My name is Marla Eton.  I’m a 43-year-old Briton, currently living what I consider to be my dream life with Julio, a considerate, handsome, late-thirty-something Italian university art history instructor and avid painter, here in sunny Italy.  Ever since my stressful divorce from a Fleet Street solicitor four years ago, I’ve lived here in the beautiful Tuscan countryside, an hour’s drive from Florence, were I now work part-time as a visiting professor of Linguistic Anthropology. 

 

Several years ago, seeking both solace and diversion following my divorce, I embarked on a two month mini-sabbatical to South America.  I traveled to Argentina were I did some of the final investigative research I needed in order to finish my Ph.D. thesis, the subject of which addresses with the lack of native language evolution among European immigrants to the Americas.

 

While rummaging for transatlantic linguistic material in a dark, musty old government document storage bin in Buenos Aires, I stumbled across a journal, a tattered-edged daily diary of sorts, handwritten in German.  I discovered the hardbound, dust covered ledger in a smelly, unventilated subterranean cellar whose ceiling was unceremoniously decorated with drain pipes and a single, dim, dangling light bulb.  My Argentine hosts were lead to believe that the room was once part of the archives for the Argentine National Office of Immigration.  Its contents had apparently never been moved when the ministry relocated to a trendier neighborhood some thirty years earlier.

 

The cool, dark gray concrete walls of the windowless archive were stacked high with dusty, sagging cardboard boxes crammed with paper files.  The files contained mostly official looking documents taken off German and Italian citizens entering Argentina in the mid-20^th-century.  That moment in which I first opened the dusty, aging ledger was one I will never forget.  I was instantly transported back to another time as I gazed at pages meticulously written using an old style fountain pen.  The penmanship, clearly from another era, was immaculate. 

 

The text had sat undisturbed for decades in a box full of seemingly unrelated immigration files.  What had brought my attention to it was its binding.  I had seen that exact color and style of  binding once before while searching through a war documents archive in Frankfurt.  It was the official, military issue binding of a German war log, a journal used to record an individual German army unit’s daily activity and movement. 

 

Much like a ship’s log, this army field journal would have been the responsibility of an individual unit’s Commanding Officer.  For a Company, a unit of maybe 250 soldiers, it would have been kept by a Captain, or in the case of a smaller unit, by a Lieutenant.  Every German military unit, right down to the 35-man platoon, was required to keep this journal, and to make at least cursory daily entries.   

 

If the Company Captain was lucky enough to have one, he may have dictated the journal entries to a scribe, who was most likely a senior sergeant in possession of penmanship and spelling skills.  A unit’s scribe, often a conscripted school teacher, would assist the unit’s Captain with official communications, and would write a condolence letter, in the Captain’s name of course, to the parents of any soldier kill in action.      

 

While I won’t pretend to be even remotely fluent in the wonderful German language, as I browsed through the pungent leaves of this yellowing military log book, I became suspicious that it had not been used for its intended purpose such as I had witnessed in Frankfurt, but had been used, possibly, as a soldier’s personal diary.  Was it confiscated and placed with these archival documents because it was thought to be part of official Nazi military records?  I could only guess.

 

Fascinated by what I had found, I tucked the ledger under my jacket, confident it would never be missed by a nation whose authorities couldn’t distinguish a fleeing Nazi from a sub-Saharan  refugee. 

 

Upon returning to Italy I invited a German acquaintance from the university, who I will only refer to as Anna, to visit Julio and I out at our old Tuscan farmhouse.  Anna, like myself, had in her mature years developed a penchant for Italian companionship and an equal distain for middle-aged northern European males.  After a half hour of small talk and a half liter of claret, Anna agreed to painstakingly translate and transcribe the entire handwritten journal into English for me. 

 

Two months passed before her Volvo graced the gravel driveway of Julio’s farm again. As she stood on the portico, thick transcript in hand, I could tell from the look on her face that’s something deeply troubled her.

 

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

 

Tears welled up in Anna’s eyes as she struggled to answer, turning to avoid eye contact.

 

“It’s so horrible” she said.

 

I took Anna by the hand and led her to a creaky old wicker sofa in the veranda as a warm Tuscan afternoon breeze drifted through the house. Without speaking a word I poured us each a glass of lightly chilled pinot, glancing up at Anna for any sign of what was wrong.

 

Anna, a buxom, forty-something native Berliner with a short brunette bob, struggled for the best choice of English words, words which percolated haltingly from her lips as tears welled in her eyes.

 

“It is a diary, written by a German officer, SS I believe, who was in charge of a special group of soldiers, about 200 or so of them from what I could gather.  The job of this special group was, simply, to terrorize civilians.  The company traveled from place to place throughout Europe on orders from some high Nazi official.  Sometimes Germany, occasionally France, and the Low Countries, but mostly Czechoslovakia, Poland, and Hungary, terrorizing villages with rape, torture and murder on orders from above.”

