Urotsukidoji - Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.

BY : Nickamano
Category: +S to Z > Urotsuki-doji
Dragon prints: 650
Disclaimer: Neither Urotsukidoji or any related materials are owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Urotsukidoji. Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.
By Nickamano.

Disclaimer:  I do not own Urotsukidoji or its characters myself and make no money from the writing of the fan fiction story. Toshio Maeda is the creator and copyright owner of the Urotsukidoji manga and all its characters. While West Cape Corp / Phoenix Entertainment owns the copyright to the Anime series from which these scenes and characters originate.

Tags: Rape, gb, dp, tp, Fmmm+, MMMf, guro, Mf, mf, minor2, demon, micd, guro, racist.

Author's note - This story was first inspired by a trailer for the sci-fi horror film "Overlord" from 2018. 

South-east of Berlin
Two miles south of Wildau.

Greta and Milena Thiesburg were sisters, barely a year apart in age, they looked almost exactly alike. In fact, they often were mistaken for twins. Appearance wise they were nothing less than the epitome of the Fuehrer’s Master Race. Perfect examples of the Frauleinwunder. The local Burgomaster often stated the fact whenever he saw them, loudly and to anyone who would listen. However, everyone knew the Burgomaster had an eye for pretty girls and would invariably use his power and influence to trick, cajole, or coerce the sillier and dumber girls into his bed. However, the Thiesburg girls were too smart for his tricks. Even though neither sister was under any illusion - he would never give up the intention to bed the both of them, and preferably together was the assumption from the wild rumours about him. 

Greta, the eldest at seventeen, glanced over at her sister. Milena was undeniably beautiful which at times and quite unfathomably – as she was equally lovely - made Greta jealous. The ‘almost exactly alike’ assertion was not particularly accurate.  Greta’s younger sister had huge startling grey eyes, their main differentiating feature, as Greta’s were cornflower blue. And beyond that, anything beyond a cursory glance would reveal Milena’s fuller lips and Greta’s smaller, straighter nose.

Milena’s strawberry blonde hair was done in long, loose ringlets that danced against her slender shoulders while a thick fringe covered her high forehead and perpetually interfered with her long dark eyelashes. Her robust yet slender figure was packed tightly into the buttoned-up calf-length coat she was wearing, and yet the jut of her teenage bosom was still pronounced and glaring to any who took the merest glance at her. 

The sisters were both hardworking girls and well educated for countryside teenagers. Both headstrong and passionate, the most distinctive difference between them was that Greta was seriously minded, headstrong and political. Whereas Milena, though equally headstrong and passionate, tended to direct her interests altogether elsewhere. She was flightier, more fanciful. And she was openly flirtatious with almost anyone who showed her interest. She seemed to thrive on the appreciation poured over her. And that was why Milena got almost all of the attention, and that was why Greta was jealous.

Throughout the week the girls worked in the munitions-factory over in Wildau, making bullets for the boys on the front line. While the weekends were spent assisting at one of the local farms, partially to help their mother acquire an extra share of rations under the table. And now, as it was Saturday and dusk was approaching, in order to wash down their evening meal, supplied by the farmer’s wife Frau Meyer, the sisters hurried down to the village tavern to drink traditional flagons of frothy ale and gossip with friends of all ages.

Descending the village’s sloping main street, strolling along side-by-side in perfectly synchronised rhythm, the sisters were in full flow, singing an old and slightly bawdy song that soon had Milena chuckling while a blush flourished across Greta’s cheeks. Their hobnailed boots were loud on the manure-mortared cobbles, echoing off the stone, brick and slate of the surrounding buildings. Although Wulfendorf was second nature to the sisters, almost breeding contempt in their familiarity, at times Greta still found herself marvelling at the idyllic beauty of the place. Its timelessness and almost fairy-tale quality. 

The ancient and picturesque village hadn’t aged much in two hundred years. The streets were still cobble-stones. Houses were lit and heated by coal and wood rather than electricity. And not a telephone was to be found anywhere. Apart from two trucks and a tractor, owned by a couple of the surrounding farmers, wheeled traffic was still pulled by horses and occasionally cattle. Though there were a number of bicycles that had sprung up over the last thirty years.

The majority of the buildings were of stone construction from the late medieval period, though most had seen repairs and rebuilds over successive centuries until each one was a mishmash of styles and qualities of the era and fashion of their individual repairs. It wasn’t unusual to see a thatched roof alongside a flat slate roof or modern moulded tiles.

The small church, of Lutheran denomination since the sixteenth century, presented itself as the centre of the village, yet the tavern was the real hub. Which was why as usual on a Saturday night, it was particularly busy.

