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Subject: {ASSM} Shooting the Hun {The Marquis}  ( viol, gun, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST
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Date: Mon, 17 Mar 2008 14:10:01 -0400
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This is the work of the Marquis (remember http://www.scrye.com/~marquis/
? )

"Ah, bonjour, Mademoiselle Horst. Welcome back among the living. I am
Colonel Petain of French Army Intelligence. I will be interrogating
you this evening."
"Is that why you stripped me naked, you French bastard?" Rachel spat.
"To interrogate me?"

"If I have taken an unwelcome liberty, I do apologize," Petain replied
smoothly. "But you must understand, clothing is only a hindrance
during these interrogation sessions."

"So you plan to torture me," Rachel surmised.

"I am mainly interested in learning what you have done with the troop
deployment plans which you stole from Marshall Fuchs. If you cooperate
with me in this matter, I am willing to offer you a fast, easy death.
I make this offer now, once only. If you do not agree to assist me
now, then yes, I'm afraid you will be tortured extensively."

"You can go to hell, Petain," Rachel hissed.

Petain smiled. "I was actually rather hoping you would say that,
Mademoiselle Horst. I rarely have the opportunity to torture such a
beautiful young woman."

"Let's just get this over with, Petain."

"Oui, bien sur. Do you understand the nature of the table on which you
are currently resting?"

 "It's a table rack," Rachel observed. "I've been stretched on them
before. I hope you don't think you can convince me to talk with
nothing more than a table rack, Petain."

"Non, certainement pas," Petain replied. "You are too much the
professional to give in to such an ordinary torture. I could break
your body on this rack, but I am quite sure I could not break your
spirit. However, if you do not object, I would like to begin the
torture session by stretching you. I find that this rack puts a lovely
tension into a woman's body."

"And if I DO object?" Rachel demanded.

Petain smiled. "Well, you are wearing heavy steel manacles,
Mademoiselle Horst. I do not think your objections would amount to
much." Petain began to turn the rack's winch, winding Rachel's wrist
chains tighter and tighter. He watched her face as he did so. She was
trying to conceal her pain, but Petain knew that he was hurting her.
He put his back into his work, stretching her as tightly as he could.
A ratchet on the winch ensured that the chains grew tighter, but never
looser. Rachel squirmed gently as he stretched her. She was sweating;
her full, firm, round breasts glistened invitingly. Petain found that
watching her suffer was making him hard. He promised himself that he
would make use of her gorgeous body before killing her. But for now,
his main concern was maximizing her suffering.

Petain heard two wet popping sounds in quick succession. He recognized
these as the sounds of shoulders dislocating. And now, at last, he got
a response from Rachel: a small whimper, barely audible. He smiled.
Her control was admirable, but not perfect. He was starting to break
through her defenses.

"That's better," Petain decided, admiring the tautness of her tortured
body. Muscles rippled up and down her athletic frame. Petain knew that
this Teutonic goddess would be able to endure a great deal of pain.
This was quickly shaping up into a magnificent torture session.

"Now then, Mademoiselle Horst, shall we continue our conversation
regarding the stolen plans?"

"Go...to...hell," Rachel whispered through clenched teeth.

"Really, Rachel. May I call you Rachel? Your courage is admirable, but
quite misplaced. What do you hope to accomplish by resisting? Surely
you know that your country is losing this Great War of ours. With the
Americans involved now, it is only a matter of time before Germany is
defeated. Do you really think the plans you have stolen will turn
things around so completely?"

"If those plans are so unimportant," Rachel managed. "Then why do you
want them back so badly?"

"Because if Hindenberg gets those plans, French soldiers will die
needlessly!" Petain shouted. "I do not intend to allow that to happen.
But I see that being stretched has not loosened your tongue. Tell me
this, Rachel. have you ever been shot?"

"Wh--what?" Petain was glad to see that his question had caught her
off guard.

"You are a spy; certainly it is a danger in your line of work. You
have never been shot before? I don't see any evidence of bullet wounds
on your lovely body, so I will assume you have not." Petain held up a
small-caliber revolver. "I am going to shoot you now, Rachel, and then
I will ask you once again where the plans are located. Each time you
fail to answer, I will put another bullet into this magnificent body
of yours."

