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The Dominafuhrer
Miss Spiteful's War

The New Recruit
Enslaved In Skirts
Ingrid and Fate
Walter's Enigma
The Italian Job
The High-Heeled Contessa
Rolling With Pain
The Spy Who Never Was
Ingrid's First Date
For The Love Of Willi
Dressing For Work
The Colonel And The Nurse
Anya's Curse
Future Imperfect
Reinhardt The Rampant
The Bomb Under The Bed
Hungarian Rhapsody
Against The Clock
General Josephine
The Bomb Plot
Gunfight At The OKH
Up Against The Wall
City Under Fire
The End Of The Unit
The Toad Triumphs
Kill Miss Spiteful
Heil Himmler!
Mistress Storm
Miss Spiteful's Revenge
Last Exit From Berlin
The Name Of The Goddess

The Dominafuhrer 1952
Miss Spiteful's Gold

Give My Regards To Bremen

The Stories of Yvonne Sinclair

Alice And Anna
On The Beach
The Bisley Boy
Silk Stockings On A Ladder
A Merry Ferry Christmas
Stella and Fanny

The Sacred Feminine

The Sacred Feminine

The Story Of T

Arrival At The Institute

Julia

An Introduction

VO Stories

Jenny
Miss Malcahy's Detention
Nine and a Half Hours

The Weight Loss
Programme

I Sign A Contract

The Convict

The Convict

Stories

65
A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
Charles
George
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Judicial Bastinado
Kevin's Poem
Kim
Long Weekend
Long Weekend Conclusion
My Visit
Penitence
Plimsolls
Robin's Electrical Torture
Shoeshine Boy
Slave To The Cane
The Basement
The Colony
The Escape Artist
The Huntress Caning
The Language School
The Worm's View
Webb Encounters
Z

The Bossy Bank Women

A Judicial Punishment

The Valkyrie

Episode 1

Norseland

The Vision
The Agreement
First Blood

EXIT

EXIT THIS SITE

The Dominafuhrer - MISS SPITEFUL'S WAR

Episode 6 - The High-Heeled Contessa.

September 1942

The Black Uniform, the cinema image of the Gestapo, had fallen into disuse long before the outbreak of war, except, that is, for Hitler’s bodyguard and on ceremonial occasions. The Waffen SS now wore grey-green and the Allgemeine SS had grey-brown and the surplus black uniforms had stayed in storage until the Reich had spread across Europe and they were shipped out to clothe the Foreign SS Units raised in the occupied countries. It is an ironic fact that anyone seen wearing one of the black uniforms was very unlikely to be German. I had been issued with one when I had joined the SS but had only had to wear it once at a pre-war rally for the Fuhrer, who had been a distant figure on a podium.

Gestapo personnel usually wore civilian clothes but, when necessary, donned Allgemeine SS uniforms. Miss Spiteful however, had recognised the fearful effect that the black had on our subjects and she and the other mistresses, and myself on occasions, often wore them for interrogations. The other mistresses came to Gestapo Headquarters in civilian clothes and changed there but Miss Spiteful took perverse pleasure in wearing hers in the street, although she would sometimes cover it up with a long black leather coat. Our uniform jackets were specially tailored to emphasise our figures and the skirts were much shorter to show off our legs. My usual uniform in public was that of the SS Female Auxiliaries, albeit with Allgemeine SS badges and insignia.

So, when our SS strong arm boys, Freidrich and Willi, brought in the prisoner, Miss Spiteful and I were standing side by side under a spotlight in the otherwise darkened dungeon. We heard her gasp of terror as she saw our black outfits and the blood red swastika armbands. Her voice rose to a shriek as she was dragged, struggling, towards us.

No! No! Per favore. Non capisco. Perche? Perche? Per favore. No!

Miss Spiteful stepped to one side and I faced the prisoner. She was a beautiful brunette, about thirty years old, with sun-tanned face and arms. Her expensive hairdo and makeup was now dishevelled and smeared with dirt and tears. Taking me for a female, she began to plead. “Per favore. Che cos’e questo?”

I kept my face impassive as I pulled the shoulder straps of her dark blue cocktail dress down her arms. Freidrich and Willi allowed them to pass by, followed by the straps of her petticoat and her lacy blue brassiere. As she realised what was happening, her sobs turned to screams and she struggled even harder against the tight grip of her captors. Her exposed breasts were as tanned as her face and swung from side to side. Freidrich kept his face still but Willi was watching them and then looked up at me, winked and smiled. I was taken aback momentarily but pulled her blue knickers down over her hips and let them fall to her feet. She now only wore a blue suspender belt, black silk stockings and a classy pair of blue high-heeled shoes. Again her lower body was tanned all over, with the dark brown triangle of her pubic hair standing out. I put my hand against her mons vagina and stroked it, one finger tracing the outer lips of her labia through the thick curls. She shuddered and threw back her head as a strangled sob escaped her throat.

