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It continued in London
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
The bloodstains on concrete
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 16
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Tuesday evening, 30th September, 1939.
Underwood drew his breath in sharply at the sight of poor Barbara, bound and suspended with her head and chest resting against the floor of the cell, arms pulled sharply back, hips and ass raised high and legs spread wide. Her nude body was filthy and covered with welts and wounds. He could see that she’d suffered a severe beating and quite obviously been brutally sodomized. And it wasn’t difficult to imagine that the latter, if not all of what she’d suffered, had been the handiwork of the burly Unterscharführer who had led him to her cell.
How Henry Underwood came to be standing in the doorway of that cell dressed in the uniform of an SS-Hauptsturmführer was the result of a remarkable series of events stealthily orchestrated from behind the scenes by Barbara’s powerful father, Joachim Mohr.
Underwood had found himself, within minutes of receiving a much needed bath and shave and fresh clothes at the Mohr villa, on the road to Berlin, driven in a Mohr Industries car by a trusted mid-level employee … a man of few words but impressive driving skills.
On arrival in Berlin he’d been handed off to an older gentleman who’d ushered him into the back room of his tailor shop and promptly outfitted him as an SS officer assigned to the Security Police and Security Service. And while that was being undertaken, a young man working at a desk was busy forging identity papers for a certain SS-Hauptsturmführer Holtz and cutting orders to send him on an inspection tour of the basement interrogation center at 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße.
“Will it work?” Henry had asked when the arrangements were nearly completed.
“Probably not,” was the curt reply, “… but what have you got to lose? We’ll drop you off in the evening when most of the detention staff are away for dinner, and we’ve also alerted the senior officers at Prinz-Albrecht-Straße that an unscheduled inspection tour has been ordered for some time later this day.”
Making an effort not to make eye contact with or show any sign of recognition towards Barbara, Underwood turned to the Scharführer at his side to say in perfect German, “… and who exactly is this wretched morsel?”
“Her name is Barbara Mohr, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer.” replied Jürgen, standing stiffly at attention. “We believe her to be a traitor to the Reich … a German citizen working for the British as a spy. I was instructed by the Reichsführer-SS himself ‘to give her hell!’ Those were his exact words. Would you care to watch? Fräulein Mohr’s past due for her next round of interrogation under torture.”
“Well, I ….”
“It’s my understanding, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer, that you’re here on an unscheduled inspection visit. Isn’t that correct? If so, surely, you’d like to observe our methods first hand … perhaps even participate yourself? I can get you something to wear over that nice new uniform you’re wearing … to keep it from getting soiled or blood spattered?”
“Alright, Scharführer. Carry on, and no need to be concerned about my uniform, I can always remove my tunic and shirt,” agreed Underwood, deciding it best to play along for the moment.”
“Excellent,” beamed Jürgen. You won’t be disappointed, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer. She’s a fighter, and has a fine young body. I can guarantee that breaking her under torture should be a pleasure you’ll relish in your dreams for a long time to come. And don’t be shy about writing up the excellence of my methods and performance in your official report! Give me a minute to summon an Unterscharführer to assist us, and we can get started.”
As soon as Jürgen had disappeared, Underwood sought to make eye contact with Barbara but she had turned her head away.
“Terribly sorry, but to be convincing I could hardly have refused,” he whispered hurriedly, glancing back over his shoulder at the sound of jackboots already approaching along the corridor.
All he got from Barbara in return was a pitiful whimper.
“This is Unterscharführer Franz Müller,” announced Jürgen, nodding towards the burly giant standing behind him. “I’ve instructed him to remove Fräulein Mohr to Interrogation Room D and ready her for action. In the meantime, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer, please follow me to the canteen, where I can offer you coffee or something stronger if you prefer.”
Underwood watched as Franz freed Barbara from the bonds securing her, picked her up as though she weighed not a thing, tossed her nude body over his shoulder and headed off for Interrogation Room D.
In the canteen Jürgen waited expectantly as Underwood took a seat, and then not bothering with offering coffee promptly placed a glass and an open cognac bottle on the table.
“What exactly goes on in Room D,” Henry inquired calmly as he poured the amber liquid into the glass, purposely refraining from asking Jürgen to join him.
“Ah, you’ll see, and be pleasantly surprised. Drink up, Franz shouldn’t be long.”
“How long have you and Franz been here, doing this?”
“Since the summer of ‘37 in my case; Franz for a shorter time. We see all kinds of political prisoners down here. Most talk quickly enough under torture, especially the women. Some, though, like this Mohr woman, take longer to break, but in the end they always do. We see to that. Finish your drink and come with me. Franz should have her ready by now.”
Underwood soon found Interrogation Room D to be extraordinarily well-equipped. The central instrument of torture was a rectangular metal frame, onto which Franz had already spread-eagled Barbara, wrists and ankles manacled to its four corners. The frame was mounted and hinged so that it could be tilted 90 degrees forward or backwards.
Before it was a raised stone pit filled with red-hot glowing coals. The room was almost unbearably warm. Franz was already bare chested, and as Underwood and Jürgen entered he pointed toward wall mounted hooks where they could hang any clothing they wished to shed.
As he removed his tunic and shirt, Underwood observed the extreme tautness to which Barb’s beaten and battered body had been spread within the frame. Her denuded flesh in the intensely heated room was already sheened in sweat. Yet, she appeared, at least so far, to be taking it all rather passively. Her eyes were closed; her breathing seemed normal … chest rising and falling gently.
