Tales from a German Opera – Part 2

By Aksinia Astakhov


Hildie lost track of time.  As the kidnapper had told her she was now stripped of her evening dress, so that her expensive lingerie and stockings were on show, and she was strapped into a chair, with two vibrating dildos working their fiendish torture between her buttocks and thighs.


Leather straps held her tight against the upright wooden chair, and when she tried an experimental jiggle to assess her bound situation, it was apparent that the chair itself was fixed to the floor and unmoveable. Even this small effort had made the weighted clamps on her now-red nipples pull from side to side, intensifying the discomfort she felt.


A blindfold covered her eyes. The fabric gag of her balled-up panties had been removed which was a small blessing, but it had been replaced by a large rubber gag shaped like a male member, and after its straps had been tightened around her head, another fixing attached this harness to the chair, keeping her in an upright posture.


Her ears were covered by headphones through which came a repetitive stream of operatic fragments. She recognized Wagner, Strauss and Berg, but the confused melange of sounds began to distract her from the sensations down below. Perhaps this was intentional, a further refinement of the torture, trying to break her body and mind? But no she thought, if I can think rationally like that I am safe, they can't break me.


Suddenly the intensity of the vibrations increased, synchronised with Wagner's Parsifal. She recognised amidst the mounting fever of an ecstasy that she could not control, the voice of Placido Domingo singing the part of Gurnemanz, Knight of the Holy Grail: “Nun Achte Wohl..” Overcome by waves of orgasm, she moaned as loudly as her intrusive gag would allow her.


Even  romantic nights with her husband had not produced such feelings. She thought of him now, when would he pay the ransom? Surely he would do so?


All at once the music and the vibrations stopped. Hildie was relieved and yet at the same time almost regretful, echoes of the intense pleasure she had just experienced calling her back to a mindless state of true abandonment, all thoughts and feelings suspended except the slaking of a deep thirst and the desire for more. They were creating an addiction in her. But no, Hildie brought herself sharply back into reality, and the world of pain. She was here against her will, she must resist these people.


The headphones were removed.


“Ah Hildie, you are truly a lover of opera, yes? But I am sorry I have some bad news, your husband is refusing to pay for your release, too bad. No doubt the police are telling him not to do that, that we are terrorists and the money would pay for guns and bombs. I assure you we are not killers, we are just... greedy, ha ha! So, enough of this, we will earn some money another way. We're selling you off to some very nice friends of ours.”


Hildie began to shake with anger, fear, panic, but it was no use, the bonds were too secure. She felt a sharp pin prick in her arm, and then there was blackness.







She came round lying in the back of a van being driven at high speed, turning corners recklessly and braking harshly. Finally it stopped and the engine died. Simultaneously the doors of the van were opened and Hildie was unceremoniously dragged out and onto her feet. She was in a garage, poorly lit, smelling of oil and garbage bins that were overdue for emptying. She was no longer bound or gagged but groggy from the drug that had been injected into her, and she could not resist or even think about escaping.  She did notice however that she had been dressed in a loose fitting shapeless robe of a pale colour, and that her shoes had been removed.


Two men held her upright. They took her out of the garage into a stair well, which resonated with the echoes of the door closing behind them. Through a barred window she saw that it was night. Surely not the same night that she had been to the Opera? She had lost all sense of time during her captivity. The men forced Hildie up two flights of stairs, their hands gripping her arms tightly all the way.


She was pushed into a room where three women sat at separate vanity tables. The men released her and abruptly left. Hildie stood there, confused and afraid. The women all turned to look at her, interrupted from their beauty routines. A strong smell of hairspray and several competing perfumes filled the air. The younger of the three women, perhaps in her late 20s was brushing her dark hair and had a pair of metal grips between her teeth ready to slide in above her ears, from which dangled large diamanté earrings. The other two were applying make-up. As Hildie's senses returned to normality, it became apparent to her that none of them looked particularly surprised to see a dishevelled and barefoot woman suddenly appear in their midst, as if it was the sort of thing that happened regularly. The younger one smiled, but not Hildie thought, in a particularly friendly way.


There were four tables, each facing the wall.  One was noticeably empty but the three that were occupied were covered in the usual collection of jars, bottles and boxes that any woman might have for her beauty regime. Hair dryers, curling tongs and a lot of gold jewellery were also visible, strewn across each dressing table. At the end of the room was a small boarded up window. Bright electric lights, more than was necessary for a room of this size, filled the space with a harsh yellowy whiteness. Hildie was reminded of a theatre dressing room. For a moment there was silence. Hildie felt faint, and the eldest of the three women stood and held her arm. She spoke:


“So you are the new girl.” Her voice was disdainful.  “A little older than I expected, perhaps Herr Direktor has some clients who like that sort of thing. And you're early, we'd better make you comfortable until we're ready”. Hildie had no idea who Herr Direktor was, or why she was early, and what for. All she knew, now that she was more aware of her situation, was that she wanted to get out. But any hope of release was dashed as the woman led Hildie back out of the dressing room into the stairwell, her hand tight around Hildie's upper arm. It looked like an average apartment block but no-one else seemed to be living there. Did they have the whole place to themselves? Two doors down Hildie was pushed into a small box room. The woman flicked a switch to reveal walls and ceiling covered with insulation tiles, dotted with steel eye bolts from which chains dangled. There was a bucket in one corner, no doubt meant as a toilet.  The woman quickly took a chain and padlocked it around Hildie's neck.


