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.

After his friendly-sounding, almost casual request for her to take off her underwear, Colonel Landa pointed in a downward direction, and then in the direction of his sidearm. She had no choice—if she wanted to live. His brutality knew no limits—he would kill her without a second thought.


As she complied with his command, a ghost of a smile appeared on Landa’s face at the view, Bridget von Hammersmark, beautiful German actress extraordinaire, standing exposed before him, her underpants lying on the floor. Glancing up at her with a shocking amount of pleasantness, he patted his thigh invitingly. She froze in place, eyes wide.


“I don’t understand,” she mumbled, feeling a rush of blood to her head, her utter humiliation making her dizzy. She shifted back and forth on teetering legs, unable to look at the man before her for more than a second at a time.


“You are going to position yourself face-down across my lap,” he explained, as pleasantly as if describing a parade making its way through town. “Your backside will be here,” he added, tapping on his right thigh.


Blushing uncontrollably, she mouthed the word why, but was interrupted before she could even manage to croak out a word.


“I think you know what will happen next, Fraulein von Hammersmark,” he said with an easy smile.


She bit her lower lip and glanced behind her tentatively, as if ensuring her privacy—or perhaps, considering a rash escape that would certainly result with one or more bullets lodged in her back. A rush of air escaped her nose as she stepped out of the underpants on the floor, supporting her dress with both hands and taking the three or so steps to the side of Landa’s chair.


Though she could not look into his eyes, she observed this man who was obviously relishing his complete control over her. His dark blond hair was thick and immaculate, the only sign of his age a slight graying of his temples. His prominent chin was the epitome of masculinity, a square, jutting chin that granted him an air of strength and importance though he was lacking in height. He was slender, but with hands that had clearly participated in physical labor, for his hands were strongly veined, with thick, calloused fingers and a wide palm. In all her years of being acquainted with him, he had never grown facial hair or as much as a five o’clock shadow. Throughout her years of knowing him, he hadn’t changed one bit. This may have been fortunate where his looks were concerned, but certainly not for his enduring brutality and heartlessness—and his immoral career.


Looking up at the half-nude woman standing before him, Landa leaned back in the chair to provide more room on his lap. Before making a move to bend over, she glanced down at his lap with alarm, noticing a rather conspicuous swelling in his groin region. The moment’s hesitation this caused, as well as her subsequent raising of an eyebrow, unnerved Landa somewhat, leading him to self-consciously glance down to see the particular effect this exchange was having on him. She heard him clear his throat as he attempted to adjust his shirt over it, the smile instantaneously disappearing from his face in the process. She couldn’t help but feel a bit successful at having rattled the most cool-headed man she had ever known, if only for a moment or so.


“We haven’t got all day, as you well know,” he suddenly muttered, annoyance in his voice.


As she began to bend over his lap, still holding the dress, a feeling of faint overtook her and she placed a steadying hand on Landa’s thigh, leaving it there momentarily as she composed herself. All the while Landa stared at the side of her face, his mouth slightly ajar, neglecting to breathe. He expected her to spit in his face before he ever would have imagined her laying a hand on him in such a way, so this was quite astonishing. And here he was, relishing in the fact that everything he was commanding her to do was done completely against her will. It almost spoiled the moment for her to enjoy anything she was ordered to do. Almost.


Never in her entire life did Fraulein von Hammersmark ever imagine she’d be humiliated in such a way by a man that simultaneously disgusted her, frightened her—and intrigued her. He disgusted her through his ruthlessness, ordering the killing of innocent women and children with a smile and a nod, along with his having no sense of morality to bring him any shame over all the evil that he had done. He frightened her every time she had encountered him over the years, in which it seemed that every word leaving the detective’s mouth was meant to harass or beleaguer her in some way. And amazingly enough, he never attracted undue attention from others in his questionings of her, instead retaining a ruse of amiability and interest. He intrigued her because of his well-known womanizing ways, which was possible not only because of his power and status, but also because of his ability to dazzle. His fluency in three languages—well, four, as she unfortunately discovered just this evening—gave him four times the chance in finding a woman with whom he could converse. He was well-versed in literature and the fine arts and seemed to know a good deal about any topic of conversation. And not only that, but his infectious smile could be used as an attractant in and of itself.


I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anything or anyone, she mused, gritting her teeth as she positioned herself on his lap, lowering her body onto his thighs, her nude lower half lying against the warmth of his lap. It was utterly degrading.


With a sigh of exasperation—or was it lust, she mused—Landa grabbed the fabric at the bottom of her dress and pulled it sharply up towards her neck, so that the bunching of her dress was now positioned slightly under her chest region. She squirmed uncomfortably on his lap, acutely aware of the bulge pressing up against her stomach. Her exposed backside already felt hot as she moved her hands to a new position, gripping the outer edge of Landa’s left thigh, her brunette hair cascading over the edge, the pretty white flower beret threatening to fall out as she lowered her head.


For a moment Hans Landa was unable to move. A beautiful woman draped half-naked across his lap, at his command. Had there been more time to spare, he would have made her strip completely before proceeding—but then again, he had to maintain some air of propriety—lest the door be kicked open.


“You have humiliated me, Fraulein,” he muttered, eyeing her up and down. “And now it’s your turn to be humiliated.”


As she awaited her punishment, she couldn’t help but feel Landa’s unstated interest straining against the fabric of his trousers, poking into the flesh of her stomach, and smiled slyly to herself. There was a chance that she could perhaps convince him to let her live, to let her go—a chance that involved that particular appendage of his which defied his rational, calculating mind, an appendage which represented his humanity, his vulnerability.


She again shifted position, giving his thigh a little squeeze as she pulled herself an inch or so forward. The advantage of this position meant that his arousal was now wedged in the space between her abdomen and thigh, a region proximal to and reminiscent of a more ideal space for him to nestle his member. Was that a shudder she felt underneath her?


