Posted by NBabe on October 27, 1999 at 10:16:39:
June 2, 1944
:::Click, click, click, click::::The sounds of heel plates on concrete increase in amplitude to the ears of the guard outside what appears to be an old warehouse in a deserted portion of Northeast Paris. The guard in his well fitted SS uniform stands at rigid attention. His eyes the only stray of his demeanor as they behold the approaching amazon.
At nearly six feet in height, Ingrid Von Strubhoff certainly appears to be an offspring of one of those women of mythology. The guard can also visualize her in his head mounted on a horse with spear and breastplate as one of the Valkyries of the Wagnerian Operas that the Fuhrer so loves and that he himself saw performed in Berlin about a year earlier.
Ingrid has the type of green eyes that remind a man of the deep bottomless lakes of the Bavarian highlands. Her lips have a pouty quality and are full and ruby red. A man can only imagine how they feel on him and how he would like to crush them to his own. She wears a heavily starched brown uniform shirt. It looks little like a uniform on her well-formed body.
The shirt has been special tailored to fit close to her flat belly and to hug her very ample breasts. It’s starch making the cotton fabric rough enough that it has rubbed on her nipples making them hard and rigid even against its fabric. Ingrid obviously does not prefer to wear a bra and the delineation of her nipples attracts attention. A swastika armband is around her left biceps.
The guard can’t help but think in his mind. My God, they have to be at least 36 inches and at least a C cup. In reality, he is wrong, they are really 38 inches and gently bounce under her shirt as she walks and her 6 inch black stiletto heels hit the pavement. The guard can feel more than his spine beginning to stand at attention.
Ingrid’s brown shirt is adorned by several medals pinned on her by the Fuhrer himself. Some have heard she is one of the few who have actually had a private audience with him. The shirt tucks into a brown skirt. Contrary to the style of the times, her skirt’s hem is at 12 inches above her knees. It holds tight around her shapely thighs and rises up when she sits.
Rumor has it that enemy pilots who have been captured actually enjoy sitting across the room from her while she interrogates them. It isn’t like she does not know the effect she has on men; it is more like she counts on it to get the effect she wishes.
Her legs are long and firm and smooth in appearance. The guard can only guess at how hot her thighs get when she is aroused and at the heat, wetness and scent when her passions reach her groin. Finally, she reaches him and a small smirk crosses her lips as they open to speak. She sees that he is very happy to see her.
“Good Evening corporal”
“Good evening Frauen Major”
“Has the Gestapo delivered the prisoners yet?”
“Yes, they are in your special interrogation room in section C3”
“Thank you corporal”
Ingrid walks by her firm tight arse gently swaying. Her long blonde hair swinging from side to side. The corporal’s eyes follow her admiring how the well-curved derriere fits with the rest of the perfect body that has just passed him. A wicked little grin appears on Ingrid’s lips as she passes. She has noticed the extreme stiffness of the corporal’s body as it salutes hers.
She finds him handsome, but alas, she is an officer and he is an enlisted. She does believe in discipline, oh does she ever believe in discipline especially when she purveys it. Ingrid walks in and the click of her heels marks her movement down the hall until she gets to the door of her “special” interrogation room.
She opens the door and enters. Her eyes are immediately filled with the display of “toys” in her lair. Multitudes of various kinds of electrical equipment, knives, needles, and some devices of her own creation fill the room. She looks to the center and sees the prisoners. One is a young Pilot. American by the insignia on his shirt, his pants removed and sitting on the floor.
He is almost as tall as Ingrid and quite good looking for an enemy. His name is Tom Baker. He has short brown hair and brown eyes and is well tanned. His collar has the insignia of a full colonel. He is laying on his back on a surgical type table, a little wider than the normal being wide enough for two to lay very close to each other. His wrists are tied and secured over his head and his legs spread and tied by the ankles.
As she approaches she can see that even in his captive state, that he is a man that appreciates a female body, particularly one as sexy and seductive as hers. She smiles as she sees the activity taking place inside his shorts.
