Miss Spiteful's War
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?
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
Old Photographs Never Lie
A Fair Exchange For Freedom
The Night Porter
Surgery En Suite
A Stiffie For Sapphire
The Torturous Twins
A Stilletto Up The Back
News From The East
We're Going To Wedding
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
The Sacred Feminine
The Story Of T
The Weight Loss
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
Long Weekend Conclusion
Robin's Electrical Torture
Slave To The Cane
The Escape Artist
The Huntress Caning
The Language School
The Worm's View
The Bossy Bank Women
Episode 13 - The Chevvy With The Fritz On Top
"Drop us off at the front door, Kelly," Miss Spiteful commanded. "You can bring our packages up in the service lift from the basement garage after you have parked the car."
"Yeah, yeah." Kelly muttered as she steered Miss Spiteful's limousine through the Madison Avenue traffic. I was sitting alongside her in the front seat while the other four sat in the back, gossiping and discussing their purchases.
It had been an exciting morning, going from shop to shop on Fifth Avenue and all the other places that we had only heard or read about. Everything had been put on Miss Spiteful's charge account and expense seemed no object as we selected clothes, shoes, hats and accessories. We had finished by visiting a discreet salon where we had bought our lingerie, including waist pinching corsets that had made us all wet with desire (or hard in my case) when we had tried them on.
Lunch in an exclusive restaurant had followed and then an elevator ride to the top of the Empire State Building to view the city panorama and have our photographs taken together.
On the way back to Miss Spiteful's apartment, I had remarked to Kelly on how many 'I like Ike' banners, posters and lapel buttons that I had seen and that Dwight Eisenhower, the Republican candidate must be well ahead in the Presidential election. Kelly, wearing a chauffeur's blue pinstripe suit with a low cut jacket, tailored trousers, white shirt, black tie, court shoes and peaked cap, gave me a disdainful look. She told me that the rich people lived here but, if I went to the poorer side of the city, I would see just as many 'All the way with Adlai' slogans in support of Adlai Stevenson, the Democratic candidate.
I was fascinated by the election, having watched the news and discussion programmes on Miss Spiteful's television. There had been an infant television service in Germany before the war, dominated by Nazi propaganda, and it still not reappeared afterwards. It would take the following year's Coronation in Britain to increase the demand there for sets and the quality of the programmes on the BBC. Kelly was not impressed. Canadians considered that they had a far more civilised government and electoral process than their southern neighbours.
She parked the car between two others and alighted quickly to open the rear door for her mistress. As I got out and walked around the bonnet to join the others on the sidewalk, two men, wearing grey suits and trilby hats, got out of the black Chevrolet parked behind. One man remained behind the wheel of the car and started up the engine. Without warning, the taller of the two men came up behind Miss Spiteful, put his arm around her throat and pressed the barrel of a big Luger pistol against her temple.
"Stand absolutely still!" he barked in German. "Cover them, Fritz!"
The other man had produced a Schmeisser machine pistol and pointed it at us while his companion began walking slowly backwards towards the Chevrolet, dragging his outraged hostage with him. None of us moved. Despite our shock, we all realised that neither would hesitate to use their weapons if provoked.
"Bitches! I'm a going to kill you all!"
Everyone, including the gunmen, swung round in search of the newcomer. Castanelli had appeared from the alley at the side of the apartment building, cradling a Thompson sub machine gun in his arms. As he pointed it at Miss Spiteful and her captor, I screamed, "Down!" and we all flattened ourselves except for her and the gunmen. Fritz turned his Schmeisser towards Castanelli and fired a short burst. The Italian, in his anger, had probably not noticed the other weapons and looked totally surprised as at least two bullets struck him. He staggered back and then fired his gun at Fritz. Castanelli kept his finger on the trigger and Fritz's chest erupted in fountains of blood as he was lifted off his feet and slammed down on top of the Chevrolet. His legs dangled down the side of the car, which was itself riddled with bullets, the windows dissolving into thousands of fragments and the driver being flung back across the front seat as he tried to draw his own gun from inside his jacket.
Castanelli ceased fire but was immediately hit in the chest by two bullets from the Luger of the gunman who was holding Miss Spiteful. He dropped the Tommy gun and crumpled backwards as blood trickled from his mouth. Moments later, Kelly's extended foot kicked the Luger from the German's hand. Miss Spiteful stamped the heel of her shoe on her captor's foot and punched him on the nose and, as he reeled back, Kelly pivoted like a ballerina and the sole of her shoe smashed into the side of the gunman's head. He collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk and Miss Spiteful issued a stream of orders.
