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your dear Professor acts like an old woman when he's in bed with you, hein? Maybe what you really want is to have such exquisite pain that you wish you could die, and yet deep down inside you don't want that at all, but even more pain piled on top of it. Am I right in diagnosing your case, Frau Nordheim?”
    His two aids grinned and winked at each other from opposite ends of the table. Wirklich, the Herr Oberst was in incomparable form today! All the same, they were just a little impatient. Seeing all that naked flesh, smelling that woman smell of the bitch's, seeing her pink twat Lips twitching and inflamed and not covered up at all by any hair now, had made them randy as stallions in rut. They were wishing that he would declare a kind of interlude now and, before resuming the woman's torture, let them have a go at her.
    But instead, Friedrich Mueller slowly pinched the jaws of the tweezers shut on the tip of that dainty coral tidbit which Professor Kurt Nordheim himself had often loved to roll above under his tongue while mounted on his beautiful flaxen-haired wife and with his prick thrust up to the very hilt inside her warm, quaking, deliriously tight cunthole.
    Her body seemed to arch from the table, and then the wet squishy smack of her perspiring buttocks and back was heard as she fell back. Then a long piercing scream, high-pitched and maddened, had been torn from her, and her eyes were now glazed and hugely dilated as they fixed on those gleaming little steel jaws which now moved over to the other nipple and began to prod the sensitive erogenous love-candy. “Ach, n-n-nein-nicht-mehr, ich harm nicht mehr— have pity—oh stop, in the name of God the Father!” she babbled.
    He shrugged. “It's always within your power to stop me, my dear Frau Nordheim. It distresses me to see you like this. You're not entirely at your best, I must say. You smell a little strong, as if you haven't bathed recently. And you're losing control of your bladder, which I hate to see in a well-bred woman of your species. Also, you're getting a little used up. Your husband may wrinkle his face when he takes a look at you in bed the next time he gets to you—that is, if we don't catch him first. Right, Willi, Manfred?”
    “Richtig, mein Oberst!” both men chorused.
    “There, you see, my dear? Willi and Manfred are expert judges of kootzele. I don't know how many women they've mounted and serviced like the good healthy studs they are, but I can certainly tell you that they have no equal in all of Berlin when it comes to telling me how this or that young lady is going to act when she has her panties off and a man's cock between her naked legs. But they too are distressed, and they share with me this feeling of almost annoyance, Frau Nordheim, that you've let us mark you up so much when you're so lovely. Still and all, I think I may let them have a few minutes with you after I've finished this little game. That is, of course, unless you suddenly remember something you've forgotten to tell me up till now.”
    “Oh my God, bring me a Bible, and I'll swear on it that I know nothing more! You must believe me, Herr Oberst! I can't stand such pain, I can't, in the name of the Blessed Virgin! Shoot me, kill me, but no more of this, for I'm innocent, I swear to you I am!” the naked flaxen-haired matron hysterically implored.
    “Still the same old song,” the fat Gestapo officer sadly shook his head. “I wish I had a thousand Reich Marks for every time I've heard that song and dance, my dear Helga. I could enjoy the entire winter on the Italian Riviera if I had all that Geld. I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you search your mind a little more carefully, my dear. And now, gentlemen, if you please, hold on to her very tightly. I think she's going to want to wriggle around a bit.”
    So saying, he tightened the manicure tweezers' jaws over the other nipple, and at once the surge of blood darkened and swelled the sensitive tidbit of