On a similar table next to him lies a naked French girl named Giselle. Nothing to brag about, not overly beautiful, but not by any stretch ugly. Her reddish hair is cropped short not reaching her shoulders. It is matched in color farther down as Ingrid takes in her full body. Her breasts measure perhaps 34 and are most likely and A. Her belly does not have the flat hardness of Ingrid’s. Though fairly flat, there are a couple small bulges.
On the other side of Giselle, there is a German girl named Ariel. A traitor to the Fatherland, who was trying to help the American Flyer to escape. Her blonde hair reaches her shoulders and her blue eyes are like the sky. Her body much better than Giselles although her breasts are nearly the same size they are more in the range of C cups. Her belly is flat as the Rhine plains. Her pubic hair is plastered with dried semen and some spots are on her separated inner thighs. She had been captured in bed with the American.
Ingrid looks at her and runs a fingertip down her warm body. “I have some special fun for you, my dear.” She hisses in the blonde’s ear. “I hope he was worth it you filthy traitorous bitch.”
“Something you will never know, whore” Ariel screams.
She is met by a backhanded slap. Her head snapping to the side with the force of the blow. Her blonde hair flying and her breasts bouncing from the recoil.
Ingrid laughs and unzips her short brown skirt. She folds it and lays it on a chair. Button by button, she unbuttons her shirt and hangs it on a hook on the clothes tree nearby. She stands in the midst of the prisoners in her high heals, black silk, crotchless panties, black garter and long dark nylons. Her breasts bounce gently as she moves and the colonel’s eyes are fixed on her body. His body responding to the movements of hers he is seeing. She then kicks off her shoes.
Ingrid goes to Giselle first. The girl looks at her in total fear and horror. She has heard stories of those that have been taken to the Nazi bitch but have never returned.
“I…..I….I don’t know anything. You do want me to tell you about the underground don’t you?”
“No dear, not at all. I want you to die.” Ingrid laughs a laugh full of cruelty.
With that she picks up a set of knives. There are ten in all with one hunting knife with 12-inch blade lying in the middle of them. She moves to turn on a movie camera. I have to have evidence. The silly Gestapo can’t seem to keep someone alive through all of these. Then again they are mostly from peasant stock, what could one expect.
She lays the tray on the edge of the table holding Giselle. The girl squirms on the cold stainless steel. Ingrid takes the first knife. It and all its mates are about 6 inches long and the blade is only a half-inch wide. She places the tip at the base of the girl’s left nipple and angles it’s path to pass just under the nipple through the breast and exit at the side. Giselle screams as the pain invades her brain and she feels the warm blood cover the inside of her breast flowing into the valley between breasts and a second flow down the side of her body.
Ingrid only grins and takes a second knife and saws into the nipple of the girl’s right breast and down deep into the breast itself until it is almost divided into a top and bottom half. More screams and squirm come from Giselle. Two more knives pierce small love handles on the girl’s sides from top to bottom. Striking mostly skin and fat tissue under, they cause mostly pain and more blood.
Two more knives are driven into her thighs. Once from the outside of each with the point just poking through her inner thigh. Her thighs twitch and her ass squirms in the increasingly larger pool of blood under her. “That’s 6” Ingrid grins. She then takes two more and carefully puts them through the girls shoulder just below the collar bone and wiggling them to move the bone making the girl shriek.
The ninth takes a path from the girl’s armpit, between her ribs and through the top of her lung and out her upper chest. Some blood flows from her mouth and down her smooth cheek and neck. Ingrid picks the girl’s head up by the hair. “Don’t you dare die on me yet,” she yells. The girl blinks and whimpers her body shaking uncontrollably.
The tenth and last of the matching knives is removes and Ingrid licks the length of its flat side. She places the tip in the girl’s navel and twists it as she pushes like screwing in a corkscrew. The knife forges a hole through her navel and into her guts. Her back arches but by now only small moans and whimpers escape her lips. Ingrid reaches for the large long hunting knife. She admires her work for a second looking at Giselle’s bloody yet living body. “This will be a record.” She takes the large knife and places the point at Giselle’s hot wet opening to her vagina. She uses all her might to shove it to the hilt into the girl’s pussy and then to twist it. The blood flows freely around the steel intrusion. She can feel the girl’s muscles contract on the blade in some strange orgasm.
