0630 Hours.  Somewhere in a nameless vastness of the East.<br/><br/>Gerlinde woke to the tap of someone throwing ice cubes onto her roof.<br/><br/>It was a morning like any other in this regard.  Somewhere near, a mockingbird was screaming.  Inside Gerlinde, the sticky traces of a wet dream of brown eyes and a stretched pink hole were fading.  All around, human lives were being sorted like parts in a junkyard, contained within the lullaby buzz of electrical fences and stifled sobbing.  It was a morning like any other.  Gerlinde began it with the same thought as she had for the last three weeks of this spring:<br/><br/><em>Gerhardt.</em><br/><br/>Another tap, as if in confirmation, struck her roof.  Gerlinde paid it no attention.  Her right hand was already around the high signpost of her erect cock.  Moaning stretched from her as she began stroking it.  As Hauptsturmfuehrer-Doktor of the Nameless Stalag, Gerlinde Baumann had many duties to tend to and many sad, sick distractions to engage.  But she had her priorities.  She stroked firm and slow in languid exorcism of the dream that still bubbled thickly in her heavy testicles.<br/><br/>The tapping continued, almost unnoticed.  The annoyance of it blended with the ball-peen hammer beat of the blood striking the inside of her penis.  Gerlinde stroked faster, transfixed by the hot pulse under her hand and the phantom memories of brown eyes, tanned bodies, and the shove, shove, shove of her cock into a shaking body's strain.  The hairy sack of her scrotum, seated on the wetly muttering mouth of her vagina, drew tighter.  Pleasure sang its thick chords under her hand.<br/><br/>The tapping continued; the mockingbird was continuing to scream.  Moans had become infrequent gasps.  Pulses hit the inside of her hand.  Gerlinde stroked faster.<br/><br/>She came.  The fluid wasn't much - not from her cock - just bubbling over in sticky flows.  It was enough to get her fresh prostate thundering.  The gasps were now grunting, lifting her hips, until finally she settled.<br/><br/>Shame hit her for a moment.  Gerlinde rolled over, letting her cock drool on the mattress from the point of her thick cockhead, which kissed each clinging strip goodbye.<br/><br/>Another tap hit.  Now annoyance, without the insulation of the overwhelming lust, bothered at her mind.  The annoyance was whet by the digits on the clock: 0645 Hours, East Time.  Another tap hit.<br/><br/>Gerlinde sighed, and made a note to herself to speak to the Kommandant about getting Untersturmfuehrer Gerhardt to stop trying to drive the mockingbird away every morning.  She stayed in bed another five minutes, trying to think of something other than that she did not belong here in the East.  Her hand idled along the prong of her penis as she did.<br/><br/>0650.  Gerlinde got up, wiping her moist hand on her thigh.  The sperm clung there in beefy clusters, beginning to dry into curds.  She activated the AMBi - the Ambient Music Broadcaster - by her bedside.  The three rooms of her apartment filled with the sound of Peer Gynt.<br/><br/>Showering, stroking her cock a bit too long, Gerlinde readied herself and made a list:  First, eat.  Then dress.  Then check the new stock of inmates.  Then, check on the experiments ongoing - the six sexual disposition shifts and the four nerve expansions.  Then, she would catch the Kommandant on the phone and mention Gerhardt.  She would suggest he just use a rifle - it was a more final remedy for the bird anyway.  No, she decided a moment later; she would just suggest that he leave off.  The mockingbird's calling didn't bother her, after all.<br/><br/>She had to get her priorities straight, Gerlinde ruminated as her hand pumped along the veined, tingling mass of her cock.  She had to get used to the fact that she had total authority.  She would tell Gerhardt, an inferior ranking officer, to just suffer the bird.  She had to get used to making people suffer for her slightest whims, after all.<br/><br/>Gerlinde made her way to the kitchen, wringing out her hair in a towel, and noticed a folded message on her table.  She paused to read it before going to the fridge: These messages, delivered overnight into the privacy of her apartments, could come from only one person.  That person's business was not to be set aside.  Gerlinde opened it and read quickly.<br/><br/>As she suspected, at the head of the message was the letterhead of the Kommandant's office.  The message was from Untersturmfuehrer Liebe though - the Kommandant's personal secretary, a flighty and overly fastidious woman.  Those qualities, Gerlinde reflected, were what got her the position and ensured she survived it.  That, and that Liebe had a cock and balls installed on her body, as all within the Kommandant's inner circle did.<br/><br/>Gerlinde perused the letter.  Her eyes opened wider.  The ready coil of her penis twitched.  She forgot all about routines, mockingbirds and Gerhardt.  Peer Gynt faded into the background of her mind.  Her only thoughts were of suffering.<br/><br/>Fifteen minutes later, Doktor Gerlinde Baumann was fully dressed and entering the unbroken darkness of Cell N.<br/><br/><br/>0600 Hours.  Nameless Stalag.  Cell N.<br/><br/>The occupant of Cell N woke to bareness and darkness.<br/><br/>There was something else in the darkness with her:  Some other object.  She was sure of it.  But sharing the cell with her was the cold, and the cold leapt on her as she awoke.<br/><br/>It licked and bit at her nudity.  It stole sharp edges in the slit of her core; it gnashed at her nipples and raked along the hardening bulbs of her breasts.  The cold whipped her belly and swatted her rump and hissed over her legs and arms and neck until they trembled.  And if darkness could smoke with cold, this darkness did, breathing thickly over her skin as she hung suspended standing on the balls of her feet.<br/><br/>A leather collar was around her neck, a chain attached it to the ceiling.  This is all she knew.  This, and the cold, timeless and angry and all over her.<br/><br/>0630 Hours.  The occupant of Cell N was still suspended.  Beyond the steel door of her chamber, the ward of the Stalag office was bustling to life.  In the soundproof cell, the occupant could not hear it.  She could hear only the cold, making her teeth a sewing machine, stitching into her body, rolling her heart in its hand.<br/><br/>0645 Hours.  A night spent standing wracks her limbs.  The darkness continues.  The cold keeps gnawing.  Much is happening beyond the door, but for her, there is only the cell and its invisible agonies.<br/><br/>0700 Hours.  The door opens.  The two caged lightbulbs on the cell ceiling open their ghostly yellow light.  They illuminate the object that the occupant of Cell N was sharing the darkness with:  A operating table, surrounded by mirrors and supplied with a full kit of tools.  They shine on Doktor Gerlinde Baumann as she enters, wearing her leather blouse and leather breeches and carrying a countenance as heavy, stark and serious as the message in her hand.<br/><br/>"I'll let you down." Gerlinde says, shutting the door behind her and eating the last piece of almond roca in her palm.  She glances at the letter again.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Dear Hauptsturmfuehrer-Doktor Baumann</span>, it reads.<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">As you were surely aware, the Kommandant's birthday is two weeks away.  It behooves you to deliver a present fitting your station.  I would have you present the Kommandant with a pet.<br/><br/>Nothing too extravagant.  A common animal will do.  Something that will take her fancy.  Something domestic and dear.  The finest raw material awaits you in Cell N.  Use her well.<br/><br/>Make sure your work is extraordinary.</span><br/><br/>Gerlinde folds the letter and puts in her pocket.  She moves close to the woman.  Before she knows what she is doing, Gerlinde is sliding her warm hands down the chill breasts of the occupant of Cell N, on a velvet drip to her hips.<br/><br/>"Don't worry about moving.  We move you here."