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Urotsukidoji - Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.	By : Nickamano Category: +S to Z > Urotsuki-doji Views: 1508 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 5.
A few minutes passed before they all gathered together. Shaw had everyone sitting or standing around or near the kitchen table. An awkward and distrustful peace had enveloped the disparate company of allies. Everyone was watching everyone else though a couple of the more amiable of the American paratroopers had introduced themselves to the two Brits and a couple of the more amiable looking Poles. Namely the two young women and a little less enthusiastically, the senior man, Piszczek.
Kahn, his Sergeant Carson, as well as Private Clay sat on one side of the aged and beer stained table, with Salvatore and Wesson standing guard-like behind them. And Bodie and Piszczek sat opposite the three Americans. Teufel had made his reappearance having been discovered sitting casually in one of the wing-backed chairs with his feet up in front of the almost extinguished fire.
He hadn’t looked at the Americans as they had come storming back into the farm house, and they hadn’t spoken to him. Now, he took up the seat at one end of the table while his scintillating sister perched herself on its corner beside her brother, one long muscular thigh hooked seductively over the other.
Shaw stood at the opposite end with a couple of photographs and a large map of western Poland and eastern Germany spread out in front of him. There were a number of mugs of tea and coffee spread around the outer reaches of the large teak table and three ashtrays as most of the Poles, half the Americans and both Brits were smoking.
The remaining Americans, Private Brooks and the blond Scandinavian-looking Foster were off to one side at the boundary of the sitting room with the remaining Poles. Foster appeared to be enjoying a subdued and whispered back and forth with Kasia Tomaszeski, while Zofia Wyrwal leaned against the couch’s back, close to Michal Klich and Dominik Furman, the latter of whom was sitting on the arm of the comfortable old couch, the former having just extinguished the no longer needed oil lanterns on the mantelpiece had taken a seat on the couch beneath the slightly shell-shocked looking Zofia.
Only Thiago Clonek was separated from the others, though not by far. He was occupying one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire, which was now little more than ash and a few glowing embers, a mug of tea in one hand and his rifle cradled in the other, a cigarette between his pursed lips. He was using a rag to meticulously clean its bolt and receiver.
Shaw stood and leaned forward, hands braced on the tabletop, pipe between his teeth and looked around at the faces focused on him, then expressed a polite though somewhat weak smile.
“Right then chaps.” He began. “Essentially for the benefit of our American cousins, the story so far…”
He glanced down and took a moment to analyse his map, then whipped it around one-hundred and eighty degrees, sliding an open palm across it to flatten a momentary crease in the paper.
“So, the Kraut are up to something rather unusual, we believe in an old Schloss...” He pointed out the position on the map. “…Here. On the outskirts of Berlin. Our orders are to investigate and then recommend a counter-strategy based on our findings.”
Shaw waited, while the Americans leaned in and crowded close to look at where he was pointing on the map, before leaning up to straighten his back and continue with his briefing.
“Around six weeks ago. Some intelligence was intercepted, referring to transfers of personnel and equipment to this Schloss and an additional few ‘terms’ that raised a number of eyebrows at Whitehall. Myself and Lieutenant Brodie were dropped in to set up some counter surveillance measures and information gathering.”
“What Kinda ‘terms’?!” Kahn asked.
“Well pulled together a little intelligence from a small number of sympathetic persons in the area. And there are a number of rather dubious sounding rumours relating to the occult. Of arcane practices. Even of Devil worship. Satanic cults, black-masses… Ridiculous, I know.”
“Also, a name keeps cropping up. A Professor Munhihausen. Very little is known about him, or where he sprang from. Though he seems to possess a not insubstantial amount of power…”
Teufel made a kind of noncommittal cough and shifted in his seat slightly. Kahn and Shaw both eyed the boy but he didn’t seem to have anything else to add. Shaw went on.
“…So, we would like to gather some background on this individual if possible.”
Kahn opened his mouth as though he intended to add something, but Shaw carried on and he decided not to interrupt the clipped accented Briton.
“There have also been reports of disappearances, of young German Women, from towns and villages in the surrounding area. Which, given the number of French, Polish and Jewish women that are easily available to the Germans, makes these reports of disappearances rather unusual in themselves. Of course, we’re assuming disappearances actually mean kidnappings, though for what purpose, we haven’t been able to ascertain.”
“You mentioned devil worship and satanism… Could be sacrificial?” Salvatore suggestion in the guise of a question.