Sweaty, Ingrid steps away and washes her hands in a basin. Horrified at what he has seen, Tom’s shaft is still hard as a rock as he views Ingrid’s body with the small beads of sweat on her breasts.
Ingrid knows Giselle is slowly dying as her life’s blood seeps from her twitching body. She figures the reality of death will meet the assuredness of it in about a half-hour. She turns then to put her attention on Ariel.
Ariel squirms and struggles against restraint. She is already bleeding slightly from the wrists. Ingrid looks at the dried semen on Ariel’s inner thigh. “You screwed a lot of American’s” she asks. Ariel doesn’t answer and a closed fist introduces itself to her face. Her lip bleeds slightly but puts the salty metallic taste of blood in her mouth.
She spits at Ingrid; a small drop of blood strikes her ample tit just below the nipple. “Not like you bitch, you have probably screwed the entire general staff and most their livestock” Ariel hisses. Ingrid only laughs as she wipes the blood off with a towel.
Ingrid picks up a number of alligator clip electrical connections with wires running between them and a large black box like device. The clips have strong springs and sharp teeth. She clips one to each of Ariel’s nipples. The spring closes the clamp and the teeth bite into the tender flesh. She puts one more at the lower base of each of the girl’s tits where they give way to her flat belly.
Three clips bite into the skin of her belly with one on the edge of her navel. A clip is attached to her clit where it bites into the tender sensitive spot. One clip for each side of her slit on the labial fold and one for each inner thigh. Ingrid then takes an inch in diameter metal rod with wires to the box and shoves it into Ariel’s hot wet opening. Ariel squirms as the cold metal slides deep into her stretching her inner walls.
She then sets some dials. “The machine will deliver one jolt of electricity each 5 seconds. It will increase in voltage and amperage between each jolt from that point on until you DIE.”
She turns on the machine and watches. The first few jolts bring obvious pleasure. Ariel’s nipples fight back at the clips, her clit swells, her thighs twitch and get warmer, and her groin becomes more and more sopping wet. Her back arches and she moans this continues as Ariel plainly appears to be having a multiorgasmic experience. Ingrid grins knowing the pain will come and turns her attention to tom.
She climbs up on the cold table beside him. Her body hot from the days work and moist with sweat. Her scent fills his nostrils. Her sexy body presses on his as her leg rests on his, her inner thigh burning. Her hand moves over his stomach and down to trace his manhood inside his briefs.
She can feel it hot and throbbing and straining to be free. She reaches under the elastic waistband and wraps her fingers around it as she kisses his chest. On the far table, Ariel begins to feel the pain and starts to scream. His thoughts are only that he wishes he was with this woman under different circumstances.
Soon, her talented fingers have his hard shaft sticking out the hole in his briefs like a flagpole. She rises to her knees and swings her leg over him, her hips over his and as she lowers, one hand spreads the opening in her panty’s crotch and then her own labia while the other guides his shaft to her opening and to stretch her with its first penetration.
She moans and gives herself over to pleasure for a moment. She rocks gently like any lover as she works his large shaft down deep inside of her. By now she is wet and very hot as she moves sliding him against her wet and slippery inner walls. Those walls working hard to grasp him and hold him within her. She only wishes she could feel his warm hands on the cool flesh of her ample boobs, but settles for the look in his eyes as they follow each and every jiggle.
As she moves, she lowers her body and lets her nipples move over his chest as she slowly crushes her breasts on his chest as her clit grinds against his pubic bone. She then sits up again to get the full range of thrust in and out of her hot depths. From the corner of her eye she can see Ariel’s body twisting violently in agony and can smell the flesh begin to burn. She smiles as she can swear she sees steam exit from around the rod in Ariel’s pussy.
She grinds on his groin and humps her unwilling lovers dip stick until the throbbing of it and her own approaching orgasm tell her he is about to deposit gobs of semen into her sperm bank. With the first spasms and accompanying deposits, she reaches to a drawer behind her in the table end. She takes out a long dagger with black handle with a swastika enlayed in it.
