Prisoner Stoles lady Police Panties

 

When the train slowed the young woman stood and took her small suitcase down from the overhead baggage rack. A young soldier across the aisle leapt out of his seat to assist but she already had the case resting on the vacant seat across from her. She smiled appreciatively at him and he sat back down.

She took a compact out of her purse and freshened her makeup and touched up her lipstick; she brushed her hair and put the compact and hairbrush away. She put her purse in her lap, folded her hands over it and crossed her ankles demurely. The young soldier kept glancing her way but she ignored him.

The steam engine puffed and wheezed at it approached Brussels railway station as if it was labouring and glad that its journey finally was over. A long blast on the whistle announced its arrival and the woman looked nervously out the window at the crowds as the train shuddered to a stop.

She knew that trying too hard to be inconspicuous will would be counterproductive. She was young and very attractive, and although she wore a sombre brown suit and white cotton blouse it was impossible to disguise her slender figure, her long shapely legs, elegant neck and alabaster skin. A brunette bob sculpted in voluptuous waves framed her pretty face, she had long eyelashes and red lips. Her legs were sheathed in flesh-toned silk stockings, a luxury for the times, and on her feet she wore brown slingback wedge-heels.

Knowing that she stood out from the throng of dowdy and downbeat women, she had devised a strategy to use her good looks to her advantage. Of course she was not the only attractive young woman on the train nor on the crowded platform; but they were few and far between.

She stood up as soon as the train came to a complete stop; she smoothed her skirt and straightened her jacket; she wanted to be in the middle of the crowd of disembarking passengers so that she would not be too prominent. She declined the young soldier's offer to carry her small suitcase and stepped down from the carriage and strode confidently down the platform towards the exit. She knew that behaving furtively would only draw unwanted attention. She didn't mind the approving glances that she received from many of the men; she just didn't want anyone to be suspicious of her behaviour.

Major Klaus Keppel was a predator. He preyed on anyone trying to evade capture, or travelling illegally on the Deutsche Reichsbahn, the German National Railway. Those who raised his suspicion or who presented as timid enough to be manipulated or bullied by him were fair game. He particularly liked to intimidate and harangue the frail and the meek; but he especially liked to intimidate women and girls. Klaus Keppel would exhort anything of value for those he apprehended with promises of release from custody and safe passage. He would then hand the person over to 'proper authorities', which in most cases meant the Gestapo.

From women he would take not only their money and valuables but he would convince them that by providing him with sexual favours they could continue their journey unencumbered. Not that it really mattered to him if they were compliant or not; if the woman refused she was likely to be bent over the table and taken against her will in any event.

A craven coward with a sadistic streak, Klaus Keppel's family had just enough influence to keep him from fighting at the front and obtained for him a commission in the Feldjägerkorps, or military police. He secured a series of cushy postings at border crossings or major transportation hubs where he could practice his evil trade under the guise of carrying out his lawful duties.

His NCOs were checking travel documents and identity cards at the exits while Klaus prowled the platform looking for victims and when he saw the delightful young creature striding confidently down the platform he grinned evilly.

He scrambled to place himself directly in front of her and held out his hand and gave her his most charming smile. He was a handsome man, tall and resplendent in his Wehrmacht uniform, his chest bedecked with medal ribbons, most of which he hadn't earned.

"Papers please Fraulein?" he asked politely in German.

"Madame, please sir. I am married and I am French," she corrected him and returned his smile.

She rummaged in her purse and produced her French National Identity card issued by the Vichy government and German travel documents approving her to travel to her final destination at Calais.

Klaus made a show and postured himself importantly as he scrutinised her documents while the young woman waited patiently. The documents had been checked many times during her journey and she was confident that they would pass another inspection.

Klaus tucked the documents into his pocket and took a clipboard from under his arm. It held photographs and wanted posters of suspected spies, escapees, and collaborators. He flicked through them quickly knowing full well that there was nothing there that even vaguely matched the description of this pretty young lady.

"You will have to accompany me to my office Madame," he leered at her.

His modus operandi was to intimidate and bully his prey.

"Is there something wrong with my papers?" the woman asked self-assuredly.

