Gestapo Torment: The Sequel

Gestapo Torment: The Sequel
by Platypus
[email protected]

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Major Bremer heard about the new case in March, 1943. It was very similar to a case he barely remembered, a boy of thirteen or fourteen whom he'd tortured and raped and allowed several of his men to rape, sometime during the previous year. He kept meticulous records of people in custody, especially attractive young Aryan boys guilty of serious transgressions against the Fatherland. These types of boys needed to endure viciously inflicted pain and humiliation so that they might possibly be salvaged.

This boy lived in the city, near the Badenstrasse in a district easily accessible to his Geheime Staatspolizei surveillance teams. The Major brought out the boy's photograph (taken at his school, the boy was dressed formally). He scrutinized it along with its accompanying casebook. Five months past his thirteenth birthday, Fritz had been involved in hiding a family of Jewish vermin. Worse, Fritz actually belonged to Deutsches jungvolk, for boys aged 10 to 14 earmarked for the Fuehrer's Jugend. Young Fritz needed to be arrested and tortured not only for the purpose of finding the Jews, but as an example to discourage this kind of behavior among respectable German boys. Major Bremer gazed at the photograph with a mixture of revulsion and lust. Fritz Mannheim was an exceedingly handsome boy with perfect features. There was something else. This little male had dared flirt with a senior officer of the Sicherheitsdienst as a way to help his favored Jews evade capture and gain their hiding place. If verified under torture, this would be a separate and potentially more dangerous crime against the Reich. He himself secretly possessed a lust for torturing young boys. He would handle this urgent case personally. Major Bremer calmly picked up the telephone.

The Geheime Staatspolizei, known as the Gestapo, was efficient. Fritz was safely in custody by the next morning. He had tried to run, so certainly his feet would have to be appropriately punished. The Gestapo had come for him in the dead of night, taking him from his bed amid the protests of his anguished family. His parents were minor officials in the Nazi party. They had given their traitorous son up without incident after being told this would be Fritz's only opportunity to redeem his unknowing family from the unspeakable shame he'd brought upon them.

I will visit him in the interrogation rooms, the Major said aloud. He stood. He began walking. He felt the first stirring in his loins. He'd instructed Fritz be prepared for his interrogation in advance, properly stripped and displayed. The boy's entire naked form would be accessible for sexual humiliation and torture. He would examine the boy in intimate detail. He would require sufficient time alone with the boy. He'd been told that Fritz was blonde and blue-eyed and "very pretty" but he wanted to explore the boy's body to develop precise knowledge. Major Bremer would fondle, tickle and lick those parts of the boy's body he would later choose to hurt, and tell the boy in gory detail how the pain would occur. Perhaps some of the licking and other loving would end up being painful. It would definitely not be something endured easily by a heterosexual boy, or for that matter, by a conscious boy. *

Fritz was a sight to behold. Lying on his belly atop the blood-smeared wooden board, a table constructed for Gestapo torture, he was of about average for a boy of this age, at 1.3 meters and 42 kilograms. He was perfectly proportioned. He resembled a nascent Aryan God. Fritz's golden locks were cropped short.

Fritz was awake and alert when Major Bremer entered. Their conversation ensued almost immediately and was entirely in German.

"Halo, Fritz. I am Major Bremer and have come to ask you some questions."

The boy was cuffed at the wrists and ankles and could only look downwards because of being on his stomach. He noticed the man was in plainclothes, a dark-grey suit as had been rumored they wore in these chambers. The boy asked the obvious, "What are you going to do to me?"

The Major coiled his arm and slapped Fritz in the back of the head with an open palm. He snarled. Fritz's nose slammed into the board's oily surface, slightly moist and odoriferous from earlier blood. The boy's nose began trickling its own blood, a brighter red. Fritz grunted from his first taste of pain. "Achtung! I ask the questions! Understood?"

The interrogation began.

"Are you Fritz Mannheim, born 4th February 1930?"

"Yes."

"Are you a member of Deutsches jungvolk?"

