in the gentle art of interrogation.”

 

She approached closer and ran a finger from just below Suzanne’s neck, between her breasts, down across her belly, to her mons.

 

“As you can see, Renate, this position places the subject under considerable stress. Notice how taunt she is? Just a couple kilograms of weight in the sack hanging from her ankles makes a tremendous difference. Tell me Suzanne, is this position causing you pain?”

 

Suzanne stared out her. When she didn’t answer Frau Buesch seized one of her labia between her thumb and forefinger, pinching it viciously and twisting.

 

“Yes!” Suzanne cried out.

 

“Better,” Frau Buesch said. “Much pain? Severe pain?”

 

“Yes! It hurts! It hurts!”

 

“And that, Renate, is the basic principal of our profession. Ask the question. If they don’t answer apply pressure.  Eventually they will answer you.”

 

The two women walked slowly around Suzanne, examining her. She felt a hand exploring her bruised and battered backside. She didn’t know whose, but suspected Renate. They reappeared in front of her.

 

“As you can see, she’s suffered a considerable beating to her rump already without yielding any information. It would probably do little good to continue working on that part of her body. We shall have to concentrate elsewhere. Somewhere very sensitive and very vulnerable.”

 

Frau Buesch’s hand came up to cup one of Suzanne’s breasts. She squeezed lightly.

 

“Shall we start, then? Tell me something about the Resistance, Suzanne. We know your boyfriend Rene is part of it. Who else do you know who’s part of it?”

 

Suzanne looked away. The pressure increased. The fingernails started to dig in.

 

“At that nightclub you passed notes from Rene to others. You received notes from them to pass to Rene. Who were they? What were their names?”

 

Suzanne squealed involuntarily as the pressure grew unbearable.

 

“I don’t know!” she whined. “I never knew their names. They never said. Rene said not to ask.”

 

“I do not believe you,” Frau Buesch said in a low threatening voice. She turned to Renate. “I think this is a good time to introduce you to the whip. Normally I prefer a cane, but when applied to the breasts, if not done carefully, they can produce excessive damage. Suzanne is a particularly difficult case, very stubborn. We may have to spend considerable time on her. Therefore, we want to inflict a significant amount of pain, but not cause so much damage that the affected part becomes insensitive.”

 

Frau Buesch stepped out of Suzanne’s sight, then returned holding a short, stiff leather strap. She beat it lightly against the palm of one hand, then swung sideways so the tip of the strap raked across both Suzanne’s breasts. She screamed at the pain.

 

“As you can see, a very light stroke is all that is required. Here. You try it.”

 

She handed the strap to Renate. Renate smiled wickedly at Suzanne as she swung her arm back and then forward, dealing a heavy blow to the Suzanne’s left breast. She cocked her arm and then gave the right breast a similar blow. She was clearly swinging the strap as hard as she could.

 

“No, no,” Frau Buesch said sternly. “The object is to cause Suzanne pain, not injure yourself which you surely will if you attempt to more than two or three blows like that.

 

Frau Buesch took back the strap. She again swung at Suzanne’s breasts. The tip of the strap grazed the rounded ends of Suzanne’s breasts, battering her nipples and eliciting a rodent-like squeal from her.

 

“See, girl,” Frau Buesch said as she handed the strap back to Renate, “just a light, carefully placed stroke is all that’s necessary. Now, try it again. And Suzanne, need I remind you that al lyou need to do to stop this torment is to tell us about the Resistance. Have you perhaps remembered anything you’d like to tell us yet?”

 

Suzanne glared at the woman through tear filled eyes.

 

“I don’t know anything!” she said slowly and emphatically.

 

“Very well,” Frau Buesch said, “then Renate’s education continues. “

 

She signaled with one hand and Renate began swinging the strap left and right, battering Suzanne’s poor breasts. She was still lacking in Frau Buesch’s finesse, so with each stroke the tender globes were flattened or forced up or down out of the way of the stiff leather. After a dozen or so strokes Frau Buesch directed Renate to swing the strap upwards from beneath Suzanne’s breasts. She did so, each stroke lifting one of Suzanne’s breasts, then letting it fall uncomfortably. The combination of sensations was excruciating.

 

And periodically Frau Buesch would stop the torment. She’d examine Suzanne’s breasts, then question her again about the Resistance. And each time Suzanne gave her the same answer. Finally Frau Buesch stopped the torture.

 

“A most difficult subject,” she said. She motioned to the two guards. “Place her in the cage. We’ll let her think about it for a while. Perhaps her memory will improve.”

 

The two guards placed the stool under Suzanne’s feet, then undid first the ankle cuffs, then the wrist cuffs. They had to support her or she would have fallen. They helped her down from the stool and then half carried her through a side door into a small, bare room. The only thing in the room, placed in the very center, was a caged made of metal bars and wire. It stood little more than waist height and was barely more than the width of an average person’s shoulders.

