by Smith, Bryan
Jessica slipped some fingers inside Alice’s vagina, which was extremely wet. The woman let out a very loud moan and pulled at Jessica’s hair again. Jessica flexed the fingers inside Alice and worked her clit with the ball of her thumb. More very loud moans ensued.
Alice yanked hard on the hair wound tightly in her fist, pulling Jessica’s face away from her breast. “Go down on me, bitch.”
Jessica smiled. “Whatever you want. Boss.” She glanced at the TV and the rack of VHS tapes next to it. “Any porn in that selection?”
“Of course.”
Jessica flexed the fingers inside Alice again, making the woman gasp and shiver. “Any of it all-girl?”
Alice released a shuddery breath. Her eyes looked glazed as she continued to writhe on the bed. She rolled her head side to side and stared blearily at the ceiling. The woman was incredibly turned on, which of course was the goal.
Jessica was pleased. She had little genuine sexual interest in women, but fucking Alice was a critical part of her job interview tonight. She’d known it would be almost from the beginning. Despite not being lesbian, she didn’t mind too much. It was just flesh. Just sex. And she was willing to do whatever necessary to get what she wanted. At least Alice was attractive. It could have been a lot worse. The gang leader could have been a disgusting old hag like the warty woman at the food line in the dining hall.
Alice rolled away from her and got up and staggered over to the rack of VHS tapes. She blinked blearily at it a moment before selecting one from near the bottom. After popping the tape in the VCR, she turned on the TV and came back over to the futon.
She stared down at Jessica, eyes narrowed in an expression of smoldering desire. “Scoot backward. I’m gonna sit on your fucking face.”
On the TV screen was a grainy image of two women on a massage table. They were doing the usual kind of all-girl porn things to each other. Judging from the hair styles, the tape dated from the very early 80s at the latest.
After staring at the scene a moment longer, Jessica rolled onto her back and scooted backward.
Even though it wasn’t quite over, she knew she’d passed the job interview.
20.
The knock at her door came at precisely ten that evening. Livia Collins took a last look at herself in the full-length mirror before going to the door. She was wearing heels and a tiny, clingy black dress with spaghetti straps. It was backless to the waist with a plunging neckline and a hem that stopped far short of mid-thigh. As she turned this way and that to admire herself from every possible angle, she was certain the warden would find the outfit sufficiently provocative.
Judging her attire and makeup perfect, she grabbed her handbag and went to the door. A man in a crisp black SS uniform was waiting in the hallway.
Livia smiled. “Sorry. I was running a bit late.”
The man nodded as she closed and locked the door to her room. “I know. It is seven past ten.”
Livia frowned at the coldness in his tone. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
The man’s blank expression stayed the same. He didn’t say anything else. A golf cart was parked in the middle of the wide hallway. The hallways throughout staff housing were designed to accommodate transport via vehicles such as this one. The golf cart’s empty passenger seat faced the door to her room. Livia started toward it, but the man in the SS uniform gripped her by an elbow, stopping her cold.
The grip was painfully tight.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Livia injected a bit of imperiousness in her tone. After all, she was the warden’s date for the evening and therefore a person of importance. This man was not treating her with the proper respect. “Let go of me now. I’d hate to have to tell the warden about your rough handling of me.”
There was a curious smugness in the man’s expression as he raised his other hand, displaying an object that mystified her. Oh, she knew what it was. She simply couldn’t fathom why this insolate man had it nor why he was showing it to her.
Until he said, “You are to put this on.”
“Says who?”
The man’s grip on her elbow became a notch tighter. “The warden, of course.”
Livia stared at the thing a moment longer, her confusion deepening. She suppressed an instinct to argue further with the man. It would accomplish nothing. This was one of the warden’s trusted underlings. The man had been sent to fetch her. He wouldn’t be telling her to wear the studded black dog collar if it wasn’t what the warden wanted. This was no prank.
