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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 8 - The Spy Who Never Was

September 1942

Suddenly, she opened her eyes, focused and realised who had just been inside her body.

Che?” She pulled back and looked me up and down, trying to solve the puzzle in her mind.

Miss Spiteful quickly spun her away from me and took the Contessa’s face in her hands.

“There Verna. That was good was it not? Was that how it was for you with Harry? You made love to him in English, didn’t you?

The Contessa started to sag at the knees again and cry so Miss Spiteful pulled her head onto her own shoulder and stroked her back.

“Yes. He was a wonderful man. So kind and tender and so fulfilling.” She put her arms around Miss Spiteful’s body and lost control of all of her emotions. Her cut and bruised body was racked with breath catching sobs. “I miss him so much.”

“Tell me, Verna.” Miss Whispered gently. “Did Harry recruit you as spy?”

“No. No. We were lovers. We never spoke of anything else. I would have gone with him if I had not been married.”

“So, why did you steal secrets from your Husband?”

“The Fascists had wiped out my family. My Brothers, My Father, all dead! I want them out of Italy.”

“And when did you start this?”

“This year, for the first time. My Husband had always brought papers home to work on and I started reading them after he went to bed. I realised that they contained information that would be useful to the Allies.”

“What did you do?”

“I asked around and I heard that there was a Scottish Priest in the Vatican who could help people escape from Italy and I went to look for him. I kept going back until I finally found the day that he took confession.”

“Did you give him the information?”

Si. I told him and he was horrified. He told me that I must not involve him in espionage as it would endanger his work.”

“But you kept going back with more information from your Husband’s papers”

Si. I hoped that Father MacKenna would relent and pass on the secrets. I so wanted to hurt the Fascists and the Germans.”

“And what did he say?”

“The last time that I went he made me give a sacred oath that I would stop spying and that I was not to tell anyone about it.”

“Have you told anyone else? Have you received orders from or have you passed information onto anyone else?”

“No! No! I was on my own. I failed. I failed. I cannot even betray my own country.”

She began howling again and my Mistress sat her back down on the end of the frame. She was so wrapped up in her personal misery that she did not seem to notice the pain that she must have felt from sitting on her cut and bruised bottom.

Miss Spiteful left her there and came to me, unstrapping the harness of her dildo.

“Well, so much for the great British spy ring. I didn’t need all this either!” She indicated the blood smeared front of her lovely boned corset and her ruined stockings. She stalked past me to the door, opened it and shouted down the corridor. “Freidrich! Willi! Get your lazy arses down here now!” When my Mistress was angry, her lungs seemed to swell to an enormous size.

“Get her cleaned up, Ingrid.” She commanded me and I almost had to carry the Contessa into the dressing room. I pulled off the bloodied and tattered remains of her suspender belt and stockings, tossing her blue high-heeled shoes onto the pile as well, bundled her into the shower and turned the water on. For a few moments, she did not understand what was happening to her, thinking it was some new form of torture. But, as the hot water revitalised and cleaned her body, she became more aware and was able run her hands through her tangled hair and assist in soaping herself. Streams of blood ran down her legs and formed in frothy pools on the tiled floor before being washed down the plughole. When she was clean and fully awake, I turned the water off and handed her a towel so that she could dry herself. As she did so she looked at me and gasped as she saw my breasts and penis and a memory came back to her. “Who are you?” She screamed. “What are you? Was that you inside me?” She looked as if she was about to faint so I grabbed the towel off of her, wrapped her in it and led her out into the dungeon.

Miss Spiteful was seated at her desk, with Freidrich and Willi standing in front of her. She finished the note that she was writing, folded in, took a bundle of Reichmarks from a drawer and put both into an envelope, which she sealed and handed to Freidrich.

“That’s for the Mother Superior. I’ve spoken to her on the telephone and she is expecting you. Go up the back stairs and straight into your Kubelwagen. At this time of night, the place should be deserted but don’t let anyone see her. Have you got those clothes?”

Willie held up a bundle of non-descript clothing and Miss Spiteful nodded. Willi held them out to me and I slipped the dress on over the Contessa’s head and settled down over her body. The rest of the clothes and shoes I bundled up again and handed to her.

Das es gut.” Miss Spiteful said. “She can finishing dressing in the vehicle. Get a move on. You’ve got a long drive.” Freidrich and Willi lifted the still bewildered Italian by the arms and hurried her out of the door, her bare feet barely touching the floor. I could not help but notice that Willi had been giving my semi-naked body a good examination with his eyes and that he had given me another knowing smile. I was too tired and confused to think about it and flopped on the sofa to smoke a cigarette while Miss Spiteful lifted the telephone receiver.

“Put me through to Walter Schellenberg. Schnell!” She demanded and was connected almost immediately. “Walter! Yes! All done. She confessed eventually.

She’s part of a big spy ring run out of the Vatican, but contact was by dead letter in the confessional, so the trail ends there.”

My head jerked upwards and I almost dropped my cigarette in amazement. What was going on?

“Yes, she was recruited by the British and has been spying for years.” Miss Spiteful continued. “She supplied the information so that they could attack the Italian Fleet at Taranto and has passed on all the convoy details as well as Rommel’s battle plans. No. She’s dead. I went a bit too far. Do you want the body back? Right then. I’ll dispose of it. You can tell the High Command that their codes are safe and that the convoys can sail. I’ll send the typed report over in the morning. Goodnight Walter.”

Miss Spiteful slammed the receiver down and looked at me. “No questions tonight, Ingrid. Have a shower, dress and go home. I’ll leave the report on the desk for you to type up in the morning and after that, you can clean this place up as well.”

She yawned and pulled a ruled pad towards her and began writing with her pen. I had so much to ask her but I could see that I would learn nothing tonight.

When I left the dungeon a little later, she was still bent over her desk, filling the pages of the pad with her small, neat handwriting. She barely acknowledged my farewell.

To continue this story, click Ingrid's First Date


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