The Dominafuhrer - MISS SPITEFUL'S GOLD

Episode 42 - Down In The Dungeon

September 1952

We paused halfway down the steps to the first floor, which was partly below ground level, and looked out over the dance floor. Its main illumination came from pink light bulbs festooning the walls and coloured spotlights flicking backwards and forwards over the jiving and bobbing heads. The dance band playing on a stage at one end had their own overhead lights as did the three makeshift bars which were besieged by thirsty patrons. Otherwise, it was impossible to distinguish anyone in the mass of heaving humanity.

“Most of the youngsters will stay here,” Rudi bellowed over the deafening noise. “If the Polizie raid us, we will have time to shut the dungeon down while they’re fighting their way past this lot.”

“What’s that music?” I shouted in his ear, not recognising the style.

“The Black Americans call it Rock’n’Roll. The kids have heard it on the American Forces Radio. I can’t tell the difference myself between this and Boogie Woogie but they’ve loved it every place I’ve had recently and it brings the money in.” Rudi shrugged and we elbowed our way through the throng to the top of the next pair of staircases.

The lower level was also dimly light. No coloured lights bulbs on these walls and the plain spotlights were trained on a long, narrow stage which stuck out like a harbour pier from one side of the room. Music was provided here by a sextet on their own small stage, lit by red lights and there were two more bars, each as busy as the ones upstairs. It was more difficult to estimate the size of the crowd in the gloom but there did seem to be much empty space left.

As we neared the bottom of the stairs, a couple of the spotlights flicked from the stage onto us and the little band struck up ‘Ride of the Valkyries’. The room erupted in cheers and applause and we stopped in amazement as we realised that we were the objects of adulation. Miss Spiteful raised her hand in acknowledgement and, for one awful moment, I thought that she was going to give the Nazi salute. Mercifully, she gave no more than a wave before stepping down into the waiting crowd.

The masses parted before her, some snapping to attention or bowing, some reaching out to touch her hand or arm, particularly her tattoo, some applauding or just murmuring deferentially.

“Now I know how the Israelites felt when they followed Moses across the Red Sea,” Sugar said as we moved along in Miss Spiteful’s wake, the crush reforming behind us. We halted at the steps at the wall end of the central stage and watched the act in progress.

I had heard of Rittmeister Kurt in my younger days when I had frequented Berlin’s transvestite bars and clubs and, like Seraph, knew of him only as someone to be avoided. He was a short, stocky man wearing a black riding coat, breeches and boots with a white, open necked, ruffled shirt and was whipping a naked girl. She was secured by her wrists and ankles inside a wheel that could be revolved and spun inside its frame like a gyroscope. At present she was upended and her long blonde hair dangled from her head to the floor. Two wooden clamps squeezed her breasts flat and the protruding nipples had turned a deep purple colour. Kurt realised that the crowds’ attention was no longer on him and lashed faster and harder at his victim’s buttocks. Her screams almost drowned out the ‘William Tell Overture’ that the band played in time to the strokes of the lash. I watched them for a little while and realised that they had no sheet music, all their performances being impromptu, and that the Trumpeter and the Drummer were picking the tunes for the rest to follow as they went along.

Kurt dropped the lash and brandished a large phallus to the crowd before forcing it, none too gently, into the girl’s vagina who squealed and struggled as her sexual organ was violated. Kurt stepped back, allowing everyone to see a red light flashing on and off at the exposed end of the phallus. He began spinning the wheel, faster and faster, so that the girl’s body and the red light became a blur. When the wheel slowed down, he stopped it so that the girl’s head was slightly down at an angle to the floor.

He unbuttoned the flies of his tight breeches and placed his groin against the girl’s face, pushing his penis into her open mouth. He ground his hips until he gave a theatrical shudder and we could see liquid dripping from the girl’s chin to the wooden floor of the stage. Kurt buttoned his flies, withdrew the still flashing phallus, and took a bow while a couple of men in overalls ran up on to the stage. They released the girl from the wheel and helped her stand on her own two feet.

After some mild applause, Kurt stalked off the stage, the girl staggering after him. “Hello Kurt,” Miss Spiteful greeted him as he came down the steps with the phallus in his hand. “Still compensating for having the smallest penis in Berlin?”

Kurt turned his pasty face towards her and bared his teeth in a fixed grin that reminded me off a shark.

“Spiteful!” he responded, effecting surprise. “I thought that you were dead.”

“There’s more life in me than in your act,” she replied. “That’s the same one that I saw you do when I came to Berlin nineteen years ago. Anyway, I see that you managed to survive the war.”

Kurt stiffened. “I served my country honourably in the Kriegsmarine.”

“That’s right. Ship’s cook wasn’t it and I heard that you almost got a medal. Only it was the Allies who wanted to award it to you. Your dumplings were more lethal to our U-Boat crews than their depth charges.”

The shark’s teeth flashed again at Miss Spiteful’s words and Kurt took a step nearer to her until his chin was almost resting in her milk white cleavage. An interested audience was gathering for the confrontation and the sextet switched to playing the theme from ‘High Noon’.

Kurt lowered his voice. “Be very careful, Spiteful. I hear that you have come into money and that Seraph has put a price on your heads.”

“Don’t even think of coming after us or collecting Seraph’s Judas money,” Miss Spiteful hissed back. “Not all the murders in Berlin were committed by the Nazis and I know where some of the bodies are buried, literally! You didn’t go to sea to save Germany but to save your own neck when even the Polizie had had enough of you.”

Kurt turned even paler, snarled and then stamped off, pushing his way through the crowd. Rudi was wringing his hands in despair but Miss Spiteful, her famous smile on her face, slapped him on the back.

