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The Dominafuhrer
Miss Spiteful's War

The New Recruit

The Dominafuhrer 1952
Miss Spiteful's Gold

Give My Regards To Bremen
Storm Takes A Bow
Two Long Winters
Bonnie Ingrid Of The Argylls
A Soldier's Wife For Me
What Became Of The Lively Ladies?
Walter's Warning
Castanelli Meets The Order
Kelly From Calgary
Three On The Bed
Solace For Solitaire
The Early Morning Tease Maid
The Chevvy With The Fritz On Top
J Edgar Hoovering
Signals From The Past
Gold In The Grave
Morning In Manhattan
Six Hatch A Plan
Back To Berlin
Two Little Girls From School Are We
Spoiling Miss Spiteful
The Taming Of The Slave
Kaffee At KaDeWe
Sugar's Stroll In The Park
The Checkpoint Chorus
The GDR People's Silvery Moon
Into The Tomb
The Festival Is Over
The Stasi At Night
Seraph Revealed
Old Photographs Never Lie
A Fair Exchange For Freedom
The Night Porter
Kelly's Heroines
Surgery En Suite
A Stiffie For Sapphire
The Torturous Twins
A Stilletto Up The Back
News From The East
We're Going To Wedding
Rudi's Revels
Down In The Dungeon
Nappies, Knots and Needles
Walkies With Alfred
Black Marcius For Miss Spiteful
The Return Of The Dominant 7
Grab Your Knickers And Run
Vive La France
Showdown With Seraph

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 GOLD

Episode 27 - Into The Tomb

September 1952

While I chipped away at the new cement on the tomb, Sapphire sat on top of the granite slab, running her fingers over the scroll and smiling.

Miss Spiteful, who had been pacing up and down, stopped and looked down at her.

“Happy memories?” She enquired.

Ach ja!” Sapphire replied wistfully. “As well as losing my virginity on top of Jurgen, I also had my first lesbian experience here. Dottie Klum was her name and she had a tongue that set my cunt on fire.”

“She’d probably forgotten to take her cigarette out her mouth,” Miss Spiteful sniffed and then looked at her watch as there was another burst of applause from the nearby festival.

“Oh, do come on,” she muttered. “There’s only an hour and a half until the fireworks.”

We could hear the compere again as Kelly and the others emerged from the darkness, with the tools over their shoulders and softly whistling ‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go’.

The music began again as Kelly and I used the pickaxes to remove the last of the cement while Miss Spiteful and Sapphire dug a trench directly behind the headstone with spades.

After fifteen minutes, Miss Spiteful called a halt and examined our progress.

“Gut! Gut!” she commented. “The gap is big enough now to get the tips of the pickaxes and the crowbar in. We’ve almost dug down to the bottom of the headstone and what we need now is to loosen it and then topple it backwards.”

Kelly and I turned the picks over to Stiletto and Solitaire who, with Sapphire using the crow bar, tried to force the sharp ends of their tools into the small gap between the headstone and the scroll. Miss Spiteful paused in her digging while her slave and I wound ropes around the headstone and laid the trailing ends on the grass. Then we forced wooden wedges into the gaps and assaulted the thicker ends with the sledges hammers while our friends bent on their tools to exert further pressure.

“It moved!” Solitaire called out and we renewed our combined efforts with greater vigour. Suddenly, there was a cracking sound and the wedges slid right into the gap. We gave a muted cheer and Miss Spiteful called for a rest period.

“There’s just over an hour left,” she announced. “After this break we must get the job completed and get out.”

We had piled all of our hats and handbags on top of the granite slab and I retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter from mine. I lit them both and passed one to Kelly, who looked up in surprise. She gave me a grateful smile as she accepted it and we sat together in companionable silence as we smoked.

Miss Spiteful clapped her hands to call us back to work, directing Kelly and myself to haul on the ropes and Stiletto and Solitaire to lever with their picks while she and Sapphire swung the sledgehammers at the headstone.

Kelly and I wound the loose ends of the ropes around our waists in tug of war fashion and then, digging in our heels, began hauling on the ropes.

Our first three heaves produced no results but then, after one mighty sweep of Miss Spiteful’s hammer, we felt the ropes slacken as the headstone shifted.

“All together now!” Miss Spiteful demanded. In slow motion and accompanied by a creak and a sucking noise, the headstone toppled backwards. It did not quite fall flat but remained at an angle a few centimetres above the grass, revealing a dark open space beneath the stone scroll. An indescribable smell emanated from the gap.

“We still need more room,” Miss Spiteful told us. “Everybody on the ropes to haul the headstone out of the way!”

Everyone grasped a rope and, with much tugging and heaving, the headstone was dragged back a couple of metres and laid flat on the grass.

Despite our rising excitement, none of us seemed anxious to be the first to put their head inside the black hole beneath the slab. Eventually, I approached, bent down and shone my torch into the aperture.

I yelped as a white, human skull grinned back at me.

“Shit!” Kelly muttered over my shoulder as her torch picked out the rest of a skeleton crammed into the gap.
Once everyone else had viewed the remains and made their expressions of disgust, Kelly and I dug more earth away to deepen the trench beneath the slab and give us more access to enter. When we had done that, I probed inside with the tip off a pickaxe and there was a clang as it struck something metallic.