Klaus' smile slipped from his face, replaced by a scowl. He was not used to such impertinence from a foreigner, especially a young woman.

He took her elbow in a firm grip and led her down the platform to his small office. Some in the crowd turned to watch but most kept their eyes averted knowing not to become involved.

"You're hurting me Major," the woman said indignantly.

Klaus ignored her and pushed her inside the door to his office and locked it behind him.

"Take a seat please," his demeanour changed now that he had her where he wanted her.

The woman sat down, smoothing her skirt underneath her, aware that Klaus was brazenly staring at her. His eyes drifted from her face, down her body and lingered on her legs.

"Not many women today can afford to wear silk stockings when they travel; those that can afford them at all usually save them for special occasions," he reached out and ran a finger down her leg to her calf.

"I was fortunate. Generallieutenant Ernst Huber bought me several pairs as a going away present from my last position where I worked for him in his offices in Frankfurt," the woman smiled sweetly at the Major.

Klaus baulked at the mention of a Generallieutenant, a position that was many ranks his superior.

"So what where you doing in Frankfurt with Generallieutenant Ernst Huber and why are you travelling to Calais?" he regained his composure.

"I am an interpreter for the Wehrmacht and I am being transferred to Calais where I will join my husband. I am fluent in English and of course my native French. My German is passable," the woman held her purse tightly in her lap.

"Your German is excellent," Klaus had decided to use charm again, because intimidation wasn't working.

Klaus pulled a chair up beside the woman and made a show of rifling through another clipboard, then he suddenly he stopped. A grainy picture of a woman took his interest. The text on the document read that anyone seeing a woman who fit the description should detain her and call the Luftwaffe Feldjägerkorps immediately.

He held the picture out to her and then put it beside her face.

"This could be you," Klaus said without conviction.

"It could be any woman under thirty Major," the woman took a package of cigarettes out of her purse.

Klaus scrambled to light it for her and took one from a box on his desk and lit up himself.

"You know I can make this all very easy for you. If you cooperate we can finish up here quickly and you can go on your way without further hindrance," Klaus put his hand on her knee and squeezed.

"But I've done nothing wrong and my papers are in order," the woman countered, blowing smoke in the Major's face.

He slipped his hand under her skirt and began to stroke her thigh.

"You forget who is in charge here young lady," his fingers caressed the welt of her stocking.

"Maybe we should call Generallieutenant Huber and have him sort this all out over the phone," the woman smiled sweetly.

Klaus was about to give up and let the woman go, but he saw her glace at the picture of the wanted woman on his desk and flinch infinitesimally. It was enough. He'd had many a victim try to deceive him in this office and the woman's tell was a give away that might indicate that she was lying.

"That's a good idea Madame. Let's call Generallieutenant Ernst Huber," Klaus grinned calling her bluff.

He picked up the handpiece and dialled the switchboard.

"Major Klaus Keppel, Feldjägerkorps, Deutsche Reichsbahn station Brussels, connect me with Generallieutenant Huber adjutant's office, 17th Infantry Division Frankfurt," Klaus barked officiously into the phone.

The woman put out her hand and pressed down on the telephone cradle and broke the connection.

"Yes?" Klaus smirked at her wolfishly.

"You said if I cooperate we can finish up here quickly and I can go on my way without further hindrance?" the woman pushed out her small breasts and uncrossed her legs.

Klaus' erection was tenting his uniform trousers.

"Go on," he stared down at the dark welts of her stockings as he slid her skirt up her thighs.

"Well I'm French as you know; and French girls have a reputation for doing things the French way," the young woman slid her tongue along her lips salaciously.

Klaus had heard of being satisfied 'in the French fashion' but he had never experienced the perversion himself. As much as he would like to fuck this delightful young woman, the thought of her sucking his cock was overpowering. Besides, he could always fuck her later; he had no intention of letting her go.

The young lady slid out of the chair and got on her knees before the Major. He leaned back in his chair and opened his flies. For a man who wielded so much power his penis was mediocre in both length and girth.

