Forum Legend
Dec 16, 2014

Based on a May 1945 occurrence of vigilantism in post-World War II Czechoslovakia shared with me by a friend.

The pounding was so loud it shook my bed.



The mayor’s voice blasted through the apartment door.

“Get UP! Get UP!”

I staggered to let him in.

“We’ve got a situation on the market square and it’s your job to clean it up!” Anton Svoboda, the starosta, barked in Czech.

Dragging my pants up over my nightshirt I stumbled down the stairs with shoes in hand to follow him outside.

There, hanging from a lamppost and tree were large lumps barely visible in the early morning light. With a closer look, I could tell they were human bodies. The men were mostly naked from the waist up. Even in the weak light I could see the corpses had been beaten and abused.

“Are the Nazi’s back?

Who did they brutalize this time?

I thought they’d retreated.”

As my eyes focused, I could see the six hangers had symbols scrawled across their bare torsos. The Nazi’s were back, but only as the victims they deserved to be. The resistance, or whoever, had caught and publicly displayed the dead men like dead crows hung up by farmers to warn others away. Both their faces and bodies exhibited bruises from brutal beatings. Some may have even been dead before being strung up. A couple were wearing the SS black, the others Gestapo gray. Townspeople and peasants were gradually gathering in the square to ogle and mock the remains of their former overlords. Some were still engaging in physical and verbal abuse.

“Who knows who’s watching or coming in! We’ve got to get those bodies out of sight! You’re the sexton, it’s your job! Do whatever you have to do! So, get busy!” blurted the mayor.

Still half asleep, I struggled to come up with a plan.

“I want you to strip them, clean them up, remove anything that would be identifiable. I want no traces left. I’ll arrange to have them buried tonight in one of the Nazi’s defensive trenches. It’ll be done in the dark without witnesses so they’ll never be found,” Starosta Svoboda ordered.

At least I had clearer orders, but how best to carry them out? The Gestapo headquarters was now vacant, conveniently located at the end of this tržiště. That should have plenty of space since the torture chambers were there. That abandoned splintery wooden farmer’s cart should hold all the bodies – it looked to be six maybe seven. Backed by the mayor’s orders I can enlist a couple of lads in the loitering crowd to help.

“Get busy! NOW!” snapped Svoboda.

I saw Karol staring down the front of one of executed men. A strapping swarthy Slavic farm boy in his late teens with bronze skin, black eyes, and black hair, he would be an ideal helper. When I approached, he quickly agreed and suggested his friend Georg for my second assistant. The youngsters were both glad to earn a few korunas since there was no other work.

At this point, neither Karol nor I expected that his most dearly held erotic fantasies were about to be realized.

I sent Georg to fetch the cart and motioned Karol to follow me.

We needed to work quickly to take advantage of the bodies’ flexibility before rigor set in. When we got to the lamp post, I pulled out my pocket knife to saw at the taut cord holding the first hanger, a fit longish-haired blonde. Karol instinctively reached out to balance the sagging corpse. I couldn’t help noticing he put his left hand under an armpit, but the right up into the man’s crotch. I sensed that odd, but Georg’s arrival with the cart interrupted my train of thought. Whatever Karol’s actions meant, with that hold he managed to heave the semi-nude guy easily into the cart. Georg and I were so preoccupied with taking down the second one we didn’t see Karol’s slow caresses up and down the inside of his charge’s thighs. We moved on to the four dangling from the tree and began removing those dead guys. Alternating, the teens dumped and stacked them into the wagon using their own ways.

While they pulled the cart to the end of marketplace, I scoped out the abandoned Gestapo building. The main doorway was originally a carriageway, making it easy to wheel in the cart. The stable off the courtyard had been refitted for the despicable practices of the SS and Gestapo thugs. Looking inside, it was immediately apparent the windowless space would be perfect. Marred gray concrete covered the floor and walls, glaringly lit by industrial fixtures. The equipment was perfect for my needs: three heavy concrete tables of different sizes with blood gutters and drains; plumbing with attached hoses; two long horizontal metal rails suspended from the ceiling and fitted with pulleys for raising and lowering; racks of interrogation tools, including handcuffs with their keys. All was organized, clean, and ready for use. Thank god for exacting German efficiency.

I had the boys wheel the carrion cart into the barn. The door was shut and barred to carry out he mayor’s instructions . . . . . and for privacy.

The bodies had SS and other graffiti on them that needed to be cleansed. It seemed cuffing and then hanging them from the bars would be most efficient. That way, we could conveniently strip them, scrub them, and hose them down. Before we started, there were knocks at the door. The starosta had sent some old khaki tarpaulin to wrap up the rubbish.

While I lowered one of the bars, the lads pulled over the cart. Georg fetched six sets of cuffs while Karol aligned the loaded wagon with the dropped bar. After draping the chains over the rod, I had them shackle up the deaders. Thanks to German engineering, the pulley worked perfectly, raising the chins of the corpses to our eye level. The feet dangling a few inches above the floor seemed about the right distance to facilitate undressing. Karol was lingering in front of the tall fit blonde, staring into the drooped face and shifting from foot to foot. Georg was standing at the door looking like he wanted out. Country people had strange ideas about corpses.

I decided to release the uneasy Georg since the most urgent part of the job was finished. Gladly accepting a few coins, he doffed his cap and left quickly.