Off to one side, a large metal table held an expansive array of torture instruments. Franz, who had been occupying himself with poring over the display, had selected a pair of metal nipple clamps with heavy iron-ball weights attached, and had turned to face her, menacingly holding one of the weighted clips for her to see in each of his meaty hands.
“Now, Fräulein Mohr,” purred Jürgen, stepping over to confront her. “Perhaps, you’d like to reconsider and cooperate? Things are about to get very serious now, especially with a Gestapo Inspector present to observe and evaluate our methods. Last chance to answer our questions. What do you say, Fräulein Mohr? Those coals do look awfully hot!”
She opened her eyes, glared at him, looked over to Underwood, returned her hostile gaze to Jürgen and mouthed ‘fuck off!’
“Well then, the Gestapo Inspector is in for a show. Franz! Attach the metal to her nipples and tilt her down over the coals for a nice slow roasting. We’ll see how long she can bear the heat. I’ll wager not for long!”
Springing into action, the Unterscharführer grasped, pinched and tugged at each of Barbara’s nipples in turn, teasing them to full tumescence before setting the teeth of the clamps into the tender flesh at their base.
Satisfied with the result, he lowered the frame forward into a horizontal position, suspending her, stretched out and face-down, over the hot coals … their reddish-orange glow reflecting off her sweaty body while the iron-ball weights attached to her nipples stretched her breasts downward, the iron balls coming nearly to rest amongst the coals.
And it took almost no time at all before she began to writhe and scream hysterically, prompting Underwood to shout, “Enough! Enough! She’s had enough! Raise her back up. Surely, she’ll talk now! Allow me to question her!”
“Do as the SS-Hauptsturmführer commands, instructed Jürgen, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “Raise her up, Franz!”
TBC
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Tuesday evening, 30th September, 1939.
Underwood drew his breath in sharply at the sight of poor Barbara, bound and suspended with her head and chest resting against the floor of the cell, arms pulled sharply back, hips and ass raised high and legs spread wide. Her nude body was filthy and covered with welts and wounds. He could see that she’d suffered a severe beating and quite obviously been brutally sodomized. And it wasn’t difficult to imagine that the latter, if not all of what she’d suffered, had been the handiwork of the burly Unterscharführer who had led him to her cell.
How Henry Underwood came to be standing in the doorway of that cell dressed in the uniform of an SS-Hauptsturmführer was the result of a remarkable series of events stealthily orchestrated from behind the scenes by Barbara’s powerful father, Joachim Mohr.
Underwood had found himself, within minutes of receiving a much needed bath and shave and fresh clothes at the Mohr villa, on the road to Berlin, driven in a Mohr Industries car by a trusted mid-level employee … a man of few words but impressive driving skills.
On arrival in Berlin he’d been handed off to an older gentleman who’d ushered him into the back room of his tailor shop and promptly outfitted him as an SS officer assigned to the Security Police and Security Service. And while that was being undertaken, a young man working at a desk was busy forging identity papers for a certain SS-Hauptsturmführer Holtz and cutting orders to send him on an inspection tour of the basement interrogation center at 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße.
“Will it work?” Henry had asked when the arrangements were nearly completed.
“Probably not,” was the curt reply, “… but what have you got to lose? We’ll drop you off in the evening when most of the detention staff are away for dinner, and we’ve also alerted the senior officers at Prinz-Albrecht-Straße that an unscheduled inspection tour has been ordered for some time later this day.”
Making an effort not to make eye contact with or show any sign of recognition towards Barbara, Underwood turned to the Scharführer at his side to say in perfect German, “… and who exactly is this wretched morsel?”
“Her name is Barbara Mohr, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer.” replied Jürgen, standing stiffly at attention. “We believe her to be a traitor to the Reich … a German citizen working for the British as a spy. I was instructed by the Reichsführer-SS himself ‘to give her hell!’ Those were his exact words. Would you care to watch? Fräulein Mohr’s past due for her next round of interrogation under torture.”
“Well, I ….”
“It’s my understanding, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer, that you’re here on an unscheduled inspection visit. Isn’t that correct? If so, surely, you’d like to observe our methods first hand … perhaps even participate yourself? I can get you something to wear over that nice new uniform you’re wearing … to keep it from getting soiled or blood spattered?”
“Alright, Scharführer. Carry on, and no need to be concerned about my uniform, I can always remove my tunic and shirt,” agreed Underwood, deciding it best to play along for the moment.”
“Excellent,” beamed Jürgen. You won’t be disappointed, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer. She’s a fighter, and has a fine young body. I can guarantee that breaking her under torture should be a pleasure you’ll relish in your dreams for a long time to come. And don’t be shy about writing up the excellence of my methods and performance in your official report! Give me a minute to summon an Unterscharführer to assist us, and we can get started.”
As soon as Jürgen had disappeared, Underwood sought to make eye contact with Barbara but she had turned her head away.
“Terribly sorry, but to be convincing I could hardly have refused,” he whispered hurriedly, glancing back over his shoulder at the sound of jackboots already approaching along the corridor.
All he got from Barbara in return was a pitiful whimper.
“This is Unterscharführer Franz Müller,” announced Jürgen, nodding towards the burly giant standing behind him. “I’ve instructed him to remove Fräulein Mohr to Interrogation Room D and ready her for action. In the meantime, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer, please follow me to the canteen, where I can offer you coffee or something stronger if you prefer.”
Underwood watched as Franz freed Barbara from the bonds securing her, picked her up as though she weighed not a thing, tossed her nude body over his shoulder and headed off for Interrogation Room D.
