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Battleship Prien, the living hell for nazis' prisoners
Authors: Noemi Salvadge & Mister Johnson
Author's emails: Noya2929 [at] gmail [dot] com)
Tags: M/f, M/f+, F/f, F/f+, F+/f+, interracial, modification, snuff, Tit Torture, feet, slavery, bondage, real, torture, nc, Extreme, Scifi
II. Chapter - Nazi pleasures
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Zara always tried to make her orgasms coincide with the atomic engines being turned to full thrust. It was a strange quirk, but powerful with her. She pressed her hands flat against the top of the bunk and she ground her hips down onto the handsome Sergeant. It was like – she was riding both her man and the battleship.
“Oh fuck! Fuck! Do me! Ride me hard, Gunther Prien you miserable bastard! Make me cum or I’ll have you shot!”
And he did. Pleasure took her hard, and in the throes of it she raked cherry red enamelled nails all over his chest. He rolled her over – not easy on the small bunk-bed – and began to ream her with full force. She lifted her trim legs and locked them together around his back – laughing, she squeezed her thighs tight, almost crushing his ribs - and bit him. He came explosively, shooting creamy cum between her thighs, but Zara was fierce, and Zara was unsatisfied. He had to keep going until the ship was at full thrust.
Later – when they were mixed up the sweat stained cotton sheets – Steiner checked his wounds and complained.
“I’ve seen this before. When I was showering after boxing with Gerhard, his skin was shredded like this. Did you…?”
She considered, drawing hard on her cigarette.
“Gerhard? Another sergeant? What does he look like?”
“Blonde hair, big muscles, blue eyes.”
“Oh, that narrows it down! All of you Nazi boys have muscles and blonde hair and big cocks. Hmmm.” She considered. “I suppose it could be. But then, lots of Nazi girls like to claw.”
With smoke still on her breath, she kissed him again.
“I’m going to have a shower. I’m supposed to be on duty in twenty minutes.”
“Torturing deviants?”
“Hm,” she simmered, rubbing her firm breasts against him,” Why do you think I was feeling so horny?”
Zara washed and then dressed in her uniform, enjoying the way the black clothing changed her, made her more sinister. In truth, she was just a slightly petite, chic redhead. Out of uniform, her face was pretty, her smile knowing, her hair cut into a very elegant grown-out crop. In uniform she became Staff Sergeant Lansmuller of the SS ‘Special Action’ division. A woman to be feared. She pulled on elbow length black leather gloves, and then her calf high jackboots, lovingly polished by the prisoners in her care. One quick check in the mirror – a slight adjustment of that peaked cap with its little silver skull – Perfect!
She turned back to the bed, where the Sergeant was still lying. He had clearly enjoyed watching her get dressed. Smirking, Zara put her boot up beside him, giving him a chance to look up her skirt towards her non-regulation lace underwear. Gently, she reached a hand down and stoked the bulge in the blankets, pretending to be surprised by the stiffness she found beneath it.
“Oh, would you like to fuck me in my SS uniform, Sergeant?” she asked politely. When he nodded, a slow, sordid smile crossed her face. “I thought so. Perhaps it’s the thought of all those Lesbians I’m going to be making scream today.”
She kissed him again, this time her lips tasted of toothpaste and mouthwash.
“Be here when I get back. We’ll see about some more fucking.”
It took five minutes for her to ger from the crew quarters to the detention cells. One of her favourite walks, through long tunnels that were more like trenches. Past the hydroponics unit with its great glass water tanks that shed an eerie blue light over the scene. The battleship Günther Prien was constructed on a massive scale, like so many things in the Third Empire. She loved its sense of throbbing power.
She walked into holding cells and selected the equipment she would be using that morning. And who to start with? With these deviants, you went for the weaker first. The older woman who had lived with her shame for so long. She would be the easier of the two to break.