Shaw eyed him and gave a little shrug.
“That does seem to be the most obvious assumption to make, though I’d rather not jump to conclusions. Little else is coming out from our sources. Though we have heard mention of a little village across the border we can have a look at. To Clarify, our orders are to get a little look for ourselves at what’s going on at this Schloss, determine the validity of these rumours and give recommendations about what's to be done about them.”
“And our two young Japanese friends? What's their interest in all this?” Kahn asked, the forced-politeness sticking to his gritted teeth.
All eyes swung to Teufel, though the majority of the stares unintentionally slid across to his sister, who sat there in a naturally seductive pose with a little smirk pulling at her full lips, looking down at her brother. Teufel was propped backward on the rear legs of the wooden dining chair, one knee braced against the edge of the table, a rhythmic clenching of his thigh muscle causing him to rock back and forth a little.
“Munhihausen’s our interest.” The Japanese teen clarified. “We believe he has something that doesn't belong to him. Something that's giving him power that no human should possess.”
“Power? What are you talking about? Like what?”
“An artefact.” Segen said casually.
All eyes went back to the girl, as though grateful for the permission to stare at her. Of the guys behind her sitting on the couch, just about everyone’s eyes seemed to be glued to her taut, athletic bubble butt, showcased by the sheen of the brown leather of her trousers.
“What kind of artefact?” Wesson asked, after having to clear his throat.
“A relic, a stone cylindrical carving of Hanshokuryoku, a Jyujin deity.” Teufel said, taking over again.
“Hand-show-coo--- Jew-gin what? What is this bullshit?!” Carson spat, neither impressed or seemingly interested.
“Yeah, you speak-en de In-ge-wish?” Foster laughed.
The officers joined in, at least until Teufel raised his voice enough to cut through the guffaws.
“What it is, isn't really important. It’s a stone sphere, a little bigger than a baseball.” He said.
“What, and you want it back? It's sacred to your great divine Imperial Majesty is it?” Kahn spat.
“Your war has nothing to do with us.” Teufel replied, rolling his eyes.
“Our war?!” Clay snapped suddenly.
“It was you little bastards bombing Pearl Harbor that started all this shit!” Wesson grunted, incredulous.
“Like he said, your war has nothing to do with us… We're not even h...”
Segen was silenced by a quick, playful slap on her taut, perky buttocks by her brother.
It didn’t seem to make sense to any of the observers and made more than a couple of them feel suddenly uncomfortable. Segen glanced across at her brother and smirked. He rolled his eyes at her as he returned her smile.
Though the sharp, smooth slap of flesh against hard muscle encased in soft leather made most of the cocks in the room quicken and tingle with engorging blood. And Brooks, who seemed to be the quietest of the bunch, couldn’t withhold the low appreciative whistle that passed his lips.
Segen turned her head and looked back at him. Catching his wide, deep brown eyes, she gave him a little, flush-cheeked smile. It made his already pulsing, tingling shaft solidify completely, until it was jutting obscenely halfway down his trouser leg. The Japanese teen cast a long almost longing gaze from his round young face downward past the machine gun belt coiled loosely around his neck, until it captured the long tumescent shaped tenting of his trouser crotch.
She almost shivered at the sight of the python he was apparently sporting. And giggled in the back of her throat, a tiny sound like a tinkling bell. Suddenly embarrassed, Brooks tried to conceal his hard on from her hungry gaze. She caught his eye again and he couldn’t resist returning the warm seductive smile she flashed. While the table got back to the task at hand.
Brooks had always been embarrassed and uncomfortable by his inordinately proportioned phallus. It was something else that made him different, that made him stand out from the others in his school, something that was gawked at and became a source of ridicule. And it also, when he was old enough, hampered his attempt to get girls. Half the time he had worried about their reactions, that he would prove incompatible or his size would be something that they would be disturbed by or laugh at.
And other times, adding fuel to his concerns, the few girls he had dated when their physical relationship had advanced to them coming into contact with it, they tended to baulk at its size, to show dubiousness or even fear, especially at the prospect of allowing him to put it inside them. And so, it had hindered his growth and his development as a young man with a healthy sexual libido or healthy sexual experience.
So, when this young and beautiful foreigner Segen flashed that obviously seductive smile and hungrily eyed his bulging crotch, it had sparked fear and reticence in him alongside the desire and attraction he felt for her.

“We're here to help stop this human Munhihausen.” Teufel clarified, bringing everyone’s attention back to the briefing.