"Yes." Fritz realized the Gestapo Major must already know this, but wisely stilled his tongue.

"Were you going to enlist in the Fuehrer's Jugend at age fourteen?"

"Yes."

The Major didn't like this response, even if it was true, because it epitomized the boy's devious nature. He used his thumb and forefinger to pinch the boy's bare side along his ribs hard enough to cause a red mark in the otherwise unblemished skin.

"Owwh!" Fritz screamed.
It was otherwise quiet in the interrogation rooms, Fritz noticed, like a tomb or dungeon. The Major had demanded privacy at this hour. A faint stench assailed Fritz's nostrils. "Tell me about the Liebermanns, the Jews you've helped to hide. Where are they?"

"I don't know!" Fritz lied.

"You choose to betray your Homeland and yet still were planning to enlist in the Jugend?" Major Bremer almost shouted. Fritz heard the disgust and loathing in the man's voice and remained silent.

"Answer me!" He gave the 13-year-old another pinch to the ribs and a second red mark appeared.

"Owwh!" Fritz cried.

"Answer me!"

"Yes!" the boy yelled defiantly. Fritz expected another hard slap or at least a pinch but none came. He could hear Major Bremer's raspy breathing and feel the man's warm breath close against his neck, like a wild animal.

About thirty seconds later, the Gestapo officer spoke. "I was hoping to avoid some of this but you've chosen to be defiant."

Fritz wondered what would happen now. He didn't dare ask.

The Major would tell him. "I am going to examine your entire body very carefully. I will love parts of your body in ways you never would have thought possible. Any part of your body that I choose to love will also be punished. You may enjoy the love part, as persons enjoy being gently touched and licked, but you probably won't enjoy what must follow."

Fritz considered the strange words. He decided that he wouldn't enjoy either, as this man was ein Schwuler. The Major liked boys. I can't stop him from touching me! A tear ran down Fritz's cheek. This man was going to shame him before hurting him. The Liebermanns had mentioned such things but Fritz had not believed.

Fritz felt the Major's hands first on his shoulders, and then his back. It was a probing massage, except the finger pressure was firm, and involved pinching. This was what the Gestapo man had meant by loving? It hurt a little every time he pinched, but it was more a kneading of the boy's flesh, perhaps a testing for sensitivity. The strong probing fingers were migrating down the center of Fritz's bare back. One finger went into his anus! Fritz grunted. It didn't really hurt, but shamed him especially when The Major kept jiggling his thick index finger, and then his middle finger, up into his rectum, again and again. As the boy's prostrate was massaged, the 13-year-old felt his own penis hardening. This is what he'd been most dreading!

But the finger continued along the back of his thighs, touching and occasionally pinching, but not pinching to cause serious pain. The probing massage continued on the back of Fritz's knees, and on his calves, and finally on the 13-year-old's feet when The Major seemed to become more interested. The Major spent an inordinate time touching his feet. Fritz was mystified by this, as he was only thirteen and had never known about foot fetishes.

"I am going to free your feet for the moment, Fritz. If you kick me or otherwise attack me with your feet, you will have three bullets shot into your feet for each attack."

Fritz tried to imagine what being deliberately shot in the feet at close range would be like. He shivered involuntarily, but otherwise kept his feet still and docile so the Gestapo Major could examine and "love" them, whatever that meant, to his heart's content. Fritz now knew that his feet would be one of those favored areas on his body that would be first loved before being deliberately hurt.

Major Bremer's hazel eyes flashed with a kind of cruel joy as he picked up and began fondling Fritz's left foot. The proportions were perfect, the Gestapo officer noted, as well as the skin tone and texture. The toes were even, toenails without defect; no fungus or infirmity marred their perfection until he noticed a small brown birthmark on the boy's sole, in the geographic middle on the instep. I will have to do something about this defect, Bremer mused. The boy's feet had not begun changing, the toes lengthening and the foot elongating, the skin becoming harder, the texture more like the man Fritz would become if Bremer allowed him to live. The thirteen-year-old's feet were mostly still perfect, like a circus boy's poised in a mystical balance. The Gestapo officer released Fritz's left foot and grasped the boy's right, inspecting it closely. Again, the toes and toenails were perfection, and the texture and skin tone all over the dorsal surface and along the sole, the ball and instep and the heel, wait, what's this? In the middle of Fritz's right heel was a scar, about an inch in length, extending horizontally, slightly ridged and raised, pinkish, but long healed.

