Star Distributors, NM-169
“Now, Herr Professor, please!” Fritz said, smiling sweetly. “Just dictate to me the formula!
Professor Dufarge’s lips curled in a contemptuous snarl.
“Neverl” he spat venomously. “I spit on your Reich! I spit on you Nazi cretins! I spit on your satanic Fuhrer! I would rather die!”
“But what about your son? Would you care to see him die” Fritz snarled.
“My…son!” Dufarge faltered, growing deathly pale.
“Yes, Raoul! My men, shall we say, invited him to share your quarters here. We have just brought him in. A very fine looking young man, I am told!”
“You… You swine!” Dufarge qasped.
Fritz threw back his head and laughed, long and hard.
The door swung open and two Nazis marched in, pushing a handsome young man with a sullen expression on his face before then.
“Papa!” the boy cried, his blue eyes lighting up him.
He tried to run forward – his hands were cuffed behind his back-but Fritz von Bremer stuck out a foot and Raoul Dufarge tripped over it, falling on his face on the floor.
Fritz planted his boot on the small of Raoul’s back, holding him down.
“You see, Herr Professor, we Germans are very persistent! You must give me the formula! Do so, and I shall set your boy free! If not, I shall make you watch as he is defiled!”
Emile Dufarge looked anguished.
The tears brimmed in his eyes as he stared at his fallen son.
“Will you give me the formula now, Herr Professor?”
“I…I cannot,” Emile Dufarge cried out passionately.
“Give me the formula, fool!”
“No!” Professor Dufarge shouted.
”All right, then, we shall have some entertainment!” Fritz von Bremer said with a sweet smile. “Rodolph! Wolfgang! Prepare the prisoner as I have instructed!”
The Nazi goons grabbed Raoul roughly and began to tear off his clothes.
Raoul Dufarge was a strikingly good-looking young man of twenty-five.
He was tall and strongly built with sweet, boyish good looks.
His eyes were blue and bright. His lips were full and rosy.
He had a fresh scrubbed, pink and white face which was almost girlishly pretty.
But his body was robust and definitely masculine, for Raoul was a very athletic young fellow.
Rodolph and Wolfgang stripped Raoul naked, and shoved him against a wall.
The lights glared on Raoul’s supple, smooth, well-muscled body.
Fritz von Bremer grinned, showing off nasty, pointy yellow teeth.
“String him up!” he snarled.
Rodolph unlocked the cuffs while Wolfgang turned the crank of a pulley which lowered a rope from the ceiling.
Taking the end of this rope, Wolfgang lashed it tightly around Raoul’s wrists, which he forced the youth to hold above his head.=
Then, turning the crank once more, Wolfgang twisted on it till Raoul’s arms were stretched high in the air and the poor youth was forced to stand on the tips of his toes.
Rodolph and Wolfgang guffawed and joked coarsely as they moved around the handsome young French boy, running their calloused hands all over his sleek, muscular body while they made obscene remarks.
“Will you speak, Professor?” Fritz von Bremer asked.
Emile dumbly shook his head, staring wretchedly at his son.
“Wolfgang! Rodolph!” the Kommandant bellowed harshly.
Wolfgang and Rodolph seemed to know instantly what their master required.
Rodolph strode to the far comer of the room and lifted something off a shelf.
What he picked up turned out to be a very sinister looking black-snake whip, made from braided leather.
Rodolph grinned evilly as he strode around behind young Raoul, his eyes flashing with fascist passion.
Wolfgang, in the mean time, was busy disrobing…
The whip whistled through the air, and there was a thunderous crack as it laced across the twin, creamy globes of Raoul’s bubble butt.
Raoul’s body jerked forward violently and he uttered a strangled scream as agony licked through his rump.
CRAAACK! CRAAACK! CRAAACK!!
The whip slashed again and again across Raoul Dufarge’s lacerated tush.
Raoul gritted his teeth, swinging his handsome head from side to side, grimacing as he fought to keep from crying out .
But the pain was too great, and soon he began to shriek and moan, tears flooding from his anguished blue eyes.
The hot leather whip bit into his ass cheeks with sadistic violence, making them red with angry stripes.
Every now and then, the tip of the whip snapped up between his legs, stinging Raoul’s balls, and on those occasions, the boy’s scream was especially loud.
“Ha, ha, ha!” Fritz von Bremer chortled maliciously, holding his big belly as it shook with mirth. “The boy is getting excited, Herr Professor! Hee, hee, hee!! Yes, he cannot resist the proud and virile superiority of our fine German soldiers!”
It was true …
The pain had translated itself into something else as it dimmed Raoul’s mind and turned his flesh into liquid flame.
Raoul’s cock had, of its own accord, thickened and elongated, and now, it arched helplessly in the air – ten throbbing inches of healthy, rigid stud meat…
“Oooh, my G…GOD!” young Raoul Dufarge screamed wretchedly as he swung naked from the ceiling in the north tower of the Chateau Du Fioneche.
Rodolph snarled and grunted as he swung his burly right arm in brutal, well-practiced strokes, letting the braided end of his thick leather whip rip into Raoul’s aching butt cheeks again and again
Raoul Dufarge’s cock stood straight up the air, throbbing with sensual, masochistic heat, and each time the whip cut into his naked ass, Raoul’s cock jumped up against his belly.
“Rodolph! Enough!” thundered Fritz von Bremer abruptly.
The burly Nazi let his arm drop, panting hoarsely. Fritz turned to Professor Dufarge and leaned forward, staring at him coldly through his monocle.
“Well, Herr Professor? Are you ready with the formula now?”
“No, father!” Raoul Dufarge cried hoarsely. “Tell them nothing!”
Emile Dufarge winced as he heard his son’s brave voice.
“Your poor boy will suffer cruelly, my friend,” Fritz said sympathetically. “Come! Just give me the formula, and all will be well!”
“Go to the Devil,” Emile Dufarge whispered huskily
“We shall see, you stupid idiot! We shall see!” Fritz snarled.