The interrogation

Here is chapter 2– I'm sort of at a loss of where to go from here. Any ideas/suggestions would be great. Any reviews are much appreciated!


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She stood slowly, barely trusting her legs to hold her up. The humiliation of her earlier actions was still written clearly across Bridget von Hammersmark's face. Her eyes were glued to the floor, her cheeks burning.

'Step forward, please, Fraulein von Hammersmark..' Landa's pleasant, formal tone was far worse than any harsh command.

She stepped into the center of the small room, as Landa moved the chair he was sitting on, replacing it neatly behind the desk in the corner. Like a shark, he began to circle her, slowly, looking her up and down. All the while, he hummed quietly, some tune she did not recognize. As he passed around her closer, she could smell his cologne, reminding her further of her stupid lapse in judgement. Her cheeks burned brighter, and Landa chuckled to himself. Bridget dared not move, refusing to buckle beneath his intense stare.

'So, Fraulein, how long has it been now, since your initial defection?'

Hammersmark was silent. She would not give in to him, she decided. He may have her dignity, but she would never talk. The silence between them grew. Horrible images rushed through her head; he would torture her, perhaps break her fingers one by one or slowly strangle her until she gave in. She had heard the stories. The moment stretched into minutes, until she could hardly stand the tension any longer. He had stopped circling her, instead standing directly behind her. She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck, but still refused to turn.

Landa watched Bridget von Hammersmark in fascination; her breathlessness and shaking shoulders. Unlike Hammersmark, he was thoroughly enjoying the silence. Of all the aspects of his job, he had always liked the interrogations the most. The lengthy process of logic and questioning, the subtle evidence of hidden agendas he could easily pick up from his victims. He reveled in their slowly growing desperation and helplessness, their mounting fear intoxicated him. Like a lover undressing his beloved, Landa stripped away lies and deception. Final victory – the extraction of the truth – was but an inevitable formality. It was the process which he enjoyed the most. This interrogation was no different. However, instead of using fear as his interrogation tool, Landa would manipulate different emotions in this victim. He would break Bridget von Hammersmark in a completely new way. The prospect of this experiment excited him more than he cared to admit.

She felt his warm palm on her shoulder, his thumb tracing the arch of her neck. Landa was behind her, and hearing his voice whisper in her ear made Bridget give out a short gasp.

'Bridget... we can make this easy or we can make this hard.'

He unclasped her diamond necklace, sliding it from her neck and placing it on the table beside him. Now, with better access, he allowed his hands to run along the back of her neck, his fingers moving to loosely encircle her throat.

Bridget was not prepared for his actions. His hands, even his use of her first name... They left her helpless, unable to suppress the soft moan escaping her throat. She considered that perhaps torture and death would be better than this humiliation. She moaned again, dropping her head back against his shoulder.

'Colonel...'
His breath was warm on her neck, moving up and down, stopping just behind her ear. He was too close...

'How long?' His voice was soft and sing-song, and she answered without thinking. 'Three years...'

'Good girl.'
She melted back into his arms, pressing her back into his chest. He did not move, or freeze up in the way that he had done when Bridget kissed him. Instead, Landa allowed their bodies to remain pressed together, and he again began to trace patterns on her neck, softly, barely touching. His lips remained just behind her ear, but never touched. His slow breathing tickled the skin of her neck, contrasting with her shallow, gasping breaths. Her arms hung uselessly at her sides.

'And who, may I ask, is your current contact? I am guessing your 'Italian' escort may have something to do with it?'

He spoke barely above a whisper, his voice low and smooth. As he spoke, his large, calloused hands slid from her neck, to her shoulders, her upper arms, and across to cover her hammering heart. Ever so lightly, Landa's fingers traced the skin along the neck of her dress, refusing to move lower. She almost cried out in frustration, but did not reply.

'Do you perhaps need some time alone to think, Fraulein von Hammersmark?'

With that, his hands began to move away from her neck, his body stiffening.

'Y-yes. My escort is the contact.' She felt guilt settle in her stomach for a brief moment, but the Colonel's hands returned to her body, melting away all other sensations. Landa rewarded her answer by starting to toy with the sleeves of her dress, sliding one off her shoulder and leaving gentle kisses along her now bare shoulder.

'He is the American leader of the Basterds, is he not? Aldo Raine is his name, yes?'

He slid the other sleeve down her arm, allowing her dress to lower, exposing her breasts to the cold air. Her nipples were hard to the point of painfulness, and yet he did not touch, simply waiting for the answer to his question.

'Yes.' She choked, ready to get on her knees and beg Landa to stop his teasing.

He rewarded her answer by allowing one hand to slide from her shoulder, moving to cup her left breast, softly at first. The roughness of his palm made her gasp slightly, and as his fingertips found her nipple, she began to moan more loudly. He placed his other hand over her mouth, silencing her cries, as he rubbed harder, mercilessly worrying her sensitive nipple.

Dimly, Bridget was aware of a growing hardness pressed up against her lower back. Landa's breathing had changed, the slow, calm pace picking up to mirror her own excitement. Apparently, Landa quickly became aware of these changes, too, for before she could stop him, he was gone, across the room, facing away from her. She could hear the rustle of fabric as Landa adjusted his pants. He turned back with the smile on his face fading for a moment, replaced with something darker, more urgent. His eyes told the truth - that reducing the actress into a quivering, lustful mess made him feel more than just some detached sense of control and power. And then the look was gone, his mocking, wide smile back.

But in that moment, Bridget von Hammersmark realised something that changed everything. Perhaps she was not completely powerless in this situation after all. For, with his desire, the Colonel had finally revealed a point of weakness in his seemingly impenetrable armor. She fought to disguise the gleam of triumph in her eyes, considering the ways she could press this new advantage.