On the other hand Karol seemed to be more and more engaged with the beneficiaries of the labors ahead.

I’d dealt with a lot of corpses in my cemetery job, but never anything like this.

The six lynched men were dangling in a line, all more or less facing the two of us. A fine looking collection of half-naked Nazi vermin they were. Rope ends were still around the necks; their heads slung down between upraised arms cuffed to the bar. All were still wearing their pants, a couple with them pulled down to the top of the pubes, and surprisingly their jackboots. All the tunics were missing; the gray and green shirts torn off or ripped so they dangled from the wrists or waistbands. All the caps were also missing, undoubtedly the first items to go in the earlier struggles.

“To work Karol. You start at the left end and I’ll start on the right.”

It was obvious he fancied the blond at the left end.

Our first task was to empty pockets. Each of us took care of three guys. We made sure to check the front and back of the pants as well as the remnants of the shirts. The soldiers were so muscular I could barely squeeze my hand into the rear compartments. Their butt cheeks did finally make room, but only after massaging and squirming my hand over them.

As we worked, the contents were dumped in enameled pans, one for each of us. We searched the wallets, removing any IDs, photos, and other documents that would make identification possible. All that would be turned over to the mayor. The money, cigarettes, matches, dirty postcards, etc. we found we kept for ourselves. It was the same with their rings and watches. Those Nazis certainly weren’t going to want them back. The deceased also concealed knives, blackjacks, and other bullying paraphernalia. Each of us discovered a pistol with ammunition as well. We claimed what valuables we found for ourselves. Whatever we didn’t keep would be welcome on the black market.

It was time to tackle the more challenging job of stripping. We would each service the same three as before.

After unbuckling the belt, while I wrestled with the waist button on my swinger, I noticed Karol opened the fly instead. I watched him slowly snake his hand inside the pants. At first there were two bulges, then they merged into a larger one that began to move backward and forward. Judging from the dreamy look on Karol’s face I could tell there was serious hanky-panky going on in there.

“What’s he up to?

What would the priest say?

Isn’t that a sin?

Isn’t that illegal?

What if the starosta came in?” all panicked through my mind.

Then I remembered the door was bolted on the inside.

Karol had that peasant familiarity with the rudimentary pleasures of nature . . . . sex and lust. It probably wouldn’t have bothered him if he rutted with a man or a woman, or even some other mammal. It stirred something within me. What he was doing looked so instinctive for him, maybe it was natural for me too.

I worked ‘Little Adolph’s’ crotch buttons open. I called him that because he brandished the mustache made famous by his ‘führer’. Wriggling my hand in, I encountered a seductive sticky wetness and the sweetish smell of sex. This member of the master race had cummed in his underpants so thickly it seeped through to the black trousers. I double checked and saw the pale yellowish damp patch on the front of the black service jodhpurs. I would never have thought to look for this. Glancing over to Karol, I saw him grinning broadly at me.

“Nice surprise HUH,” he leered. “Watch me and you’ll learn how to have some real fun with these baubles.”

I slipped my hand inside the vent of the black SS service boxers and found the firm rounded stem of a dick beneath thin wool. Wanting a better hold, I pulled back and wormed farther through the undies’ buttoned vent. Now slick and wet, my hand could slide up to the underside of the head and back to the hairy base. It turned out to be fun, maybe more fun than jerking off my own prick. My soldier began to sway with the movements and I could have sworn that more cumm oozed out. Pulling a dead schwantz was exciting, but the initial opening of the pants for the first searching inside for the taboo prize was pure heaven. No wonder Karol wore a dreamy look.

I stretched up to kiss ‘A’s’ pouty lips equally out of thanks and out of subconscious lust for the brushy mustache. Tasting the metallic flavor of blood, I stopped to wipe it from his jowls and around the mouth. He obviously died while hanging, releasing the attendant fluids from his nose.

Looking at one another Karol and I silently agreed as to what we would do next. We both withdrew from the crotches and reclosed the pants. Simultaneously, we moved to the next man in line and repeated opening each forbidden package in the same manner. Closing, we did repeated our exploration on the next dead German. Even though all six had been shamelessly explored, each of us had indecently pawed only three. It was only logical, and certainly appropriate, we should each indulge in all of them. Though we each had only three ‘virgins’, all six turned out to be exciting. Some were stiffer, some were wetter, some were thicker – one was even still mostly erect.

We stepped back to plan our next skirmish with the Nazi troop.

The half dozen were gently swaying, tongues sticking out and stupid looks on their faces, patiently waiting for our forays.

“Let’s strip ‘em in the same order,” suggested my accomplice.

I opened my knife and went back to ‘Little A’. Grabbing his hairy forearms, I cut the ripped shirt cuffs hanging at the wrists. The rags fell down his back and needed only to have the tails pulled from the waistband. Tugging made him sway again so I firmly grabbed the butt to steady him. Wrestling again with the stubborn waist button bumped the head of his dick against my pubes, making me even more invested in exploring his muscular body. As I pulled the trousers down, the dark red head of his cock poked through the vent in the SS boxers. Needless to say, I fondled the knob and was even daring enough to kiss it. So velvety smooth and inviting, I took it into my mouth and ran my tongue and then my teeth around it. The spooge seemed sweeter than I remembered from youthful experimentation with my own body.