 

“This is a special squad of monsters had no other purpose but to terrorize innocent civilians.  These horrible Nazi killers raped hundreds, maybe thousands of girls and women; even young boys.  They tortured and killed to get information from, and seek revenge on, those whose villages where known to harbor underground resistance fighters.”

 

“Their goal was to instill such unimaginable terror among the villagers that they would give up the names and hiding places of the underground resistance. These Nazi monsters did the most horrible things imaginable.  They had a blank check to write their own living nightmares. They tortured and killed young boys and old men alike.  They raped young girls as their fathers were forced to watch.  They killed poor, defenseless old men as their grandchildren looked on. They forced sisters and mothers to have sex with their own sons and brothers.”

 

“They stripped an entire family naked, then forced them to slowly walk humiliated through town to their execution the entire village looked on.”

 

Raising her head to make eye contact for the first time since she began to speak, Anna said “Marla, this journal was written by a monster, a real, living monster.  Each time I turned another page I prayed that it was not true, that the next page would say this was all made up, just some sick, pervert’s pathetic attempt at fiction or fantasy.  But I’m afraid my hope was in vain.  I’m certain it is real, Marla.  It is just too unbelievably horrible to imagine. I want to believe this is fiction, but, but ….”

 

Anna’s voice trailed off as she placed her face down in her hands and began to weep.  I reached my arm around her shoulders in a vain attempt to comfort her, knowing there was nothing I could say or do until I had read her English transcript of the diary myself.

 

“What do you have there that is so interesting” Julio asked me later that night as I huddled in a leather chair near a corner, reading from the thick stack of white translated papers.  I didn’t reply, but kept reading, transfixed.”

 

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August 17, 1941

 

We are in western Ukraine, just east of the Polish frontier. We are encamped just outside   a small village. This morning, just before we broke our encampment, I gathered the men and informed them of our next mission.  In support of Operation Barbarosa, the Fuehrer’s recently initiated plan for the conquest of Russia, our orders today are to neutralize the nearby village of Orbstecz, where known underground resistance operatives were being harbored. 

 

These orders, sent to me in code via the wireless last night from SS intelligence headquarters in Berlin, mandate that our unit uncover the village’s subversives at all cost, and, if possible, take them alive and interrogate them to obtain information vital to the Reich’s cause.

 

I mounted my half-track and headed the one kilometer east to Orbstecz, confident that my men would achieve today objectives.

 

 

August 17, 1941 (continued)

 

As soon as our entourage of gray halftracks noisily pulled into the main square in Orbstecz I deployed three machine gun squads to seal off the main exit routes out of the village.  Our maps showed there were two stone-paved roads, one each to the east and west, and an unpaved farm road to the south. A fourth squad was ordered to patrol the village perimeter on foot with orders to shoot any escapees who refused to turn back.

 

Once the village perimeter was secure, all village males not working in the fields were ordered from their bungalows, rounded up, and marched under armed guard to a nearby covered livestock corral, a sort of large swine stable if you will, which was currently empty of pigs and cows.

 

Putting important things first, the men were first ordered to hand over any gold they might have in their possession. Surprisingly, a number of these peasants actually possessed a few gold coins.

 

The gold coins my sergeant collected this morning were placed, as usual, in my personal, securely padlocked, strongbox. Yes, rank does have its privileges. You see, unlike these icon worshiping peasants who would only waste this precious gold on hopelessly worthless prayers from the local priest, I, on the other hand, am a very practical man.  Should this war not go my way, I will have enough funds to start a comfortable new life in South America, joining my cousin Karl in Buenos Aires.

 

After the village men freely gave up their gold rings and coins, they were ordered to strip completely, pile their clothes at their feet, and stand at attention with their hands atop their heads.  My soldiers then carefully searched each man’s person and clothes, finding that one man had failed to turn over a gold coin from his pockets. We all make mistakes in life, the odd wrong decision here and there, but few are as costly as this one.  

 

The naked gold hoarder was brought to the front and interrogated in full view of the others. Making an example of someone promptly, in front of others, always works best because the others are then so terrified that they will tell everything they know without any further effort on my part.  It’s so easy, and a big time saver.  Efficiency, isn’t that what National Socialism is all about?  Those paper shufflers in Berlin should give me a medal!   But giving up their gold is just the beginning. Before I am done with them, they always freely give me everything that is precious to them.

 

Along the interior of the outer wall of the corral, supporting the shed-like roof, were a series of tall, vertical, rough hewn wooden posts, each slightly less than a meter apart. The naked gold hoarder was tied spread eagled across three wooden beams, with the middle of the three posts aligned with his torso.  When he failed to give us the name or location of a single resistance operative, who we know were among the villagers, I had my men aligned his spine with the middle post and tie his waist tightly to it with a rope.   I then sent a soldier to my track truck to fetch a machinist’s hammer and a handful of long rusty gutter nails.  I must say, this method works every time. And using the machinist’s hammer seems so much more appropriate when performing this task in the worker’s paradise of the Soviet Union.