The dance-band music caught the girls by surprise. They often enjoyed music in the tavern but it was always local folk players. And they had all gone off to war. However, from the stone-constructed building, with light blazing from its windows, came the tinny reverberating sweetness of a modern dance band. Paul Godwin or someone like that, fast-paced trumpets with trombone bass and complex percussion. Sometimes when she was in the mood, Frau Meyer would haul out their electric radio and connect it to the battery of the tractor so the girls could singalong and dance in the fields during their lunch break. Maybe someone had fixed up something similar in the tavern? 

Meister Munhihausen stood within the shadowed concealment of the Wulfendorf church’s bell tower, high above the other buildings in the boring little village. He was watching the two intriguing little sows as they strolled down the cobbled road, arm in arm, obviously heading toward the tavern. He observed them carefully with the scientific caution of his chosen profession as well as the libidinous nature of his race.

The young Fräuleins were both all but identical featuring lovely, pretty faces and eye catching slender, curvaceous figures and only hairstyle separated them. The one on the left had simple plaits hanging down on either side of her slender throat. Brushing her shoulders. The one on the right seemed more vivacious, her long flaxen hair in loose constantly bouncing ringlets.

He watched them with interest and desire. The tell-tale adolescent bounce to their precociously big yet well-confined tits accompanied, almost musically, with the playful bounce of their happy quick-step dance-like march. The undeniable beauty of their round faces was equally eye-catching. The ringlet haired one having fuller lips than the other, whose slash of a mouth went from a puckered anal sphincter pout to a wide promising smile. Her nose also appearing small and dainty next to the not quite ‘Roman’ nose of her sister. 

The pair were desirable enough, absolutely. Meister Munhihausen was in no way immune to the lusts brought about by attractive females. However, it wasn’t their looks or figures that was the most important in his frame of reference but the readings they gave out - the oestrogen levels, the hypothalamic frequencies, and the degree of pheromonic resonance and amplitude. 

However, his readings on these two were within the parameters he had calculated. Just like the others he had singled out. He would require more of course. Even those with the correct external readings might not prove compatible.

The apparatus required thirteen by his calculations. An interesting number, signifying self-determination. It was a prime number, a Wilson and a Fibonacci. And of course, it has been long steeped in folklore, and the arcane since pre-history. The genius Professor and occultist forced himself back from his reverie and focussed again on the two girls, leaning out from the bell tower to stare down at them as they passed beneath his eagle’s-nest.

Grinning and giddy, Milena swung the tavern door open and stepped into the smoky interior of the stone-wall and wooden-beam style tavern. And then both she and Greta behind her, stopped dead in their tracks. 

There was a moment of elation at seeing the soldiers, eight or nine of them. The instant familiarity of the German uniforms providing relief. There was no way it could have been the Russians, as far as they had heard, the fighting was still going strong on the Eastern Front. 

However, the numerous women in amongst the soldiers, put paid to their momentary relief, belying the accompanying sense of safety. There was too much flesh on display, too much of the back and forth thrusting of rapidly gyrating hips. And the women were crying. Mostly naked, they were obviously being assaulted. This was no welcome party of over-enthusiastic women of the village, maybe having got carried away by the lack of men in their lives. No, this was raping. On the tables, on the floor, against the walls, over the bar. 

A rifle was suddenly shoved into Greta’s back, though the girl barely registered the threat at first, she was ensnared by the visual assault laid out before her. And even as Milena turned toward the door at her back, intending to run, a fistful of her lovely flaxen hair was grabbed and her quick-thinking escape attempt was ceased before it began.

Shoved forward a step into the tap room, Greta stared in mute horror. What she was witnessing was simply unthinkable. These weren’t Poles or Soviets or Jews, they were Germans. German soldiers raping German civilians. Women and girls, she had known all her life. 

She saw Hale Huber and her mother Halda, pinned to adjoining tables as grey uniformed soldiers rutted on them with aggression and speed. Fourteen-year-old Hale was on her back, held down by her slender, naked hips and the weight of the large burly private stuffing his erect member into her naked crotch like a battering ram. Squealing and crying for her mother, the girl was reaching desperately for Halda’s outstretched hand. Even as the soldier grabbed the teenage girl by the throat and squeezed, noisily grunting out his own animalistic pleasure. Alongside her daughter, Halda was sandwiched between two other grey uniforms. One was beneath her, on his back across the table. The woman, in her thirties, was on top of him face up, her back against his chest. The second uniformed man, a Sergeant it appeared, was on top astride her, kneeling on the edge of the table and hammering in between her pale, splayed legs. As he brutally raped her, he filled his hands with her robust exposed bosom. He was squeezing the soft orbs of her breasts nastily in his clenched fists, as he violently drove his naked hips back and forth into her violated groin. Her dress appeared to have been slashed open from neckline to hem and thrown apart like drapes. Sticky with tears, spittle and a couple of blood trickles - no doubt from her early attempts to defend her daughter and herself, the woman’s face was a mask of suffering. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth agape as she wailed and wept at her dual assault.