When I got the pants down to the knees I ran into something I hadn’t considered – the boots. Since ‘Little A’ was still in primary flaccidity, I could bend up the knee to struggle the boot off. It was awkward but fun to have the corpse dancing along with my efforts. The other mid-calf boot was just as challenging. This left him finally with his pants at his knees, his dick peeking out, and his stocking-clad toes dangling just above the floor. One big toe teased by peeking out between torn threads. Eagerly, I jerked the rest of the clothing off ‘my guy’.

I wasn’t really surprised that Karol turned out to be more efficient at undressing men. He began with the boots, whether out of expertise or fetish I didn’t know. His tall ‘blondie’ was as flexible as ‘Little A’ and he knew how to take advantage of it. Pulling one leg up at the hips, he parked it between his knees in what looked like a last ‘goose step’. Although he had to put up with the distraction of ‘blondie’s’ groin rubbing the top of his ass cheeks, he managed to wrench the highly polished boot off pretty easily. Smiling and humming to himself, he drew off the other shoe in the same manner. Grasping that socked foot, he paused to play a quick game of ‘little piggies’ with the toes.

Blondie’s’ shirt wasn’t as badly torn and required cutting along the sleeves before it dropped to the floor. The pants almost fell off by themselves, revealing a white Y front brief (what the Brits called ‘scandals’) that showed a pink stiffie through darkened piss-wetted fabric. A white ring around a dark center bloomed from the end of the dick. Karol pried open the Y front vent and eased out the glistening uncircumcised member. Its elongated foreskin formed a narrow neck that broadened across the glans into a bulbous vase shape. Pulling the skin back released a glob of thick white fluid Karol instantly licked up. He inserted the whole penis in his mouth, sucking and tugging the full length. The continuing fallatio used teeth, tongue, and lips interchangeably. He squeezed the cock back inside. Mesmerized, I watched him gently ease the scandals down the hips, eventually allowing it to pop up with release from the waistband. He returned to work with his mouth until the head and shaft were cleansed of its sticky icing. Finally, he tugged the briefs to the knees, leaving a thin glossy trail along the left thigh. A sharp yank pulled them down and over the socks. With undisguised bravado, he grabbed the ankles in the crook of his left arm and pulled both socks off at the same time by grabbing the big toes with his right hand. Karol stood back, admiring the result of his obviously experienced techniques.

All six were all pretty much dressed the same and denuded the way Karol devised. However, we improvised dick play according to our own inclinations and the individual state of the different penises. Most of the wool trousers were loose and baggy except for ‘Little Adolph’ who wore SS black jodhpurs tucked into the top of his boots. Those buttons were far more challenging than the waist and fly closures. The socks revealed the supply shortages Germans suffered by the end of the war. Each Nazi wore pairs of different length, thickness, and colors. Most of them badly worn with toes, heels, and balls of the feet exposed, prime for lecherous mishandling. Except for the SS boxers, the underpants were not standard issue and somewhat ill-fitting. The jackboots too showed variety necessitated by wartime deprivations. Though none were riding boots, they varied in height and toe design. Most seemed to be German manufacture, though obviously all were not. They showed more or less wear, the tread on some almost walked off. One boot even showed bullet holes with dark stains. Aside from the leather boots and belts, the outer clothing was so blemished and damaged that it was fit for little more than rags.

Karol continued on as with tall fit ‘blondie’ (no.1) with no.2 and no.3. Youthful, slender brunette No.2 though had a tiny limp peter stuffed into a tight white mantie. A pale milky pearl still peered out of the mouth of the foreskin after it was removed. Karol delightedly pointed out how this Nazi angel’s pretty little pee-pee had smeared his balls with white ooze. He was uncircumcised, as would be all the others - pure Arians that they were. Approaching no.3’s teasingly tented crotch, he contemplated a real find. He’d been working out; as well as the crotch the thighs, arms, and pecs bulged. Blasé as he was, Karol stopped and called me over when he opened ruggedly handsome no.3’s undercarriage. An over 20 cm erection lunged out of a heavy black bush, very hard and ready for action. There was a lot of drying white cumm splayed around inside his black drawers too. We were both awed by the sight. When the shorts were pulled down, a long yellowish-brown turd fell to the floor, followed by a thin stream of stinky brown sludge.

“Now that’s a brutish earthy stud!” observed Karol as he kicked away the shitty garments.

Stopping to inspect ‘Horst’s’ sludge more carefully, Karol spied a small dark stained chamois bag. When he opened it, he found several gold coins. He’d opened a safe deposit box its owner no longer needed. We had some exploring to do. Digging his fingers up no.5’s ass, he managed to fish out a small packet. Upon opening it, he discovered jewels. His fishing in no.4’s shit tube yielded no result. Checking no.6 I found only yielding tissue. I commandeered no.2, finding more gold coins and no. 3 where there was a gold and diamond signet ring. Like our other finds, we agreed to keep them to ourselves. There was no need to bother Svoboda with unnecessary details.