As unsettling as this development was, she had no choice but to acquiesce to the warden’s wishes.
She shrugged, forcing a smile. “Of course. Whatever the warden wants.”
Her escort smiled, too. “Of course.”
He moved behind her and told her to lift up her hair. Livia did as she was told. The man then slipped the dog collar around her slender neck and fastened it at the back. The fit was snug, uncomfortably so. Livia resisted an urge to slip a finger beneath the leather strip and pull at it. While it was tighter than she would’ve liked, she could breathe easily enough.
As she climbed into the golf cart and waited for the man in the SS uniform to settle in behind the wheel, she considered that there might be an alternate explanation behind what, on the surface, appeared to be an insult to her dignity. Maybe the warden was just interested in getting very kinky with her tonight. If so, Livia had no problem with that whatsoever.
Her escort said nothing else as he put the golf cart in gear and sped away from Livia’s room. The cart’s electric engine made little noise as they zipped through the hallways and arrived at the part of the facility devoted to staff leisure activities in just a few minutes. On the way, they passed the Bloody Goat Tavern, the prison’s other after-hours drinking establishment.
Berlin 666 was located at the end of a long hallway. The hallway’s walls were painted black. There was just one door, at the very end of the hallway. The door was also painted black. A red swastika adorned the door’s middle, with “Berlin 666” painted in red above it.
The driver parked the golf cart a few feet short of the door and got out of the vehicle. Livia’s heart was beating faster as she eased herself out of the cart, watching as the man in the SS uniform approached the nightclub’s door.
He banged on it with the base of a fist. Some silent moments ticked by. The man stood facing the door, turned away from Livia. Though it went against her better judgement, she couldn’t help giving the collar a quick tug away from her neck.
Another moment later, she heard the sound of a heavy lock being turned. Hinges creaked as the door swung outward. Another man in an immaculate SS uniform stepped out of the gloom and eyed them without expression. The man was big. Rotund, even. He was bald and wore a monocle, probably an affectation. Livia couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone wear one in real life. She kept this impression to herself.
The big man cleared his throat. “Identification, please.”
Her escort displayed his credentials, which were given just a cursory inspection by Mr. Monocle. Livia opened her handbag and took out her staff ID. This the big man stared at for a much longer time, his features twisted in a look of deep concentration.
Despite her deep wish not to offend, Livia couldn’t help feeling annoyed. This guy was being a dick for the sheer sake of it. There was nothing amiss about her ID. It’d gotten her into this place numerous times, but for some unknown reason jerkface here was choosing to fuck with her tonight.
As the fat man continued to inspect her ID, the driver cupped a hand around his mouth and bent close to whisper something in the man’s ear. The fat man chuckled. The chuckle soon gave way to a more robust burst of laughter.
It was difficult not to become unnerved by what was happening. Livia wasn’t being treated like an important person at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. The urge to remind these tittering fools that she was the warden’s guest tonight was almost too strong t
o resist. Somehow, though, she managed to keep her mouth shut.
At last, the driver stopped whispering in the man’s ear and stepped out of the way. He directed a final smirking glance at Livia before he got back behind the wheel of the golf cart and zipped away.
The fat man handed her ID back and said, “Right this way, Miss Collins. The warden awaits you.”
His tone and demeanor were now more in line with what Livia had expected. Respectful, even deferential. Livia felt flushed with relief as she stepped through the open door into the club’s gloom-laden interior. The fat man followed her into a little vestibule, pausing to close and lock the door.
The walls of the vestibule were painted black, as were all the walls of Berlin 666. A few framed black-and-white photographs of various so-called “atrocities” adorned the walls. The muted lighting was courtesy of a single red bulb in an overhead fixture, its crimson glow conveying an appropriately decadent and sinister vibe.
Another man sat in a chair just inside the vestibule. This man was dark-skinned and was nude save for a dirty loincloth. His arms were spread outward and attached to shackles on the wall. His feet were also secured with shackles. On a little table to the man’s left were several instruments of torture.