"Did you have a surgery on your right heel?" The Major's voice was suddenly gentle; this time he was probing for information.

"Yes," the boy replied, uncertain about whether to volunteer additional details.

"Tell me about it."

Again the voice was gentle, coaxing.

"I had a mole there that I kept picking at, and it became infected. It hurt a lot, and my mother took a knife to it to lance it, and drain the pus."

"How old were you?"

"I'd just turned eleven."
This is obviously a very intelligent boy, the Gestapo officer thought.

Major Bremer put down Fritz's right foot and returned to his left. Now he began fondling and massaging in earnest, firm pressure with all the strong fingers and then a light tickling, from toes to heel, like a spider's touch. It felt good the boy thought, and he smiled when the major's fingers tickled. Bremer noticed that the boy smiled. This meant that his feet weren't especially calloused. He was sensitive to gentle touch and he would be equally sensitive to pain. The boy's skin was soft. Major Bremer brought Fritz's left foot up closer to press its sole and underneath the boy's tender toes to his own face. The 13-year-old felt the bristles of the man's beard, one day's growth, slightly scratchy but not unpleasant, under his toes and on his sole. He relaxed until he felt a moistness as his left large toe began to be licked, a strange sensation that sent a shiver into the boy's groin. Fritz felt the man's tongue exploring the toenail and even in the adjacent space between the boy's first and second toes. The licking proceeded to the second toe, and the third, and the fourth, and finally the baby toe. It tickled slightly, especially where the man's one-day unshaved bristle brushed against his soft skin. Suddenly the Major became more aggressive and began using his teeth. Beginning with the large toe, Fritz felt pressure and finally a low-level pain, as the man's teeth began to clench and scrape. He was soon gnawing the boy's toes, hurting slightly, scaring Fritz, but not yet drawing blood. This toothy massage continued all over the boy's left foot, until near the instep in the foot's geographic center, Bremer bit down hard, and drew blood, exactly on the offensive birthmark. "Owwh!" Fritz screamed.

"I'm loving your feet now," the Major stated, as he put the boy's left foot down and began the identical foot worship ritual on the boy's bare right foot. Again, the fondling and firm pressure, followed by the light tickling, like a spider's touch, forcing an involuntary smile from the boy. Eventually, the licking, and the gnawing on Fritz's right toes, and this time the sudden bite drew a small amount of blood along the scar, on the heel, and for some reason, Fritz had guessed that the bite would occur there and managed to stifle his scream, or at least turn it into a grimace. Major Bremer took a break then, leaving the interrogation room, leaving the nude boy shackled at the wrists lying on his belly. The room was lit, Fritz noticed, probably a single bulb overhead. It was so quiet here, like a tomb. The 13-year-old's thoughts raced. Why had he dared to help the Jews? Because Sam Liebermann was his friend. Sam was only eleven. Curly-haired, blonde, blue-eyed; the two could have passed for brothers, except Sam was Jewish, and that was his curse. Exploiting his sudden freedom, Fritz dared to extend his legs and stretch his muscles, lifting first one foot into the air, and then the other, each time stretching out his toes, this stretching exertion providing a brief momentary pleasure to the athletic boy. The bites didn't hurt much, and Fritz hardly gave them a second consideration. He was dozing off to sleep when the Major returned. *
"Making yourself comfortable?" the Gestapo man barked.
Fritz wasn't sure how to reply, or even if he was expected to. At any rate, Major Bremer spoke again. "It's time to begin again. I'm going to unshackle your wrists for a moment." Fritz knew that for a few seconds that he'd be free, his heart skipped a beat, but then reality sunk in. He could not escape while naked from a Gestapo dungeon. Maybe if he was obedient he wouldn't be tortured or killed. He'd already realized that humiliation was inevitable.