In the canteen Jürgen waited expectantly as Underwood took a seat, and then not bothering with offering coffee promptly placed a glass and an open cognac bottle on the table.
“What exactly goes on in Room D,” Henry inquired calmly as he poured the amber liquid into the glass, purposely refraining from asking Jürgen to join him.
“Ah, you’ll see, and be pleasantly surprised. Drink up, Franz shouldn’t be long.”
“How long have you and Franz been here, doing this?”
“Since the summer of ‘37 in my case; Franz for a shorter time. We see all kinds of political prisoners down here. Most talk quickly enough under torture, especially the women. Some, though, like this Mohr woman, take longer to break, but in the end they always do. We see to that. Finish your drink and come with me. Franz should have her ready by now.”
Underwood soon found Interrogation Room D to be extraordinarily well-equipped. The central instrument of torture was a rectangular metal frame, onto which Franz had already spread-eagled Barbara, wrists and ankles manacled to its four corners. The frame was mounted and hinged so that it could be tilted 90 degrees forward or backwards.
Before it was a raised stone pit filled with red-hot glowing coals. The room was almost unbearably warm. Franz was already bare chested, and as Underwood and Jürgen entered he pointed toward wall mounted hooks where they could hang any clothing they wished to shed.
As he removed his tunic and shirt, Underwood observed the extreme tautness to which Barb’s beaten and battered body had been spread within the frame. Her denuded flesh in the intensely heated room was already sheened in sweat. Yet, she appeared, at least so far, to be taking it all rather passively. Her eyes were closed; her breathing seemed normal … chest rising and falling gently.
Off to one side, a large metal table held an expansive array of torture instruments. Franz, who had been occupying himself with poring over the display, had selected a pair of metal nipple clamps with heavy iron-ball weights attached, and had turned to face her, menacingly holding one of the weighted clips for her to see in each of his meaty hands.
“Now, Fräulein Mohr,” purred Jürgen, stepping over to confront her. “Perhaps, you’d like to reconsider and cooperate? Things are about to get very serious now, especially with a Gestapo Inspector present to observe and evaluate our methods. Last chance to answer our questions. What do you say, Fräulein Mohr? Those coals do look awfully hot!”
She opened her eyes, glared at him, looked over to Underwood, returned her hostile gaze to Jürgen and mouthed ‘fuck off!’
“Well then, the Gestapo Inspector is in for a show. Franz! Attach the metal to her nipples and tilt her down over the coals for a nice slow roasting. We’ll see how long she can bear the heat. I’ll wager not for long!”
Springing into action, the Unterscharführer grasped, pinched and tugged at each of Barbara’s nipples in turn, teasing them to full tumescence before setting the teeth of the clamps into the tender flesh at their base.
Satisfied with the result, he lowered the frame forward into a horizontal position, suspending her, stretched out and face-down, over the hot coals … their reddish-orange glow reflecting off her sweaty body while the iron-ball weights attached to her nipples stretched her breasts downward, the iron balls coming nearly to rest amongst the coals.
And it took almost no time at all before she began to writhe and scream hysterically, prompting Underwood to shout, “Enough! Enough! She’s had enough! Raise her back up. Surely, she’ll talk now! Allow me to question her!”
“Do as the SS-Hauptsturmführer commands, instructed Jürgen, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “Raise her up, Franz!”
TBC
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
Another great illustration by @settantuno !! Thanks so much, Sett 
Tumescence Before Clamping
Chapter 17
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Tuesday evening, 30th September, 1939.
Captain Henry Underwood suddenly felt very lightheaded. As a trained and experienced SIS Officer this kind of operational situation should have been his bread and butter, but with the girl he had fallen in love with chained to a metal frame, bleeding and cut, beaten half to death and now dripping with heat induced perspiration, whilst being nearly roasted alive, he found his knowhow wanting.
“SS-Hauptsturmführer?” Jürgen’s voice was genuinely inquisitive as opposed to questioning.
“Huh, I erm …” Henry floundered because just as he was getting a grip of himself, Barbara’s eyes looked up from under the loose clumps of her matted and blood-soaked hair. They were eyes that had lost all familiarity, but still silently begged for his help. Did she even recognise him?
Underwood turned and stood straight, his bare chest pushed out, his slender but firm build now several inches taller than the young Scharführer, and glared.
“Do you mean to tell me that you have put this wretch through hell only to get absolutely nothing from her that is of any use to the Führer and to the Fatherland?”
Jürgen looked across at Unterscharführer Franz Müller, his subordinate, opened his mouth and then closed it without saying anything.
“Well, you fucking idiot. Is that true? Will I have to report you both?” Underwood was doing a wonderful impression of incandescence.
“I erm, I …”
“Get out, get out both of you. If you think I am about to let you watch the Gestapo at work then you are sadly mistaken.”
“SS-Hauptsturmführer, we … erm we can’t just leave you …”
“Verschwinde JETZT von hier!”
The two young soldiers knew what was good for them, or so they thought, and they left Henry alone with Barbara, to wait outside the cell.
At least now he had breathing space.
“Fuck, Barb, what have they done to you?” He spoke quietly despite the aching knot of anguish in his stomach driving him crazy.
“H … He … Henry … H … help me … pl …” His lover could barely speak.
Slipping his uniform shirt back on Henry knocked on the cell door. It was Müller who opened it and much to Henry’s delight, the other trooper was nowhere to be seen.
“Keys, now soldier. I need her down off this frame and seated. If I’m to question her successfully then the whore needs to be able to think straight.”