Mr. Monocle smiled, noting Livia’s curiosity. “A new treat for visitors to Berlin 666. You may select one of the available instruments and have a go at him.”
Now Livia smiled, the last of her unease slipping away. Here was a welcome reminder of her privileged status at Prison 13. She didn’t know who this man was or where he’d come from, but she did know he was neither an inmate nor some disgraced staff member. For one thing, this was exclusively a prison for women. Also, in keeping with its third Reich-inspired ideals, the prison was not in the habit of hiring minorities. No, this man had been procured solely for the entertainment of professional sadists such as herself.
She picked up a hammer and tested its heft, liking the feel of it in her hand.
“You may take one whack at him with the hammer,” Mr. Monocle told her. “Or you may make a one-time use of any of these other implements. Just be careful not to deliver a killing blow. Finishing the scum off is the warden’s privilege.”
Livia nodded. “Understood.”
One little whack wouldn’t be as much fun as pulverizing every bone in the man’s body, but she was okay with this little taste of torture. She’d thought she wouldn’t get to indulge again until she returned to the infirmary the next day.
The man’s bare flesh was oozing blood from countless cuts. His nose was a pulped mess. Many of his teeth were missing and the ones that remained were jagged fragments jutting from bloody gums.
Livia glanced at Mr. Monocle. “Why the loincloth? Are you protecting this thing’s modesty?”
Mr. Monocle smiled. “Of course not. You may remove it if you wish.”
Livia did wish.
She tugged the loosely secured bit of soiled cloth away from the man’s body, her nose crinkling in disgust as she flicked it aside. Up to that point, the man had been eyeing her in an angry, defiant way, but he started whimpering as Livia raised the hammer above her head.
“No,” he said, voice quavering. “Please…please…”
Livia laughed.
She brought the hammer down as hard as she could. The head of the hammer smashed down on a testicle, which exploded from the force of the blow. Livia squealed in delight, clapping her hands together as she passed the hammer back to Mr. Monocle.
“Oh, that was wonderful!”
The man in the chair screamed.
Mr. Monocle smiled. “Your enthusiasm is infectious, Miss Collins.” He offered her the hammer again. “Go ahead, give him one more whack. On the house.”
Livia shook her head and reached for another of the implements on the little table. “May I use this?” she asked, glancing at the fat man. “I like variety when it comes to this kind of thing.”
Mr. Monocle smiled and nodded. “Be my guest.”
Livia picked up the corkscrew and plunged the sharp tip into the man’s other testicle. He bucked against his bonds and screamed even louder than before as she worked to screw the spiral of twisty metal all the way through the spongy tissue. When she was done, her hands were covered with blood.
Mr. Monocle handed her a wet towel. Livia cleaned herself off and dumped the bloody towel in a disposal bucket in a corner of the vestibule. She then followed the man out of the vestibule and deeper into the club’s smoky, dark interior.
Pulsing electro-goth music emanated from the club’s sound system at a moderate volume, allowing for ease of conversation. The current song’s lyrics were German, the vocals breathy and sultry. Livia knew from her previous visits that the volume would sometimes be turned up considerably when appropriate, such as during live torture or sex performances.
They first passed through the bar area. The only direct illumination here was back-lighting from behind the bar. Leaning against the bar was a stunning blonde woman. Tall and busty, she had possibly the longest, shapeliest legs Livia had ever seen. She wore a tight black blazer, a tiny black skirt, and fishnet stockings. An SS hat with a shiny brim sat atop her head. In her high heels, she looked like the Nazi version of an Amazonian goddess. Her lips were the color of fresh blood. Pinched between two fingers of her right hand was a cigarette in a plastic holder. Its tip glowed red as she put the holder to her mouth and inhaled deeply.