 

Needless to say, the poor man’s testicles were slowly nailed to the middle post with a number of the sharp gutter nails. But I must admit, my men are getting better.  This time the hammer only missed once, firmly striking his penis.

 

Once the nails were set, they untied the waist and limb ropes all at the same time, and, well, the poor man lost something in the subsequent fall.

 

I let him lay there screaming for a few minutes, then, not being one for drama, mercifully unsheathed my Lugar and shot him in the head as the others looked on in horror.

 

Everyone in the giant swine pen began babbling at once. My trusted field translator, a former seminarian from Munchen who speaks five languages, informed me that the men were all saying that a number of local women, including the mayor’s wife, daughter, and two other female schoolteachers, were resistance operatives working for the Russians.

 

They even insisted that these women had a radio transmitter hidden in the woods behind the mayor’s house which they used to give Moscow daily briefings regarding German troop movements in the area.  We will go see for ourselves.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Will the Krauts find the radio transmitter in the woods?

Will the two school teachers be young hotties or old hag school marms?

          What’s the mayor’s wife fixing for lunch?

          Does his daughter wear a baboszka?

 

Tune in next time folks for Chapter 3 of Jill Crokett’s “Diary of a Nazi Rape Squad”

Chapter 3 of Jill Crokett’s

Diary of a Nazi Rape Squad

 

 

August 17, 1941 (continued)

 

At 11:00 hours I led an assault team, weapons drawn, through the front door of the mayor’s house.  At that same moment a squad rushed the outside of the simple thatched roofed cottage, which was juxtaposed directly across from the village square, effectively sealing all exits.

 

Our unannounced entrance startled the little woman of the house, who was the only one at home at the time. The mayor’s wife was a pleasant looking, somewhat full figured middle aged woman of about 45 who wore her slightly graying hair in a tight bun. She was short, busty, and somewhat hippy.  She concealed her full, busty frame in a long Ukrainian-style peasant dress which consisted of a billowing skirt from the waist down and a full cut but snug bodice from the waist up.  The bodice buttoned up all the way from the waist to its high collar. The old style top hugged her ribs in a way that hoisted her pendulous boobs, accentuating her aging feminine form. Her long sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as if she had been cooking.

 

As my men searched the through the mayor’s house I interrogated his wife, demanding that she tell me were her daughter was, as well as reveal to me the names and locations of the village’s schoolteachers. The startled woman first pretended not to know anything, but when I persisted she nervously complied, stating that her daughter was working at the village bakery shop, which she said was owned by her son-in-law, the local baker. She also gave the location of the village school and the names of the two elementary school teachers, one of whom she said was a younger single woman, the other a married, middle-aged woman with grown children.

 

I ordered two of my men to go to the bakery, arrest the mayor’s daughter, and bring her to the village square without delay.  The older woman was now visibly trembling. I also sent a squad to try and locate the two teachers.

 

I resumed my interrogation, asking the mayor’s wife if she knew anything about a radio transmitter hidden in the woods behind her home.  She shook her head “no” repeatedly, acting as if she had never heard of such a thing, but it was clear to me that her breathing suddenly quickened and became labored in a nervous sort of way when I mentioned the transmitter.

 

I stared at her in intimidating silence for several minutes, then turned and motioned for the her to look out her front window. As she did, tears began to swell in her eyes and her lower lip quivered.  The view from the mayor’s front window looked directly across the street onto the village square.  Several fat tears rolled down the middle-aged woman’s cheeks as she saw a number of my soldiers lashing a long wooden crossbeam between the equally high saddles of two oak trees that graced the center of the square.

 

My translator explained to the her that the men were erecting a makeshift gallows, to be used against any underground resistance workers in the village, or anyone who had harbored them. 

 

The woman continued to weep silently while she watched the soldiers toss two noosed ropes over the gallows head beam.  Though she said nothing, her short, somewhat full figured frame spoke volumes as it quivered and trembled.

 

I told my translator to tell her that I would hang her daughter if she did not tell me everything she knew, right down to the faintest village rumor, about the suspected hidden radio transmitter. When she heard the words “daughter” and “hang” in the same sentence, the woman broke down and cried aloud, begging through her tears that she knew absolutely nothing, and that her daughter was totally innocent.  

 

As I listened to her pleas through my translator, one of my men, who had been searching the woman’s attic, climbed down the old handmade wooden attic ladder and approached me, whispering into my ear.  The soldier informed me that he had uncovered two hidden glass vacuum tubes, the type used in phonographs and radios, still in their small cardboard boxes, under some old clothes in the attic.  Spare parts for the transmitter, no doubt, I surmised. 

 

I turned and asked, through my Bavarian translator, the mayor’s wife if she or her husband owned a radio or a phonograph, and if so, could I see it. She said there was none in the house, but that a neighbor had loaned her husband a phonograph for the recent May Day celebration in the village.  At this point she didn’t know what my men had found in the attic, but she was clearly more nervous with my line of questioning regarding electronic devices.  Perspiration covered her brow as her full, matronly bosoms rose and fell with each heavy, labored breath. When I saw this, I new I had her pinned. This mouse was mine.  