Franz Müller was eighteen years old. A first-year army professional with very little experience. If his mother knew the sort of duties he had here in the holding cell she would be ashamed. And so, who was he to question a Gestapo officer?
With a weak smile he handed the jangling set of large metal keys over.
Henry nodded his acknowledgement and slammed the door closed shut once more.
Knowing he had little time both because of the situation but also because Barbara’s condition looked to be tumbling rapidly downhill, Henry did his best to compose himself. So that he would lose no time to any unnecessary fumbling. Henry unlocked her wrists and then stumbled backwards himself as she fell into him.
Helping her to her knees so that he could unfasten the ankle manacles, he saw that his wonderful, vibrant, seductive girl was virtually unconscious.
“Oh Barb, fuck no!” He choked down a sob, before reminding himself that he was a professional spy in a time of war, and that was no time for emotion.
As he laid her out on the dirty concrete floor he saw her battered feet. The soles cut and bruised, no doubt many of the bones splintered and the joints stretched. She would not be walking anywhere.
“Fuck!” Underwood said out loud.
The heat from the coals was overwhelming, but Henry put his uniform jacket back on and resecured his shoulder holster, grateful that he had been supplied with a Walther P38 Pistol.
It was that powerful sidearm that young Unterscharführer Müller felt at his temple as he was dragged back inside the cell. Then, as Underwood’s arm raised before it crashed down, that pistol was the last thing young Müller saw or felt before blackness overwhelmed his world.
“Okay, okay …” Henry calmed himself. He had space, a weapon … and a very immobile, unconscious, and potentially dying, Barbara.
“Fuck!” He used the same expletive again, “He needed to get out of the building and back out onto Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, where a driver had been positioned to wait inside his green unmarked Opel Blitz for Henry to appear. He checked his watch and saw that he did not have long before the Blitz would be Blitzed and its driver arrested. He wasn’t the only one taking risks.
He looked down at Barbara, and though he felt sick at her sight, forcing that from his mind, his gaze was one of analysis and assessment. He couldn’t afford sentiment and emotion as the clock ran down, he needed to figure out how to get her out of here.
With a final determined purse of his lips, after attaching the silencer to his own fire arm, and with as gentle a pull as he could, he lifted her onto his left shoulder, her naked, bloody ass shadowing his face, and took the Walther into his right hand.
He had no idea whether Jürgen,had gone for a break, or to get a more senior officer, or what … all Henry knew was that he had to move, and quickly.
There was no one at all in the shadows of the cell entrance and so he was able to move back along the corridor from where he had come with relative ease. But he knew that other, occupied, cells were awaiting him and with a naked, beaten girl over his shoulder he would not be passing them quietly.
Two more guards in the uniforms of Unterscharführer, came rushing in, and both were taken down by a kneeling Underwood, whose aim once he was free of his load was even more deadly.
As he waited for more assailants Underwood prepared himself for a last stand … but no one else came. Only the shouts from the cells could be heard. He waited, not daring to move for more than a minute.
Then …
Barbara was back on his shoulder, he was through the corridor and heading to the steps that led into the side yard, the entrance he had used on the way in.
“Halt, hör auf, sonst schieße ich!“
The German words were clear to him – they had his back covered and were about to shoot.
Slowly Henry turned to face the soldiers …
Two of them, one the young and apparently recovered Franz Müller, along with his colleague-in-arms, Jürgen, stood facing him. Slowly Henry lowered Barbara and made as if to put down his gun at the same time, except … he dropped her from several feet, which caused her to fall with a thud against the concrete … a sight that momentarily distracted the young troopers.
It was all the time Underwood needed. Two shots, both deadly fired quietly out through the silenced barrel, and now Müller’s ‘mutter’ could be proud that her son died in action.
Yanking Barbara up for a second time, this time without any gentleness or decorum, he flung over his shoulder and let adrenalin carry him and his baggage up the stone stairs two at a time. Pushing at the door that opened from the inside, he let himself out into the side yard, with Barbara still in position over his shoulder.
This side of the building was less guarded, other than by the four men he had already shot dead, and so the small side gate on what was still essentially a large domestic property by way of structure, was easily gone through and then there he was, back on Prinz-Albrecht-Straße.
“Bring deinen verdammten Arsch JETZT hierher“
Henry looked in the direction of the Blitz and nodded at the yelling driver, who was already starting the engine. As he reached the vehicle it was already moving, and so, literally lobbing Barbara into the open back and clambering in beside her, keeping his head and body well down, they made their escape.
TBC
Basement holding cell, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Tuesday evening, 30th September, 1939.
Captain Henry Underwood suddenly felt very lightheaded. As a trained and experienced SIS Officer this kind of operational situation should have been his bread and butter, but with the girl he had fallen in love with chained to a metal frame, bleeding and cut, beaten half to death and now dripping with heat induced perspiration, whilst being nearly roasted alive, he found his knowhow wanting.
“SS-Hauptsturmführer?” Jürgen’s voice was genuinely inquisitive as opposed to questioning.
“Huh, I erm …” Henry floundered because just as he was getting a grip of himself, Barbara’s eyes looked up from under the loose clumps of her matted and blood-soaked hair. They were eyes that had lost all familiarity, but still silently begged for his help. Did she even recognise him?
Underwood turned and stood straight, his bare chest pushed out, his slender but firm build now several inches taller than the young Scharführer, and glared.
“Do you mean to tell me that you have put this wretch through hell only to get absolutely nothing from her that is of any use to the Führer and to the Fatherland?”