"Stand up."

Fritz stood naked in his bare feet on the cold stone floor. The stone felt hard against his soles.

"Lie back down on the board, this time get on your back." Fritz looked at his captor and took the measure of him visually for the first time. Bremer was in his early forties, with black hair streaked with grey along the sideburns. His face was taciturn with a hawk-like aquiline nose and he possessed bushy eyebrows. His build looked smallish, if even a bit soft, as if he spent little time in gymnasium. He wasn't a giant, or particularly intimidating. Fritz's father was slightly larger physically. But Bremer was Gestapo.

Resigned to his fate, Fritz got back on the board and lay down on his back, squinting against the light from the single bulb. When asked, the boy reluctantly extended his wrists over his head so that they might be re-fastened. His ankles were re-fastened. Fritz was now spread-eagled nude on his back, once again at his captor's mercy. He kept squinting, and with the bulb there, everything possessed a diffuse quality, almost surreal, although Fritz would only be able to articulate such complex impressions as an adult.

Major Bremer began touching him again, a firm kneading of the boy's flesh, his shoulders and collarbone area, and down each arm to his manacled wrists and hands. The massage started to get serious on Fritz's chest, near each nipple, and then the tickling alongside the boy's ribs and sides, but no further pinching for the time being. The Gestapo Major removed his dark-grey suit jacket as he was starting to perspire from the exertion. Fritz detected a slight odor of man-sweat, and saw discoloration caused by sweat under each laboring arm of his captor. Bremer put the jacket off to the side on a convenient chair. He started up again, tickling in circles above and around the boy's left nipple and then his right, gently touching, it felt pretty good, the thirteen-year-old noticed, but he was already worried that this kind of attention was leading into the same direction of "loving a body part" that had already condemned his feet to be tortured. Fritz knew that his feet were going to be tortured, he just didn't know "how" yet. Sure enough, the Gestapo man brought his evil head closer and began licking the boy's naked chest, his tongue snaking out to moisten Fritz's left nipple, and then came the man's teeth, at first gently nibbling, but Fritz guessed correctly how this would end. A diabolical grin and then he bit down on the boy's nipple with an almost orgiastic fury, producing a trickle of blood and a small wound, and the boy's pained screech, "Yeowwh!" all at once. He began licking on the other side, near his right nipple, and gently nibbling, and suddenly again it happened, this time just above Fritz's right nipple into the sensitive pectoral muscle. "Yeowwh!" the thirteen-year-old screeched yet again. Other licking and biting occurred along the boy's ribs and on his belly, "They're just love bites," the Gestapo man remarked matter-of-factly. Tiny rivulets of blood now trickled from half a dozen locations, but none of the wounds were serious. Fritz realized now that his chest, belly, and sides would also be suffering the torture, as well as his feet. Tears were streaming down the boy's face, not so much from pain, but from the realization of the torments he'd be experiencing. The thirteen-year-old felt exceptional trepidation when he saw Major Bremer noticing his penis and ball-sack, perfectly formed but circumcised. It had been circumcised when Fritz had been an infant and had nothing to do with the boy's Jewish friend (they'd compared erections and he knew Sam's was also circumcised as were the pricks of all Jewish boys). His parents had considered it a matter of hygiene.

Major Bremer held Fritz's 50-centimeter erection between his thumb and forefinger and examined it closely, his face only inches away from the thirteen-year-old's exposed, pinkish glans. "I see that you're circumcised, just like a Jewish boy," Major Bremer casually remarked. He made it seem degrading to be circumcised. "Your penis has already been ruined. A decent Aryan boy in the Deutsches jungvolk would never let himself get circumcised."

"I was just a baby," Fritz said, "my parents decided because of hygiene."

"I don't believe you!" Major Bremer yelled, while digging an index fingernail into the boy's sensitive glans near the piss-slit.

