Greta Von Yurt's Gestapo Ordeal

WARNING: This story is an act of fiction that contains graphic sexual descriptions and language. If you are a minor (under 21) or if you are offended by this kind of material then you should stop reading now. Any resemblance between this story and a real event is coincidental. The participants are imaginary; their actions have no negative consequences other than those portrayed in the story. The story is intended for entertainment and should not be emulated in the real world.

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

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

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

"Mein Oberführer, I don't believe . . . "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hans, I . . . "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was then and this is now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And to the guilt she was also feeling even before she had reached this state of undress. For, while removing her outer clothing, she had thought of something Anna had only glossed over; having three of the barracks boys at a time using all her orifices simultaneously. Anna had broken down in tears.

But even while consoling Anna, Greta had weird thoughts invade her mind. She was picturing three men using her that way, and, to her consternation, the picture in her head was having a strange effect on her body. She could feel her vagina watering up, a heat coming over her. 160 barracks boys would be much to much, but just three? Three.

She knew she was stronger than Anna. She would have survived and not have gone to pieces. In face, she probably would have convinced them she even liked it, thereby getting better treatment. More sleep, more food. But, what scared her the most is, she might have liked it. For even now, as serious as her situation was, she could feel a perverseness coming into her mind.

She had stolen a glimpse at the lower body of the Commandant. His erection had been poking the robe's material out toward her. She quickly averted her eyes, but the effect on her was electrifying. She had to fight her mind, keep it from getting her turned on, keep those images of what he would be doing to her with the thing now hidden under the robe. It was a very difficult fight.

She had been a virgin when she had married her childhood sweetheart, Hans. To be sure, there had been the usual puppy love silliness of using her hand to manipulate a boy, or two, but it never went the whole way. She had saved herself for her Hans. And now, he couldn't help her, even as much as he wanted to. She was at the mercy of man with power not only over her and Hans, but over the entire barracks boys.

Now, as she stood before the man, in preparation of removing the last of her clothing, she could feel a wetness start to creep into her vaginal area. It felt as if it was flowing out of her in a copious manner, wetting her panties. The only saving grace, for which she was truly thankful, was the fact that her panties were black. The commandant might not see her tell-tale staining.

But something deep within her mind, wanted him to. She wanted him to know she was willing, ready, and very able to do his bidding. This thought made her feel a flushness creep up her neck. And again, she thought of Anna.

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

As she now stood there, the perfection of her young, firm breasts fully before his lecherous gaze, she felt the nipples go rigid from the coolness of the room. This embarrassed her even more and she was tempted to use her hands to cover herself. She resisted this as Stemp now moved closer to her. He whistled a low wolf's whistle, the type men use for pretty females on the street, and then said:

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

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

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