 

From the corner of the woman’s eye she could now see, through her front window, her young married daughter being led up onto the makeshift gallows across the street. She could see that her daughter’s hands were tied behind her back.

 

“No sir, please, No!” she begged it her best broken German, falling to her knees in front of me, her hands folded in prayer to me as she watched the soldiers slip a noose over her 25-year-old daughter’s neck.

 

“Take me to the transmitter, now” I told the woman as she pleaded for her daughter, “and I may let her live” I said.

 

“Yes Sir, yes master!” the mayor’s wife answered immediately. Within moments she was leading me toward the back door of her cottage.

I quickly selected a team of about a dozen soldiers, including my translator, a medical corpsmen, and a combat photographer, to accompany me and the woman into the woods.  I also sent two men to fetch several large canvas duffel bags of field equipment from the supply truck and bring them into the woods with us.

 

The midday sun warmed our backs as we followed the mayor’s wife through a barley field between her cottage and the edge of the forest.  As she walked ahead of us she had to lift her long skirt in order to negotiate the tall mid-August stalks of barley. Several of us kept our weapons draw in case it was a set up for an ambush, or in case the woman was foolish enough to run.

 

Once in the forest our group followed her down a narrow, little-used path, once crossing a brisk forest stream.  After about 15 minutes of hiking we came to a small, narrow clearing, at the edge of which stood a small wooden hunter’s shed.  The windowless primitive cabin had a wood shingled roof which was covered with thick green moss.  My men quickly busted a brass padlock off the shack’s only door. 

 

Inside, neatly splayed out along a long, narrow wooden shelf, was a portable wireless set, including spare batteries, a coiled length of portable antenna wire, a small emergency clockwork generator, and what appeared to be a bilingual operator’s manual written in English. The manual was full of notes, neatly handwritten in Russian. The notes appeared to be written by a woman, probably the mayor’s wife. I would send the manual to intelligence headquarters in Berlin.

 

Berlin would probably want to interrogate the woman too, of course, but it would be a mistake to waste this fine piece of mature Slavic femininity on some bumbling, flatulent, subway riding Berliner who is probably posing as an intelligence officer just to keep his sorry ass off of the Russian Front.  His most creative interrogation skill no doubt would be to put his cigarettes out on her tits, all while thinking about what he is going to have for lunch. I believe the Reich deserves better, and I will try and deliver it.

 

My combat photographer got out his flash camera and proceeded to take photographs of everything in the cabin before any attempt was made to remove the radio equipment. When he was done I asked him to set up the camera on his portable tripod and place it in the small forest clearing. There was little sunlight in the forest except for a few square meters at the center of the clearing.  Near the center of the clearing stood two young fir trees, each just a little more than one meter apart from the other. Neither had any low branches.

 

I ordered my men to clear the area between the trees of any grass or sticks and then place a blanket from one of the equipment bags on the ground, spreading it out picnic-style in front of the two slender young trees. Once cleared, I ordered mayor’s wife to stand in the narrow spot of sunlight between the two trees. The eyes of all the soldiers were now fixed on her.  Her breathing was again nervously labored, but she remained silent and obeyed me without question, moving to face me from directly between the trees.

 

She stood silently obedient, her arms at her sides, as a slight summer breeze tossed the odd loose strands of her salt-and-pepper hair.  She anxiously awaited my next order.

 

I turned and told the corpsman to take the small white porcelain basin from his medical kit and go fill it to the with water from the stream. As he left to fetch the water I walked up to the woman and, staring her in the eye, began to rip the buttons from the bodice of her peasant dress one at a time, slowly working my way from the collar down to her waist. Her eyes swelled with tears of both fear and humiliation as the young soldiers anticipated seeing the woman stripped. She was the age of most of their own mothers.

 

I ripped free each cloth-covered button free one at a time, slowly moving down the crest of her breasts. As I did, her mature bosoms expanded, eventually allowing the full crack of her cleavage to be seen by the male onlookers. I couldn’t help but notice that the crotches of the younger men were swelling.  I thought about the fact that many of them were teenage boys who had probably never seen a mature woman naked before. I knew they were excited with anticipation. I was.

 

Once the matron’s bodice had been completely ripped open from collar to waist, I firmly grabbed the top of the blouse and yanked it outward and backward, exposing her bare, strapless shoulders.  I then walked around the woman and with both hands yanked the entire top down to her waist, pulling the sleeves off her arms as I did. As I pulled the woman’s blouse down from behind her pendulous, melon-like boobs plopped out and dropped downward.  Her thick, wide dark-pink nipples stood fully erect in the slight afternoon breeze.       

 

I then ordered her to raise her hands straight over her head, and she obeyed. As she raised her arms, the men stared fixated at her huge tits as they lifted and separated. 