"I'll die..." she protested.

"Eventually, yes. But not for some time. I assure you, I have enough
knowledge of human anatomy to avoid any essential organs. Shall we
begin?" Petain placed the muzzle of the pistol against her navel and
squeezed the trigger. Rachel's body quivered as the bullet tore
through her belly. Her eyes grew wide with horror; she vomited up a
little bit of blood.

"You...shot me!" she whimpered. She had undergone torture during
previous interrogations, but this was, as Petain had surmised, her
first bullet wound.

"Oui, and I will do so again. The next shot can be the coup de grace,
if you wish. Or it can be another painful wound. Which will it be,
Rachel?"

"I won't talk..." she said bravely.

"Then please have another bullet." Now Petain pressed the revolver
against Rachel's left nipple, and put a round deep into her breast.
Blood welled up out of the hole where her nipple had been, and
trickled down over her breast.

"Shooting large breasted women such as yourself is convenient," Petain
explained. "The breast slows the bullet, keeps it from doing too much
damage. I doubt that this shot even collapsed your lung. And even if
it did, you have another, n'est-ce pas? As for your belly wound, that
is perhaps fatal, but it will take you quite a long time to die of it.
And I imagine that both wounds are giving you considerable pain now,
are they not?"

"Yes," she whispered. "It hurts."

"Of course it does. And the pain will only grow worse as I add bullets
to your body. But you can stop it any time, Rachel. Remember that."
And Petain shot her once in each thigh.

"Perhaps we are going about this the wrong way," he realized suddenly.
"Did either of those last two shots come to rest near the bone,
Rachel? I wonder what would happen if I were to massage your thighs
vigorously. What would it feel like to have those bullets scraping
against your thigh bone?" Rachel began to howl like an animal as he
carried out this plan. Petain realized that he had hit upon a valuable
addition to his roster of torture techniques.

"Oh, God!" Rachel screamed. "Stop! Stop! Oh, please, I'll talk, I'll
tell you everything, just please, please, stop hurting me!"

"There, you see?" Petain said triumphantly. "It isn't so hard to be
reasonable." He listened attentively as Rachel described where she had
hidden the plans. Picking up a telephone, he spoke in French for
several moments, then replaced the receiver and turned back to Rachel.
"I regret that you must be kept alive until we can determine whether
you have told us the truth or not. If you have no objections, I would
like to make use of your cunt at this time."

"And if I do object?" Rachel demanded weakly.

"Again, it is of little importance." Lubricating his erection with
some blood from Rachel's belly wound, Petain slid easily into her
tight, young twat. He then reached up and began to massage her
ruptured breast.

Rachel began to scream wildly. "Oh, please, no! I told you what you
wanted, please, don't...." Her screams became incoherent as Petain
rubbed her ruined flesh. Stretched and shot, in incredible agony, she
moved like a willing and attentive lover. Her spasms of agony felt to
Petain like the most tender caresses. And it was not long before he
erupted inside her.

"Thank you, Rachel. That was lovely." He dismounted and retrieved his
pistol. "Are your chains tight enough? Yes, I see that they are. I
hope you won't mind, Rachel, if I put a few more bullets into you
while we wait."

"No, please..." Rachel begged. "I told you the truth. Please don't do
this. Please just kill me."

"You know I can't do that yet," Petain chided, and put a bullet
through each of her armpits. This time Rachel didn't even scream.
Bleeding from half a dozen bullet wounds, stretched taut on the table
rack, she simply lay there whimpering, trying to bleed to death.

Petain reloaded slowly. "Where else can I shoot you, Rachel? You have
such a lovely body, and it is such a pleasure to shoot it. Ah, I
know!" Rachel sobbed as he put a round through each of her feet. Just
then the phone rang, and Rachel found herself thanking God for that,
since it meant that blissful release was at hand.

"Oui. Merci." Petain put down the phone and turned to Rachel. "Well,
it seems that you were wise enough to tell me the truth. I regret that
our time together is now at an end, Rachel. It has been a tremendous
pleasure torturing you." Petain slipped the barrel of the pistol
between her pussy lips and emptied the gun into her cunt as she
twitched and convulsed. She sighed softly and relaxed, eyes staring up
vacantly at him.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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