The barmaid, Nadja Toepfer and her young pot-washer girl Vamika Metzger were side by side, bent over another table and they were getting slammed so hard, like dogs, that the table was rocking back and forth from one set of legs to the other and being intermittently shunted across the floorboards.

From Greta’s vantage point she could see the girl Vamika was being brutally sodomised. And her loud cries and pleas for mercy betrayed the anguish of the painful rape. The soldier, rifle still slung across his back, had his hands tight on her slender shoulders. His nails were digging sharply into her pale flesh as he repeatedly dragged her backward onto his hard driving hips, battering the girl as fast as Greta had ever imagined it done. 

Frau Toepfer was getting it just as brutally. Her pendulous breasts, hooked free of her peasant-style blouse, were gripped and crushed by the soldier’s hands while he pummelled her generous bottom with his own fleshy hips. The woman had her head down, her long brown curls hanging down over her face this time concealing her suffering. Though the two of them were letting out telling groans, rapist and victim both providing similar verbal accompaniment, though each was the significant expression of an opposing experience, one pronounced in his pleasure, the other sheer in her suffering.

The other two women scattered around the tavern were also being assaulted with comparative passion. Frau Marquand had just recently married. Her injured fiancé had returned for a short visit and decided to tie the knot while they had the chance. It had been rumoured that she had been desperate to have a child but her new husband had been called back to the Eastern Front the day after their wedding. And now there was every chance she would end up with someone else’s child. The beautiful twenty-something blonde laid out on the bar, already stripped, and with one soldier humping between legs held wide apart by two other men who were apparently waiting their own turns. One was sucking and chewing on her long, prominent nipples, capping full, pert breasts already marked by welts and love bites, while the other was sawing his erection in and out of her mouth, her head turned to the side to better receive his shaft. A handful of her hair fisted in order to hold her still and steady.

There were two other soldiers also watching and waiting for their turns and Greta assumed it was due to Frau Marquand being the most beautiful of the group of women in the tavern. 

Young Fraulein Fischer - Galena, was getting it bad too. She appeared to be the officer’s first choice, a Lieutenant, a Captain and a Corporal were using her between them. The girl was on her hands and knees, barely visible except for a pale, quivering limb - jutting out of the rough ball of maleness entombing her - and a swathe of straight though unkempt auburn hair sweeping back and forth. 

The Captain was beneath her on an old couch shoved against the wall, the Corporal stood on the couch to the side, driving hammer and tongues into her vice-gripped face, that gleaming red hair gripped tight in his fists, while the Lieutenant leaned over her back ploughing the girl’s taut backside as though it was his final slice of pleasure. Greta knew that Galena was Milena’s age and her classmate. The noise, the exclusively male grunting of pronounced sexual pleasure in stark opposition to the high-pitched crying and squealing of the women, was as shocking as it was deafening. The music that had attracted them like moths to the flame all but forgotten, drowned out.

And then Greta recognised at last that something sharp and hard was pressed into the small of her back and at the same time Milena gave a little squeal of shock and horror.

  “Sir! Two more to join the party!” Another private, behind the two sisters, shouted over the din.

  “Good!” One of the officers busy raping poor Galena Fischer shouted back. “Toss them into the middle, share and share alike!”

Private Franz Rahn loved this particular job. Before this he’d been a butcher’s apprentice, playing football at the weekends and chasing girls, without ever catching them. He’d joined up still a virgin. He’d lost his virginity to some Ukrainian lowlife he’d found while searching through a few cottages on the banks of the Dnieper river. He’d managed to fuck that teenage bitch three times, holding his bayonet to her throat to keep her still while he enjoyed her, before the Soviet offensive had pushed them back. He’d survived at the Dnieper, which had been Hellish. After that, with most of his Platoon wiped out, he had been reassigned to a different Company and Battalion. The Ukrainian bitch - pretty, young and nicely curvaceous - had given him a taste for pussy and he’d promised himself that he would partake every chance he got.