 

One of the guards opened the front of the cage, then the two of them forced Suzanne to squat down and back into it. She then had to draw her knees up against her chest and wrap her arms around them. When the front of the cage was fastened back in place Suzanne was crammed in so tightly she could barely move.

 

On their way out the door one of the guards stopped, bent over and opened what looked like a heating vent. Then the pair left the room, switching off the lights, closing the door and leaving Suzanne in darkness.

 

After some time had passed, impossible to tell just how long, Suzanne became aware of sounds. At first they were very indistinct, just odd, faint noises. But as she concentrated on them the sounds took on the character of human noises, angry, threatening voices and screams and frightened squeals and moans. Suzanne realized that the heating vent the guard had opened conducted sounds from another room, a torture room. Trapped in her cage, she had no choice but to listen to them.

 

After what seemed like hours Suzanne was released from the cage and brought back to the room where she’d been whipped with the leather strap. A heavy wooden chair had been set up there in the center and she was forced to sit in it and strapped firmly in place, her arms taken around behind the back of the chair and wrists fastened approximately behind the small of her back. A bolster was slipped between her shoulder blades and the back of the chair, forcing her to thrust her chest forward.

 

With Suzanne secured, the two guards went over to the side of the room and returned carrying a heavy wooden bench. This they slid in place in front of Suzanne, pushing it right up against her chest so that her breasts lay upon the thick wooden plank that formed the top. The edge of the top plank had a shallow cut out that approximated the curve of Suzanne’s chest, making it fit better. Straps fastened the bench legs to the chair, so that it was immovable, with Suzanne trapped between the plank and the bolster.

 

Frau Buesch and Renate entered. They approached Suzanne and examined the position she had been put in for a moment. Then Frau Buesch directed Renate to bring a tray from where it was stored near the wall. Renate did so, placing it just off to the side, out of Suzanne’s field of view.

 

“One delightful fact of nature, Renate,” Frau Buesch began, as if starting a school lecture, “is that the female breast is extremely sensitive. Another is that we can do many things to it without endangering the life of the bearer. Despite the bruises you caused earlier there is still much we can do to these delightful organs. Hand me the clamp, please.”

 

Renate handed Frau Buesch a surgical clamp. Frau Buesch seized Suzanne’s left nipple with the clamp and stretched it out, painfully.

 

“First we’ll secure Suzanne’s breasts. Hold the clamp out like this.”

 

Renate took the clamp. She stretched Suzanne’s nipple slightly further than it was already. Frau Buesch went to the tray and returned with a small hammer and a slender nail, four centimeters long. Suzanne watched, unbelieving as she placed the tip of the nail against the light brown skin of her nipple, just below the jaws of the clamp. She gave the nail a light tap and it pierced the skin of Suzanne’s nipple.

 

“My God!” Suzanne screamed, “what kind of woman are you?”

 

Frau Buesch stopped, hammer poised for the next blow.

 

“You honestly do not understand?” she asked, a bemused tone to her voice. “Why, I’m not a woman at all. I am a monster. My own husband prefers to stay on the Russian Front, rather than come home to me. So, my dear Suzanne, I must find other ways to entertain myself.”

 

With a single blow she drove the nail through Suzanne’s nipple and into the wood beneath. Then she took the clamp from Renate and gave her the hammer.

 

“You’ll do the other one,” she said.

 

Renate’s dark eyes seemed to glow with delight as she retrieved a nail from the tray. Frau Buesch grabbed Suzanne’s right nipple with the clamp and stretched it out. Renate placed the nail and gave it a light tap. It pinched but didn’t break the skin.

 

“You’ll find the nipple to be quite tough. You’ll need to drive the nail harder than that.”

Renate took another swing. This time the nail entered Suzanne’s flesh. It took several more blows before it pierced her through to the wood. Suzanne was certain, from the look of malevolent delight on her face, that Renate was purposefully drawing out the process to increase her torment.

 

“Now that we’ve secured Suzanne firmly we can move on to the next level of pain. Unless of course she would like to tell us what she knows about the Resistance.”

 

She formed her hands into claws and placed one, fingernails down, on each of Suzanne’s breasts. She pressed down firmly, digging the nails in. Suzanne turned her head aside knowing there was nothing she could say that would satisfy them.

 

“No? Well then, we’ll continue.”

 

Frau Buesch went to the tray and returned with a small glass filled with a clear liquid and dozens of long straight pins. She placed the glass on the bench, dragged a chair out from the wall and took a seat in front of Suzanne. Renate also brought a chair and took a seat beside Frau Buesch, who removed a pin from the glass.

 

“Now, this is a wonderfully exquisite technique,” she said, positioning the pin point down on one of Suzanne’s breasts. Suzanne could feel the point just barely pricking her skin. “I actually tried this on myself once, just to see what it felt like. I can assure you it is most painful. For best effect, do not shake off the alcohol. It will increase the sting.”

 

She exerted pressure on the pin. It broke through Suzanne’s skin. Slowly and steadily Frau Buesch pushed it into the soft flesh. Suzanne wailed mournfully.

