Halloween Night & Nazi Mind-Control

MP captain finds himself and wife sucking SS cock

In October, 1945, Teufelberg was a village in the Bavarian Alps still not completely liberated. The US Army had passed through, found little resistance, and moved on to other objectives.

When my Military Police company moved in to expedite truck traffic through the area, the place gave me the creeps. It even had a creepy name. Teufelberg meant "Devil's Mountain," and we were moving in a week before Halloween.

Teufelberg nestled against the steep, craggy mountain of its name. Steep narrow streets, a dark place most of the day in the shadow of the mountain. Oddly enough it was a junction of three main roads through the Alps as well as a railroad trestle, so we were there to direct Army traffic.

On the way there, I asked my driver the name of the flowery field we were passing driving through. He said, "Geisterfeldt." Ghost Field. As we neared the town we dropped into a valley carved by an alpine creek. A pleasant place, green and quiet. He said, "Schädel-Tal." Skull Valley. An old bridge, obviously built long, long ago crossed the creek, and as we drove on it, I spotted a sign: "Angenehmekriegsbrücke." Pleasant Wars Bridge. God, what kind of a place is this?

My room was in the headquarters--an alpine chalet near the center of the town, an ornate carved wood building clinging to the steep, narrow street. On paper the place looked good, but the dump was a dark, raw wood place, not like the cheery white and green summer houses in other parts of Bavaria. The gloomy dump pressed against a solid granite wall, the bottom of a cliff whose precipice towered several thousand feet higher.

I wasn't terribly excited about it. A hand grenade--or even a pebble--dropped from the cliff above would blast through the roof like a bullet. It was the headquarters building the Army chose, so when I heard some of my guys refer to it as the FUBAR Palace, I had to agree.

Teufelberg was a cemetery somebody built a town on. Hard to tell what the population was. No one ever came out in the streets--or when they did, they moved like escaping burglars, slipping in and out of the shadows.

Everything dark. No lights, no candles in the windows. That wasn't really too strange in 1945 Germany. Most cities were bombed-out ruins, and even small towns like Teufelberg were like abandoned bees' nests.

I sighed. My orderly hauled my duffel bag into my room. I sat on the black wood chair and looked around. Fuck. Germany's version of Transylvania. The Army had struck again--the dark chalet was the logical house for an MP commander, from the military point of view.

I had to hit the ground running in Teufelberg--the mayor had already arranged to meet me. I hoped we could get off to a good start. The Burgermeister, a Herr Bayer, looked nothing like the Budweiser ad--no round face, no red cheeks. A few years later his look-alike would be the Cryptkeeper in the TV movies. Tousled brown hair, black suit like an undertaker. Tall and thin. Face like a cross between a horse and a prune. Couldn't guess his age.

"Herr Hauptmann Schuyler," he began, voice like a distant foghorn. "For you it is not so safe here, I am thinking. Der Weltkrieg, the world war, here is not yet over." He lowered his voice. "Teufelberg is still run by the Nazis."

I had heard this before. Germans toadying up to the victorious Allies, eager to sell out their neighbors for some charisma points with the Americans. "And you, of course, were never a Nazi."

"Ach, nein! Never! Always I am keeping to myself, living as best I can, trying to keep out of their way. But I never join."

I sighed. "Who are these Nazis still running the town, then? Why don't you arrest them?"

"Ach, for this we need the Amerikaner Army. They are SS soldiers, fully armed."

This, too, was familiar. "Where are they?"

"They hide in the Schloss."

In the castle? Teufelberg had a castle? "What Schloss?"

"Schloss Totenkopf. High above the town. In the mountain."

Death's Head Castle. What else. "But we have no intelligence about a castle anywhere around here."

The mayor smiled grimly. "It is hidden. You would never find it." He lowered his voice again. "The legend around here says the Schloss was built by Satan himself."

"The Nazis didn't build it?"

"Ach, nein, the Schloss is much older than the town. No one knows when it was built. Many hundreds of years ago."

"So why hasn't aerial surveillance discovered it?"

"Carved out of the rock of the mountain. You do not see it. From the distance, it is looking like mountain-stone, nein? But you are standing in it, you can see it has the rooms, the windows, the walkways, even the barrier-walls and the balustrades." He paused. "Not so hard to believe it is built by the devil himself."