Zara opened the door to the cell and threw a garment towards Geraldine. The prisoner shuffled tiredly to her feet. Years of ingrained obedience. However, she took the opportunity for a stealthily look at the officer. She was far too terrified to think of anything sexual, but Geraldine's profession involved working with people, understanding and occasionally influencing them. In the desperate situation she faced, her only hope was to find a common voice with her captors. For her own and for Ingrid's sakes.
“Remove that black rag you are wearing. You are in my care now. I say how you dress.”
Geraldine did as instructed. There was a conflict between the shame of her predicament, and the shame of nudity, but she complied. Although she was not as young as her lover, or her tormentor, she has a long legged, gawky kind of beauty. Her mouth was wide, her eyes large, shadowed by attractive cheek bones. And her smart brain never stopped whirring. She didn't like the Nazi woman. Physically the officer was more than satisfactory, her face was pretty, almost charming, even her thin, stubbornly clenched mouth increased her overall attractiveness. But the eyes were icy cold, her voice was sharp. The woman radiated an intimidating aura, and in her current tight squeeze Geraldine was intimidated by that. She was slightly, but visibly shaking.
“Sit on your bunk. Hands behind your head.”
Again, Geraldine obeyed, taking a posture that showed off her breasts. She received a sharp slap across the face, which startled her. The blow from the leather glove was sudden and more humiliating than painful, but it served as proof. The Nazis were not playing soft games. Aryan citizen or not, she was to be treated like anybody else in the prisons of swastika. With brutal force.
“Legs. Open them. Display your cunt.”
Wincing, Geraldine forced herself to obey that instruction too. Her knees slowly moved apart, revealing her neatly trimmed crotch. Geraldine never paid too much attention to the sight of her groin. That was again some kind of a youngster fashion Ingrid introduced to her, and after the first passionate evening she kept on carefully shaving and trimming her pubic hairs, letting only a cute triangle at the bottom of her belly grow.
“I am surprised it took you so long. Don’t you think I am a beautiful woman? Well?” the provocative question came and Geraldine's world turned upside down. She sensed danger but was unable to think, to consider what answer was meant to be given.
“Yes.”
Another slap from a gloved hand. Geraldine clenched her eyes shut and painfully snarled for a split second, showing off her perfect teeth.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, the staff sergeant is a beautiful woman.” she moaned softly. At least she managed to recognize the woman's insignia. Uniforms were a basic subject to be learned by heart in elementary schools. God help her if she’d got it wrong.
“And I thought you liked showing your cunt to beautiful women? So why not me? Are you too good for me, is that it? Do you only like to play your sick games with little girls and Russian whores?”
Zara took her face in a gloved hand and pushed her head back, as if searching in her eyes for something. The signs of long dried tears. Oh, she thought, we will freshen those up very soon…
“All those years telling the Gestapo you were persuading young girls to renounce their deviance and become the breeding machines nature intended them to be. And all the while, you were selecting the prettiest for yourself. Your whole life has been a lie. You are a hypocrite. And yet – yes, it is remarkable. You seem – so normal. I wonder if you’ll be the one to survive.” Zara talked and talked, listing all Geraldine's crimes within a few sentences and even accusing her with things she had never committed. The grip around her chin was painful, the thin woman had surprisingly strong fingers. Geraldine wanted to say something, protest or at least correct the Nazi, but the meaning of the officer's last words finally became clear.
“Survive – what do you mean.. I thought..?” the teacher groaned in terrified voice as her lovely green eyes widened to an almost surreal size.
“That you were on your way to an experimentation camp? Yes. You and your little cunt whore. And other women too, all along this corridor. All of you are supposed to reach ‘Neptune’s Heart.’” Now she leaned closer, enjoying the growing fear on Geraldine’s face “But this battleship is far bigger than the facilities you are being shipped to. It lacks the capacity to take all of our prisoners. So – we carry out a little cull on the way. Select the most likely candidates, and we – hm – we ‘loose’ the rest on the way.” Zara finished, but Geraldine's face remained frozen into a truly desperate grimace.