"Owwh!" Fritz said, as it hurt, and he was ashamed.

Bremer noticed something else: a tiny birthmark on the circumcised glans almost where he'd scratched the boy. "What do we have here?" he said, smirking, "a birthmark to be burned off or otherwise obliterated. I shall see to that, I promise you, and it will hurt."

Fritz began quietly sobbing.

"But I will love your cock and balls first." Major Bremer began licking the boy on the lower belly just above his sparse growth of blonde pubic hair. The man's wandering tongue skipped over the boy's genitalia to lather with his saliva the 13-year-old's inner thighs, left, and then right. He went back to lick each of Fritz's nipples but thankfully didn't bite there again. Finally, he zeroed in on the boy's erogenous zone. Lathering with his spit first the boy's ball-sack and testicles left and right, he approached the circumcised penis, already erect and nearly vertical. The fellating was expert, and despite his best efforts to avoid being aroused, after a very few minutes the boy's organ developed a sheen of pre-cum, began pulsing, and finally produced the best and most copious ejaculation young Fritz had ever had. After it ended, Major Bremer spit out the boy's cum so that it landed all over the 13-year-old's cock and balls, belly, and chest. For good measure, he spit some of it onto Fritz's left bare foot. "You can be sure that I will remove every trace of your cum where it lies on your traitorous body by burning it off," Major Bremer threatened.

Fritz couldn't help it. He started bawling again. He knew he was in the clutches of a real human monster! But for a few moments, taking a break to smoke a cigarette, the Gestapo man left the interrogation chamber, leaving the naked and secured 13-year-old to ponder his predicament. *
Fritz dozed into the edges of a nightmarish stupor during the Nazi torturer's brief absence. Hearing jackboots, for some reason Major Bremer must have donned jackboots, the anguished boy mused as he heard them clatter ever closer. Finally the door opened, and he heard Bremer's now familiar voice. "I'm baa-ckk!" he said.

"Please," the boy begged, "don't hurt me."

"Do you like games?" Major Bremer asked innocently, "First, we will play a little game."

"I will ask you a simple question. Using the rules I told you about in the beginning, what parts of your body did I love so that I might hurt?"

"I don't know," Fritz attempted to lie, out of raw fear.

"Achtung, you are a smarter boy than that. Perhaps if you can accurately refresh my memory, I will go easier on you."

"How many areas of your body will be tortured? What areas have I chosen to torture? Answer both questions correctly and who knows? I may spare you some of it, or even all of it as despite being a little traitor to the Fuehrer; you are after all of Aryan descent."

Boys are naïve enough to be optimists. Fritz saw a glimmer of hope in playing Bremer's little game. Maybe if he guessed correctly, and answered without much hesitation, Herr Bremer would keep his word. All this so far might have been just to frighten him. It worked. Fritz was so terrified his hands and feet had developed a slight tremor. He felt himself shaking. Bremer repeated the two awful questions. "How many areas of your beautiful young body will be tortured? What areas have I chosen to torture?"

The thirteen-year-old pondered what areas of his body that the man had massaged and licked, and bit with his teeth. He involuntarily shuddered when he merely played back in his mind what had just happened. He'd been so shamed!

"My chest," Fritz said, sounding like an angelic choirboy whose voice had not yet broken, "my stomach and belly."

"Yes, all correct so far, continue," the Gestapo Major confirmed.

"My sides," the 13-year-old added quickly.

"Yes, along your cute little ribs, boy, continue, what else?"

The boy couldn't help but hesitate at the enormity of what he was saying. "My cock and balls," Fritz blurted, almost having to force the words out like excrement expelled painfully from a constipated person.

Fritz's voice became like a triumphant little boy's. He almost shouted while sounding younger than his years, genuinely happy to have won the game. Surely he would win the Gestapo Major's horrid little game. "My feet!" Fritz exclaimed.

"Is that everything? Have you left anything out?"

Fritz pondered, and pondered, playing it back in his mind. Had he forgot anything on the macabre list?