Finally Hildie managed to speak. “No, please, what's happening, where am I, who are you?”  But the woman gave no reply, leaving the room and locking it from the outside. The light was turned off and Hildie was left standing in the dark, and she finally gave way to her emotions, breaking into sobs for the first time since being kidnapped.





Hildeberta Liebling-Kitsch was a wealthy woman, her family had made their money in wines and spirits, starting in the 18th century. Some said the family went back to the days of the Hanseatic League, and that but for the numerous wars in continental Europe over the centuries she could have been a minor royal. Her husband was new money but they were equals in terms of income, and In spite of material comfort, her upbringing and culture were liberal, her politics centrist social democrat, and all in all she was a fine example of high class mittel-Europa woman.


So if anyone had asked for her views, say, on prostitution, she would have responded by saying that a person had a right to sell their body but it must be on a consensual basis, and that underlying issues of poverty should be addressed by the state to make prostitution unnecessary. On say slavery, this would have been opposed stridently, no-one can own another person.


So it was more than ironic that Hildie should find herself a prisoner in a brothel, somewhere in...well she had no idea where, held against her will and seemingly being “trained” as a high-class hooker.


The woman had explained it. The one who had locked her up now stood before Hildie in a smart business-style  suit of plain but expensive grey wool over an elegant white silk blouse. They were in a bedroom, and morning light filtered in through heavy drapes. Hildie was naked, wrists handcuffed behind her. The other two women were standing behind her.


“You may think it is not possible for someone to be bought and sold in this country today, but it is, and you have. Clearly your husband does not value you highly enough to ransom. Do you not think it strange that the police have not come looking for you? My guess is that he has already begun divorce proceedings on the grounds that you have abandoned him. Men are such bastards.


Never mind my dear, we shall look after you, but in return you must work for us. In case you haven't guessed this is a licensed bordello, an exclusive members club, only open to the richest and most powerful in Europe. You are a long way from Berlin, and you will forget your former life, your name is now Paulette. You will address me as Madame. You will be fed and given rent-free accommodation with us, and you will make yourself available to our customers, male or female. I am sure this is a lot to take in, but it is a simple equation.  Do you accept? It would be better for you to do so now voluntarily.”


“This is ridiculous, of course I don't, you must let me go immediately.”


“My dear you are not listening. You belong to us now and we will do what we want with you.”


At a sign from the women, the two younger women grabbed Hildie's arms and forced her to her knees. Madame, sat on the bed and lifted the hem of her dress to expose her thighs and dark pubic hair, glistening with moisture. Hildie's face was forced into the cleft and despite her struggles she could not escape.


“Calm yourself dear or you will not be able to breathe. Now listen carefully, first you must lick and then you will be released. You must obey me or things will become very difficult for you. Ahhh...yes...that's better. I assume you think you don't belong here, and that you will soon be free. Forget these ideas, you will find it easier if you give in now.  Mmmmm...good.”


After perhaps ten minutes, Hildie's head was released. Madame pulled two silk scarves from her pocket, wiped herself with one and balled the damp scarf into Hildie's mouth, securing it in place with the other, tied behind her head.


“Now stand.” Hildie hesitated, but this small act of resistance brought a swift flick of of a cane from one of the other women.


“You will begin your...training. Take her away, you know what to do.”




Hildie's natural and instinctive refusal to be a slave meant that she spent the next days – she had no idea how long – chained, bound, gagged, and played with, as they tried to break her spirit.


She would be gagged with a rubber ball, its straps fixed around her chin and head, ensuring that it was impossible for her to make any sound other than a muffled whine. To this was added a padded leather blindfold, and a leather neck strap. She would be forced into the traditional strappado position, the handcuffs on her wrists attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling of whatever room she was in. Her feet would be kept apart by a steel bar with leather cuffs around each ankle. From her attempts to kick this off, she came to understand that it was itself chained to the floor so any chance of release was impossible. The questioning  was simple: “Do you accept your new life?” All she could do was either nod or shake her head to indicate her response. Of course she refused, but that was not the answer they wanted.


In between the questions, no sounds reached her ears, other than the rattle of her chains. Occasionally she would hear the door open and the clack of stilettos on the hard floor. A gloved hand might then caress her thigh, fingers approaching her sex, and then pull away. At other times no contact would take place. The shoes might be soft soled at other times, their quiet tread more frightening than the stilettos. Sometimes she would smell cigarette smoke. But these were less frequent than the beatings. It might be a thin cane across her legs and buttocks, or a flat implement on each bare breast.


Madame spoke, so close that she made Hildie start, she must have been there for some time, silently watching her humiliation.


“Do you accept your new life Paulette?”


Hildie could only mumble through her gag, but with a shake of her head, she made a small act of defiance. 


“Come now you're being foolish, you have no options anyway.” A glint of mercy, no immediate flogging in response. Perhaps she could endure this?


Hildie felt hands on her thighs, something was being tightly strapped to the top of each leg, then she felt two hard round shapes pushed up against her, one in front of the other. The vibrators came to life and their strident buzzing filled the room.




A man entered the room. He spent  many minutes standing, or walking around her, no doubt admiring his captive. He placed his hands on her buttocks, squeezing, scraping his nails across he flesh. She heard a zip, felt his member as it forced its way into her from behind. She struggled and screamed behind her gag, all futile gestures. A rhythmic thrusting began, and the man leant over her back, reached forward and tweaked her nipples with his hands.


She recognised his scent, and then his voice: “Do you accept your new life Paulette?”


She nodded feebly. She was nearly broken in spirit and will.


Hildie's husband withdrew from his wife, satisfied.





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