“We'd like our artefact back if possible, but we're willing allow its destruction if necessary.” Segen added.
“So, you’re saying you’re here to help yourselves, not the mission.” Clay grunted.
“We’re helping you for as long as our mission and yours correspond.” Segen replied.
She looked across at Clay, ignoring the accusatory manner of his clarification and held his gaze, unable to see his crotch as the seated Sergeant Carson blocked her view. Though she stared him down and found herself glowing inwardly as she watched his brown eyes rove her shapely young body, drinking her in with overt lust, as though attempting to play her at her own game. It made Segen smile. And Clay couldn’t hold back his own wry grin, despite his annoyance at the Japanese teen’s apparent lack of commitment to the mission.
“So, Shaw… You got a plan, or what?” Kahn snapped, almost as if he was calling the other officer’s bluff.
<><><>
Greta Thiesburg was already so accustomed to the small cell she had been locked into, since being transported from her village, that its four unadorned, dull-grey concrete walls had begun to bore and frustrate her. She had been kept in her cell alone and scared with nothing but a small bed, a sink and a toilet. A single naked bulb was suspended from the high ceiling, out of reach and barely illuminating. There were no windows only a heavy steel door with a slot that her three meals were posted through.
It was hot in the room, which was a minor blessing because she was naked. She had been stripped of most of her clothes in the tavern when she had been doubly raped and then as each of the women had been bundled into the canvas covered van, the rest of their clothing had been removed. Their legs had been manacled with heavy chains keeping their bare feet from moving too far apart. They had all felt cold and sore and shivering, with both temperature and terror, throughout the journey. Two soldiers had clambered in behind them in the rear of the canvas covered truck, keeping them and their rifles between the women and the rear flaps that offered an enticing exit.
One of the soldiers had sat dumbly and stared, rifle cocked and ready while the other had stowed his rifle on the floor, planting a heavy booted foot onto it and then had dragged cute little Hale Huber over to him, fingering her and kissing her and biting the tender little nipples of her small breasts. He had molested the girl all the way back to where ever they were being taken and didn't seem to be put out by the fact that she had cried right the way through her ordeal.
Greta had not been able to determine how long the journey had taken them, but it had felt like hours and she had hugged her sister, pressing in close and sharing what little warmth they had between them, while they had both shivered in the ever-increasing and bitter cold of the night.
It had eventually grown dark and echoey, streetlights blocked off, and she guessed tall and close buildings providing the echoes, but Greta hadn't recognised it as being the end of their journey until the truck had pulled up to a halt and the engine had been shut off, the motor clicking obstinately as it cooled and relaxed.
The soldier abusing Hale, had been forced to haul her gagging, choking throat from his erection and lever the rigid and unsatisfied shaft back into his saliva darkened uniform trousers before retrieving his rifle.
Greta, Milena and the rest of the village women had been bundled down onto the cobbled floor, from the high step to the truck’s rear. The two guards led them at gun point, awkwardly, due to the heavy chains weighing down their ankles and hindering their descent.
The women stood in a line in a cobblestone courtyard with tall baroque- or maybe gothic- stone architecture surrounding and dwarfing them. Roughly shoved until the line was formed to satisfaction. Each of them was bent inward, shoulders hunched, chins to chests, lank hair hanging around their faces, their entire bodies shivering uncontrollably. Soldiers surrounded them, eyeing them and smirking while they hefted their rifles.
This was the first time Greta had seen the Doctor. He had been terrifying, emanating such a sense of depravity that it almost seemed to ooze from him like tar. He was ugly, somehow malformed or scarred, one of his hands, his left one she thought afterwards without certainty, had been replaced with some kind of clockwork-hand mechanism made from brass with pullies and pistons to work the digits. He laughed like Colin Clive from Universal's Frankenstein. One eye bulged from its socket while the other was set deep and there seemed to be some kind of skull deformity that bulged in a ridge on the right side of his head. It also seemed to have made his greasy, steel-grey hair recede on that side too. He wore a tan brown suit under his white doctor’s coat.
Standing there in line shivering even more now that it had started to rain, the Doctor had examined a clipboard while he walked up and down the line. And he had separated Greta, Milena, Frau Marquand and Frau Huber. And he had done so without even looking up, instead snatching a handful of each woman’s hair and dragging them forward a step, before he glanced across at who Greta would come to recognise as the Captain.
“These four.” He had said. “They show the most promise.”
Then he had looked into the women’s faces for the first time, examining each of the line before singling out Galena Fischer.