My Nazis’ crotches proved to be as stimulating as Karol’s. ‘Little A’ (no.6) had a pale creamy complexion with black hair sprouting his little mustache, a sparse rectangular chest patch, a thin treasure trail down the abdomen, and a large collection of long sprawled wiry strands in his crotch. His legs had a lot of thick black hairs, but widely spaced. He was short, about 1.7m, I had to admit ’d always fancied short men. Undoubtedly in homage to his short ‘führer’, he wore his official SS black boxers. That struck me as so menacing, yet so erotic at the same time. No.5 was another blonde, his body covered in fine shiny golden hair. He’d lightly creamed his white drawers with a dark-centered 10cm patch of pale yellowish cumm. Built like a futball player, he looked a promising playmate. The biggest dick though hung between no.4’s legs. This dark-brown haired guy was ordinary height, with the tantalizing broad powerful hips and thick thighs usual for men with huge cocks. It was flaccid, but must have been almost 20cm limp (including foreskin) and a good 6cm in diameter. His nickname had to have been ‘horse’. Peeling back the foreskin revealed wet cumm on an accumulation of smegma. Undoubtedly, with a man of his generous endowment, it resulted from uncontrolled emissions generated by obsessive amatory fantasizing. We called him ‘Horst’. I confess I was so obsessed with that huge schwantz I can’t remember what his underwear was – or even if he was wearing any. I don’t believe I ever had or will again see a čurák that impressive.

Suddenly our futball player bucked, setting the whole lineup shaking. I stepped back, wide eyed in confusion and surprise. Karol calmly picked up one of the soldiers’ knives and walked behind the blonde. Seizing him around the chest, he adroitly jabbed the blade into the back of the neck at the base of the skull. The athlete remained in his former slack condition.

“The brain didn’t know he was dead yet. Seen it before when we slaughtered hogs,” explained Karol.

So now in front of us waited a string of unguarded manhood, jiggling naked and uncoordinated from the bar. They seemed to all be in their early 20’s. I wondered how these beautiful, strong youths could have come to performing so many cruel and unjust acts. In accordance with nature’s post mortem laws, they had become paler as the blood drained from the skin capillaries. In contrast, the hanging position drained blood into the limbs, especially legs which were showing a darker pink color. Some of the eyes in the battered faces were partially closed and others shut. All had protruding tongues slowly turning darker through erotically enticing pouty lips. Now these proud arrogant conquerors were nothing but meat, brutalized earlier in the day and patiently awaiting profounder molestation. Brazenly, their immodestly tendered dicks displayed diverse stages of engorgement which insinuated pleasure never before imagined.

Abandoned as he was, Karol suggested we take advantage of the dangling ‘lineup’ and do some nut comparing. Beginning at our respective ends we took a scrotum in each hand and fingered the size and weight of the contents. My pattern went 6&5, 5&4, 4&3, 3&2, 2&1. His was the opposite. (We took turns fondling the 3&4 combo.) Ball bag skin proved so flexible and stretchy that pulling, squeezing, and tugging were unavoidable and irresistible. Hearing no complaints from the contestants, we seized the opportunity to go slowly and double check. After the process, with smiling faces we agreed ‘Horst’ was again the winner. He needed big balls to feed that giant cock. We went back and gave those wrinkly, crinkly bags of skin repeated inspections to be sure our testicle judgement was accurate – or for whatever justification we could devise. (Mainly I think as an excuse to wobble the dicks again.) I get weak at the knees remembering the incredible feelings in the palms of my hands . . . . and the thought they were too dead to even know their balls were being lecherously victimized.

Gleefully, Karol surmised, “No small potatoes in this lot.”

Taking a cue from Karol’s playfulness, I conjured up an experiment. While I was still in school before the war, my science teacher demonstrated someone’s law of physics, a 3rd law I believe. It was about actions having opposite and equal reactions. We had the perfect set up to see if it would work as well on naked dead guys as on metal balls. Horny Karol was up for anything.

First we needed to do some arranging. The bodies were already hanging in tandem, no.1 angled toward no.6. But they were too far apart. We quickly snuggled them front to back in a kind of loose daisy chain. Torture clamps kept the handcuff chains from sliding along the bar. Karol impishly managed to insert no.3’s post mortem priapism into no.4’s back door and then tied a cord around their waists to secure them. We agreed to leave a bit of space in front of no.4 to let ‘Horst’s’ big schlong bonce and slap around no.5’s sweet blond Aryan ass.

“Soldiers! Prepare for maneuvers!”

Karol started the experiment. He pulled his ‘blondie’ back several feet and swung him hard to bash against no.2. There was a great slapping as the chain of movement continued down the line. No.3 rammed into no.4 and ‘Horst’ iched no.5’s butt cheeks before slamming into him. ‘Little A’, alias no.6, arched away from the pack, then fell back, his butt smashing a tickly blond crotch. After a wave of return movement the energy hit ‘blondie’ who swung away, but not as far back as the starting point. The male chain continued to bobble and writhe in merry cavorting as it transferred energy back and forth until there was only trembling left in the corpses. It had been a great sight to behold. It had also been great to hear the floppy muscles and limbs slapping and squishing and thudding together. On the whole it wasn’t as effective as with the metal balls, but then I understood the resilience of all the flesh absorbed much of the original force. However, it was certainly much more entertaining to watch than metal balls.

I was more than willing to oblige Karol’s eagerness to witness the test for himself as I shoved the blonde to repeat the experiment.