 

Convinced I had humiliated her, I stepped back to pass sentence on this middle-aged wife of the village mayor. I spoke one short statement at a time, pausing at each line so my translator could perform his task.

 

“Woman, because you have chosen to be a subversive enemy of the Third Reich, you will now be stripped completely naked and your entire body, from head to toe, will be clean-shaven with the barber’s razor. You will then be tied down and raped by any man of my company who wants fuck you, and as many times as he wants. When we are finished raping you, each of your tits will be bound tight at its base with a thin cord. Your arms will be tied up high behind your back. In this position you will be hanged by your breasts in the village square and publicly whipped with a bullwhip across your buttock 75 times” I said in a stern, authoritarian voice.

 

As the translator caught up with my words the women began to cry aloud, but was also relieved that I had spared her life.  But I was not finished.

 

“As an additional sentence, if you do not give me the names and locations of other resistance collaborators in the area, I will order that your daughter be raped and bullwhipped also, after which time you both will be burned alive at the stake in the village square. Do you understand?” I added.

 

When the translator finished the woman broke down sobbing, falling to her knees and pleading with her hands.  I motioned for two of my men to pick her off the ground and hold her up. When they did I stepped forward and, kneeling in front of her, began to strip her from the waist down. I first dropped her dress, then unbuttoned her petticoat and knickers and pulled them to her ankles. Once I had stripped off her hose and shoes, I ordered the men to tie her hands tightly behind her, wrist to elbow. 

 

Just as I had expected, her pussy was a dark, thick wooly bush. When the corpsman returned with the basin of water I ordered him to shave her completely, pussy, underarms, head, everything tip to toe. The corpsman was also our company barber, and he could shave the thickest beard in a minute. To help him, once her arms were tied, I had the men lay her on her back and tie her ankles over her shoulders wide apart, attaching each ankle to one of the small fir trees behind the blanket. As the corpsman began shaving her pussy bald with a straight razor, another soldier helped him by first cutting off all her head hair with a pair of scissors. Another man made up fresh batches of shaving lather.  She was totally smooth in a matter of minutes.

 

With the shaving concluded, the twelve of us, myself included, stripped off our uniforms.  I was first.  Before I began, I had the men retie her ankles even lower down the truck of each fir tree, near the roots. This position spread her bare pussy even wider, pulling her knees to her shoulders and allowed for the deepest penetration. With the mayor’s wife’s calves pulled tight over her shoulders, I grabbed her huge tits with each hand and squeezed them as hard as I could. They had become handles for me to gain thrust with.

 

With a forceful jab I slammed my cock as deep into her as I could, fucking the 45-year-old woman with all my might.  She moaned and screamed as I pounded against her pelvis.  When I had finished taking her pussy as hard as I could, a line of soldiers had formed behind me.  They fucked her deep and hard for more than an hour without stopping. As my soldiers thrust their swollen tools deep inside her, her screams could be heard to echo through the forest. Some of the younger ones even took seconds with her. I told them to use her pussy as they wished.  When they were done, their cum literally soaked the blanket beneath her crotch.

 

When all were spent and satisfied, I sent most of the men back to the village, with instructions for them to send twenty more soldiers as replacements.  And I ordered them to bring the mayor’s daughter with them. We would make it a family outing.

 

Within a short while the 20 fresh young replacements arrived with the mayor’s daughter in tow, her arms still tied behind her.  She was an attractive blond girl in her mid-twenties who had two small children with her baker husband.  As soon he she saw her mother tied down and shaved, she screamed uncontrollably. Her mother, in return, upon seeing her daughter, she began babbling, giving the names and locations of supposed resistance operatives.  I asked her to speak slower so that we could write them down.

Chapter 4                  Jill Crokette’s

Diary of a Nazi Rape Squad

 

 

August 17, 1941, somewhere in western part of the Soviet Socialist Republic of Ukraine

 

Attempting in vain to keep her young married daughter out of harm’s way, the mayor’s wife babbled hysterically, giving us the names of various villagers who she claimed were involved in the resistance.  Wanting my translator to hear her clearly, I ordered the men to untie her ankles from the trees so she could stand up and speak.  Just before I gave the order to untie her, I let the combat photographer snap a glossy photos of her with her legs spread, her ankles strapped to the trees.  I wanted to preserve the moment - she looked so damn good with her shaved, raped pussy spread high and wide over the picnic blanket. I told him to give me a copy once they were developed.  I’ll put it in my combat scrapbook. Once untied, the old gal could barely stand. I guess having had her legs tied overhead for so long was too much for her. Or maybe it was all that pounding from the younger men. She tried to stand, then just squatted with her back against the tree trunk, her legs clearly aching. As she did, cum trickled from her smooth, gaping semen dump. She had been a fantastic fuck.