There was a nudge at my elbow and I turned to take a wide leather belt from Miss Spiteful’s hands. I fastened the belt around the prisoner’s waist, pulling really tight. Two leather cuffs fixed on the side of the belt went round her forearms so that those limbs were pinioned to her sides. She still struggled and tried to kick out at me but her knickers were still around her ankles and she would have fallen over if she had not been still held upright.

Her head fell forward in resignation and tears run down her face as she muttered. “Per favore mi dica?” I knelt to remove her knickers and gathered up the rest of her discarded clothing, marvelling at how fine and expensive they felt. The prisoner was led to the same frame that I had received my initiation on, pushed face down on it and the broad leather strap fastened around her back and arms. Her legs were not shackled as mine had been. As our guards retreated, Willi looked me up and down and, once again, smiled at me. I blinked and smiled back briefly, hoping that Miss Spiteful had not noticed. She however was advancing on the frame, swishing a whip to and fro, before giving the Contessa six hard strokes across her bare bottom.

As each stroke cut a white line across her tanned and perfectly formed buttocks, the Contessa screamed and writhed and the toes of her shoes beat a tattoo on the floor. After she had finished, Miss Spiteful moved round to the prisoner’s head and lifted it with the tip of her whip. Sobs, mixed with pleas in Italian, came from her lips but my Mistress waited until the noise subsided.

“Contessa Verna D’Orghese.” Miss Spiteful began in her flawless English. “I don’t speak Italian but I know that you speak very good English so, we will use that language from now on.”

The Italian’s big brown eyes widened even further in surprise but she could only sob, “Che cos’e questo?” Miss Spiteful immediately leant forward and slashed the Contessa's bottom with the tip of her whip.

“In English, please! Or I shall keep on hitting you.”

When the Italian had finished screaming and sobbing again she lifted her face and asked wearily in English. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

Miss Spiteful gave a thin smile and paced up and down in front of the prisoner, her whip tapping against one of her high - heeled boots.

“I am Obersturmbannfuhrer Spiteful of the Gestapo. You are here in Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin to answer a question.”

“But I know nothing!” The Contessa protested.

“Oh yes you do!” Miss Spiteful retorted. “And I will give you a chance now to answer me truthfully. If you refuse or lie to me, then I, and Ingrid here, will be forced to extract it from you.”

“I know nothing! I know nothing!” The Contessa was struggling against her leather strapping again and the soles of her shoes skidded on the floor as she tried to stand upright. When she had ceased, Miss Spiteful spoke again, but in a softer, kinder voice. “It is a simple question. All I want to know is, when you had your affair with the British Naval Officer, did you make love in English or Italian?"

The Contessa gasped. “But how did you know? What do you want to know that for?” Whatever she had been expecting, it was certainly not that question.

“Well?” Miss Spiteful demanded. “English or Italian?”

“No! No!” The Contessa’s voice rose. “I do not know what you are talking about. You cannot do this to me. My husband is a General and a loyal Fascist. When Il Duce tells the Fuhrer what you have done to me, you will be in great trouble. Release me at once!”

Miss Spiteful laughed. “What makes you think that anyone will know that you have ever been here? Your husband is searching the hospitals in Rome and, when he and the Polizia realise that you are really missing, the trail will have gone cold. There is nothing to connect you to me, the Gestapo or Berlin.”

The Contessa gave a howl of despair and then began praying for mercy and deliverance in Italian. Miss Spiteful gave her another couple of strokes of the whip to remind her to use English.

“I don’t understand.” She wailed. “What do you want?”

“Did you make love in English or Italian?” Miss Spiteful demanded. “Tell me, or suffer the consequences. The choice is yours” When there was no coherent reply, Miss Spiteful made an impatient gesture to me and stalked away.

I pulled forward a trestle table, with the equipment that we needed already laid out on top. The first item was a curved rubber bar with a ribbed dildo and a butt plug at either end, slightly angled towards each other. I put a little lubricant on both and, pulling the Contessa’s thighs apart, swiftly and roughly forced the probes into her vagina and sphincter. She howled with the shock and the pain and arched her back up against the leather belt. She also tried to kick me with her feet but I hit the rubber bar with the heel of my hand and she screamed in agony as the probes went deeper inside her sensitive flesh.