"I don't think so," the young prisoner finally said.

"Is that your final answer?"

A chill went right through his naked form as he said with boyish certainty, "Yes."

Major Bremer waited at least a full minute before revealing the outcome. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Do you remember when I loved your inner thighs on both legs? Those will have to be punished too."

Fritz shrieked in anguish, like a doomed animal's cry. "No!" he sobbed. "No! No! No!"

Major Bremer was ready to begin. He brought out an instrument small enough to be portable from the shadows in a corner of the modestly-lit chamber. It was about a foot high and several inches wide. He opened a valve, and a bluish-orange flame shot out of the small machine's orifice. "Normally, this is used for welding metals," Bremer said matter-of-factly to young Fritz.

"No please!" Fritz yelled, pleading.

"Let's see where it has to be burned off. Now be quiet except for your screams, or it will go worse for you. If you're quiet, I will only do those places where the cum actually is."

The first area was on the 13-year-old's chest, just above his belly and on his bare belly. The Gestapo Major advanced upon the boy with the welder's torch, brought it up near Fritz's chest and belly, brought the instrument down while adjusting the flame, and a second later made contact with the boy's naked skin. He screamed until he was hoarse as the dried ejaculate was burned off his chest, and belly, and a few seconds later, it was burned off Fritz's penis and testicles and inner thighs. Major Bremer was extremely if brutally efficient with this tool, and so the exposure to the flame was actually minimal, although the boy's skin had blistered in a few places. His skin was tender and red, but not severely damaged. Bremer turned the welder's torch off, and the flame disappeared back into the machine's orifice.

"There that wasn't so bad, although it probably caused some pain. Did I get everywhere? No, there's one little area on your left foot, on top, just below your small toe."

"Please don't! I beg you!" yelled the secured 13-year-old.
Again, the Gestapo officer dutifully advanced upon the boy, this time at the foot of the torture board down near Fritz's bare feet. Once again, the torch was turned on. The bluish-orange flame shot out, and the boy began sobbing, mostly in pure terror. A second later, the flame touched the boy's left foot, and attacked the vulnerable skin protected only by a few drops of Fritz's own dried ejaculate. A high-pitched scream permeated the chamber, but only two seconds later, Major Bremer had accomplished his task. "There, all done!" he told the boy, sounding like a dentist. Again, a very small area just below the boy's baby toe the size of a coin, was reddened and tenderized, but not even blistered.

"I will now beat you on the front of your body with my cudgel," the Major warned Fritz, as he picked up a short, wooden club, of the sort preferred by the Gestapo. Fritz looked on wide-eyed in horror. The blows were struck swiftly as by a practiced thug, which Bremer was. They landed all over the boy's bare chest and belly, and smacked his sides along the ribs, the skin in many of those places reddened and made tender by the welder's torch, and then like a contagion the blows descended lower on the boy's body in the prescribed places – his cock and balls, his thighs, and then Fritz's feet were struck wherever the cudgel might land, producing bruising and discoloration but little blood and no broken bones, as the cudgel was wielded expertly. Fritz screamed and yelled from the pain until the beating stopped.

"Guess what I'm going to do now?"

The boy was dreading whatever the next torture might be. Spread-eagled, naked, and secured by his wrists and ankles, Fritz was also conscious, his eyes still open. He was sore in many places from his chest to his feet, his entire skin like a raw exposed organ extremely sensitive to the slightest touch. He watched the Gestapo man but said nothing. He didn't want to know what the Major was about to do.

"It's time to torture your feet."

Fritz started sobbing anew, pleading for the Major to stop. "I'll tell you where the Liebermanns are," the thirteen-year-old offered. "I'm going to release your feet again, so that I can access them better and cause you the most pain. If you so much as move either foot away, I might increase the damage – such as breaking each of your toes. Would you like that?"

"No." The boy was suddenly quiet and subdued.