And this last month, since their company had been sequestered to Meister Munhihausen’s command, he had been getting it left right and centre. Three villages across the border in Poland, the French prisoners shipped over by train and hand-picked by his Captain, the convent, all those women assessed by Herr Munhihausen and then shared out to the boys to be fucked silly for as long as they wanted. At least until Munhihausen completed his calculations and his readings and then chose another target. This time it had been this little village of Wulfendorf, or whatever it was called.

This time he had been further down in the rotation for the tavern, once the houses had been flushed. The officers of course, always got first dibs and they picked some young pretty morsel for themselves. And then the others had been shared out among the men. Though last time he had been in the first group to enjoy the freshest meat, so this time he was in the bottom third. At least until this fresh pair turned up. A beautiful teenage pair walking straight into their web. He gave them a second to take in the orgy and then shoved the muzzle of his Gewehr hard into the back of the one with the pig tails, surprising her and altering her to his presence. She seemed to have gone into a stupor at the sight of the whores taking soldier dick. Something she was definitely about to do herself. Something that was about to become her whole life. 

He spun her around, angling the rifle, holding the grip low and one handed, the muzzle raised and pressed into the under curve of her young jutting bosom. His other grabbed her by the collar of her coat. Meanwhile and almost simultaneously, her sister was grabbed by Private Manheim. 

Taking advantage of the girl’s motionless trance-like state, Rahn gripped her collar tight and yanked at it. It took two hard jerks before buttons went flying and her filled blouse beneath revealed. The girl gasped and tears flashed in her eyes but she neither moved nor made much more than her gasp of fear as he repeated the action on her blouse. A robust off-white brassiere was unveiled and made short work of, as Rahn unsheathed the bayonet from its sheath on his left hip and used it to bisect the wired garment from underneath, thrusting the sharpened blade up between her teenage tits.

As Rahn dragged the ruined clothes from the girl’s torso, she started to cry, pleading with him. He simply ignored her. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Dietrich and Loew were leaving behind the newly wed Frau, abandoning their prospective turns and instead crossing the tavern to help out with these two sisters.

Manheim, who had been on door-duty with Rahn and Herberger, had been drinking wine and patiently waiting his turn as they were all way down on the hierarchy. So, he and Herberger had grabbed the sister with the ringlets and had already dragged her over to another table. Herberger immediately had her stretched across it, face down and holding her tight by her wrists while she kicked and screamed and struggled in vain. Manheim, half up on the tabletop and straddling the girl, had his bayonet out and was holding the back of her coat’s collar. He was already hacking into her clothing, cutting and tearing at the fabric in order to strip her.  As Rahn watched, he hacked away at her clothes, shredding her coat, pullover and blouse and then was sawing through the rear strap of her brassiere. She screamed as the last layer came away and between the two of them, the privates dragged her clothes out from beneath her.  

Pinning the other sister with her plaited tails, between himself and a dark wooden support pillar by the tavern’s vestibule entrance, Rahn pressed his hands and mouth to the girl’s naked tits, enveloping their smooth creaminess in his excited grasp, tasting their warmth and the hint of salty sweat between and beneath the succulent orbs.

  “Rahn! Bring her over! Come on, share and share alike man!” Someone growled at him from close by.

It was the tell-tale voice of Private Loew, gravelly and deep, to go with his short and stocky stature. If people had animal doubles, he would a warthog. Before Rahn had even committed to following his comrade’s assertion, Loew had come over and was kneeling beside them, hands tight on the girl’s skirts, yanking at the smooth tan fabric, trying to strip off the remainder of her clothing in a lust-driven hurry.

An abrupt scream from the ringlet-haired sister diverted Rahn’s attention, and he pulled his teeth off his girl’s nipple and glanced across at the other sister. She had already been anally and vaginally penetrated, sandwiched, now on her back between Herberger and Manheim. The former was beneath her, stabbing into her assuredly tight little ass, while the latter crouched over her his hands and feet braced on the table, her thighs splayed and up in the air, held there by Herberger’s two handed grip of the backs of her creamy thighs.  Manheim was keeping his weight more or less off the girl while he ploughed his erection into her ruddy, raw looking pussy but his face was pressed firmly into her pale young bosom and Rahn could quite clearly see that the private was chewing on the girl’s nipples as he raped her. And then her high-pitched screams and sobbing protests were physically blocked as Dietrich, the other man to have come over from the newly wed Frau, climbed up onto the table. He had squatted over the teenage girl’s face, grabbed her spiralling, bouncing locks in both hands, and then lodged his erection deep into the back of her mouth.

  “We are German! We are German like you!” One of the weeping women moaned in a painfilled protest. “We are not Poles, Jews, or Czech. You cannot do this!”

