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FOUR
    The smell in the interrogation room was subtle and varied and it was a powerful aphrodisiac in its effect on the three Nazis who were examining Frau Helga Nordheim.
    Willi Murtens and Manfred Strobel still held her in that shamefully vulnerable pose, her knees dragged out behind her and down towards the floor drawn back against her naked titties, her arms as one of the subordinates gripped her wrists. Oberst Muller was fondling her calves with his left hand. He had taken off his gloves now so that he might treat himself to the sensual pleasure of caressing the naked woman's bare flesh. It was sweaty now, and there was also the tang of urine in the air, as well as the more erotic scent of her body odor and her cunt. The hair in her armpits was matted with sweat. She had had about twenty strokes of the riding crop over her naked bottom, and her maddened shrieks and hysterical supplications had begun to excite all three of her tormentors. The Gestapo officer had laid the lash on with relish and not too quickly, reveling in this prolongation of his conquest. He had described with loving attention to detail some of the things they were going to do to her unless she talked, and it was then that the fastidious and reserved Helga Nordheim had voided her urine.
    “Roll her over onto her belly now, boys,” he genially directed. “Let's give her a few minutes to rest because she's going to need them before we proceed to a more rigorous part of our examination. That's it! Well now, Helga, that white skin of yours isn't quite so white now, is it? But you'd be amazed how those dark red stripes become you. They make your big Arsch look as it you'd had zebras back in your family three, some generations ago.”
    At this obscene joke, his two assistants laughed hoarsely and exchanged knowing winks with each other. The Herr Oberst was in rare form today. And when he was, he was always generous with the leavings. They would be able to fuck this bitch, even make her suck their cocks, and he wouldn't mind at all. This wasn't one of those important political prisoners who had to be preserved for the headsman with a big open-court trial and write-up in the newspapers and Herr Doktor Goebbels making speeches on the radio calling for the increased loyalty of all good citizens of the Third Reich to stand strong against these corrupted swine who would destroy the glory of Germany. No, she didn't have to be handled with kid gloves. And when they saw their superior officer remove his gloves, they knew it was a sign this sweet bitch with the big Butzen and Arsch was going to be turned over to them in a very little while.
    Helga Nordheim lay there weeping, and she went so far in her ignominious downfall as to put one hand to her bottom and rub it frantically to try to drive away the throbbing, merciless heat which was searing her tender flesh. Once in a while, in their love-play, dear Kurt would spank her, but that was ever so different. It made her shamelessly hot, like a little wanton, and she used to get a blushing thrill out of it in bed. But there was no pleasure in this horrible beating which that vicious brute of an officer had administered so expertly as to make her think she was actually going to die under the pain. White-hot torture had lacerated her flesh until her entire behind felt as if she had sat down on a hot stove and could feel all the serrations of the metal plaques in every single cranny of her bare bottom.
    Terror began to take over in her mind. She had lost all courage now, which was exactly what the Gestapo officer had calculated. Long experience at this sort of diabolical game had taught him with almost scientific accuracy how to predict the breaking point of this prisoner or that, to anticipate the threshold of pain of a sensitive young woman or of a terrified young girl, or of a pampered, fleshy matron who until that moment had never known what it was to stand naked before strangers and have herself fondled and pinched and