Seeing how euphoric I’d been, he generously restarted the performance for me. Beforehand, he did some adjusting. No.3 had slipped out of No.4 and needed his dick reinserted. To keep them coupled, he took belts to bind the fucking Nazis together – but not too tightly so there would still be penis pulling out and slipping into anus. It was more pleasure than those SS thugs deserved. After this thoughtfulness, I knew I would be Karol’s friend for life.

Having satisfied our scientific curiosity, we needed to continue our assigned task. Reluctantly preparing for work, we stripped down to skivvies to keep our clothes clean and dry.

We re-separated the bodies along the bar, sharing the act of unscrewing no.3 from no.4. We finally removed the rope ends around the necks that flailed so freely during the physics lab. Karol found the supply locker and brought over cleansers and brushes. The only cleaners were laundry detergent (hard on the skin but not really mattering to the dirty recipients) and gritty bathroom cleanser (for scrubbing the graffiti off unfeeling hide). We needed the cleaners . . . . the body slamming from the earlier body slamming restarted shit trickles down some of the inner thighs. I connected the hoses and turned the water on the unembarrassed Germans for their initial wetting. They tolerantly dripped, unconcerned about our next invasive exploits. We each began scrubbing our initial three ‘buddies’ since we were already on close terms. It was good they were dead, those stiff bristles and harsh cleansers would have really hurt around the sensitive nipples and ‘junk’. The SS and other painted messages would need really hard scrubbing to get off. The graffiti scratched and even cut into the skin looked permanent. It seemed a shame how those beautiful young bodies were marred. The chests could have retained the same glowing unblemished skin as that revealed when the pants were removed. The bruises we could do nothing about.

It took longer to wash than it should because the handsome, supple bodies were irresistibly seductive, i.e. too damn much fun. Scandalously, they dared us to resist unabashed erotic fondling during their ablutions. With the initial wetting, the place began to feel more like a locker room full of sporting mates. We were just guys together in the shower. Although, a subliminal ghost of the perilousness of frolicking with vicious killers hung in the air. We knew the well-developed hunks were harmless, but they still exuded the ruthlessly violent menace of their party.

Bolstered by Karol’s earlier callousness, I gave my fascinating ‘little Adolph’ a sharp slap on his hind side. As he swung from the blow I prepared to repeat the exhilarating encounter. Getting into the spirit Karol spanked all the butts in the line, setting the penises wagging and testicles shifting. We stopped to enjoy the sight.

With a naughty glint in his eye, Karol grabbed a towel and snapped it on the most available flesh of the nearest soldier. That strike on the scrotum would have put any man into a doubled over position and screaming in pain. But our lads took it with nary a twitch of response. I quickly joined, filled with power that rushed in after every noisy strike on lifeless tissue. I became one with the lynch mob that morning. It was fine release after years of the soldiers’ oppression. But the sounds were not as sharp as in the horseplay with our school chums. The slow loss of skin tone in death dulled the snaps and slaps a bit. Still, it proved satisfying fun.

Returning to cleansing, we lathered them generously, paying special attention to the areas sprouting body hair. We began with the same men we undressed. But both of us were developing rapport with special guys and neither minded invasion of the other’s ‘clan’. Because they were hanging a bit above our height, it took a little extra effort to caress the stubble on the unshaven chins. Using sometimes one hand and others both, we satisfied our craving for the roughness of male beard stubble. Stroking jaw lines was made more delightful by the rubbing of their pubes on our navels. I discovered a profound personal satisfaction in associating the connection between the jutting of a chin and the jutting of a cock. We moved on to explore chests offering teats that waited powerlessly for tampering. Karol didn’t mind getting soap in his mouth with the sucking and chewing. I tried them without soap, and found the taste of sweat seasoned with the agony of hanging to be delicious. No.5 offered the largest and most succulent. I think I liked best nibbling the central nub while chin rubbing those circling the areole. Cleansing the chests led to the arms and the intense delight of toying with the hair in the armpits. It was interesting to explore the hands, even more interesting to stuff them into our skivvies. The callouses and nails scraped lightly on our stiffening dicks. Pity they couldn’t enjoy it like we did. Though, with the help of the waist bands on our underwear they we able to caress our butts quite successfully. Liberally soaping and sliding hands over the nonconsenting virile torsos led repeatedly to the groins and the sexual riches that waited there. As satisfying as feeling up naked genitals had been, slipping along lubricated cocks and scrotums proved even more arousing. It felt a little bit like milking my granny’s cow, but much, much better. So my buddies wouldn’t feel left out, I pulled their hands back inside my shorts too, sharing my erection with them. The furry lathered crotches were so irresistible that I had to bury my face in all six of them.

Scratching behind the balls to scrub that smelly shitty space between them and the anus led of course to cleansing the thighs and calves. I had to force myself to stop hypnotically rubbing the insides of the thighs and continue on to soap the whole length of the legs. I used both hands to slip up, down, and around the them with pleasurable efficiency. We dealt with the feet each in our own way, Karol with his mouth and then soap and I with soap and hands. I liked the way the soapy toes rippled across my fingers.