  “We must all serve the Reich how we must Herr lady. And right now, this is how you are to serve your Fuhrer!” One of the soldiers responded with a slouching drawl, half-heartedly mocking. “Now, take it deeper! And start sucking! Work for it!” 

Grinning at his comrade’s smart-mouthed comical reply, Rahn returned his attention back to the plait-tailed beauty, the source of his own carnal pleasure. He was ready to rape - her mouth, her pussy, her ass hole. All three, in whatever order he could arrange with Loew. He grabbed hold of her plaited pig tails as he forced her to kiss him, suddenly infused with the image of him using the plaits as handles while he vigorously sodomised her. Yes, he would be sure to make that little fantasy come true at least once before they were ordered to throw these particular whores into the back of the truck for transport to Herr Munhihausen’s Berlin Schloss.

   “It hurts! It hurts! Please! Oooohhh it hurts!” 

Milena squealed and moaned over and over as soldier dicks drilled and burrowed into her tender young body. Her legs were forced to spread wider and wider until her joints complained. Her body pinned, crushed between hard, hot muscle and rough, itchy cloth.  

Straining to look across at her sister, while she obediently accommodated the soldier’s hungry kiss, Greta felt pangs of sympathy for her sister’s savage ad obviously agonising dual assault. Greta herself was now as naked as her sister, she had had her wrists bound with a leather belt. And the soldier stretched her arms up over her head, then hooked the buckle over an old iron nail where wreaths of garlic had been suspended throughout previous generations.

The soldier who had been stuffing her mouth with his tongue, a baby-faced looking man who stared at her with a frightening, malicious heat behind his eyes, had already forced himself between her bare legs and had just shoved his thing inside her. Greta cringed and shook in sudden hot pain. The soldier was holding her by her plaits, yanking on them cruelly as if for purchase while he thrust up into her, using as much aggression as she had ever been on the end of. 

She wasn’t a virgin; she had given her cherry to Hans Mueller before he had left for the Eastern Front two years earlier. And he had screwed her twice more since then when he had been allowed to return on leave. However, she was by no means accustomed to the feel of an erect cock pumping in and out of her, and had certainly never felt herself on the receiving end without any form of lubrication. The hot, dry friction against her sensitive tunnel walls burned. The cock was rubbing her raw so that it felt like she was being diddled with a carpenter’s rasp.

Another soldier, shorter and stockier and at least a decade older than her rapist was groping her throughout. His tongue probing her ear disgustingly, one hand squeezing her bottom, probing between her buttocks, while his other groped her tender breasts with a harsh and painful aggression. Greta mumbled a little hissing whimper of renewed discomfort as the second soldier abruptly shoved a finger up her bottom. He began twisting and worrying the digit, pushing deeper and deeper until he suddenly withdrew it. And then in the second that followed he pierced her again, this time adding a second finger alongside the first. Greta moaned as her anal entrance was forcibly stretched to accommodate his probing digits.

  “What are you doing, Loew?” Rahn managed to voice, around his guttural passionate grunts.

  “Getting her back-door ready for me!” Loew replied obstinately.

  “Ah…” Was all Rahn could say in reply. 

Though the thought of this tight little teenage girl being abruptly sodomised against her will added a surprising extra flavour of spice to his already burgeoning lust.

  “Ten minutes!” Someone shouted from the shoved-open tavern entryway. It was one of the guards - Private Fuchs, going off the lisp.

   “Herr Munhihausen’s orders, Sir. You have ten minutes more play before the females are to be put onto the truck.”

Captain Schoen understood well enough that it didn’t do to anger Munhihausen, he was certainly as insane and dangerous as he was genius. Plus, apparently, he had the ear of the Fuhrer and it wouldn’t take much more than a word or two in his ear and you would be back on the front line with rotten rations and issued a faulty rifle against the Soviets. If you were lucky.

Besides, they might only have another ten minutes here but once they were back at the Schloss, all the captured females were fair game to the upper echelons like himself, unless Munhihausen was experimenting with one or two of them himself. There would be plenty more opportunity to fuck these whores.

Encouraged by the deadline, the rest of the men went to town fucking harder and faster, making the most of the soft, warm bodies they had beneath or above or against them. The tight, damp heat of the orifices they were assaulting invigorated them, they were just trying to cum one more time or make one last-ditch effort to penetrate a throat or an anal tract. To make the most of the initial opportunity afforded them. Because once these women were onto the trucks and under the purview of Munhihausen’s personal guard, they would be untouchable. And once they were under lock and key in the scientist and occultist’s personal Berlin Schloss, they were never seen or heard from again. Other than as those agonised, terrorised and pitiful screams that echoed incessantly around the marble and stone walls in the dead of night. Every night.

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