With that intelligence, I sent in a call for more aerial photography of Teufelberg, particularly of the mountain above the town, searching for anything looking manmade.

Early the next morning, a small green Army spotter plane wound its way carefully through the towering peaks of Southern Bavaria to Teufelberg. I watched it from the street as it flew close to the mountain, buzzing the cliffs over the town.

And as I watched, we heard a gunshot from far above, and the plane swerved suddenly, as if the pilot had yanked the wheel. The plane heeled over, banking into a sharp turn, and spiraled out of control to smash into the mountainside.

"Sniper!" My first sergeant, who had been standing nearby, called to his platoon sergeants, who ran off to gather their men. A few minutes later, a detail took off, climbing the steep inclines of the mountain.

As it turned out, a nest of Nazi SS troopers were indeed set up in what turned out to be a very large, extremely well camouflaged castle. When I called for infantry support, the reply was that Teufelberg was isolated, surrounded by Allied troops--therefore not a high priority target.

I was told to handle it with my MPs, who luckily had a hell of a lot of combat experience. With radio coordinates from my sergeants, I called in an air strike, and about a half-hour later, several P-51s from Munich flew into the valley. The "tank-busters" did a job on the castle, blasting huge chunks of it into the sky, some of which unfortunately fell on the town.

My people finally finished the battle a few hours later, and locked up a large contingent of German POWs in rooms in the castle. But not without a lot of trouble--I got reports of my men "going crazy."

Some lay down their weapons as they guarded the prisoners. One report said a Private Kaminsky, upon hearing "Kom her, Ami! Suck my cock!" actually knelt before the prisoner and was about to give a blowjob to the German officer before someone yanked him away.

Incredible. Are they drafting the dregs of society back in the States?

The last report was incredible. A German officer told one of my sergeants to shoot himself--and he did. Poor man blew his head off with his own rifle. A GI nearby turned his gun on the Nazi officer and blew him away.

There's something goddamned weird about this place.

That evening I went to the castle to interrogate the highest ranking German office, one Oberst (Colonel) Heinrich von Steinlitz.

The castle was Satan's chalet. Carved into the granite of the cliffs, its windows and doorways were carefully sculpted to look like mere mountain shadows to the casual onlooker. The parapets were jagged and irregular, and the towers resembled mere outcroppings of rock.

Inside, it was even more unbelievable. In spite of the damage from the bombings, it did look like a place built by Mephistofeles himself. The interior was fully finished--wide marble floors, vaulted ceilings, textured stone walls. It had wide staircases and long balconies. I could only guess at how many rooms it had, but it was huge.

I saw Satan's touches--the carvings at the bottoms of the banisters were vicious gargoyles, carved stone half-bat, half-dwarf creatures with masterfully carved wings and hard cocks that jutted up threateningly. Slithering dragons decorated some of the half-pillars carved into the walls, and in one of the rooms, I could not believe my eyes. A table made of a thick sheet of clear crystal rested on the backs of three nude female statues on all fours, their heads together at the center of the table, their spread legs and carefully detailed pussies aimed out for the observance and enjoyment of all.

In yet another room a great, multi-ton granite door swung easily on beautifully engineered stone hinges. But its most fascinating point (to me) was the heroic sculpture of a Nordic hero at the other side of the door, whose erect cock stuck out like a bulb-headed lance--and fit perfectly into a hole in the wall, sculpted to be the cunt of a naked woman who waited for him and got a good fucking every time the door closed.

I met von Steinlitz in his cell. As tall as its ceiling, in his officer's uniform, he looked regal. Majestic. Like Caesar in chains. His coal-black SS uniform fit him perfectly, outlining and accenting his turret-like shoulders, and the riding-habit trousers favored by Nazi officers gave him a martial appearance--widely flaring at the hips to allow sitting a horse and tight, flattering pantlegs disappearing into high, black riding boots.

His eyes pierced into mine. Not the slightest hint of defeat. Pure defiance. He spoke English perfectly. "You think you are the victors here, I think."

"You're the one in the cell." The place was very stuffy. I could hardly breathe. I made a mental note to move him to another cell. Funny. When I first checked out the place, the cell was cool and airy.

"You are a captain. In our gruppe, we made the Ami officer prisoners our personal cocksuckers."