Jürgen looked across at Unterscharführer Franz Müller, his subordinate, opened his mouth and then closed it without saying anything.
“Well, you fucking idiot. Is that true? Will I have to report you both?” Underwood was doing a wonderful impression of incandescence.
“I erm, I …”
“Get out, get out both of you. If you think I am about to let you watch the Gestapo at work then you are sadly mistaken.”
“SS-Hauptsturmführer, we … erm we can’t just leave you …”
“Verschwinde JETZT von hier!”
The two young soldiers knew what was good for them, or so they thought, and they left Henry alone with Barbara, to wait outside the cell.
At least now he had breathing space.
“Fuck, Barb, what have they done to you?” He spoke quietly despite the aching knot of anguish in his stomach driving him crazy.
“H … He … Henry … H … help me … pl …” His lover could barely speak.
Slipping his uniform shirt back on Henry knocked on the cell door. It was Müller who opened it and much to Henry’s delight, the other trooper was nowhere to be seen.
“Keys, now soldier. I need her down off this frame and seated. If I’m to question her successfully then the whore needs to be able to think straight.”
Franz Müller was eighteen years old. A first-year army professional with very little experience. If his mother knew the sort of duties he had here in the holding cell she would be ashamed. And so, who was he to question a Gestapo officer?
With a weak smile he handed the jangling set of large metal keys over.
Henry nodded his acknowledgement and slammed the door closed shut once more.
Knowing he had little time both because of the situation but also because Barbara’s condition looked to be tumbling rapidly downhill, Henry did his best to compose himself. So that he would lose no time to any unnecessary fumbling. Henry unlocked her wrists and then stumbled backwards himself as she fell into him.
Helping her to her knees so that he could unfasten the ankle manacles, he saw that his wonderful, vibrant, seductive girl was virtually unconscious.
“Oh Barb, fuck no!” He choked down a sob, before reminding himself that he was a professional spy in a time of war, and that was no time for emotion.
As he laid her out on the dirty concrete floor he saw her battered feet. The soles cut and bruised, no doubt many of the bones splintered and the joints stretched. She would not be walking anywhere.
“Fuck!” Underwood said out loud.
The heat from the coals was overwhelming, but Henry put his uniform jacket back on and resecured his shoulder holster, grateful that he had been supplied with a Walther P38 Pistol.
It was that powerful sidearm that young Unterscharführer Müller felt at his temple as he was dragged back inside the cell. Then, as Underwood’s arm raised before it crashed down, that pistol was the last thing young Müller saw or felt before blackness overwhelmed his world.
“Okay, okay …” Henry calmed himself. He had space, a weapon … and a very immobile, unconscious, and potentially dying, Barbara.
“Fuck!” He used the same expletive again, “He needed to get out of the building and back out onto Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, where a driver had been positioned to wait inside his green unmarked Opel Blitz for Henry to appear. He checked his watch and saw that he did not have long before the Blitz would be Blitzed and its driver arrested. He wasn’t the only one taking risks.
He looked down at Barbara, and though he felt sick at her sight, forcing that from his mind, his gaze was one of analysis and assessment. He couldn’t afford sentiment and emotion as the clock ran down, he needed to figure out how to get her out of here.
With a final determined purse of his lips, after attaching the silencer to his own fire arm, and with as gentle a pull as he could, he lifted her onto his left shoulder, her naked, bloody ass shadowing his face, and took the Walther into his right hand.
He had no idea whether Jürgen,had gone for a break, or to get a more senior officer, or what … all Henry knew was that he had to move, and quickly.
There was no one at all in the shadows of the cell entrance and so he was able to move back along the corridor from where he had come with relative ease. But he knew that other, occupied, cells were awaiting him and with a naked, beaten girl over his shoulder he would not be passing them quietly.
Two more guards in the uniforms of Unterscharführer, came rushing in, and both were taken down by a kneeling Underwood, whose aim once he was free of his load was even more deadly.
As he waited for more assailants Underwood prepared himself for a last stand … but no one else came. Only the shouts from the cells could be heard. He waited, not daring to move for more than a minute.
Then …
Barbara was back on his shoulder, he was through the corridor and heading to the steps that led into the side yard, the entrance he had used on the way in.
“Halt, hör auf, sonst schieße ich!“
The German words were clear to him – they had his back covered and were about to shoot.
Slowly Henry turned to face the soldiers …
Two of them, one the young and apparently recovered Franz Müller, along with his colleague-in-arms, Jürgen, stood facing him. Slowly Henry lowered Barbara and made as if to put down his gun at the same time, except … he dropped her from several feet, which caused her to fall with a thud against the concrete … a sight that momentarily distracted the young troopers.
It was all the time Underwood needed. Two shots, both deadly fired quietly out through the silenced barrel, and now Müller’s ‘mutter’ could be proud that her son died in action.
Yanking Barbara up for a second time, this time without any gentleness or decorum, he flung over his shoulder and let adrenalin carry him and his baggage up the stone stairs two at a time. Pushing at the door that opened from the inside, he let himself out into the side yard, with Barbara still in position over his shoulder.
This side of the building was less guarded, other than by the four men he had already shot dead, and so the small side gate on what was still essentially a large domestic property by way of structure, was easily gone through and then there he was, back on Prinz-Albrecht-Straße.
“Bring deinen verdammten Arsch JETZT hierher“
Henry looked in the direction of the Blitz and nodded at the yelling driver, who was already starting the engine. As he reached the vehicle it was already moving, and so, literally lobbing Barbara into the open back and clambering in beside her, keeping his head and body well down, they made their escape.