As her body shudders in orgasm and Tom’s back arches as he drives into her delivering his load, she raises the dagger with both hands and drives it down into his belly just above the navel. His eyes open as he feels his skin split and he yells out in pain as it slices through his guts and its point ends in his spinal cord, making his legs and arms twitch beyond control.
She dismounts him and goes and kisses his lips with her full warm ones her tongue swirling in his mouth as he squirms. Another drawer, this time she takes out a 9mm Luger. She walks to Giselle. The French girl’s eyes are staring into space in death. Her blood already was drying on her body. She then goes to Ariel. “Sorry I don’t have time for the current to finish you.”
She aims the barrel at the girl’s forehead. It spits out a bullet of hot lead followed by burning powder. The bullet shatters the girl’s forehead just before the burning powder burns the soft tender skin, while the bullet rips through her brain and blows bone, blood, and brain tissue out the back of her head onto the table as it exits, as her eyes roll up to her forehead and stare into space. Her body still twitches from the current.
Ingrid goes to Tom and watches him squirm for about 15 minutes. At a point, she even twists the blade inside him. “Sorry baby, you would have made a good lay if conditions were different.”
“At least you didn’t get any information” he says.
“I never do,” she says, “ I make up stories and the dumb Gestapo just keeps bringing me playthings to occupy my time. “
She aims the pistol once more and fires one shot. It quickly smashes through his sternum and explodes in his heart. Within seconds the stare of death is in his eyes.
Ingrid washes and dresses again. Her starched brown uniform shirt and tight miniskirt hardly show a wrinkle and no hint of the days events. She puts her shoes back on and fixes her hair so that she can tease the corporal once more as she exits and goes back to her apartment.
The Gestapo will make the bodies disappear. They are good at that. Some field somewhere outside the city will have a shallow grave for three, or some incinerator will have additional fuel today. The Bitch of Paris’ work is done.
August 25, 1946
Ingrid Von Strubhoff the feared Bitch of Paris was captured 5 days after “D” day while trying to escape. She was held in prison until after the war and tried. The movies she had made being the best evidence against her as no living witnesses, German, French, English, or American could be found. She was sentenced to death by hanging and today the sentence will be carried out.
Ingrid has been stripped to make sure she has no weapons or anything to cheat the hangman. Her execution will be held in private. Her hands are tied behind her back and she is brought to the scaffolding. Led up the stairs by the hooded hangman while the only two witnesses watch. General Baker and his wife Diane, the parents of Colonel Tom Baker.
The hangman stations Ingrid over the trapdoor and places the noose over her head pulling her long blonde hair out from under the rope. He tightens the rope as out of sight of the witnesses he sneaks a fondling of her breast. It is warm, firm and her nipple hard as her lips curl in an evil smile.
The General nods and the hangman pulls a lever and her luscious body drops through the hole. Just as ordered, the drop is too short to break her neck and as the rope tightens and burns an impression in her tender flesh, her legs begin to thrash about and her boobs bounce as she twists on the rope. The rope tightens more and her tongue sticks slightly out of her mouth and some spit rolls down her chin dripping on her ample boobs.
Her lips and cheeks turn a bluish color as her eyes bulge and she tries to gasp for air as her lungs feel like they will explode inside her chest. The general watches for 45 minutes as her legs twitch and her body twists and turns and dances on air on the rope until her last breath and her limp body turns on the rope as if pushed by a small breeze.
The general and his wife exit as she is cut down and the hangman places her magnificent body on a gurney and pushes it down the hall to the morgue and turns it over to Joseph the mortician. “One Bitch of Paris, DOA”
Joe admires the body and makes use of its still warm and damp openings, making his deposits of admiration in her damp mouth and her still warm and wet vagina before preparing the body for burial and in a fit of curiosity, he dresses her in a long black gown, small black hat, and soft black leather gloves to the elbows before laying her in a coffin and taking her to the cemetery to be buried in a dark corner. All the while thinking, what a waste, why can't I ever find one like this that is living?
The newspaper headlines the next day just read, BITCH OF PARIS DIES.