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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


An Introduction

VO Stories

Miss Malcahy's Detention
Nine and a Half Hours

The Weight Loss

I Sign A Contract

The Convict

The Convict


A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Judicial Bastinado
Kevin's Poem
Long Weekend
Long Weekend Conclusion
My Visit
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

The Bossy Bank Women

A Judicial Punishment

The Valkyrie

Episode 1


The Vision
The Agreement
First Blood



The Dominafuhrer - MISS SPITEFUL'S WAR

Episode 5 - The Italian Job

September 1942

He extracted a manilla file from case and flipped it open. “I received a report from Rome that a Contessa Verna D’Orghese had been going through her husband’s papers at home.”

Miss Spiteful frowned. “And how do you know that?”

“For some time, we have been checking up any Italians who might have access to the information and her husband is a Quartermaster General in Army Headquarters. For an Italian, he is very good at his job and is responsible for the supply of both the Italian Army in North Africa and Rommel’s Afrika Korps. That includes organising the supply convoys from Italy to Libya. We put a man in their house as a servant and he saw her reading her husband’s papers after he went to bed. She was followed the next day and she went to the Vatican where she made confession and took mass. She did the same every day for the next week but then stopped until she was again seen going through her husband’s briefcase. Her religious fervour returned for another week and then stopped again. After the first report the Italians lost a supply convoy in the Mediterranean and, after the second, Rommel ran into trouble at Alam Halfa.”

“What reason could she have for being a traitor?” Miss Spiteful asked and Schellenberg turned over another page.

“I got a copy of her Italian Secret Police file and it seems that she comes from very good and old aristocratic stock. Not all of whom approve of Mussolini. The first entries are records of her voicing dissent while a student in Pisa. Informers reported that she was also outspoken on the social circuit but not enough to get her arrested. She married a Lieutenant Colonel in nineteen thirty five, a minor aristocrat and a Fascist, but not a fanatic. Many joined just to get on.”

“How strange that any one would do that.” Miss Spiteful said, with a touch of irony that was not lost on Schellenberg, who had the grace to give her a weak smile.

“Any way, she seems to have settled down and, apart from one episode, did not come to their attention again until both of her brothers were killed last year. One in Greece and the other in Libya, followed by her father, who died of a heart attack. She was overheard questioning why Italy had gone to war, why had Mussolini allied himself with us and why was it all going wrong.

Again, nothing too public or seditious but enough to be reported. Then she started asking people if they supported the war and had they any contacts outside Italy.”

“But,” Miss Spiteful interrupted. “She only seems to have had cause for the last year. Your problems go back further than that.”

“Ah!” Schellenberg raised a finger and turned to another page. “There was that earlier episode that I mentioned to you. Two years after she got married, she had an affair with a British Naval Officer.”

“Really?” Miss Spiteful sat forward in her chair.

“See!” Schellenberg laughed. “You are interested.”

My Mistress gave him one of her looks. “You have obviously kidnapped this woman, without any authority, and need me to get her to confess to espionage. I’m looking for a weakness to exploit.”

Ja. Ja.” Once again, Schellenberg gave a weak smile. “We drugged her at a reception in Rome last night and used a stolen Samaritan’s ambulance to take her straight to the aeroplane while her husband drove to the Hospital. He has no idea where she is now and the Italian Secret Police can honestly tell him that they know nothing either.

“Well, I should tell you that our only Italian speaker has gone home for the night. If your prisoner cannot speak German, you will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“But she speaks good English, as do you.” Schellenberg retorted.

“That’s right. Mate!” Miss Spiteful replied in a cockney accent. Her English was good and she could vary her accent. I had heard her. “When I worked in London, I brought a whole new meaning to the expression ‘Belted Earl’. When the House of Lords was supposed to be sitting, a lot of them had to stay on their feet because of their sore bottoms. Now, those were the days!” She gave one of her smashing grins. “I can do American as well if you want?” She switched to a mid-Atlantic drawl. “I’d still be earning my fortune in New York if the Fuhrer had kept his hands off Poland.”

“Yes, we followed your career with interest.” Schellenberg had a thin smile on his lips. “You could have been of use to us, you know?”

“If you mean that I could have spied for you, then you obviously didn’t get my message via Von Ribbentrop. ” Miss Spiteful said grimly, her smile vanishing.

“Oh, we did!” Schellenberg laughed. “Sticking the neck of a champagne bottle up the rectum of the Reich’s Ambassador to the Court of St. James is pretty emphatic. Even Heydrich laughed at that one but Himmler was not amused and no one dared tell the Fuhrer.”

Miss Spiteful shrugged. “If you thought that I could have worked in England without the British Special Branch watching me then you must be stupid. They even sent me customers to find out if I was seeking information from them. If I had, I’d now be holding Rudolf Hess’s hands in the Tower of London. The French Deuxieme Bureau were just as bad when I was in Paris. Apart from the shops, I was glad when I had to get out of there. The clients expected me to provide sex as well.” She looked suitably disgusted at the memory.