The woman leaned forward and began to lick the proffered organ, running her tongue along the underside and then working on his sensitive fraenulum. She was hopeful that this wouldn't take long; the Major was writhing in his seat and moaning like schoolboy copping his first feel.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" Klaus bleated, leaping from his chair.

He wanted to look down on the girl's pretty face while she sucked him. He unbuckled his trousers and let them fall to the floor along with his underwear. The woman scooted forward so that she was looking directly up into his eyes. She took his manhood and guided it to her mouth and enveloped it with her lips.

"Jesus Christ!" the Major bellowed as the woman suckled his penis.

She expertly used her tongue on his glans whilst she slid her lips up and down his engorged shaft. He would not last long.

Klaus didn't. He clasped the woman's head in his hands and fucked her face as he orgasmed, ejaculating a hefty glutinous wad of sperm into her mouth. Despite the fact that he'd promised himself that he would look into her eyes when he climaxed he couldn't help himself. He raised his eyes to the heavens at the pinnacle of his orgasm.

"Oh, oh, oh," he moaned.

His moan became a silent scream.

Klaus' vanity had been his undoing; he was wearing an SS Ehrendolch, or ceremonial dagger, to which of course he had no entitlement.

The woman had slipped Major Klaus Keppel's dagger from the sheath on his belt and drove it into his groin, severing his femoral artery.

As the shock set in and his body began to spasm she sprang to her feet and pushed Klaus back against the desk, directing the arterial spray away from her. She put her hand across his mouth to silence his cries and held him there while he bled out.

When he finally stopped breathing she let his pale exsanguinated corpse fall to the floor; his pants still around his ankles. She took her papers from the desk and stamped her travel documents with the official stamp.

She adjusted her clothing and checked to see that she had no blood on her. Satisfied that she was presentable she made her way to the door.

She stopped, turned around and came back to the desk. She ripped the wanted poster with the grainy picture of the young woman from the clipboard, screwed it up and put it in her purse. She unlocked the door and took the key out of the lock, then opened the door and looked both ways. Seeing the coast was clear she hefted her small suitcase in her hand, stepped outside, locked the door and strode confidently down the platform towards the exit.

She showed the official stamp to the NCO standing at the exit gate and he waved her through. He followed the curve of her buttocks and her long legs down the street until she disappeared in the throng.

He checked his watch. Another three hours until he was relieved at his post; he wondered what that peacock of a Major was up to, tucked up comfortably in his little office.

September 1943

Corporal Daniel Collingwood was almost blind when he was released from 'the cooler', also referred to as 'the hole', a small, whitewashed stone cell about ten by five feet sparsely furnished with a bed, a small table and a chair. There was no heating and the tiny window was boarded over.

He had been punished for escaping from Stalag Luft Oberursel, which was located just outside Frankfurt. He had been on the run for just over a week disguised as a French businessman making his way to Paris when he was arrested trying to cross the border. At his hearing the overly ambitious prosecutor had tried to have him sentenced to death as a spy but the court was aware that allied prisoners of war considered it their duty to try to escape. He was unarmed and carried no subversive paraphernalia.

He was sentenced to three months confinement in the punishment cell, the cooler, with no contact allowed except for the guards. He was permitted one hour exercise each day, to be taken only at night. The intention was to break his spirit and take away any appetite for further escape.

Daniel was haggard, his body frail and his hair long; he had allowed it to grow prior to his escape, hiding it under his hat hoping that it would help disguise him. It was now down past the bottom of his neck. He was filthy, emaciated and half-blind. He was allowed a week to recuperate in the barracks before he would have to abide by the camp's routine.

Daniel left the barracks and walked over to the shower block, still half-blind and even though the water was icy cold he considered the three buckets of water and small block of soap a luxury as he rinsed, soaped, and rinsed again. He put on the ill-fitting secondhand faded uniform provided for him that had likely had once belonged to a dead man, and made his way back to the barracks anticipating a shave and haircut.

"The devil's luck eh Danny?" Paddy O'Reardon an Irish Aircraftman from the same squadron as Danny said as he put a tattered towel around Daniel's shoulders.

"I nearly got across the border though; if I'd had just a little more luck; a better disguise, perhaps I might have made it," Daniel was pragmatic about his capture.