“Take this one and secure her in my quarters also.” He said with a slightly twitch-laden nod. “The others, well… You know what to do…”
The orders were relayed and re-relayed, along the chain of command and the women were split up and then marched away by grey uniformed, rifle toting soldiers.
Greta hadn’t maintained much awareness of where she was taken. There was lots of grey stone, cold floors and downward spiralling staircases. The suspended cables of electric lighting started well enough, fabric-wrapped wiring hooped over sconces, making trails like Christmas lights, with illuminated bulbs somewhat evenly spaced. However, as they started their descent into the bowels of the Schloss, which looked more like a hybridised theatre and medieval castle, the electricity seemed to disappear and like walking backward in time, the sconces were filled with torches of stacked and oil soaked timber and sometimes just handfuls of coals, glowing embers tossing meagre hellish glows across the rustic stonework.
The electricity reappeared at their destination, a short corridor with heavy though rust pocked metal doors on both sides of the corridor. They were shoved firmly and alone into door after door, separated and sealed in with loud and heavy reverberating clangs, that sounded as final as the last nail being driven into a coffin lid.
Greta and the others, as she could hear them, screamed and banged on the doors for a long time until they had all exhausted themselves. It was the confusion and uncertainty of it that made them the most afraid. They were German citizens; they were not to be treat this way. Why had they been chosen? Why had the four of them been chosen out of all the women taken from the village? What was to become of them? Why was this happening?
No answers came. There was clean running water from the sinks and meals began to be shoved through the door slots after a time. But the first real human contact they were offered were the visits by the men.
The men, the same four faces, though no more than one at a time, visited her. And she assumed they came whenever they felt like it, day and night. It was impossible to keep track of the passage of time. There were no clocks and no windows. The light in the ceiling of the cell was dim but it was never switched off. The men’s visits felt almost entirely at random. Sometimes they stayed a few minutes leaving the second their balls were emptied, sometimes they stayed for hours and raped repeatedly. They were all officers, she recognised their rank patches on their uniforms - a Captain, a Lieutenant, a Corporal and a Sergeant.
They fucked Greta over and over again. Sometimes it would feel like hours between each visit, though often she would be visited by multiple men back to back, one man would leave and another would step into the room immediately afterward and it would start up all over again. And she could hear comparative noises from the other cells too, even more so in the moments her door was open when someone entered or left. So, she knew the other women were getting it too and seemingly just as much as her.
They fucked her face until she vomited. They fucked her ass until she bled. They fucked her pussy until she climaxed, despite the self-revulsion and anger the orgasms bred in her. Weirdly, all of them always used lubrication when they raped her pussy.
Her only other visitors were the vile Doctor, who was always flanked by armed and ever watchful guards. He took blood samples again and again and checked her over medically. He never said a word to her or looked her in the eye. Though at least he never raped her. Maybe the reason he had separated Galena Fischer was so he could have his own personal sex slave.
Also, she occasionally caught glimpses of another man standing outside in the dim corridor as though he was accompanying the Doctor, though he didn’t enter the cell. He was a real mystery. He was never in a uniform and though he had European features he didn't appear to be German, at least not in Greta’s opinion. He was very tall and statuesque, well over six feet and yet instead of the rake thinness that usually came with the very tall person, he was broad and appeared to be muscular beneath his long Macintosh. Also, the times she had seen him standing there, he hardly seemed to move at all, just stood there staring into her cell with no emotion on his face that she could read.
And then at one point, she wanted to say the previous night but had no way of knowing how long ago it taken place, the boy had appeared too. He was maybe three or four years younger than her and she had absolutely no clue who he belonged to or what he was doing there. He had opened up the food slot in her door and peered in through the gap, shining an electric-torch over her naked body, staring at her for a long time. He could have been masturbating while he watched her, Greta wasn't certain.
She also knew that at least three others from her village were in cells opposite and alongside hers. The only saviour in the whole situation was that she didn’t feel completely alone. The walls were thick but not so think that a degree of muffled and mostly unintelligible sound didn't travel from cell to cell and she was certain she had more than once heard her sister singing. Probably to try and keep her spirits up. And she had also caught glimpses of Shayla Marquand in the cell opposite too. Which suggested Frau Huber would probably also be on the opposite side of the corridor next door to Frau Marquand.
Greta had no clue whatsoever what had become of the others, or of the rest of the occupants of her village. Not even her mother.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Urotsukidoji - Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.