While her head was back and her mouth open, I slipped a leather harness over her head and got the stiff leather bit between her teeth. She shook her head vigorously to try and dislodge the harness but I had already got the two buckles done up. A stiff leather collar went round her neck and the reins of the harness were fed through two metal rings on the collar. Before the Contessa could realise it, I undid the leather strap holding her down on the frame and got her to stand upright.

Totally bewildered and in pain, she could only mumble incoherently because of the leather bit in her mouth. I placed a wooden clamp on each of her breasts, squeezing them flat as I tightened the screws. To each of her nipples, I added a crocodile clip with a small weight attached and stood back to let my mistress check our prisoner over.

“Thank you Ingrid. That was very well done.” With her left hand Miss Spiteful picked up the reins that trailed from the Contessa’s collar to the floor and, with the whip in her right hand, flicked the bare and bruised buttocks in front of her.

“Verna! This really is your last chance. Will you answer my question?”

A shake of the head and a muffled gurgle was all she got in response, so Miss Spiteful flicked the reins and applied the whip again.

“Walk on girl!” When Miss Spiteful’s command went unheeded she repeated the sequence with more force until the Contessa squealed and jumped forward, twisting her helpless body to try and escape the whip. Miss Spiteful tugged at the reins to keep her victim in check and then flicked them again to start her walking.

“Steady girl! Go left!” The reins were tugged to one side, bringing the Contessa’s head round and the pair did several circuits around the frame until my Mistress was certain that she had complete control.

“That’s good, Verna.” She encouraged. “Now, straight ahead! Ingrid, the door!”

I was moving smartly to open the dungeon door when I heard a squeal, a thump, and some slithering behind me. The light from the corridor revealed the prisoner writhing on the floor, unable to rise because of her pinioned arms, and smeared with blood from the pool that she had slipped in. At a sign from Miss Spiteful’s whip, I went to help the Contessa rise but, realising what had caused her fall, she began to scream, as much as the bit permitted her. When she was upright, albeit very shaken, Miss Spiteful used the whip and reins to force her forward again.

Out in the bright lights of the corridor, the Contessa stopped to blink but but was turned left and onward by a tug on the reins and application of the whip. And so we set off, the Contessa leading and walking awkwardly because of the rubber bar between the tops of her legs. Miss Spiteful followed and I brought up the rear. Progress was still unsteady as the blood smeared soles of the Italian’s high-heeled shoes continued to slip on the stone floor.

We passed the dungeons of the other mistresses and ahead, at the corner, was the open door to our store room, through which I could see Freidrich and Willi. They had their feet up on a table, smoking and drinking from beer bottles. They both sat up straight, staring in amazement, as we approached and, at Miss Spiteful’s command, turned left in front of their door.

Now we were passing cells and faces appeared at some of the grills but no comments were made, so afraid of the Gestapo were the inmates. At the next corner was a desk, at which two Gestapo Officers were seated and reading documents. One was in civilian clothes, the other in SS uniform. They too looked up and both laughed as we went past.

Along this corridor were more interrogation rooms, most of them silent and empty at this time of night. Even the Gestapo worked office hours! But, one or two were occupied, the sound of blows or screams coming from behind their doors.

Turning left again brought us to another passage with a staircase at the far end but, also here was an SS sentry, with a rifle over his shoulder, guarding a bench. Seated on it were a middle-aged couple, dirty, dishevelled and absolutely petrified. When the woman saw us, she screamed and collapsed against the man who watched us go by with eyes as big as saucers.

The Contessa stopped, as if to speak to them, but Miss Spiteful cracked the whip across her shoulders and we moved on. At the staircase, the Contessa had to be discouraged from trying to climb them and urged instead to turn left back into our own corridor. At the far end, Freidrich and Willi gave us a wave when we hove into view but quickly ducked back into their room when they saw Miss Spiteful’s face. Back in our dungeon, we halted as I shut the door behind us and our prisoner collapsed to her knees, her head hung and her chest heaving as she fought pain and exhaustion. Miss Spiteful dropped the reins and walked away, unbuckling her gun-belt and shoulder strap and I bent to remove the harness from our prisoner’s head. As the bit came out of her mouth, I realised that she was mumbling and, leaning closer could make out the words of a prayer in Latin.

To continue reading this story, click Rolling With Pain

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