Screwing up my courage and my eyes, I groped inside with my hand and it closed over a metal tube. I withdrew my arm and found that I was clutching a rusty machine pistol. Having checked that the firing mechanism was unusable, I set it aside and tried again with the pickaxe. This time I hooked the tip between two ribs and, with Kelly’s assistance, hauled the wretched object out. There was enough remaining tissue, gristle, clothing and webbing holding the skeleton together so that most of it came out at our first attempt. Only parts of the lower limbs were left behind.

Solitaire gasped and turned away as Kelly and I carried the remains past her and laid it on the headstone. Something glinted at the throat of the skeleton and I gingerly lifted it with my forefinger and thumb. I had to snap a thin chain before I could raise it high enough for me to confirm that it was an identity disc. I used a thumbnail to scrape off the grime that encrusted it until I could read the inscription.

The corpse was one, Otto Kroener who had been twenty seven years old and a member of the SS when he died. We found other artefacts such as badges, buttons and a belt plate which confirmed that last fact.

Lifting the skull, and turning it over, exposed a neat round hole at the back.
”Now we know what Von Kreps meant when he said that he had eliminated all the witnesses,” Miss Spiteful observed. “It also means that his is not the only corpse sharing Jurgen’s tomb.”

Despite that she did not make any attempt to join us when Kelly and I went back to the hole under the tombstone slab.
At that moment, the festival music stopped and there was a thunderous and prolonged round of applause. Then the compere began a long series of announcements in German, interspersed with more bursts of applause.

“That’s the start of the prize giving,” Miss Spiteful looked at her watch. “Once they have been handed out, the winners will perform again. There’s just over forty five minutes left. We must hurry now!”

Kelly and I lay flat on our stomachs and directed the beams of our torches into the stygian darkness. The remains of two jackboots, with white bones sticking out, lay on the lip of earth in front of us. Beyond them, the ground dropped away and we could see the lead casing around Jurgen Bosch’s coffin.

A little way along, a white skeletal arm stretched out towards us and following it to the left; we illuminated the skull and the shoulders of another skeleton poking up from the gap between the lead coffin and the stone wall that supported the slab above.

Kelly nudged my arm and I looked over to the right where her torch had located a third skeleton lying in the gap on that side. Both skulls had several holes in them and Kroener had probably given them a short burst each with his machine pistol, when they had completed their task, before he too was despatched by Von Kreps.

Then it was my turn to thump Kelly on the shoulder. There, on the coffin, beyond the corpses of the French Prisoners of War, were some dark square shapes.
”There they are!” I called out. “We’ve found them!”

As our companions overcame their disgust and fear to crouch down behind us for a sight of the treasure trove, Kelly was less enthusiastic.

“Yea. But who is going to crawl in there and pull them out? As if I didn’t know.”                   

“We’ll need the rope,” I told Miss Spiteful and she passed forward a fresh coil from Kelly’s canvas bag.

“I’ll go first,” I volunteered, although what I actually wanted to do was run away as fast as I could.

I pushed the boots forward until they fell into the gap at the head of the coffin and crawled in under the granite slab.

There was about half a metre clearance between the top of the coffin and the underside of the tomb, not enough for me to proceed on my hands and knees, so I went forward like a crab. The top of the lead coffin was covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt which got in my eyes, nose and mouth when I disturbed it. The swirling dust also obscured the beams of the torches and I blindly swung my arms to sweep aside the French prisoners’ remains. It was my head that actually touched something hard and metallic and I traced the outline of the first ammunition box. It was definitely the right shape and size for a two centimetre magazine container and, having located the handle on the fore edge, I knotted the loose end of my rope around it.

I retreated a little way and gave a tug on the rope. Nothing happened. I tried harder and was rewarded with a scraping sound as the heavy box moved a few centimetres.

I reversed again and felt hands grasp my nyloned ankles. Gripping the rope tight, I allowed myself to be dragged back, on my stomach, to the entrance of the tomb, pulling the box behind me.

Kelly helped me out into the sweet, fresh air and I sat on the grass, coughing, spitting and sneezing, as I tried to clear the dust from my airways.

I passed the coil of rope to Miss Spiteful.

"Here, if you want it, you get it out! I need a cigarette." 

By the time that I had taken the first draughts of smoke into my lungs and got over another coughing fit, the ladies had managed the lift the heavy metal box out from the tomb.

They all trained their torches on it and we could read the stencilled markings on the side - PROPERTY OF ALTES MUSEUM - HH 1003.                           

 "Let's open it!" Stiletto declared and was raising a pickaxe over the top when I threw my cigarette down and put up my hand to stop her.

"Nein, nein," I shook my head as I reached down to release the catch and flip the lid up to reveal… sand!

The box was full right up to the brim with sand and our hearts sank. Were these dummy boxes also?

Miss Spiteful plunged a hand into the sand and groped around beneath the surface.

"Verdammt!" She muttered and we all held our breath in anticipation. "There goes another fingernail."

We exhaled as her hand stopped moving and then slowly withdrew upwards.

It emerged clutching an object that resembled a large house brick in size and shape but gleamed brightly in the light of our torches.

We all gasped. It was a gold bar, stamped with the Eagle and Swastika, Deutsche Reichsbank, 12.5 Kilos, Feingold 999.9 and a serial number. It was darker in colour than I had imagined, although the edges and the inscriptions were a brighter yellow.

"Ladies," Miss Spiteful's voice was a hoarse whisper. "This hand has held some of the most influential penises in Europe, including a former King of England. Mein Gott, he had a small one! But it has never grasped anything as valuable as this. You are looking at fifteen and a half thousand dollars!"

To continue this story, click The Festival Is Over

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