We turned at last to the backsides. Most had the smoothness of youth, but to my delight ‘Horst’ offered a large patch of hair sprouting across the shoulder blades that became a narrow trail to a furry coccyx and a shaggy valley between the buttocks. The soap foamed as I let the dark strands tangle around my fingers. I began with the manly shoulders, briskly soaping down to the small of the back and then ticklishly sliding my slippery hands around the front of the waist to rewash the navel and belly. Clasping the supple hunky body to mine, I stroked and swirled my hands from rib cage to crotch. Of course this happened with repeated ‘accidental’ slips down into the pubic hair and junk. Dead dicks can be shaken so easily. I was beginning to understand just how much I loved unlimited play with male meat hanging from guys who didn’t know they were being manhandled. The arse pressing against the belly felt good, but not as exciting as the dick in hand. I did spend a good amount of time carefully cleaning out the hollows of the butt cheeks.

Karol suggested we could save time by scrubbing out two furry ass cracks with one hand in each. It didn’t save any time . . . . it was so much fun it actually took longer. I enjoyed that with no. 5 and ‘A’ together. But I cheerfully dealt with ‘Horst’ by himself, giving the full attention he deserved. Good thing they had were numb, the cleansers forced inside those rose buds would have hurt like hell.

After the repeated scrubbing and rinsing and rubbing and caressing, we finally got off as many of the SS and swastika symbols as we could. The paint we scoured off, but the obscenities scraped and cut into the skin defied our efforts. We ignored cleaning the finger and toenails as unnecessary given their owners’ immanent fate. They would be in dirt very soon. Along with the rinsing, we splashed the hair on the tops of the heads for superficial flushing . . . . all that was needed. A final powerful water blast from the hoses set the carcasses whirling dervish like – actually flailing their cocks and balls outward.

The water draining off the rocking corpses left intricate, delicate branching patterns through the wet flattened hair on the thighs and calves. We left them free to drip dry over the grates installed to draw away the blood of Nazi victims.

It had been a busy morning. My stomach growled, ready for lunch. I told Karol to clean up a bit and get dressed. I gave him cash to buy garlic sausages, cheese, onions, bread and some strong wine. If things went as I yearned, we would be needing all the energy we could get in the afternoon. I could have gone, but he was so uninhibited I feared he’d somehow undermine the assignment – that is, I didn’t think all six corpses would be delivered for burial.

Once we were rested, restored, and seriously re-aroused, we were ready for the opportunities this afternoon afforded. The Nazis’ pickup wasn’t scheduled for some hours yet and the bodies were still fresh and reasonably flexible. Both of us knew what we wanted to do, but seemed reluctant to bring up the subject.

Finally, I broke the ice. “Karol, you deserve some serious recreation after this morning’s hard work. I noticed you kept going back to your ‘blondie’ no.1. Why don’t you take him down and have some fun. I’d like to see what you do. I might just want to explore with my ‘Little Adolph’.”

“And, I’d really like to get a better grip on ‘Horst’s’ one-eyed monster,” I added confessionally.

Silently agreeing to uninhibited indulgence, we grinned at one another lasciviously.

Disrobing, Karol sagely advised me to slip off my damp under drawers. I couldn’t help comparing my tentative tumescence to his deep purple stonking hard. We were both horny beyond control after all the morning’s foreplay and enticement from the stone dead Nazis. I’m embarrassed to remember that my shorts already had yellowish stains.

I helped him release ‘blondie’ and spread the ‘master race’ soldier out face up on one of the cold stained concrete tables. Our method was first to lower the bar to bring the bodies to their knees. One of us stood behind the corpse to put our hands under the armpits. The other released the locks on the cuffs. The armpit man then dragged the desired soldier’s body face up to the chosen table where the assistant then picked up the ankles to hoist it onto the slab. We helped each other arrange our partners into the desired positions. After our morning’s exertions, the men were too many and too heavy for us to individually pick up and deliver for our anticipated dalliances.

After I selected the widest table, Karol assisted me with ‘Little A’ and ‘Horst’. ‘Horst’ (carefully butt-plugged and wiped) was balanced on his back at the head of the table, his head hanging over the edge. We spread his legs as wide as possible, knees dangling over the edges, to prepare for ‘A’s’ arrival. My companion and I were to wedge our heads into the broad hairy crotch so I could drape ‘Horst’s’ enormous drooling private parts over our foreheads. My mustachioed boyfriend was balanced on his right side with bent legs, facing the table’s center, along one side of the slab. Tossing aside my feigned uncertainty, I lifted myself up alongside ‘A’. I worked the two of us more tightly into ‘Horst’s’ crotch. Maybe he was just my first crush, but it’s more likely I craved holding his body spouting dark hair directly against mine. I was unable to admit to myself how much I wanted to continue kissing that mustache . . . .to prickle my lips. I lay face to face with him, rubbing hairy tummies and letting our cocks mingle – mine stiffening and making his bounce along with my twitching. Since burly ‘Horst’s’ long, stiff, springy dick hair was close enough to tickle our foreheads, ‘A’ and I managed to flop his big sausage across our noses. With a few violent jerks accompanied with a long hoarse sigh from the hunky corpse, it became long enough for the tip of the glans to reach our mouths. I wanted ‘A’ to be fully involved with both eyes open. I wrested the stiff eyelid muscles to fully unseal the right one. The other showed only part of the now hazy black pupil. The muscle rigor was too fixed to open fully, but I restored the brightness of the pupil with a well-aimed glob of spit and a gentle rub. With ‘A’s’ eyes as open as possible, I repeatedly nosed the monster dick before them, along ‘Little A’s’ protruding tongue and lips. I regretted I’d never before had meaty firm cock to nuzzle. I was so busy yanking the slippery cocks during washing that I forgot to pull back the foreskins and clean around the heads. Fortunately, ‘Horst’s’ smegma mixed with fresh jism gave off irresistible musky aroma and flavor. I repeatedly indulged in the interplay of the hefty cock and two tongues. The intense intimacy was driving me nuts. I didn’t want it to stop. I know you’ll call me a liar, but that dick’s wrinkled foreskin was so long it actually extended far enough to tickled my chin. All the while, I ran my hands up and down the insides of ‘A’s’ hairy thighs, occasionally slipping up into the hairy butt crack for a bit of ‘ring’ tickling.

