Chapter 4
Dr. Rosch was adept at petting, and immediately upon his first bodily caress, Ada was primed for sex. She clasped the doctor's narrow hips and guided him between her strong thighs. The doctor seemed confused, so Ada broke her sensual trance. "The leather parts with my flesh," she explained, lifting her leg high to show him.
"Aha," he said with surprise. "How ingenious. But please-call me Hans."
His hands enclosed her double-skinned body and with her deft guidance they became one. Ada didn't know if it was the novelty of her outfit, her physical perfection, or the good doctor's natural talents, but he was good-very good. He was no freak in his movements. In fact, his possessions were nominal, but he could love. At first it was easy. Just warm and soothing and comfortable, but as she began to tremble with excitement, he responded. In fact, he seemed to know her sensual whims before she knew them herself.
It was all so very normal, too. She expected wild and bizarre action from one so notorious. Certainly he was a beast beneath it all, or he never would have survived duty under Mengele. No-he kissed and caressed, and then sought her womanhood. He made no overtures toward aberration. He mounted her and was making an epic production of the sharing of his male-ness. Around, down, light stabs, and plunging thrusts. He used his manhood to score a controlled symphony of sex. Ada gave up her introspective analysis and lost herself to his supremacy. He proved there was much to be said for experience. She had had hundreds of healthy young bodies over the years, but few had provided the pleasure this strange Nazi was providing. At the exact moment of her break in tempo, Hans joined her. Their strokes were ponderous, spastic, and they clamped together in their final, unison plunge. He moaned with rapture. Ada, digging long nails into hard buttock flesh gurgled a call of triumph. It was as though her soul had been ignited by the flare of his sex. She owned what he gave for this moment. It was hers and seemed permanent in its ecstatic occupancy. A shuddering sigh released her body and flesh from its straining pinnacle, and the most pleasurable joy swept over her. She was basking in a garden of roses. It was her first visit to such a garden in a long, long time.
Long moments later she opened her eyes to see her spent lover watching at her side. He seemed serene, although his black eyes were still cruel. "I-I'm pleased," she whispered, too exhausted to say more.
His lips smiled fully, and his hand touched her reddened cheek. "That is good. I'd have killed myself at failure."
"Did you enjoy my love?" she asked, sounding like a child.
"I've never known such glory," he said softly. "You're an angel in a world of pigs. I've just learned the full glory of the sense. I'm entranced, truly."
Ada smiled and snuggled against him. Her mind refused to calculate. It rejected the parade of patterns that continually possessed her. For this moment she was drifting in the free land of love. There had been another such excursion, but it was relegated well to the past.
There was a period of drunken sleep, totally sound and impenetrable. But when she wakened, she was quite awake. Hans had wakened before her, but he lounged on the bed, still naked. "Did I sleep long?" she asked, suppressing a yawn and stretching.
He shrugged. "Not long. You slept like a child. I enjoyed watching you."
She drew against him, letting her hand touch what she had previously owned. It was no longer hers, but she enjoyed the memory. "You were very gentle," she said. "I had forgotten how gentle a man could be. Most aren't, you know. Most men, even those who are very young, are bestial-animal."
"There is the animal in all of us at times, but one doesn't abuse a goddess. It would be the gravest form of sacrilege."
"They held together closely and Ada was very still as she felt the manifestation of his male awakening. How obedient was his maleness-how flattering. He was playing tribute to her flesh. But not flesh-leather. "Does my costume excite you?" she had to know.
"The flesh beneath is my source of pleasure. Why, may I ask, do you wear this? Is it an erotic symbol?"
She had never been asked this question before. She wasn't sure she had an answer. "I'm not really sure," she said, lifting to an elbow. "But I think I know."
"I didn't mean to be impertinent," he apologized suddenly. "You needn't explain."
"But now I wonder myself. Of course I'm jaded, as you might understand, and the extra skin does give me certain wicked pleasure, but I think there is a more reasonable explanation." She broke from his grasp and rose from the bed. She skinned out of the top and cast it aside. She cupped her bobbling breasts with both palms and looked down at them. "I love my body, this part surely. And I'm proud of my shapely figure, but there are major flaws. Hand-administered flaws."
He watched with great interest, but was clearly puzzled by her latter remark. "What does that mean?"
"I will show you."
Ada went through the ritual of undressing. The leather was too tight to dispose of simply. It had to be skinned away from her curves inches at a time. When she was finally free, the doctor stared at her contours with obvious relish. She was still facing him.
"I see no flaw," he said, with his eyes devouring her precious womanhood. He studied her navel, her gently flaring hips, her long, shapely thighs, and then his eyes lingered over the portion of her anatomy he had explored with intimacy. "You are perfection."
With resignation, she did a slow turn. With her back exposed to his view, she heard his audible gasp. "My God-how did this happen? What swine did this to you?"
She faced him again. "Now you know why I despise Baron Von Kemp."
"He- did this? Death must be slow. Very slow. It must result from great creative thought." The venom was real in the fierce eyes. Ada saw the concentration camp butcher now, and knew that he could have caused such scars easily. But that wasn't the way she should think, was it? She was different from a low-blooded worm. She was Ada. She was German. She was the daughter of the greatest man who had ever lived. She must retain her hatred of Von Kemp. It should take priority over everything else. Perhaps when this hate was relieved, she could think with her other party members. "He must pay," she said, kneeling at the doctor's knees. She circled his hips with her hands and nestled her head on his naked lap. "You will help me, won't you ? I can never think a thought to completion without my hatred of Von Kemp interceding. These thoughts have warped me."
He stroked her soft hair. "He will be paid -in full. You can depend on me-my leader. A man who could mar the perfection of such a flower deserves the death of a devil."