 

I grabbed her daughter by the upper arm and yanked her over to were she was squatting against the tree.  First, I made sure I had the older woman’s attention, then turned and with my free hand began to unbutton the top buttons of the daughter’s blouse.  I loosen the girl’s collar, gently opening it, then turned and calmly asked her mother to tell me who the leaders of the local underground resistance were.

 

With her daughter about to be raped or worse, the 45-year-old mayor’s wife did not hesitate to finger the older village schoolteacher and her husband as the leaders of the local underground. She said they were socialist party implants from Moscow. She went on to give me, through the translator, a rather precise physical description of the middle-aged female schoolteacher and her husband, as well as their probable hiding location, a secret village root cellar used for clandestine activities.

 

I immediately sent a second squad of soldiers to find the subversive couple, this one armed with valuable information regarding their hiding place. I instructed them to, upon finding the duo, promptly search them in order to seize any secret codes or other papers they might have in their possession when apprehended.  Soviet communication codes were valuable intelligence secrets which would gain me points in Berlin.

 

Quickly spinning the mayor’s daughter around to face me, I asked her, through the translator, if she wanted to live to see her young children again. Crying, she replied yes.  Looking her straight in the eye, I told her that her mother, who she could clearly see had been stripped and shaved, had been in fact fucked by over a dozen soldiers, myself included, that very afternoon. I told her that now it was her turn. Yes, she was going to be raped by at least 20 soldiers. The young wife and mother looked down, her face crumpling in agony as the translator conveyed my message.    

 

I slowly but firmly grasped the partially unbuttoned top of her billowy white summer blouse as the mayor’s daughter shook her head and said “no, please no sir, I beg you, I am a mother, I have children!”  She sobbed aloud, tears trickling down both cheeks, as, with a single, forceful jerk I ripped open her blouse.  Every button, all the way to her waist, flew off in a single moment.  Stripping the blouse off her shoulders, I stepped back for a moment and ordered a soldier to untie her arms.  I didn’t think, with her mother’s life at risk if she refused me, that she would be need restraining.  

 

Stripping her to the waist, I exposed her girlish A-cup breasts to the lusting new group of onlooking unfucked soldiers. Using only my fingertips I gently stroked the swollen lumps of tissue around each erect nipple. They were erect.

 

For the next hour and a half about 20 soldiers took turns fucking the young 25-year-old mother as her mother, sobbing, was forced to watch.  As with her mother, I was also the first to fuck the daughter.  Unlike her mother, I didn’t tie her down. When I was finished the long line of soldiers used her in every imaginable position. Before they began their three hour gang fuck, the men formed a large circle, placing her in the middle.  They then had her move about the inside of the circle in a clockwise fashion, pausing briefly at each naked young soldier to lick his balls and briefly suck his cock. The greedier ones grabbed her hair with both of their hands and moved her head in and out as they fucked her skull. Once the young mom had completed the circle, they placed her on a blanket in the center of it so that all could watch her get fucked over and over again.  It was not only stimulating to watch, but was also an exhilarating audible experience as the girl screamed and cried for hours.  

 

For a woman with two children, the 25-year-old mom’s pussy was still remarkably tight. One horny young soldier after another came quickly as her pussy gripped their cock. Her screams, echoing through the forest, no doubt gripped their minds.  Several of the younger soldiers went back for a second fuck, lasting a little longer the second time.

 

Soldier after soldier came inside her, using her married pussy just as their fellow troupers had used her mother’s.  Some forced the girl to kneel and suck them as another soldier fucked her from behind.  Others took the young wife in a modified missionary position with her feet on their broad muscular shoulders, slamming hard against her cervix as she screamed with each deep stroke.   All in all, I think the young baker’s wife took about 30 loads of cum in her tight fuck-hole that afternoon, and she had moaned with each stroke, down to the very last soldier’s deep, orgasmic thrust.

 

As the last young soldier pounded away at the mayor’s daughter, to my pleasant surprise the search team returned with the schoolteacher and her husband in tow. They both looked to be about 45 years old. The mayor’s wife, numbed by the sight and sound of her daughter’s three hour gang rape, still sat naked against the tree trunk.  I don’t think the couple recognized her right away, maybe because her head was shaved.  Ashamed at both her nakedness and her act of betrayal, the mayor’s wife would not look at them. 

 

The rather well-dressed couple was clearly unsettled by the sight of two naked women on the forest floor in various stages of being raped. Wasting no time, I began their interrogation by asking each of them if they could tell me anything about the radio transmitter in the shed.  Neither of them would speak a word.  I then told them that the mayor’s wife had already informed me that they would know all about it. At that instant they both realized who the nude, shaved headed woman squatting against the tree was. They shot their comrade a cold, traitorous stare.