"Well, Colonel, you can kiss those days goodbye--and you can kiss my ass." Damn, it's hot in here!" I could hardly breathe. I pulled open my collar and loosened my tie. He smiled. I see you are not carrying your revolver, Captain. Very well, we will use you another way. Take off your trousers."

What the fuck?? But God, it was hot!! I couldn't think straight. Like I was drunk! In my confusion, somehow what he said seemed strangely reasonable.

I don't know where I got it, but suddenly I was an Ami, an American--and who was more purely American than an Indian? "Like the Indians, yeah. Can't wear these White-eyes pants--need a loincloth." Everything was spinning. I unbuckled my pants and stripped them down.

My jockstrap--military police always wore them; never knew what athletics and hand-to-hand we would get into--dripped precum from the pouch. I was embarrassed, but von Steinlitz smiled. I was caught. "Excited about the autumn buffalo hunt," I mumbled.

"Get that suspensor off, too, captain. I cannot impregnate you with that."

"Im--impregnate??"

"Ach, ja, you are the young American woman, and I am the strong warrior, nicht?"

"What?? That's bullsh--" but suddenly it made sense. Yeah. I am a woman. An Indian woman. And he is my brave. I looked at him. My duty is to give myself to him. I yanked down my jockstrap and stepped out of it.

"Lie back on the bench and submit yourself to me." A calm command. Confident. Masculine. Virile.

I lay back, and he stepped nearer, pulling open his pants. God, look at that thing! Babies would come from that! I knew he would make me pregnant and honor the tribe. What a buffalo cock! I spread my legs.

My head spinning, I thought in both male and female terms--he was hung better than any soldier I ever saw in the showers or washing up in a French creek--and I ached to bear his child.

With weird eagerness, I noticed his cock was unique. Like a rake. Not only was it huge (and I fell in love with it, my colossal valentine), it curved radically at the head, pointing up like a rake lying tines-up in the grass. A dangerous thing either in the garden or jutting from the crotch.

I blushed in a girlish way. It was so big I knew he would not get it in easily, and I was a little frightened--could I take such a huge organ? But I was breathing hard. My big warrior was about to make me a woman, bring me into the tribe as a wife--or at least one of his harem.

But he dawdled. Staring down at me. Finally I could resist no more. The big, tawny thing was something any girl had to obey. I rose up from the bench and reached out for it. God! It burned my hand. Textured and sculptured with giant veins and folds of skin, it felt like a pulsating tree branch.

And the cockhead! Standing proudly out of the folds of foreskin, angled back away from me in that awesome, terrible bend. It was the Great Hammer to fulfill every young woman's dreams and smash her girlhood.

When I spotted a large ooze of clear liquid drooling from it, I could not resist. I opened my mouth. My own, shy, girlish cock throbbed to full, maximum hardness and, almost blinded with the ecstasy, I shot a big load into the air. Hadn't even touched myself. Oh, God, I wanted his babies!

I hoped I had honored him by showing my adoration and excitement so that he would consent to breed me. I licked the precum from his mighty cock and swallowed it. "Intoxicating," I murmured.

Not daring to do more, I remained kneeling, panting, my heart pounding, thrilled at what this mighty warrior had planned for me.

"Suck it!"

I swallowed the big cockhead instantly, working the violent curve into my mouth, stroking the big shaft, doing everything I could think of to pleasure him. "Good, my bitch." His voice was low, deep, and manly. Intoxicating like rye whiskey. I was drunk with him.

In my shy maidenhood, I had never been this close to a cock before, and this one, this super, magnificent organ was more than I could bear! Still holding on, still sucking and licking, I was driven into multiple orgasms! One after another, over and over the great warrior drove my submissive body into stunning ecstasy. My cock shot all the cum I had inside, then burned like a Halloween sparkler when my balls went dry.

I lost count. A dozen? More? I slumped limp as a rag by the time he granted me his essence. It blew into my mouth like a blast from a German 88, and although I swallowed as desperately as I could, spurts gushed from the sides of my mouth.

I rubbed it into the skin of my cheeks, chin, and neck. Every drop of his semen should be absorbed into my body. And I was drunk on the taste. Salty. Like a fine wine with earthy overtones. Flavors I never tasted before--but flavors I knew: the taste of a teacher, the flavor of a lord and master, the mother taste of authority.

I lay back on the bench, eager for whatever my lord and master chose to do to me.