 

“Remember, Suzanne,” Frau Buesch said. “just tell us what you know about the Resistance and all this will stop.”

 

“But I don’t know anything,” Suzanne moaned. “It was all Rene. When someone handed me a note I gave it to him. He would hand me a note and point out someone at a table. I would slip the note to the man. I don’t know who they were. I swear it. That’s all I can tell you.”

 

Frau Buesch sat back and studied Suzanne for a long minute.

 

“You know, I am beginning to believe you may be telling us the truth,” she said. Then she picked up another pin and handed it to Renate. “However, I think we’ll just continue for a while and see if you change your mind.”

 

Renate placed the point of the pin against Suzanne’s other breast.

 

“I suggest that you choose a place that’s not already bruised,” Frau Buesch said.

 

Renate obediently moved the pin a centimeter to the left, then shoved it in firmly. She removed another pin from the glass and positioned it against the other breast. Suzanne clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, unable to watch the slim metal shaft pierce her skin. Another pin followed that one, then another. And finally, mercifully Suzanne’s head lolled forward as she slipped into unconsciousness.

 

Suzanne awoke in the familiar cell in the basement of the Gestapo headquarters. She lay for a long time before she heard the door to the cell block open. Her heart despaired at the thought of beginning another round of interrogation. What horrors would the monster Frau Buesch concoct this time ?

 

A pair of guards stopped in front of her cell. One carried a pair of handcuffs and a gray cloth bundle. He stopped in front of Suzanne's cell. He thrust the bundle through the bars.

 

“Put this on,” he ordered.

 

Suzanne stood and came hesitantly to the bars. She took the bundle and shook it out. It was a gray dress, short sleeved, with a row of buttons up the front. She put it on.

 

“Turn around, hands behind your back,” the guard ordered.

 

 

class=Section2>

Suzanne did as she was told. The handcuffs were snapped in place. Then the door swung open with a metallic creak. One of the guards entered the cell, took her arm and walked her out. Then, with a guard on either side, she was walked up the stairs and down the hallway towards the torture room. But instead of turning there they continued down the hall and around the corner, and then entering an office. It appeared to be an ordinary office. Nothing about its furnishing or equipment indicated that anything occurred there other than routine office work. There was a wooden desk, not overly large or ornate, with a leather chair behind it. A solid, straight backed wooden chair stood before the desk. There were filing cabinets along the wall and the requisite picture of Adolf Hitler.

 

The guards took her to the chair, turned her around and sat her down. Her wrists were unfastened, then cuffed again behind the back of the chair. Suzanne tried raising her arms. The connecting link of the handcuffs had been hooked to the back of the chair.  The guards took position to either side of the door.

 

In a few minutes Frau Buesch strode into the room, a broad but clearly insincere smile on her face.

 

“Good news, Suzanne!” she said. “Good news for you, but bad news for me. We’ve had a long discussion with your boyfriend, Rene. He’s backed up your story that you were only a passer of notes, and knew nothing of consequence about the Resistance. So, unfortunately we will no longer be playmates. And I had so many other tricks to teach you!”

 

She walked around behind the desk, so that Suzanne had to turn her head to follow her.

 

“But, my dear, you are not entirely in the clear on this matter. You still assisted the Resistance. You did not report them to us. That in itself is a serious matter. So, while we will not have the honor of shooting you in our courtyard here, we will be transporting you to Bergen-Belsen.”

 

The name sent a shiver up Suzanne’s spine. Though the Germans tried to pretend it was just a prison camp enough stories had filtered back that it’s true nature was well know. An extermination camp, a death factory. Frau Buesch must have seen the look on Suzanne’s face.

 

“Don’t worry, my dear. A close friend of mine commands the women’s guard detachment. I’ve told her all about you. You’re not for the gas chamber, at least not for a long time.

 

“Your transport should be about ready to depart. But before you go I have something to show you. The latest addition to my collection.”

 

She bent down and pulled open a drawer of the desk. A faint order of formaldehyde became noticeable. She reached for something in the drawer, started to lift it.

 

“Quite a nice example, though to tell the truth it doesn’t compare to some I collected in Russia.”

 

She placed a glass jar on the desk. Suzanne stared at the contents for a moment, not comprehending what it was. And then she recognized what it was and her stomach tried to expel what little food it contained. The jar held a man’s severed penis, scrotum and testicles.

 

“What?” Frau Buesch said in mock surprise. “You don’t recognize your own boyfriend, Rene. Or at least his better parts? And I thought you and he had been quite intimate.”

 

She walked around the desk. Firmly she forced Suzanne to look at the jar and the obscene object within.

 

“Take a good look, my dear. It’s the last you’ll see of Rene in this world.”

 

She released Suzanne and turned to the guards.

 

“Take her to the car,” she ordered. “We wouldn’t want her to be late for her train to Belsen-Bergen.”

 

The End