“Come on Rudi! Where’s the bar? Free drinks for us you said didn’t you? Everyone back here in an hour.”

The rest of the group followed Miss Spiteful as she tugged Rudi off into the darkness but I hung back because four scantily dressed girls were clattering up the stairs and onto the stage. They began gyrating to the new Rock’n’Roll music, thrusting out near naked breasts and bottoms and using their hands to stroke their own and each others bodies.

I watched them for a while and then, lighting a cigarette, went to show my token at the nearest bar. Drink in hand, I wandered around for a while and, once my eyes became accustomed to the dark, found that Trixi’s was not the only old face from my past that I encountered. What struck me was the deferential attitude of my transvestite friends when they congratulated me and expressed their pleasure at my elevated status.

A selection of whipping posts, frames and stocks were placed around the walls and Mistresses and Masters were using them to beat and torture their male or female slaves. I did not linger long to watch them. Rudi was right. Even the Doms, despite some being beautiful and wearing erotic outfits, were amateurish and had no idea how to inflict real pain and humiliation. Most seemed to rely on flaunting their sex while administering ill timed or half hearted stokes with their implements. I walked on in dismay.

In the darker recesses of the room, single and multiple sex acts were taking place on benches and couches or even up against the wall. I stopped to watch one voluptuous blonde in a red corset with black stockings and high heeled shoes being fucked by three half naked men who had their penises in her vagina, her anus and her mouth. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to thoroughly enjoying herself as were the watching crowd, many of whom were masturbating. Behind a black curtain, a film projector was showing badly shot pornographic movies, which all seemed to have the same storyline: Young Girl loses clothes; Young Girl gets gang banged. The grunts of appreciation in the twitching audience were more from their own approaching climaxes than for the ones on the screen.

I collected a fresh drink at the next bar and strolled on. The Band was taking a break when I passed, the dancers and the subsequent stripper having exited the stage. Sugar was talking to the Trumpeter, who was scribbling on a notepad. She spotted me and waved for me to wait for her. She jumped off her bandstand and flung her long brown arms around me. She smelt strongly of whisky and there was a wicked glint in her good eye.

“Just done the music, I’ve got to sort out the slaves now.”

Still in her clutches, we headed back to the stage.

“This is more like it,” she chuckled. “Just like the old days.”

Sugar was right. Right at the end of our visit to Berlin, I felt more at home than before. This was the seamy and exciting Berlin that we had known. Most of the activities being indulged on the lower level were still illegal and, although no longer subject to the severe penalties of the Nazi era, we had at last found that the thrilling and dangerous edge that we been seeking.

“If my music teacher could only see me now,” Sugar mused. “She said I had the voice of an angel.”

We both laughed and, true to my insatiable curiosity, was about to use the opportunity to question her about her past, when she pulled my face against the sweaty globes of her breasts.

“Do you fancy a fuck later tonight?” Whisky fumes filled my nostril as she whispered in my ear. “If you can get your leg over Sapphire, then you must be fit enough to keep up with me. I’m so horny! I was on a promise with Spiteful but the way she’s drinking, she’s going to fall asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.”

I only had time to mutter my assent before we arrived back at the stage. The music started up again as two naked women climbed the steps and, commencing with a passionate embrace, launched into an exhibition of lesbian lovemaking.

I joined Stiletto and Solitaire who, while being critical of the finer points of the performance, were also giggling. They pointed out Natalya to me, who was transfixed standing nearby, her mouth open as she gazed upwards at the coupling going on above her.

The act had just reached the point where the pair had a doubled headed dildo inserted in their vaginas and were grinding their hips together while their hands roamed over each other’s bodies to the tune of ‘Tea for two’, when I was called away by Sugar.

“Storm! Will this one do for you?”

She was standing in a roped off area against the wall where she was vetting a couple of dozen volunteers for their suitability as our slaves. She had selected for me a tall, athletic looking man in his late twenties with short blond hair and classic Aryan features. His was the sort of face that had stared out from thousands of SS recruiting posters. He was wearing only a pair of leather pants and black high heeled shoes.

“He’s perfect,” I smiled. “Can you get Kelly to collar and cuff him when she appears?”

Sugar nodded and gestured for him to move into one of the corners before moving on to look over the rest of the volunteers. Suddenly she stopped and, for a tall female, had to look up. She was staring at a large black American Air Force Sergeant and when I say large I mean huge. He was over two metres high and so wide that his uniform shirt was stretched tight across his chest. Sugar took her time over feeling his biceps, her tongue running over his lips, and then reached up to run her hand over his black shaven scalp.

“Honey, have I got a mistress for you,” she said in English. “Strip off! Completely!”

Kelly returned at that point and sat herself down on the steps to sort through the canvas bag. She looked up and gave me a reproachful glare.

“I was looking for you.”

I noted her flushed face and smeared lipstick and, with a pang of jealousy, wondered just who she had found instead of me because she was beautiful enough to be attractive to both sexes.

Miss Spiteful and Sapphire arrived, both with wide grins on their red faces. I had seen them at the bar, surrounded by old friends and admirers, and I hoped that they had not made too much use of Rudi’s free drinks tokens.

The lesbian sex act finished with one using her tongue to bring the other to a screaming orgasm. From the roars of appreciation and jerking bodies in the audience, she was not the only one to climax.

As soon as the Girls had exited, Kelly climbed the steps to direct the stagehands in arranging our equipment.

“All set?” Sugar asked when the work had finished and we all nodded.

To continue this story, click Nappies, Knots and Needles

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