"Sapphire! Pop the trunk! Stiletto! Solitaire! Load him up! Kelly! Get Going! Bring him up in the lift and put him in the dungeon! Storm! Check that the others are all dead! Schnell!"
By the time that Sapphire worked out that she was required to open the boot of the car, Stiletto and Solitaire had lifted the unconscious gunman by his wrists and ankles and were waiting to tip him in on top of our shopping and Kelly had started the engine. When the lid was slammed shut, Kelly drove off with a squeal of tyres, swinging the car down the ramp to the garage without reducing speed. I looked at Fritz first, he and the driver beneath him, on the blood spattered front seat, were both dead. Castenelli, lying in a widening pool of blood, lasted for only a few moments more before he too expired. Just to be sure, I kicked all the discarded weapons into to the gutter and then rejoined my friends.
We stood there on the sidewalk, still stunned by the suddenness of what had happened, as people started to emerge from whatever shelter they had taken and the wail of Police sirens grew nearer.
Detective Tom McGiver's pencil was poised over his open notebook.
"So Miss Spiteful, what you are telling me is that when you got out of your car, these guys just appeared, started shooting at each other and that you ladies just happened to be caught in the middle?"
The look of disbelief on his face was apparent but Miss Spiteful crossed her long nyloned legs and gave him one of her sweet and innocent smiles.
"But of course Detective, why would anyone want to shoot at us?"
The rest of us, seated on the couches in Miss Spiteful's drawing room, nodded in silent agreement.
McGiver sighed and scribbled a few notes.
"Well, as usual, every eyewitness tells us a different story but no one saw the third gunman run away as you said he did."
We all let that remark hang in the air and McGiver looked serious.
"Listen, if he was after you and he got away, he could come back. Please be careful. It's not the first time that you have had trouble. Are you sure that you didn't know him or any of the others?"
Miss Spiteful waved one of her manicured hands at him. "Mister Castanelli had recently visited my Gym for a fitness session. Perhaps he was coming here to book another one but he was the only man that I recognised."
McGiver snapped his notebook shut. "Why do I feel that I'm being snowed? Anyway, both of the DOA's had false ID but their clothes were made in Germany and Switzerland. I'll send their fingerprints to Interpol. That's it, apart from the fact that you shouldn't have moved your car, even if you didn't want to get any bullet holes in it."
Miss Spiteful stood up for him to kiss her and, as soon as he had departed, she called out for Kelly.
"Yes Mistress?" She responded, putting her head round the door.
"Has the Maid Mary arrived yet?"
"Yeah. She wasn't happy to see all the cops and press outside so she came up in the service lift, changed and made a start on cleaning the kitchen."
"Good," Miss Spiteful replied. "I don't want her anywhere near the dungeon for the next hour. Scatter some of our lingerie around and leave out some of your boy to girl photo magazines. That should keep her occupied."
Miss Spiteful took her jacket off and unzipped the side of her skirt.
"Come on, Girls. Strip off. There's not enough time to get changed. We'll have to do this in our undies."
We all hastily divested ourselves of our outer clothing and followed Miss Spiteful into the dungeon where the gunman had been stripped naked, gagged and suspended by chains in the whipping frame.
His eyes bulged when he saw us and he rattled his wrist and ankle chains but was unable to move more than a few centimetres. His clothes and other belongings were piled on a side table and Miss Spiteful examined the contents of his wallet.
"You don't look like Joseph Murphy from Milwaukee to me. Achtung!" She suddenly snapped and the prisoner stiffened perceptibly.
"Ja. Old habits die hard, don't they?" She checked on the inside of his armpit and found the same scar tissue there as myself where the SS blood group tattoo had been removed. She removed his gag and then, picking up a short whip, lashed him across the buttocks six times. Her expensive lilac underwear was stretched taut across her breasts and waist as she administered the blows. The prisoner was howling in shock and pain when Sapphire stepped up to look him in the face.
"You were the one who threatened me on the tram in Zurich," she accused.
"So," Miss Spiteful spoke in the prisoner's ear. "This is was not just a chance encounter. You've been following and threatening us for months. You're a Nazi. Either Gestapo or SS, so you know who we are and what we are capable of. Tell us, why after seven years, are we suddenly being bothered?"
He shook his head and she hit him three more times, her swinging breasts straining the lacy cups of her brassiere. When the prisoner's screams had subsided, she spoke to him again.
"That little man that you shot downstairs had just spent the night in this frame. Can you imagine what we did to him that made him come back and try to kill us?"
He refused to answer but little beads of sweat had broken out on his brow.
"No? Then let us give you a little demonstration."