He cocked his head, listening. "Enough for now. They come, Captain. Please arise and pull up your trousers."

I did as he commanded, trying not to look disappointed.

Moments later, the cell door opened, and Sergeant Varder walked in. "Captain, we've got 'em all bedded down for the night. You finished here?"

I had a wild impulse to say, "No, he hasn't finished me yet!" but I choked it down. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm done here."

Vader looked at me oddly. "You okay, sir?"

Breathing hard, my face hot--God, I must be blushing! I put my hand up to wipe away any dribbles of cum I might have at my lips. "Yeah, I'm okay. Let's get out of here."

Back in my office in the town, I took out the bottle of Jim Beam I kept in the file drawer. Took a big slug. God, what came over me?? I actually sucked a Nazi officer's cock!

I sat down. And what was that 'I'm an Indian woman' shit?? Am I headed for a nervous breakdown?

That very night I put in a request for an Army psychologist to visit our unit. I requested Major Annette Schuyler, my wife.

Funny how we got together. Before I shipped overseas, I command an MP unit in Bethesda, Maryland, where Annette worked on finishing her medical studies. Matter of fact, she and I got together over a parking ticket. "Sorry, Ma'm, you're parked in a slot reserved for the general. See the lettering on it." Damn, she was good-looking. Face like on a WAC recruiting poster--always a bathing beauty, never the dogs so many of them turned out to be. When she got out of her 1934 Ford, she had a figure like a Coke bottle.

As she faced me, she leaned back against her car, let her doctor's white smock fall open, and Oh, God. Her cotton shirt was not buttoned, and by leaning back, she made it spread. Wider. Wider. Still wider until Ohmigod! Two tits bulged out, big breasts to make a man want to get down and howl, and I swear I could see the edges of two dusky aureoles, the cloth bulleted over firm nipples just inches away. God, no brassiere!

"I can't afford to get a ticket from the MPs," she murmured. "It would reduce my grade."

She took a deep breath. Oh, my God in heaven!! The left nipple popped out! Hard. Hot--I swear I could feel the heat from it on my face!

"Oops," she said calmly, and she slowly, very slowly pushed it back into her shirt.

She looked into my face. Jesus! Although I wrote "blue" in the slot after "Eyes:" I realized that was a gross underestimate. Her eyes were the blue of a priceless Regency vase. Azure blue interlaid with streaks of gold, a color so deep, so overpowering, so confusing, at times it looked purple. Can eyes attack? Hers attacked me. They took me prisoner as if she had tied my hands behind my back.

"Surely there is something," she said in a low, soft voice dripping nectar, "that I could do to keep you from writing that ticket."

To cut a long story short, what she did to me behind the locked door of a linen closet could set morality laws back 100 years. When she let me into that honey-soaked pussy of hers, I cummed so long, hard, and pulsating, at one point I thought I would die of a heart attack.

I was lucky. I fell back against the wall, which pulled out my still-raging cock. I had ejaculated every last sperm in my body, and my balls were searching around for more ammunition. I panted hard, trying to catch my breath. That orgasm was so titanic, if I had stayed in there any longer, in seconds my balls would start pumping out blood, guts, bone, anything! I was lucky to survive! God, what a fuck!

And then she blew my mind: "Damn," she panted, "you're really good with that thing!"

What? Me? I didn't do anything! All I did was dare to enter the Tunnel of Death!

"Never had so many orgasms in my life," she went on. She looked up at me, and those eyes burned to the back of my brain. "You've spoiled me." With a teasing little grin: "I'll never be able to enjoy anything less than that big monster of yours."

Could not believe my ears. Venus, the Goddess of Love, had just told me she craved my cock! Talk about proud! I smiled back: "Our duty is to serve, Ma'm."

Again, to cut a long story short, skipping the coffees, the movies, the dances, and the car-shaking interludes in the back of her Ford, we got married.

The Army wasn't pleased to have a married couple in the Service at the same time, but as she put it--in medical terms--"Fuck them!"

We managed to finagle assignments that were within "visiting range," even though a psychiatrist could never be attached to an MP unit. When they transferred me to Germany, she arranged a transfer to an Army hospital in the vicinity. So I had to take frequent trips "to see the doctor."

But in this case, something very weird was happening to me and my men, and I needed Annette for psychiatric advice. The dark shadows of the gloomy little town were really getting to me.