TBC
Totally Breathtaking Chapter!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 18
In the open back of an Opel Blitz on the streets of Berlin, late Tuesday evening, 30th September, 1939.
Nearly an hour had passed since their harrowing escape from the Gestapo detention and interrogation centre at 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße. To Henry Underwood and Barbara Mohr it seemed like forever. Huddled together under a tarp in the open back of the Blitz, they’d been tossed from side to side as the vehicle wound its way, at speed and seemingly aimlessly, through the streets of the darkening city. This had gone on until the driver felt assured that there was no pursuit.
Through it all Henry had held Barb tightly to him, determined to spare her badly abused body from any additional bumps and bruises. She’d spoken not a word. Henry suspected she had passed out, or at best was only semiconscious. He could feel her warm breath on his neck, which was a good sign. He’d gotten her out just in time … a miracle!
Eventually the Blitz had slowed, and its course became more deliberate. Peering out from under the tarp, Underwood reckoned that they had entered Wedding, one of the city’s working-class districts and home of the outlawed Red resistance to the Nazis.
The Blitz followed one street then another until it finally, upon turning again, slowed its pace to a virtual crawl … moving along tentatively, as though searching for the correct place along the urban canyon formed by the dreary facades of massive ‘Mietskaserne’ tenements. Before too long the vehicle abruptly pulled over in front of one, out of which emerged two men with the brims of their laborer’s caps pulled low over their faces.
“Aussteigen! Schnell!!” ordered one of them as he clambered on board to yank the covering tarp away from Barbara and Henry.
The second one took a long look at Henry’s SS officer’s uniform and made a face.
“Relax, he’s not what you think,” his comrade assured him. “Hurry, let’s get them inside!”
The second fellow nodded and stooped down to snatch Barbara away from Henry’s embrace, tossing her nude form effortlessly over his shoulder. Moving to the rear of the truck, he dropped to the pavement and headed for the main entry door of the nearest tenement, which was held open by a heavy-set, middle-aged woman clutching to herself against the evening chill a partially closed housecoat over a faded flowery dress.
Henry and the first man followed them in. Out on the street, the driver of the Blitz started up the engine and pulled away.
“Gott im Himmel! Poor thing! Just look at what they’ve done to her!” tutted the woman as Barb was laid out on a threadbare parlor settee, her battered face and body on full display. “Don’t anyone touch her! I’m going to boil some water and fetch some linens, salves and ointments. Be back soon!”
The two men nodded and hastily drew back out of her way as she huffed and puffed past them.
“Is there anything here that I could possibly change into?” said Henry, shedding his SS tunic.”
“Sorry. Yes, we’ve been expecting you. You’ll find some working men’s clothing to change into over there in the next room. My name is Johan. My younger brother over there is Paul. You’re in the hands now of the Red Front … or what little is left of it these days. Most of the comrades have long ago been killed or arrested and taken away to the camps. We’re all that’s left. We’ve been told, by the powers that be, that you’re an English spy and that it’s our job to find a way to get you out of here.”
“Me and her, you mean,” corrected Henry.
“We’ll see about her,” replied Johan, shaking his head. “What happens with her depends …. as she doesn’t appear to be in any shape to travel. And besides, I’ve been told that she’s German.”
“She and I are a team. We both work for British Intelligence.”
“Uh huh. But I’ve also been informed that she’s the daughter of Joachim Mohr, one of Germany’s biggest industrial capitalists … no friend of the proletariat! That matters to us. We’re going to take the time consequentially to check in with Moscow with regard to what we might do with her. As for you, my English friend, we can get you out by sea over Lübeck to either Sweden or Denmark … your choice. But that will take some time to arrange. You’ll have to sit tight here for a few days, at the very least, which is probably a good thing as presently the Gestapo is out looking everywhere they can imagine for you.”
31 Kameruner-Strasse, Wedding, Berlin. Friday, 3rd October, 1939.
Emma, the matron of the second floor flat in which Barb and Henry had taken temporary refuge, offered Barbara a refill of her tea cup along with more biscuits.
“You are so skinny, my child!” chided Emma. “You simply must eat more! And stop looking so glum. Your English gentleman has only been gone since early this morning. Not to worry, I’m sure he’s fine. Johan and Paul are always good to their word. They’ll see him safely to Lübeck, and find a master of a boat there who will take him by sea to Copenhagen.”
“I think I’ve had too many biscuits already, Emma. And I do worry about Henry. It’s really not fair that I’ve been forced to remain here. I should be on my way to Copenhagen with him.”
“It’s wartime now, liebchen. We must learn to accept the fate that befalls us. You’ve come a long way over the past three days, but you’re not yet fully recovered and healed from what those Gestapo bastards did to you. While it’s true that your bruises and wounds are looking better and better each and every day, there’s still a way to go. And, you must keep in mind that you are in the hands of the Red Front now … a top down organization if there ever was one, in which we foot soldiers at the bottom await orders, and until we’re told otherwise you must remain here with me.”
“What if I just decide to leave?”
“You wouldn’t get far. The door is locked and I have the only key. And, even if you were to leave this place, the authorities are on the lookout for you. You’d most certainly end up back at 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse in no time at all. No, liebchen, it’s best that you remain right here with me. But, if you’re …uh … missing your man, I can try to help. Why don’t you get out of that flimsy thing you’re wearing and come to me? We can retire to the back room, recline on the bed there and pleasure one another as only two women can, no?”