Stiletto, with her tray of pins, moved in and started thrusting them into his body with no concern as to whether there was enough loose flesh for then to pass through. The gunman howled and writhed, especially when she seemed dissatisfied with the insertions through his testicles, withdrew the pins, and started again. Blood spots spattered her bare skin, her pink underwear and her black nylons.
"Nein, nein, nein," our victim sobbed as blood flowed down his pierced body and Miss Spiteful motioned for Stiletto to stop.
"What is your real name and who sent you after us?" she demanded.
The gunman mumbled something and she snapped at him. "Louder!"
He raised his head and responded, "Heil Hitler!"
"Very well," Miss Spiteful hissed at him. "Miss Stiletto just despises you and her husband shot two of your friends who attacked her but Miss Solitaire here, hates you because you threatened her children. I leave you to her."
Solitaire, who was dressed in a black, tight boned basque with long suspenders going down to her black stocking tops, had put on a pair of thick rubber gloves and was holding the branding iron. A long metal tip, glowing red, had replaced the brand. I had never seen her face so dark with anger, her eyes gleaming like black opals behind her spectacles. When she touched the tip to his genitals, his body arched in pain and there was a smell of burning flesh. His long agonised scream battered our ears, even after Solitaire lifted the branding iron and increased in volume when she placed it in the gap between his buttocks. He jerked and screamed as she moved the iron around his body, leaving red burn marks on his nipples, his armpits, across his buttocks and the insides of his thighs. By the time that the first blisters swelled up, he had had enough, rattling his chains and begging for the torture to stop. Miss Spiteful put up her hand and Solitaire turned away, her face still twisted with rage.
“Namen?” Miss Spiteful demanded.
“Helmut Plutz,” he gasped.
“Rank?” was the next question.
”Obersturmfuhrer,” he gasped.
“Now,” Miss Spiteful said, almost pleasantly. “I don’t want to have to keep asking you questions. You will tell us who you and your friends work for. What it is that we are supposed to know or have that you want and why, after seven years, you have come after us. Be warned! If I think that you are lying or not telling me everything, Miss Solitaire will burst your blisters and pour salt on them. Further, Miss Sapphire and Miss Storm have yet to start on you. Speak!"
Plutz gulped, licked his lips and howled again when Miss Spiteful encouraged him with a swipe of her whip across one of his blisters. Closing his eyes against the pain, he began to babble information.
"We are all SS Werewolves. We work for ODESSA to protect Nazis from persecution, deal with traitors, and recover Nazi assets and to uphold the memory and ideals of the Fuhrer and the Nazi Party."
He paused to gasp for breath.
"We were assigned by Reichsfuhrer Himmler to watch Von Kreps, although he was told that we were under his orders. He was ordered to move the final shipment of Himmler's assets from the Reichsbank and either get them out of Berlin or conceal them until they could be recovered. He was to report, by signal, to the Reichsfuhrer's Headquarters how and when his mission had been accomplished. We went with him to withdraw the assets from the vaults and he told us that, once he had eliminated you the following day, he had arranged for us to leave Berlin in an armed convoy. But, that night, he, two French prisoners of war and SS Unteroffizier were seen taking the boxes from the dungeon where it was stored. They gave us the slip and, when he turned up at Gestapo Headquarters the next morning, he told us that he had put the assets in a safe place and we could collect them later. We saw you all leave with passes signed by him but he had disappeared. We searched everywhere but we could not find him or the boxes and the other three had not returned with him."
"Assets? What assets?" Miss Spiteful interjected.
"Over one million Reichmarks in gold bars and some foreign banknotes," Plutz croaked. "Himmler had already moved his diamonds and most of his gold, but the Fuhrer would have been suspected that the Reichsfuhrer was not coming back to Berlin if he had cleared his personal vault at the bank all at once."
"Go on." Miss Spiteful ordered, her voice a husky whisper. We too were holding our breaths, anxious not to miss a word.
"We telephoned the Reichsfuhrer and he was incandescent with rage, as Von Kreps had not signalled the location of where he had hidden the gold overnight. We were ordered to find him and track you down as you were the last to be seen with him. But you had disappeared from your homes, Hartemann's address was in the battle zone and we found that the Ivans were looking for you all as well. Then the Fuhrer died, Berlin fell, Himmler committed suicide and we were ordered to go underground to carry out our Werewolf duties. It was some time later when we were contacted by Otto Skorzeny who told us that we now worked for him and ODESSA and that we had to recover the Reichsfuhrer's gold. We enquired all over the world but it was only last year that Scrauben there," he nodded towards Sapphire, "was spotted at a funeral in Berlin. We traced her back to Zurich, intercepted her mail and telephone and gradually got all of your addresses, except Hartemann's. You had to be the only people who knew what had happened to Von Kreps and the bullion."