The metal clasps were undone and the boy's feet and legs were free to move, although he obediently kept them still. Major Bremer picked up Fritz's left foot with his right hand and began peering at it closely as the boy grimaced. It was sore and sensitive to the slightest touch, and HE was touching it, palpating the bruised and tenderized skin. He picked up a very sharp but sturdy steel needle, maybe three inches long, from the bottom of his left pocket, in his trousers. The Gestapo Major showed the sharp needle to the boy. "Your mother might use a needle like this for darning your socks, heh? I'm going to use it for scoring the soles of your feet, from under each of your toes down to your heels. We do it like this."

"No, please don't! I beg you! I will tell you where the Liebermanns are hiding!"

"Maybe I'll give you an opportunity to provide information later. But now I'm showing you how I'm about to torture you. It's not polite to interrupt."

"Please, I beg you sir!"

He held Fritz's bare left foot firmly in his right hand, grasping it by the instep and heel. He began gouging the boy's tender flesh with the needle in his left, the sinister hand, beginning with the soft meat on the underside of the thirteen-year-old's big toe. The needle was used in the manner of a fisherman gutting a fish, the skin cut and bleeding, but the "scoring" not too deep. "I go in about a centimeter, a vertical scratch down the entire toe," he said; as the thirteen-year-old began yelling in pain again, mournful cries, until that first large toe was done. Major Bremer proceeded methodically. It was on to Fritz's second toe with the sharp needle, more shrieks and yelps, blood appearing from the shallow scratch, and the next toe, and the next, and finally the baby toe where Bremer squeezed hard and dug in a fingernail on the small area burned by the welder's torch -- just for sadistic pleasure. But to perform efficiently the Nazi practice of scoring, the toes are just the beginning. "Now for the rest of this foot, boy, I won't go easy on you." The needle began making its precise and practiced scratches in a line that began on the ball of that tender sole, and proceeding down over the arch and into the instep, right across the boy's tender left heel. A second perpendicular scratch was begun on the other side of the ball of that tender left sole, and it too inexorably and very slowly was cut across the flesh of Fritz's bare sole down to his heel. A third perpendicular scratch was begun in the identical fashion, more in the middle of the sole, and this too gouged southward across the tender instep and into the boy's heel. A fourth scratch was slowly gouged perpendicular to its predecessor, and finally a fifth, as the boy had tears running down his face and was already hoarse from his near incessant shrieks and yelps. Five perpendicular scratches, all bleeding slightly, were completed on Fritz's left toes and sole.

"You know the routine boy. I'm finished with your left foot. Hand me your right one! Achtung!"

"Please sir! I beg you! You don't have to do my right one!"

"Give it to me! Achtung!"

Fritz slowly and very reluctantly obeyed his tormentor. His blue eyes were already teared up from this newest anticipated onslaught of pain.

Major Bremer now held the thirteen-year-old's right foot in the prescribed way for the painful ordeal of "scoring." He seemed content for the moment, in a state of near bliss. If Bremer were a cat, he would have been purring. The sharp needle was again in place, and the first gouge into the boy's flesh, the one-centimeter deep scratch, began on Fritz's right big toe, on its sensitive underside. The boy began his little screeches and yelps as if on cue as the needle did its gruesome work. The needle's progress was slow and inexorable. Bremer took this procedure seriously and wouldn't be rushed. He finished the soft and tender underside of Fritz's large toe, and moved on to the second, the third, the fourth, and the soft underside of the boy's right small toe. As before, the thirteen-year-old's little yelps and screeches were virtually incessant as the torture continued, the scoring had produced the prescribed bleeding and appropriate level of excruciating pain, and when the needle began its work down the rest of the boy's naked right sole, making its ritualized pattern, Fritz assumed that the awful needle would at last be put back in the Gestapo man's pocket.

Bremer released the boy prisoner's right foot, and a relieved Fritz pulled it away.

"Give me your left foot again," Bremer said nonchalantly, "I want to use the needle to go underneath your toenails."