 

I ordered the couple to raise their arms above their heads and face me.  They complied with an uncooperative frown on their faces.  As the husband and wife faced me and slowly stretched their arms overhead in submission, soldiers’ hands wrapped around their waists, unbuttoning their clothes.  Immediately, the wife began to cry, no doubt believing she would be the next rape victim. As their skirt and pants were slowly taken loose, the schoolteacher began to speak, crying softly through her pleadings.  I did not listen.  Both her tears and her wool skirt dropped to the forest floor, quickly followed by her panties, revealing a dark, thick curly bush. Her husband had a nice thick cock

 

The mayor’s wife and daughter were ordered to kneel in front of the schoolteacher’s husband. I unsheathed my Lugar and the older woman that if he was not hard as a rock in five minutes, I would shoot her daughter.  To the entertainment of my troops the mayor’s wife quickly turned him around and, spreading his ass cheeks, began fervently licking his asshole. Dumbfounded, the daughter took the older man’s cock in her fingers and wasted no time taking it all the way in her mouth, wrapping her lips around its base. When I heard her gag, I knew he was hard. Slipping it out, she held up the slick, stiff pole, showing it to me. I put my handgun away and patted her on the head reassuringly, the way one would pat a dog who had just retrieved the newspaper.

Diary of a Nazi Rape Squad

by award winning S&M erotica author Jill Crokett

Chapter 5

August 17, 1941, somewhere in western part of the Soviet Socialist Republic of Ukraine

I sent word ahead to my soldiers in the village square to arrange for four nooses to be hung the side-by-side from the makeshift gallows.  The village men were to remain held prisoner inside the livestock holding pen, stripped naked and under guard.  About 75 women of the village, ranging in age from girls to mature women in their 50’s, were randomly selected by my lieutenant, and these villagers were to be  assembled in a straight-line in the village square before our arrival from the woods.

 

These 75 girls, wives, and mothers were stripped completely naked in public at gunpoint.  Upon my group’s arrival from the woods into the village square they were obediently standing in a long facing me line with their hands atop their heads.  Many were crying; they all looked terrified. They would be forced to watch the public executions of the underground resistance operatives, who I had determined were the mayor’s wife, the middle-aged schoolteacher and her husband, and the village Baker’s wife, who was also the mayor’s daughter.

 

I marched my four condemned prisoners into the village square, parading them in front of the horde of naked females. The mayor’s wife and daughter began crying aloud as soon as they saw the four nooses hanging from the makeshift gallows.  I wasted no time as I immediately pronounced sentence on the four.

 

“I find all four of you subversives guilty of cooperating with the enemies of the Reich, and I hereby sentence each of you to death by slow hanging.”

 

The mayor wife and daughter wept aloud, mumbling “Nine, nine, mine hare, bita, bita” attempting to plead in fractured German.

 

“Before you are hanged, each one of you will be forced to suffer in front of your neighbors.”

 

Turning to address the lone male condemned prisoner I said “Before your hanging, you will be staked down spread eagle to the ground. You will then have your male organs bound tightly with a cord, and that cord will be thrown over the gallows above.  Then your crotch and pelvis will be lifted up from the ground by that cord.  In this position a sharp wooden spike will be pounded up your rectum.”

 

There was shocked silence among the villagers.

 

Turning to the mayor’s wife I said “You ma’am will have each of your huge breasts bound tightly with cord.  With your hands tightly bound wrist to elbow behind you, you will then be hung from the gallows by your tits instead of her neck.  After you have hanged sufficiently by your mammoth tits, you will be taken down and then tied with your legs spread apart and a sharp wooden spike will be hammered up your shaved vagina.”

 

“Nine, nine, mine hare” she screamed in broken German, her fat tits jiggling to her hysterical retort.    

 

“But this will not be done until you have witnessed the torture and execution of your own daughter” I added.

 

Walking up to the mayor’s daughter, I reached forward and fondled her firm, slightly upturned tities, their nipples erect in the evening air.  Her neighbors watched in shock as I felt up the married woman as if she were a house pet.

 

“You, young lady” I said to the weeping young wife as I now publicly fondled her pussy, “will first have your arms bound tight behind you, then you’ll be strung up from the gallows upside down by your ankles, with your legs apart.  My staff barber will then shave your twat clean with a straight razor while his attendants bind your small tits ultra tight with cord.  The barber will then slowly slice off your nipples, one at a time.

 

“No, no, please not that, no” screamed the daughter and mother in unison.

 

As their pleads changed to sobs as I added “Then you will have a short, sharp wooden pole pounded into your pussy. But don’t worry, young frau, you’ll still be alive, at least until we slowly hang you by your neck.”

 

“But before we begin you be made to suck off five of my youngest soldiers, green troops really, just boys right off the farm.  It will be a little show for your neighbors. We’re even going to bring your husband over from the pig pen to watch. A little good bye present for him, eh?” I added with cruel pleasure.

 

“No sir, please my dear colonel, no, not my husband, please!” she begged, tears now rolling down both cheeks.