Daniel leaned back and let Paddy get to work with scissors, cutting away his beard and luxuriating in the feel of hot water and soap on his face as Paddy followed up with a razor.

"That's taken ten years off yer Danny; yer look like a girl with your long hair and all," Paddy joked as he snipped the scissors in the air, ready to cut Daniel's hair.

"Don't cut his hair! Don't cut his hair!" an effeminate voice shrilled.

Flight Sargent Matthew 'Benny' Benquist ran down the bare-boarded barracks waving his hands in the air like an excited schoolgirl.

Flight Sargent Benquist had worked in the theatre before the war and was a well known West End producer and sometime columnist and theatre and movie critic for The Times newspaper. He had been inducted into the Royal Air Force to work as a reporter and media relations officer, which basically equated to being a propaganda specialist. It was his job to ensure the Allied news services received only positive stories about how the RAF was winning the war in the air and driving the Nazis to their knees with a succession of successful bombing raids.

He'd made the mistake of insisting on flying at least one combat mission so he could 'really experience' the war in the air and had been shot down over the North Sea and became a prisoner of war.

The fact that he was obviously gay was overlooked when the Airforce recruited him because they needed the man's unique talents.

Benny somehow managed to keep a rotund figure while the rest of the airmen were kept slim on their diet of camp rations. The Stalag Camp Commander, Oberst Kurt Wessel, found Benny very amusing and he was a frequent dinner guest, regaling the Oberst's dinner guests with stories and anecdotes of the famous actors and actresses that he had met. The prisoners condoned this behaviour because he bought back vital intelligence and news of the war.

Benny was puffing and panting by the time he arrived at Paddy's makeshift barbershop.

"Don't cut his hair! I need him just like he is," Benny panted.

"What are you talking about you lunatic?" Paddy looked at Benny sceptically.

Daniel was also perplexed.

"You are the perfect female lead for my latest stage production. That lithe frame, that wonderful face, that alabaster skin, those bangs; so much better than some wrinkly-skinned bloke wearing a wig," Benny huffed.

The prisoners had been allowed to form an amateur dramatic society in the camp. This served a number of purposes for their German captors. It kept the men busy outside of work hours, maintained their spirits and kept the camp amused. The premise being that prisoners engaged in recreational activities were happier and easier to handle; they were also less likely to attempt to escape. The prisoners also had a football team, an athletics club, a poetry society, and were allowed to undertake formal tuition and schooling.

"Let me get this right Benny. You expect me dress up like a woman for one of your stupid plays!" Daniel had nothing but contempt for prisoners who engaged in so-called approved recreational activities.

To his mind all prisoners should be trying their hardest to escape.

Of course there was an Escape Committee chaired by the senior officers. Wing Commander Smyth-Waddington was the chairman, but its existence was kept very secretive for obvious reasons. The Committee had helped Daniel with his recent unsuccessful escape attempt and he was anxious to rejoin the few who were selected to escape.

"Look at you Daniel. You have long hair, unblemished alabaster skin, you're short, slim, and let's face it, you're quite delicate with that posh demeanour of yours," Benny stroked Daniel's shoulder, courting him.

Daniel was about to unload his fury at Sargent Benquist when an idea began to germinate.

"You really think I could pass as a woman?" he asked.

"Well with my expert guidance and tutorage I definitely think so," Benny grinned.

"Ok I'm in!" Daniel smirked and leapt out the chair.

"Perfect!" Benny clapped his hands.

"But where do you think you're going?" Benny eased Daniel back in the chair.

"We still have to sort out that rat's nest you call hair. Now listen to me Paddy I want..." Benny gave directions to the camp barber, who had now become a hairstylist.

And that marked the beginning of Daniel Collingwood's second escape attempt.

Stalag Luft Oberursel was located on the outskirts of Frankfurt. German POW camps holding soldiers and sailors were classified as either an Oflag - a camp for officers or a Stalag a - camp for enlisted men and housed about 4,000 or 50,000 prisoners respectively. Stalag Lufts held only Allied Airforce personnel, and although they lived in separate quarters, they held both officers and airmen and were run by the Luftwaffe.