Free Slaves of the Swastika by Kenneth Harding

rut. She wasn't so high and mighty and intellectual now, this bitch wasn't. Herr Gott, but she smelled strong of piss and sweat! And she was certainly tight. He didn't know what kind of a cocksmith that Professor husband of hers was, but she felt damned tight and good to his spear!
    “Slip a finger into her asshole, Manfred boy,” the Oberst salaciously muttered, “you'd be surprised how many bitches get a kick out of it. I think Helga has a good enough intelligence to know that is we give her pleasure, she has to reciprocate in kind, nicht wahr? Let me see you make her wriggle a little, Manfred boy!”

    Nothing loath, the tall angular private slid his right hand under her buttocks, and his forefinger found the plump dainty fissure of her virgin asshole. He pried apart the shrinking and twitching lips, felt the ring of sphincter muscles clutch frantically as his fingertip just entered the lobbyway to her rectum, and then he gouged his finger in to the knuckle, enjoying her gasps and moans and stammered pleas, as her hips and loins arched and squirmed helplessly.
    At the same time, he quickened his digs inside of her and then suddenly uttered a bellow of excited and disappointed rapture... he had just lost control of his damned-up sperm, and had burst forth in a bubbling torrent deep inside Helga Nordheim's womb.
    Reluctantly he pulled out with a squishy “Plop!” and Helga moaned and turned her head to the other side, her eyes now closed, her naked titties rising and falling erratically.
    No sooner had Manfred Strobel clambered down from the table than Willi Murtens, without even bothering to let down his trousers, simply unbuttoned the fly and liberated his bulging prick. It was broader and thicker than his companion's, and he at once flung himself down on the table and over the whimpering naked captive. He did not mind the wetness of her vaginal sheath, for there was a perversity in his mind which gave him great pleasure in degrading any female captives who fell into the hands of his master. With savage, jerking thrusts, he impaled her to his balls at each stroke, and Helga Nordheim's face began to turn this way and that, her eyes rolling and then closing, her brows furrowed, her fingers clawing into her palms as she arched and strained and twisted to evade this violently zealous penetration.
    Like his comrade, he thrust his forefinger into Helga's asshole and began to work it energetically in and out, drawing whimpering sobs and groans from the unhappy captive. Her body jerked and shuddered as he plunged back and forth inside of her, his teeth set, his eyes squinting with an evil glow. And when at last he flooded her cunthole with his bubbling gush, she writhed and sank back, face turned to one side, her titties heaving, half fainting. But she had not yet attained climax.
    The Oberst had lighted a cigarette now and was amusing himself blowing smokerings up at the ceiling as he watched his two subordinates ravage the naked wife of the missing Professor Nordheim. When Willi Murtens had concluded his rape, he now gave an order in a barked-out angry tone: “I want this whore hung by the heels from that hook in the ceiling, you understand? Bind her wrists behind her back, and let her dangle upside down. If the blood rushes to her head, perhaps she'll recover her memory along with that. And at the same time, having watched you two go at her as if she were a piece of liver from the butcher shop, I'm going to show you gentlemen how to enjoy oneself with a handsome bitch like Helga Nordheim!”
    The unfortunate naked woman hardly had strength left to resist her tormentors as they laughingly dragged her from the table and to the center of the room. There they roughly set her down on the floor on her back, and while Willi Murtens crouched over her and held her by the wrists, his colleague looked up at the ceiling and saw a heavy metal hook from which was tied a sturdy rope. He caught the end of the rope and made a slip-noose,