This was Helga Von Trammpe. Livia had always found her attractive, but now the woman struck her as particularly drool-worthy. She was the living embodiment of everything wicked and delightful. In that moment, Livia was sure she’d sell her soul for just one night of sin with this gorgeous Aryan goddess.
Apparently sensing the scrutiny, Helga’s head turned in Livia’s direction. She took the cigarette holder from her mouth and smiled almost imperceptibly, the corners of her mouth lifting minutely for perhaps a full second before again becoming a flat, inscrutable line. Even this fleeting bit of attention from a woman as incredible as Helga was enough to render Livia temporarily weak in the knees. She just managed to avoid taking a tumble as she followed Mr. Monocle out of the bar area and out onto the main floor.
The walls here were also decorated with framed black-and-white images of death and destruction. Among them were scenes from concentration camps and battlefields from various conflicts down through the decades. Others were crime scene photos of murder victims. Still others captured the gruesome aftermath of horrendous accidents.
The lighting here was brighter than in either the vestibule or the bar area, though not by a lot. Shadowy booths lined the back and side walls, facing an empty stage. These were all things Livia was familiar with from earlier visits, but there was one notable difference this time. The tables and chairs that normally occupied much of the main floor had been removed. In their place, a large, heavy-looking canvas shroud was draped over a structure of significant size in the middle of the floor. Livia glanced upward, noting that the shroud was attached via ropes to pulleys overhead.
Her curiosity was piqued. She assumed tonight’s entertainment had something to do with whatever was beneath the shroud. What that might be, she had no idea, but she was looking forward to the reveal. It was guaranteed to be something appropriately decadent.
The fat man led her to one of the booths against the back wall. Her excitement level, resurgent after the disrespect she’d been subjected to earlier, took another nosedive. The booth was a wide semi-circle. In its center was a small table, allowing ample room for all occupants to move about. Seated at the back of the booth were two women, one of whom was Ms. Wickman.
The other was Dr. Woronov.
They were seated next to each other. The doctor sat with her legs tucked beneath her. Her discarded shoes were on the floor. She had an arm draped around the warden’s shoulders. Clutched in her other hand was an almost empty cocktail glass. Like Livia, she wore a very small black dress. A “provocativ
e” dress, one might say.
Seeing the doctor cozied up with the warden triggered a surge of explosive rage. Livia couldn’t understand it. This was supposed to have been her special night with the warden. What was this two-timing cunt doing here?
The fat man cleared his throat. “Your other guest has arrived, warden.”
Ms. Wickman smiled as she looked at Livia. “Very good, Mr. Hoffmann. You may go now.”
Hoffmann saluted. “Heil, Hitler!”
Ms. Wickman nodded and waved a hand at him in a dismissive gesture. “Yes, yes.”
The fat man left them. Just as Livia was trying to decide whether to sit or wait for an invitation, she sensed a new presence behind her. She started to turn, but a strong hand reached around and grasped her by the throat. A breathy female voice spoke in her ear. “Stay still.”
Livia wanted to twist out of the forceful, threatening embrace, but the warden’s smiling, expectant expression told her this would be a mistake. Whatever was happening here was being done at her direction. Resistance would be stupid.
Another crushing wave of disappointment came down on her. She had been tricked into believing tonight would be all about rewarding her for exceptional service, but it was evident something else altogether was happening. The only thing keeping her sane in these moments was the firm knowledge that she’d done nothing wrong.
She heard a click as something was slipped through the hook at the back of the leather dog collar. Next the hand came away from her throat and she felt a tug at the collar. She gagged and turned her head, saw Helga Von Trammpe. The cigarette holder was still pinched between the fingers of her right hand. In her left hand, however, was something very different—the looped end of a leash.
Helga approached the warden, offering her the leash. “Should I send for more drinks, madam? You look to be running low.”
The warden accepted the leash handle and nodded. “Yes, that would be nice, Helga. And bring a bottle this time. Thank you.”
Helga saluted and was gone.