Fritz felt he was about to faint, but again, he reluctantly obeyed. Major Bremer began the new torture with the thirteen-year-old's big toe. The boy gasped and cried out with renewed pain as he felt the sharp needle begin to dig into the soft tissue beneath the large left toenail. Bremer said, "I love hurting your feet." He kept jabbing underneath the first toenail as blood bubbled up, then he sucked some of the blood out from beneath the nail and slurped it up with his tongue. Each toenail in its turn received the same treatment with the needle, and then the Gestapo officer started on the boy's right toenails, "Give me your right foot so I can do the rest of your toenails," and he did do them, slowly and one at a time, until he saw enough blood to please him. Fritz's screeches and yelps of pain seemed to never end.

The thirteen-year-old's foot torture was beginning in earnest now. "I'm not even close to being through with your feet," the Gestapo Major said. The next torture placed the young and naked prisoner secured by his wrists extended over his head on the board, now moist with the 13-year-old's body fluids (mostly blood but he'd also dribbled a little urine out his piss-slit by this time), but positioned again on his very sore and brutalized front side. Fritz's bare feet were placed on a special Gestapo torture device (like a wooden shoe shine box, only with razor-sharp metal spikes protruding) and to keep the boy's bare, already lacerated soles nicely secured for his impending beating, Major Bremer brutally slammed the tops of the 13-year-old's feet directly into the three inch spikes with enough force so that both of Fritz's feet were actually impaled. This cruel action produced a horrendous cry of pain from the boy; it was similar to a banshee cry. When the boy had quieted enough to merely be racked with sobs, Major Bremer remarked, "I had to do that so your feet don't squirm. I hate it when the feet of boy traitors squirm and wriggle too much."

"Here's the martinet I'll be using. It has a sharp-pointed steel barb at the end of every strand. Fifty strokes on each sole should easily turn your tender feet into hash."

"No! No!" Fritz screamed out of sheer panic.

The Gestapo man began wielding the vicious martinet on the boy's exposed soles. After just five strokes, blood and little bits of flesh began spattering all over that portion of the torture board. After twenty strokes, the boy's soles resembled raw meat. The boy's high-pitched screams echoed through the interrogation chambers and were music to Bremer's ears. "Take that you little traitor! Was it worth it to try and save your Jew friends?" By fifty strokes, it was hard to tell where the boy's blood ended and his flesh began. He wouldn't be able to walk at all for weeks, and without limping in great pain for several months.

The only saving grace for Fritz was that with all the blood, it wouldn't be necessary to burn off any scars or birthmarks on those battered boy-soles. A few moments later, Major Bremer re-positioned the nude boy, now barely conscious until smelling salts were placed under each nostril to revive him, onto his back once again.

Fritz was weak and drained from his ordeal, but fully conscious and alert as the Gestapo officer explained that he'd now be finishing by punishing your little 'circumcised' cock. "It's already like a Jew's, so I wouldn't complain," Bremer mocked. Spread-eagled and secured at the wrists and ankles, the blood-smeared 13-year-old prisoner saw Major Bremer pick up the welder's torch again, and begin adjusting its flame. Fritz's eyes almost popped out of his head when he watched, his eyes following the torch as it moved slowly but inexorably toward his sensitive circumcised glans at the end of his penis. "I am burning off at least this birthmark," he said. When the evil torturer did, it hurt terribly. This time the flame tickled and burned the tender skin until it blistered badly. Fritz wailed and screamed. The thirteen-year-old shook his head from side-to-side. Finally, and perhaps mercifully, the boy fainted and could not be restored to consciousness for several days. By then, Major Bremer had discovered the hiding place of the Liebermanns and sent them off to Auschwitz.

In 1944, Fritz had recovered entirely from his ordeal except for a slight limp, and he was allowed to enlist in the Hitler Jugend. "We are so proud of you," Frau Mannheim told her teenaged son, "Today you are a man." In 1948, he met the former Nazi Major Bremer on a deserted street one rainy night in Berlin. His one-time tormentor actually smiled at him when they passed. "Heil Hitler!" the man said, perhaps for nostalgia's sake.

******* END