 

Walking over to the schoolteacher I announced angrily “You, ma’am, the main instigator, you will be bound with your arms tied tight behind you.  You will then be tied down on your back to a wooden picnic table with your ankles tied down up over your shoulders.  Your knees bound wide apart to the sides of the table.  You will be positioned so that your bottom will hang over the edge of the table.  I will have my barber carefully shave your pussy smooth, then I will personally take a short, half-meter-long bullwhip and whip your pussy crack and butt cheeks severely, over one hundred times.  Then ten of my horniest soldiers will gang rape your whipped pussy before you are very slowly hanged.”

 

The teacher hung her head and cried at the horrible sentence.

 

I ordered my men to start with the mayor’s daughter.  Her handsome young husband, the village baker, was brought to the town square, and he and her mother, both naked themselves, were forced to watch the proceedings.  Five of my soldiers formed a queue in front of them and unbuckled their pants, dropping them to the ground.  Several of the horny young boys were already erect.  The baker’s nude young wife was knelt in front of them, and without being told she immediately began to suck their cocks, one at a time.  As she was swallowing the shooting load of the first spasming young soldier, her hands instinctively raised up and began to stroke the erect cocks of the soldiers to each side of her, getting them ready for her wet mouth.  It was an erotic sight indeed.  To my surprise even her husband grew erect at the sight.  Seeing this, I ordered his heavy titted mature mother-in-law next to him to kneel and suck his cock. To my surprise she didn’t hesitate, and he quickly shot off into the old woman’s throat just as his young wife was gagging to swallow her third thick, voluminous mouthful of Arian ejaculate from a young blond Nazi.  The village girls cringed as they were forced to watch the young frau swallow load after load of dick shot.

 

When she finished sucking off the five soldier boys, we tied her arms tightly behind her, bound her ankles, then hoisted the young wife upside down from the gallows.  Once our barber had clean shaved her cunt I had the company photographer take some pictures of her hanging inverted for my collection.  She really looked good hanging with her legs apart.  She was praying and pleading as her small tits were bound tight as the barber re-sharpened his long straight razor with a leather strop.  Once her titties were bound with cord, the young woman screamed as the barber lifted his razor as he pinched her nipple hard and pulled on it.  Without hesitation he sliced the tit, slowly working around the areola, cutting away at her tit.  Her screams were deafening as she twisted and flexed her knees in a vain attempt to free herself, drawing laughter from my men.  The Mayor’s wife also screamed and pleaded for her daughter, and I was forced to slap her hard across the face to shut her up. When I knocked her square across the face with the palm of my hand, her huge fat tits jiggled like bouncing foosballs.  

 

The witnesses were terrified at the violent act of seeing the jung frau lose the tips of her tits, and many refused to watch, so I announced that my soldiers would shoot any girl or woman who looked away.  As they were forced to watch, one of the 75 naked female witnesses, a middle-aged woman, fainted.  I ordered my men to shoot her.  At the sound of the gunshot several of the witnesses pissed themselves with fright.  A few others vomited.  The sound of gunfire does take some getting use to.  Even hunting dogs must be gradually acclimated to it. 

 

As soon as the baker’s wife’s nipples had been sliced off, her ankle ropes were lowered and two of my soldiers grabbed her by her shoulders and lifted her horizontally as two other soldiers aligned a thin, sharp pole with her vagina.  She and many others watching shrieked as my brave men rammed it in her pussy.  Her screams were deafening, and the young woman soon lost consciousness. 

 

I decided that there was no use to hang an unconscious woman.  I had my men cut lose her ankle ropes.  Then they set the sharp wooden pole in a hole in the ground and stabilized it with wooden wedges.  The village girls and women, not to mention the condemned’s husband and mother, watched in horror and wept aloud as soldiers lifted up the unconscious woman and impaled her through her pussy, placing her upright on display in the village square.  As they did the naked young woman slid several feet onto the post.  A sign was placed around her neck which read “enemy of the fuehrer.”

 

We then moved on to the school teacher’s husband. His hands were staked down, spread out beneath the gallows without trouble, but he struggled as we tried to tie his legs down spread eagled.  It took several of my men to hold his legs opened as they were strapped down wide open to the stakes.  He screamed as the barber, who first shaved his cock and balls, tied his smooth organs tight with clothesline cord.  This cord was passed over the gallows bar and the man’s hips and pelvis were lifted up off the ground by his stretched sex tools as the cord was hoisted.  Once his pelvis was raised with his butt off the ground, the men aligned a sharp wooden rod with his ass hole.  They used a sledgehammer to pound it in. As they hammered he screamed for mercy and his naked wife fell to her knees sobbing.

 

Once he was thoroughly impaled we cut his ropes loose and raised him up for the women to see.  His wrists and ankles were cuffed in a hogtied fashion behind him.  His body settled onto the sharp hole as he groaned, and we set the pole upright in a hole.  The barber then approached with his razor, and, standing to one side so the village women could see, first cut off the tip of his penis, then the full head, then the entire dick as the man attempted a garbled scream.

 

His wife, the middle-aged schoolteacher, was next, but it is late, and I will save that for tomorrow, dear diary.