There was quiet then. Hans was absorbed in his project with Von Kemp, and Ada became entranced with Han's manhood. Soon they returned to more pleasant behavior. Ada caressed, fondled, and worshipped at her lover's bodily shrine. She sat on the carpet; he was on the bed. She lost herself in her task of pleasure. The doctor lay back on the bed, groaning and clutching in response to her skill as a lover.
That was the second excursion, but more followed. Her gesture was returned, and they then served each other in unison. By nightfall, they slept in total exhaustion, their bodies humming with delight.
Between sessions, Ada had explained her earlier life to the doctor; how she was born in the secret chambers of "The Eagle's Nest." How, when the war neared Berlin, she was secretly removed to a convent near Oslo, and then, finally, how she was claimed by Von Kemp and transported to this island off the northern Scottish coast in a fishing tug.
She learned the details of her own life only when Von Kemp confessed her identity five years before. Until that time she was his ward, and therefore, his slave. She was educated on the island, and given Nazi indoctrination from the time she was a child. She was only three when Berlin fell and she was orphaned.
Dr. Rosch seemed fascinated as she unfolded her story, and probed for details of her brutal treatment as a child. When she related the details of the series of brutal incidents, he feigned shock, but she was no fool. She knew he was erotically stimulated. Although details of the Nazi operational procedures were denied her as a child, she had learned of them from books. These books, magazines, and newspapers were from the personal library of Von Kemp himself, so there was no doubt about their authenticity. If they were untrue, Von Kemp would never have kept the records.
She wasn't particularly disgusted by the grim accounts. She was taught that the means was always subordinate to the end. If her father and his council deemed brutality essential to the cause, then who was she to argue? The years of training had grown calluses that were there to remain. She not only condoned the Nazi wartime behavior, but acknowledged a growing hunger of her own for brutality. Her many island playmates would attest to that. She had administered many beatings, and when she was assured the action was justified, the sight of blood at her own hands was stimulating. It was like acquiring a taste for exotic foods.
What she did confess to Hans was her initial seduction at the age of ten. This she described in detail. She had known bodily kisses and had been a party to mutual erotic play, both with Von Kemp and older playmates, but her defloration was saved until her size allowed it.
On that monumental night, Von Kemp was drunk and bitter. He had been disappointed by a resident student. The girl denied him, and, Ada learned later, Van Kemp beat her to death with his fists. But this only stoked his desire for young flesh. He roused Ada from sleep that night, and before she could come fully awake, his nude body was being pressed in her face. She did what he demanded, but there was much more. Von Kemp mauled at her childish figure to make it ready to receive him fully. She was frightened, despite having seen others do the same things many times. It wasn't a total mystery, but those she had witnessed were older and bigger. Even they had moaned and grunted. It was a secret kind of brutality that had puzzled her. Her questions were always met with smiles, but no answers. So she feared this more than the whip. Still, she submitted with minimum restraint. Von Kemp had proved many times that he would have his way.
Ada had never been one to cry, but she did that night. The pain was unbearable, and it lasted for hours. He tried once and failed. He drank more and tried again. He kept trying until finally success took place at daybreak. She thought she recalled passing out, and explained her feeling of chocking to death from inside, Rosch nodded and demanded every detail. Ada supplied them, and when the story was finished, he took her in the most frenzied sexual encounter of the long erotic day.
Later, she told Rosch how the beating rituals were conducted. As a child she was beaten as a form of punishment, but as Von Kemp became older and more jaded, and more impotent, he turned the beatings into a means of sexual fulfillment. He had to draw blood or the beatings were meaningless. Ada saw many young bodies mutilated, but hers was a repeated target for punishment. At least one time a week the baron used his whips to open her partially healed wounds. This lasted from the time she was fourteen until the time her identity was revealed. Once she learned of her importance she refused Von Kemp. His compliance to her restrictions proved the truth of his tale. He was afraid of her. He began the desperate process of making amends. She supposed he believed a few years of subservience would overshadow a shattered childhood. But she had never forgotten. Now, in Hans Rosch, she had found not only a superior lover, but a means for revenge.
Once, during the long naked encounter, she asked Hans to detail stories from the concentration camps. He refused emphatically. He wasn't rude, but he was adamant. He said he shouldn't detail acts committed by a superior officer. He was only following orders in those days. She asked him to confess acts by his own hands, but he was equally reluctant. Ada let the matter rest. If he had been anyone else, she would have punctuated her demands with a beating, but Hans was different. He wasn't one of her youthful pals; he was mature and important. She permitted his silence.
Yet, she wondered. Were these perpetrators of evil this ashamed? Even Von Kemp refused to account for his wartime behavior. What did it mean? If brutality were a necessary evil, why did they all disown it? Perhaps she would learn the answer to her question when she attained more power and, she would seek it, certainly. In a corner of her troubled mind, it seemed' terribly important.
"What was my father really like?" she asked the doctor, after she had ordered their dinner brought up.
He smiled. "I wasn't important enough to meet him personally."
"I wish I could remember something about him, or even my mother. I've never met anyone who could tell me much. Von Kemp knew them both, but he only spouts the usual praise. Never details."
"Perhaps your father was too great to be well-known personally. But when you meet Herr Bormann you will gain insight. He knew him as well as anyone on earth. They were inseparable."
"I hope I will meet him soon."
"It won't be long now."
"Will I be a good leader?" she asked dreamily, once more seeking the feel of his body.
"The second best in history," he assured. "Your father must rank first. No one, male or female, could dream of surpassing the greatness of Adolph Hitler."
Ada smiled an turned her attention to the doctor's sex. The mysterious phenomenon of the male sexuality continued to fascinate her.