My enthrallment eventually subsided enough to let me hear slapping and grunting from Karol’s table. Peering over ‘A’s’ shoulder, I saw him pounding his dick across ‘blondie’s’ curly yellow-gold short hairs and sucking the face. Maybe the tongue was being forced into the mouth, I couldn’t be sure. When Karol paused, I glimpsed what I guessed was a blonde’s typical body hair patterning; a few strands around the nipples, a long narrow trail from the navel finally widening to a small triangle just above the penis. All of it a delicate reddish gold color. It must have been just right for Karol because he attacked the soldier’s flat belly and defined pecs even more aggressively, forcing the lean muscled corpse to lurch in unison with the frottage. Fully aroused, Karol crept his dick along the slender hair trail up the strong lean torso and jammed it into the mouth. After a few lubing jabs, he pulled back and skillfully flipped the oblivious Nazi onto its face. Then aligning his hips with ‘blondie’s’, he rammed his pole up the fuck chute. Sitting back on the loose rippling dead thighs, he continued to pound. His face grimacing, his tongue hanging from a gasping mouth, he let out a yowl as he busted his load into a lifeless partner.

The elite blonde Arian had just been violently molested. . . . sexually abused by a virile member of what he called an inferior race. It was a shame he was too unaware to acknowledge and fully suffer the embarrassment of his degradation.

Emboldened by the scene, I followed Karol’s lead. After again kissing the cold swollen lips, I carefully turned my partner on his stomach, watching the loose back muscles slide the body into position. For the first time I admired the deep dimple where the butt cheeks sprang below the spine. I nested ‘Horst’s’ heavy schlong over the black hair at the top of ‘A’s’ head. Eagerly, I mounted the lifeless yielding backside. After running my hand, then nose, up ‘Little Adolph’s’ black fleecy ass crack, I pulled my dick back and forth along the same track. He reposed, breathless and still, allowing me to spread his muscled hairy legs. Massaging my balls, I mistakenly assumed I’d have to think about sex with a woman to copulate with a man. I quickly forgot that when I spied his mustache seductively peering at me over his shoulder. Slipping my hot member into the cool stretchy opening, I marveled at how relaxed and accepting he was. Fucking this dead guy’s hairy ass proved so superior to anything I’d ever done, I was spoiled for life. The sight of ‘Horst’s’ big dick slithering through the haircut as I rocked ‘A’s’ corpse drove me wildly into my orgizm! As I pumped repeated spurts into the unresisting asshole, I knew I was hooked on man-on-man necro sex.

By now, young Karol had revived. I saw him dragging no.5 blonde on to his table to pile no.5 face down over no.1. It was the blonde futball player covering the tall lanky blonde. He carefully balanced the broad heavier athletic hips over no.1’s slim tight ones. Then he checked to be sure the newly arrived dick was tucked securely between ‘blondie’s’ rump cheeks. Crawling atop his playfellows, his bronze skin contrasted strikingly with the pale pinkish-gold of the Nazis. He slapped the butt cheeks of the new arrival as if to arouse the desire to be fucked and to fuck the blonde meat beneath him. With a fresh, tighter sphincter in front of him, he celebrated the extra bounciness of the stacked corpses by schtupping even more vigorously than before. He rode the two sets of stiffening thighs wildly, his hair whipping about his scalp. After popping his second round of wads, he panted and slowly lifted himself off. Standing beside the table, he turned nos.5 and 1 over to show how much cumm his exertions had forced through their pubic sphincters. I loudly admired the mix of golden muff strands and milky globs around the hot pink čuráks. To my amazement, he began loudly sucking and slurping the spunk from both sets of hairy cocks, balls, and thighs – and even no.1’s ass. Finished, he turned to me smiling, licking pearly smears from the corners of his mouth.

Young Karol had decidedly demonstrated his mastery of fuckkery!

The bodies were stiffening and time was running out. We released our naughty imaginations to devise a way to take advantage of our entire male harem.