“Well I ….”
“Hush now, you’ll enjoy it. I promise. Come!”
With that Emma rose from her seat, smiled coquettishly and padded off in the direction of the back bedroom, shedding her morning robe, under which she was wearing nothing, tossing it casually aside as she disappeared inside.
Barbara remained in place for a time to finish her tea before rising to her feet and following. She was not comfortable with what the woman quite obviously expected of her, but had decided she’d play along to see where it might lead, partly out of curiosity and partly because she felt obligated.
At the doorway she was confronted with a naked Emma, reclined on the bed with her legs obscenely spread.
“I … uh … do … don’t … “ stammered Barbara uncertainly. “I mean …”
“Come to me liebchen. Learn from Emma.”
Sighing deeply, Barbara shrugged off and stepped free of the borrowed silky chemise she’d been wearing, and approached the bed.
“You look so lovely, liebchen. Such a lovely young body. Such perfect breasts! Come, don’t be shy. Lie down with me.”
Slowly, cautiously, Barbara complied. She felt the warmth of Emma’s body against her own as they embraced. And rolling off onto her side, she gave access to and allowed the older woman to plant quick little butterfly kisses to her neck and down onto her breasts. Bsrbara’s nipples soon disappeared, first one then the other, within Emmas’s mouth, where they mere mercilessly sucked, nibbled and teased. And then the hot kisses began to move downward …
It wasn’t long before Barbara’s breathing began to quicken. And she made no effort to resist having her hand gently directed to down between Emma’s thighs, where she felt the hot wet eagerness awaiting her fingertips there.
Like it or not she was being drawn into her hostess’s erotic web. There was no avoiding it. And as Emma’s fingers began to reciprocate, Barbara couldn’t deny that it felt good.
She rolled over half on top of Emma and pressed her fingers into the woman’s wide open sex, sliding them vigorously in and out before curling a forefinger so as to stroke at her bud. Emma was quick to reciprocate and they became locked in a frantic mutual drive to reach the same goal … crying out their pleasure in near unison.
But for Barbara there was an unintended bonus. As she stiffened, arched her back and climaxed and then allowed her head to drop and rest on her lover’s heaving chest, her gaze caught sight of a ring of keys laying in the half open drawer of the bedside stand. Crying out again as the orgasmic aftershocks rocked her body, she made a mental note for later.
TBC
In the open back of an Opel Blitz on the streets of Berlin, late Tuesday evening, 30th September, 1939.
Nearly an hour had passed since their harrowing escape from the Gestapo detention and interrogation centre at 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße. To Henry Underwood and Barbara Mohr it seemed like forever. Huddled together under a tarp in the open back of the Blitz, they’d been tossed from side to side as the vehicle wound its way, at speed and seemingly aimlessly, through the streets of the darkening city. This had gone on until the driver felt assured that there was no pursuit.
Through it all Henry had held Barb tightly to him, determined to spare her badly abused body from any additional bumps and bruises. She’d spoken not a word. Henry suspected she had passed out, or at best was only semiconscious. He could feel her warm breath on his neck, which was a good sign. He’d gotten her out just in time … a miracle!
Eventually the Blitz had slowed, and its course became more deliberate. Peering out from under the tarp, Underwood reckoned that they had entered Wedding, one of the city’s working-class districts and home of the outlawed Red resistance to the Nazis.
The Blitz followed one street then another until it finally, upon turning again, slowed its pace to a virtual crawl … moving along tentatively, as though searching for the correct place along the urban canyon formed by the dreary facades of massive ‘Mietskaserne’ tenements. Before too long the vehicle abruptly pulled over in front of one, out of which emerged two men with the brims of their laborer’s caps pulled low over their faces.
“Aussteigen! Schnell!!” ordered one of them as he clambered on board to yank the covering tarp away from Barbara and Henry.
The second one took a long look at Henry’s SS officer’s uniform and made a face.
“Relax, he’s not what you think,” his comrade assured him. “Hurry, let’s get them inside!”
The second fellow nodded and stooped down to snatch Barbara away from Henry’s embrace, tossing her nude form effortlessly over his shoulder. Moving to the rear of the truck, he dropped to the pavement and headed for the main entry door of the nearest tenement, which was held open by a heavy-set, middle-aged woman clutching to herself against the evening chill a partially closed housecoat over a faded flowery dress.
Henry and the first man followed them in. Out on the street, the driver of the Blitz started up the engine and pulled away.
“Gott im Himmel! Poor thing! Just look at what they’ve done to her!” tutted the woman as Barb was laid out on a threadbare parlor settee, her battered face and body on full display. “Don’t anyone touch her! I’m going to boil some water and fetch some linens, salves and ointments. Be back soon!”
The two men nodded and hastily drew back out of her way as she huffed and puffed past them.
“Is there anything here that I could possibly change into?” said Henry, shedding his SS tunic.”
“Sorry. Yes, we’ve been expecting you. You’ll find some working men’s clothing to change into over there in the next room. My name is Johan. My younger brother over there is Paul. You’re in the hands now of the Red Front … or what little is left of it these days. Most of the comrades have long ago been killed or arrested and taken away to the camps. We’re all that’s left. We’ve been told, by the powers that be, that you’re an English spy and that it’s our job to find a way to get you out of here.”
“Me and her, you mean,” corrected Henry.
“We’ll see about her,” replied Johan, shaking his head. “What happens with her depends …. as she doesn’t appear to be in any shape to travel. And besides, I’ve been told that she’s German.”