The true reasons for culling the prisoners were slightly different, although only a few people knew the truth. Breeding the Aryan race and experimenting on the human body for humankind's sake was a noble mission, and only the best experimental subjects promised success. As this genetic research would essentially impact the final incarnation of the master race, only whose genome was corruption-free or were only slightly corrupted were considered suitable. Homosexuality had been proven to be partially a genetic disorder, so the deviants must be filtered carefully. The method used was a series of “Forced Emotional Bond Denial Tests“, under which prisoners were tested brutally. Mostly, they were required to betray the subject of their unnatural tendencies, determining whether they were able to sacrifice their lovers. Those who succeeded demonstrated that they were better subjects for the experiments, as their genetic weakness did not completely rule their life. The rest could be liquidated as their torturers saw fit.
Zara kicked the garment on the floor with a toe of her polished boot.
“Put this on. Quickly.”
“What is it?” the prisoner asked, the previous shock leaving her confused her enough to dare open questions. Surprisingly, Zara replied, mostly because she had more humiliating hints to give.
“A harness. It is what sub-human slaves wear aboard ship. And they get into it very quickly, unless they wish to be beaten.”
“When may I take it off?”
Zara laughed. Then she said acidly:
“When you die.”
The teacher shivered, the corners of her mouth curled for weeping, but finally she managed keep her cold blood. She focused on her task - to put that “dress“ on. Geraldine looked at the item – not a garment, just a series of straps. Her face turned to red from the shame. Truly horrifying rumours circulated about the Nazi way of dealing with condemned prisoners, but none of them mentioned such humiliations. Not that she had any choice. Geraldine wriggled into the monstrous thing, squeezing her breasts into the leather bands. Zara quickly did up the catches at the back, pulling it breathtakingly tight.
Geraldine viewed herself in the reflection of the steel walls, and looked horror struck. A net of hide and steel bound her torso. Her breasts were pushed forwards like ripe fruit. Her waste was constricted to the point when it became hard to breathe, and yet – yes, it did turn her rather normal figure into something appealing. Dynamic. A thought flickered through her mind – if only Ingrid could see this. But then, Ingrid probably will. And when she next saw her young lover, no doubt she would have been dressed as a Nazi fuck toy too.
And clearly, that was the idea. The outfit was designed for two things – control and display during rape. There were rings at the back where handcuffs could be fixed to the harness. Another at the throat, where a leash might be attached. And – there was something about that collar which convinced her it could be made very tight indeed. Tight enough to choke the victim if their interrogator desired.
“You look quite lovely,” Zara nodded with approval. “A shame…”
Geraldine decided to give the officer a try. As a psychologist she knew a lot about people's motivation, especially when actions were driven by aggression. This woman was like those pitiful gang leaders in schools, a person who enjoyed and savoured their power over others. She seemed to love the fear surrounding her, and that might have meant she was craving for adoration. Geraldine wanted to satisfy the woman's needs in the strong hope for receiving mercy, or at least some fondness towards her. She suddenly fell onto her kneed in front of Zara, and let her forehead touch the polished toes of the leather boots, keeping her red polished fingers behind the nape of her neck.
“Staff sergeant! I'm so sorry for what have I done! I deserve to be here, I deserve to face justice!“ she halfway said, halfway wept.
Zara smiled, and pushed Geraldine’s face up with gloved fingers. Yes, there is a flicker of real pleasure behind the sadistic smile. This one did love adoration.
“No, lesbian whore, you are not 'sorry'. You do not even know the meaning of the word. But by the Führer, by the time we reach Neptune, you will know what it is to be 'truly 'sorry. You will have begged for death over and over. And who knows?“ She smiled sharply “Perhaps you will be one of the lucky ones, who actually gets to die….“
Listening to Zara's words Geraldine's face froze in horror.
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