“So,” Schellenberg ended the reminiscing, which I found fascinating. “You’ll have no problems speaking to her and I need you to do this personally, Spiteful. It’s very important to me and, if it goes right, to you as well.”

“And I’ll go down with you if it doesn’t. I think not, Walter.” My Mistress snorted.

For the first time, Schellenberg got angry, letting his briefcase fall to the floor and slapping the flat of one hand on her desktop. “Listen to me, Spiteful! If I can prove that the British have not broken our codes, I can stop some very influential people upsetting the Fuhrer. It will be good for my reputation and, when the next Head of Reich Security is chosen, I want it to be me. Heydrich’s been dead for over three months now and Himmler can’t carry on doing that job as well as his own.”

Reinhard Heydrich, Head of The RSHA (Reichssicherheithauptampt) had been assasinated by Czech partisans when performing his other duties as Protector of Bohemia and Moravia and, despite the national mourning led by the Fuhrer, I had yet to meet anyone who actually missed him. With Schellenberg, he had been one of Miss Spiteful’s sponsors but when he died, I had seen her close his file with satisfaction before locking it away with all her other secrets in her secure cabinet in the dressing room. He had been cleverer, more dangerous and certainly more feared than Himmler and regarded as his eventual successor, if not the Fuhrers.

“Who else wants it then? Mueller? He’s just a mindless thug who’s lost without his cosh.” Miss Spiteful was referring to the Head of the Gestapo and supposedly her superior officer. She suddenly remembered that I was present and sent me a warning glance, but I kept my face blank.

“No, he wants Himmler’s job. It’s Kaltenbrunner that I need to watch. He’d send his own mother to Dachau if it would help his career. I’ve got to do something to get ahead of him and I really do need your help on this, Spiteful. Besides, there are three convoys waiting in Italian ports to dash across to Libya. They need to know if the British are laying in wait for them”

“Oh, very well.” She relented. “But I want my insurance policy.”

Schellenberg retrieved his briefcase and took some more papers out which he passed over to my Mistress. As she read them, her eyebrows arched and she muttered. “Mein Gott! Are they serious?”

“I’m afraid so.” Schellenberg agreed as Miss Spiteful turned the pages.

“Well, this is all very good,” she opined. “But, while the Reich’s railways are transporting all these millions to the extermination camps, how are we going to supply the Eastern Front? And what happens when the Americans arrive on the West? Don’t think that they won’t.”

Schellenberg shrugged. “It probably never came up, back in January and, with Heydrich dead, that little worm Eichmann doesn’t see it as his problem. All he is concerned about is the ‘Final Solution’, as he calls it.”

Miss Spiteful folded the papers up and slipped them into a pocket of the uniform jacket that hung over the back of her chair. “I take it that neither you nor I are supposed to have seen this?”

“Too right!” Schellenberg gave me another anxious glance. “Possession of that could be the death of us but, on the other hand, it could save our necks one day.”

“Where is my subject? Miss Spiteful returned to the business in hand. “If you want a result tonight, I will need to get started soon.”

“She will be with you within the hour.” Schellenberg assured her.

Das es gut!” Miss Spiteful picked up her fountain pen and started making notes on a pad. “Before you go, tell me more about this British Naval Officer and their affair.”

Schellenberg lit another cigarette and slumped back in his chair. “Her husband was serving in Abyssinia and she was at her father’s villa on Capri. The Englishman was supposedly on leave from Malta. They met somehow and, within two days, were in bed together. That went on for a week. Two months later, they shared a hotel room in the Dolomites for another week. After they parted, there was no further known contact.”

“Do you think that he recruited her as a spy?”

Schellenberg shrugged again. “It is possible. When the two British Secret Service agents that I kidnapped from over the border at Venlo were interrogated, we got a lot of names of Germans who had been recruited before the war. I have no reason to doubt that the same was done in Italy.”

“Was the Englishman in Intelligence?” Miss Spiteful’s pen was poised over her pages of notes.

“Not as far as we know?” Another Schellenberg shrug.

“And do you know what he is doing now?”

Schellenberg stood up and ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Lieutenant Commander Harry Branscombe was listed as a casualty when the HOOD was sunk by the BISMARCK last year.”

Miss Spiteful threw down her pen in disgust. “Well, thank you very much, Walter. And what if this woman just turns out to be a devout catholic checking up on her Husband’s mistresses?”

Schellenberg didn’t bother to stop and answer until he got to the door. “Don’t let me down on this, Spiteful. If I get to the top, I’ll remember who helped me get there. And don’t forget about those convoys. Rommel needs the supplies!”

After the door slammed shut behind him, Miss Spiteful sat staring at her notes for a few moments. Then she looked at me. "Ingrid, I saved your life because I believed that you were loyal, intelligent and discreet. If I am wrong, then it will cost us both our lives.” That made a chill run down my spine but I gave her my best, devoted slave look and that seemed to satisfy her.

“Tell the boys that a prisoner is on the way and that we will be working late tonight. Don’t clean this mess up yet. The sight of blood will help intimidate her and we need her very frightened if she is to break quickly. That means black uniforms for both of us. Jump to it!”

To continue reading this story, click The High-Heeled Contessa

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