After a moment of silent uncertainty, she felt the palm of his bare hand contacting her backside, eliciting a surprised yelp from her as she felt the sting and heat of it expand over the entirety of her rump.


The second smack was even harder than the first, causing her to again yelp as well as lurching forward at the contact, flailing her uninjured leg in vain. She could feel that the pump he had slipped on her foot was about to fall off, for it had been left unbuckled.


“I must say, now that we have a moment—I’ve no idea how you remained undiscovered,” Landa declared. “Namely, what I find most unbelievable is in spite of how long you’ve been working for the Allies, that you actually expected to fool me tonight. That was very very bad, Bridget.”


She felt an odd twinge at his referring to her by her first name, which was an extremely improper manner of referring to an acquaintance in high society. He had broken protocol and done something rather ungentlemanly. It was oddly comforting to her, in addition to the presence of his steady arousal jabbing in the concavity of her hip, giving her the hope that while it remained he wouldn’t act on any lingering homicidal thoughts. She was jolted from her reverie by the sound of his voice, now eerily soft and intimate.


“Just for the sake of curiosity, being as you and I both know this won’t end well, how long exactly have you been working for the Allies?”


The question was anticipated yet still caught her off guard. Of course, she had never expected him to ask the question while spanking her over his knee.


“Does that matter?” she hissed in a low voice. “You’re going to foil—”


“Ah ah ah,” he interrupted in a low, singsong tone. She stopped speaking but held her breath. It was an odd place for him to interrupt her, and an odd admonishment at that.


“Now, where were we?” he continued, bringing his hand down sharply on her rump, eliciting a barely stifled squeak from his captive. “Ah, yes, you were about to tell me the tenure of your Allied service.”


“Eat shit.”


Her words, spoken in English, caused him to stop his casual questioning, his occasional swats. He stared down at her, brows wrinkled with confusion and perhaps even a hint of admiration for her tenacity. Would he now take out his gun and blow her brains out? There’d be no escape for her in this rather compromising position. Her mind, previously clouded with fear and uncertainty, was now lucid with a sense of acceptance. The longer she stalled him, the more likely Operation Kino was to take effect. He blinked indignantly a few times before speaking.


“I see that your association with those ruffians has corrupted your judgment,” he said. “You’ve just made a very serious err, Fraulein.”


The suspense lingering in the air was killing her. So this was how he broke his victims down. He prolonged a dangerous tension, providing clues as to his impending actions—never pleasant ones—if his demands should not be met. Of course, tonight would be a different story. Both of them were well-aware that there was a time limit to this encounter.


“What do you want from me?” she cried, feeling helpless. Was he only after a confession from her? Did she want him surrendering to him in a pitiful manner? Did he want to watch her eyes widen with fear, her struggle to breathe, her futile desperation, as her lifeblood poured out of her from a point blank shot?


“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be in your shoes—err, shoe!” With that he shook with silent laughter at his own wittiness. She cringed. This was merely a game to him, one that she could imagine him performing on some level to those suspected of harboring Jews—to those suspected of being Jews. She felt a fresh wave of sadness for the countless individuals whose last sight on this earth was that sinister smile as they were executed right in front of him.


Landa followed the first two swats with half a dozen more, administering them in an almost robotic fashion. She squirmed and yelped in the meantime, with the realization that although she had not fooled Colonel Landa, Operation Kino was still in action, and secondly, she was still alive. The thought invigorated her. All she had to do was convince him that she did not utterly loathe him, that perhaps a punishment such as this was warranted, and he might let her see another day—maybe.


“Had enough?” Landa ventured. Though she could not see him at this point, she could picture his wide-eyed look of mock concern, the prominence of his bottom lip as he was probably glancing inquiringly at her reddened backside.


“That’s entirely up to you, Colonel,” she heard herself purr, putting on a husky tone. Would he see right through her guise, as he always had? He would kill her if she humiliated him; there was no doubt about that. She neglected to breathe, awaiting his response.


“Is it,” he muttered suspiciously. She shut her eyes, feeling her heart fall into the bottom of her stomach.


“Of course,” she replied with a false air of confidence, sensuality laced in her voice. Seconds passed by like minutes as she attempted to determine what he was thinking, what would happen next. He remained stubbornly silent above her, a lack of response that threatened to drive her insane.


“Colonel?” she asked, breaking the uneasy silence, her voice still retaining its huskiness. She pictured him looking down at her, at the back of her head, his eyes blinking more rapidly than usual in utter puzzlement.


“Well, this can be determined rather easily,” Landa decided, quickly rubbing his hands together. “Let’s investigate, shall we?”


Before she could even react to his statement, she felt his hand, still hot from the earlier swats, touching her in the place between her thighs that she was now aware had become wetter than she’d care to admit or even acknowledge. Perhaps this totally inadvertent—yet potentially life-saving—occurrence had been out of nervousness during her earlier contrived statements. Perhaps it was out of utter fear—her bodily functions going awry. Or perhaps her body was still responding to the fact that she had done something she had never seen another person do—she had flustered Colonel Hans Landa. He has his own conflicting emotions to deal with, she mused, knowing that his erection was still very much present, in an attempt to assuage the guilt she felt over her body’s shocking response to this dangerous situation.


Landa jerked his hand back as if burned, holding his hand in the air as he stared incredulously at his moistened fingertips. Less than ten minutes ago, he was within inches of leaping at her and throttling her with his bare hands—yet he had chosen a different path. A path—a possibility—that he didn’t believe existed. He again glanced at his hand, wrinkling his eyebrows at the sight. A crooked smile crossed his lips. For once, Bridget von Hammersmark had nothing to hide from him.


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