We dragged our wallflowers, nos.2 and 3, closer together along the bar, adjusting them to face one another. There ‘tiny’ and ‘stiffy’, utterly vulnerable, boldly invited molestation. No.3’s kielbasa was losing its earlier priapism but was still provided possibilities. Because of the contrast in their cocks, they would provide an entertaining exploit. We managed to wrap no.2’s hand around no.3’s deflating prick. No.2’s peter, surrounded by thin silky slippery strands of dark brown hair, was just too short to grab. For a moment we even lost it in the thick tangle of no.3’s pubes. We wanted to stage some mutual dead guy hand jobs, but that penis was too elusive. Pulling the foreskin back did make it a bit longer, but it was still small. Of course, Karol came up with the solution. We’d wrap ‘stiffies’ hand around the whole package, cock and balls. Once done, I grasped ‘stiffie’s’ wrist to jangle ‘tiny’s’ jewels and my partner serviced ‘stiffie’ with ‘tiny’s’ paw. As we began, ‘tiny’s’ dick became longer, stretched by the wanking. The dark brunette Nazi proved to be a grower, not a shower. He also released a trickle of clear sticky fluid, lubricating our efforts. Both bodies jerked and rippled with our tugging. ‘Stiffie’ even contributed a little more cumm. ‘Tiny’ accompanied us with rhythmic grunts. The inputs heightened our pleasure as we jacked off along with them.

We were tiring, in need of refreshment. Fortunately, Karol’s peasant smarts had provided us with a very large bottle of strong red wine. Finishing it fortified us for the final tasks.

Since there was shit and piss and spooge left on the tables and on the Nazis from playtime, another rinse was in order. Being drunk made it good fun. I wish I could remember all the places where we stuck the hose nozzles in the process. I suspect those memories would make for first class masturbation.

The Nazis were destined for quick anonymous burial, so we didn’t worry too much about how they looked. Rewashing was unnecessary. The cuff marks on the wrists and any other incidental bruises didn’t matter. They’d been beaten and battered before arrival. I was surprised by amount of tissue discoloration our sex games generated. But then what else could you expect from hard fucking. If we left the cocks, assholes, and other openings unplugged – so much the better. Bacteria, bugs, and vermin could more easily carry out nature’s work of decomposition. The smearing cumm from still draining dicks would be just so much more bug bait.

We spread the filthy old tarp on the floor. Criminals, these guys needed to go out in ‘crime’. We set them up to experience eternal carnal sin instead of eternal peace. Left laid out flat to rigor, they were easy to stack. Placing them face to face in pairs, we tied them čurák to čurák in final dick burnishing. To be sure they didn’t lose contact, we tied them together at ankles, waists, and necks. This also conveniently concealed some well-gnawed nipples. With all the pleasure they’d given us, it seemed appropriate recompense. The bound couples were dragged together, each of us taking one arm of the ‘bottom’. Then we stacked the mated pairs, wrapping the large tarp around them. Securely tied they formed a convenient bale for the burial detail.

I pulled out a flask of holy water, found in one of the Gestapo offices. Thunderstruck, Karol thought I was blessing them. My purpose was actually prevention. I wanted to keep them dead and buried; thwarting return as vampires or as monsters in wet dreams or even worse as zombies to reclaim their gold and belongings. I was convinced the garlic seeped from our mouths wasn’t enough to do the trick.

We pulled out the hoses and finished washing down the room. All the shit, piss, cumm, blood, and other residue disappeared down the drains. Before putting our clothes back on (our underwear had plenty of time to dry), we washed each other, too. We carried no traces of our instinctual indulgences on the slabs. Still, there was a hint of the organic semen and shit mingled with the chemical smell of cleansers.

Finally, we finished disposing of the possessions. The bloody, stained, and ripped wool clothing was burnt in the nearby incinerator. But not quite all of it. Karol (never one to miss an opportunity) thought I hadn’t seen him stow away the stained white ‘scandals’ set aside while we were stripping the ‘Master Race’. We’d already divvied up the jewels, gold, and weapons. I kept ‘Little Adolph’s’ stained black SS undies along with a belt and pair of scuffed muddy boots that were good fits. Karol kept all the other leatherware – he deserved whatever cash or use he could get from it. Suspiciously eagerly, he volunteered for the grim duty of last check before wrapping. Since it was done while my back was turned, I’m not sure exactly what else he might have kept as souvenirs. After collecting his pay, he left with a bundle of confiscated loot that looked like there was a little fresh blood on it.

We cleaned and redressed ourselves well before Starosta Svoboda showed up at dusk with the disposal team. Approving the wrapping and thorough cleanup, he had the packaged bodies hoisted onto a waiting truck. With proper formality I handed over the pile of documents and pilfered wallets. He thanked me for my cooperation and efficiency. I expressed my appreciation and my willingness to help in any further way I could. They drove off to stash away the despoiled carrion.

Walking home after an exhausting but splendid day, I hopefully began to calculate the likelihood of encountering the leftovers from another lynching party soon.


Many thanks to readers who encourage me. Comments and suggestions are always welcome.

If you enjoyed this story check out my others posted here and click on the 'rate this thread' at the top of the page. It’s powerful support. Thanx

OH! If you’ve got any hot pics of dead naked Nazis please post ‘em.
Wow, superb story!
Incidentally, I've never heard y-fronts called 'scandals' before.
Glad you liked the story. It was a challenge to keep track of so many bodies.
My mistake, they are actually V fronts. This is a typo in the story. The ad below is from the 1940s. I have picture of a dead Nazi soldier wearing a brief with the same stitching pattern in the front.

Thanks for the info.
I'd call them A-fronts. I think Scandals is just the brand name - but there again my memory only goes back to the 1960s by which time that particular style had disappeared so far as I know.
Thanks. Since the Y in y-fronts is upside down, I thought the same would be true for V-fronts. :not sure:
Excellent story! I wanted to join in and feast on the young soldiers.
he's a member here.