A Punishment for a Traitourous German Actress

BY : CrystalRose
Category: G through L > Inglourious Basterds
Dragon prints: 5387
Disclaimer: I do not own Inglourious Basterds, nor am I making any money from writing this fanfic.

As she sat motionless across from her enemy, she saw that Colonel Landa’s face was red, the veins in his forehead prominent, as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, staring unblinkingly somewhere slightly below her eye level. Seconds ticked by like minutes as the silence seemed only to deepen.

Finally, he snapped out of his trance and straightened his posture, squaring off his shoulders as he regarded her the way a farmer might look upon a fox that had just feasted from his henhouse. When he spoke again he reverted back to speaking German.

“Well, you certainly deserve to be punished for lying; do you agree?”

The corner of his mouth upturned, as he was now regarding her with mild amusement. She felt the blood drain from her face. How much did he know? Was he merely pretending that he only knew that she didn’t break her leg mountain climbing? Or that she was secretly a double agent in the process of enacting Operation Kino?

“I beg your pardon?” she murmured, her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she watched him carefully, gooseflesh appearing on her arms.

“I must remind you that a traitor, no matter her fame or fortune, is not immune from execution,” he continued matter-of-factly, eyebrows high with concern. “However, given the current, reversible status of your developing plot, I want to teach you a lesson first.”

She remained silent, attempting to look towards the door. He had positioned the coat tree and her fox wrap in such a way that it obstructed the doorknob. So he knew of the plot to some extent. No one could put anything past him. It was utterly remarkable how he could know so much and yet appear so unassuming at first glance. When she returned her focus to him, he was beaming, his face completely lit up with a smile of victory.

“I’d ask you to stand up, if you please, Fraulein von Hammersmark,” he requested in a formal fashion with a wave of the hand. He was still smiling warmly, though his eyes were glittering like obsidian. He clasped his hands neatly in his lap, waiting patiently for her to obey.

It was then that she began to tremble, until her entire body was shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes felt hot, and soon she was fighting the tears that threatened to appear there. She glanced nervously back and forth, feeling a wave of nausea wash over her.

“I’d prefer not to say it again, Fraulein,” Landa said, his obvious irritation causing him to over-enunciate his syllables. He squirmed in his seat as if attempting to better position the sidearm he probably had at his waist.

She leaned on her brown and cream heel for support as she shakily rose to her feet. As she stood above him, he smiled up at her while remaining seated in his chair. So this was where she would die. Ignoring Landa and his all-knowing smile for the time being, she glanced around the small office. Stacked alongside a large oak desk was a pile of magazines and books. Several pads of writing paper sat on the desk along with various flyers and ledgers. So she was to die in a boring, unremarkable office at the hands of the Jew Hunter. She took a deep breath, turning back to Landa with an air of formality. Instead of looking at his face, though, which most certainly was focused on her, she fixed her gaze on his medals. He had at least a dozen medals and badges affixed to his uniform. Certainly most of those were earned by his ability to hunt down and murder countless innocents….


Her eyes snapped up at the unexpected sternness in his voice, an unfamiliar tone that held thinly veiled hostility. If she didn’t obey his commands, she reasoned, there was nothing to stop the infamous S.S. Colonel from acting on the rage that he must have felt only moments ago when he was working so hard to contain himself. Germany’s sweetheart, a traitor to her own fans, her devoted admirers, had eluded his detection for two years and now that her secret was known, Operation Kino was already underway.

“Yes, Colonel?” she replied, keeping her chin up and hands clasped in front of her. She felt weak at the knees, suddenly glad that the stiff cast was present to prevent her trembling left leg from collapsing.

“Lift up your dress,” he stated simply, his face suddenly a puzzle to her. Though he wasn’t exactly frowning, the command wasn’t laced with any kind of usual flirtation, as risqué as the request was.

Her jaw dropped at his request, as she began to breathe in quick little pants, fighting tears. What was he going to do to her? She stood immobilized in front of him, her hands unclasping but not yet touching the hem of her dress.

“Do it!” he suddenly commanded, leaning up towards her and slapping his thigh for emphasis. Terrified by his abrupt change in mood, she jerked involuntarily, feeling the tears welling up and being completely unable to stop them. As the tears slid down her cheeks, she moved her hands down her thighs, bending down slowly as she began lifting up the cascades of her glittery evening gown, bunching them into her hands. Her cast, then her legs, were soon exposed in all their glory, but Landa’s expression didn’t change. She paused after having lifted the dress up to the tops of her thighs, unsure of what to expect next. It was impossible to make eye contact with him, and so she stared at his boots as they tapped almost unnoticeably yet anxiously on the floor.

“Higher,” he remarked as he blinked impatiently, gesturing for her to further hike up the fabric.

With a quavering sigh, she pulled the material up over her underpants, holding the shimmering fabric slightly higher than navel height. All the while, she stared downward, eyes focused on nothing in particular. He’s going to blackmail me into keeping silent because of what he now knows. Oh, God, he’s going to rape me.

And to think, she mused, if he was not such a callous, manipulating monster he probably could have stood a chance with me. He certainly had the charm, the affability, the intelligence and grace to be a potential suitor. But there was his innate wickedness she felt beneath his façade of friendliness and good humor—reflected publicly only in the terrifying nickname he had earned for himself, the Jew Hunter.

“Now remove your underpants.”

Her eyes shot to his, gaping at him indignantly, too disgusted to want to cry. There was no humor or kindness in his face at this point. With all the hatred in her heart, she glared at him as she stood immobilized due to choice alone, holding her dress up with clenched fists.
The next time she dared look in his direction, she saw a new player in their power struggle: he was now aiming his pistol at her, the butt of the weapon resting on his right thigh.

She was utterly mortified by this request, a fact made obvious by the expression on her face. Finally he spoke again.

“Fraulein von Hammersmark, I have no intention of violating you—only punishing you for your treachery.” He watched as some of the tension around her mouth dissipated, and carefully returned his gun to its holster. When he looked back up at her, a grim tight-lipped smile was on his face, eyes expectant. “Now, if you would…”

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