“She and I are a team. We both work for British Intelligence.”
“Uh huh. But I’ve also been informed that she’s the daughter of Joachim Mohr, one of Germany’s biggest industrial capitalists … no friend of the proletariat! That matters to us. We’re going to take the time consequentially to check in with Moscow with regard to what we might do with her. As for you, my English friend, we can get you out by sea over Lübeck to either Sweden or Denmark … your choice. But that will take some time to arrange. You’ll have to sit tight here for a few days, at the very least, which is probably a good thing as presently the Gestapo is out looking everywhere they can imagine for you.”
31 Kameruner-Strasse, Wedding, Berlin. Friday, 3rd October, 1939.
Emma, the matron of the second floor flat in which Barb and Henry had taken temporary refuge, offered Barbara a refill of her tea cup along with more biscuits.
“You are so skinny, my child!” chided Emma. “You simply must eat more! And stop looking so glum. Your English gentleman has only been gone since early this morning. Not to worry, I’m sure he’s fine. Johan and Paul are always good to their word. They’ll see him safely to Lübeck, and find a master of a boat there who will take him by sea to Copenhagen.”
“I think I’ve had too many biscuits already, Emma. And I do worry about Henry. It’s really not fair that I’ve been forced to remain here. I should be on my way to Copenhagen with him.”
“It’s wartime now, liebchen. We must learn to accept the fate that befalls us. You’ve come a long way over the past three days, but you’re not yet fully recovered and healed from what those Gestapo bastards did to you. While it’s true that your bruises and wounds are looking better and better each and every day, there’s still a way to go. And, you must keep in mind that you are in the hands of the Red Front now … a top down organization if there ever was one, in which we foot soldiers at the bottom await orders, and until we’re told otherwise you must remain here with me.”
“What if I just decide to leave?”
“You wouldn’t get far. The door is locked and I have the only key. And, even if you were to leave this place, the authorities are on the lookout for you. You’d most certainly end up back at 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse in no time at all. No, liebchen, it’s best that you remain right here with me. But, if you’re …uh … missing your man, I can try to help. Why don’t you get out of that flimsy thing you’re wearing and come to me? We can retire to the back room, recline on the bed there and pleasure one another as only two women can, no?”
“Well I ….”
“Hush now, you’ll enjoy it. I promise. Come!”
With that Emma rose from her seat, smiled coquettishly and padded off in the direction of the back bedroom, shedding her morning robe, under which she was wearing nothing, tossing it casually aside as she disappeared inside.
Barbara remained in place for a time to finish her tea before rising to her feet and following. She was not comfortable with what the woman quite obviously expected of her, but had decided she’d play along to see where it might lead, partly out of curiosity and partly because she felt obligated.
At the doorway she was confronted with a naked Emma, reclined on the bed with her legs obscenely spread.
“I … uh … do … don’t … “ stammered Barbara uncertainly. “I mean …”
“Come to me liebchen. Learn from Emma.”
Sighing deeply, Barbara shrugged off and stepped free of the borrowed silky chemise she’d been wearing, and approached the bed.
“You look so lovely, liebchen. Such a lovely young body. Such perfect breasts! Come, don’t be shy. Lie down with me.”
Slowly, cautiously, Barbara complied. She felt the warmth of Emma’s body against her own as they embraced. And rolling off onto her side, she gave access to and allowed the older woman to plant quick little butterfly kisses to her neck and down onto her breasts. Bsrbara’s nipples soon disappeared, first one then the other, within Emmas’s mouth, where they mere mercilessly sucked, nibbled and teased. And then the hot kisses began to move downward …
It wasn’t long before Barbara’s breathing began to quicken. And she made no effort to resist having her hand gently directed to down between Emma’s thighs, where she felt the hot wet eagerness awaiting her fingertips there.
Like it or not she was being drawn into her hostess’s erotic web. There was no avoiding it. And as Emma’s fingers began to reciprocate, Barbara couldn’t deny that it felt good.
She rolled over half on top of Emma and pressed her fingers into the woman’s wide open sex, sliding them vigorously in and out before curling a forefinger so as to stroke at her bud. Emma was quick to reciprocate and they became locked in a frantic mutual drive to reach the same goal … crying out their pleasure in near unison.
But for Barbara there was an unintended bonus. As she stiffened, arched her back and climaxed and then allowed her head to drop and rest on her lover’s heaving chest, her gaze caught sight of a ring of keys laying in the half open drawer of the bedside stand. Crying out again as the orgasmic aftershocks rocked her body, she made a mental note for later.
TBC
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
OK! One Moore sequel coming up : "Mohr things happen in Moscow!"?
Bloody hell The Soviets and the Nazis were allies in 1939!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Stop reading ahead Lox!OK! One Moore sequel coming up : "Mohr things happen in Moscow!"?
Bloody hell The Soviets and the Nazis were allies in 1939!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Stop giving clues, Fossy! Feind hört mit, as already happend in a previous episode of this story!Stop reading ahead Lox!
OK! One Moore sequel coming up : "Mohr things happen in Moscow!"?
Bloody hell The Soviets and the Nazis were allies in 1939!
Stop reading ahead Lox!
Truth be told (now that Lox has brought the matter up), there is in fact a sequel in the works.
Tentative title: “It ended in Moscow”. Debuting here sometime in early 2024 and completing the trilogy begun with “It Happened in Hamburg” and “It Continued in London”.
Shhhh, though. Any further information regarding same is strictly “classified” and unavailable (unless leaked).