Acceptance of Denial

This story is completely fictional, with no reference to any characters or individuals whatsoever, living or deceased; any likenesses to any individuals is by coincidence only. All characters are of the legal age of consent for acts of a sexual nature. If you shouldn't be reading adult content, you know what to do. There is also a moment of physical (non-sexual) violence. You may use this work freely but mentioning the original reference is appreciated and only reasonable.

The World War Two theme is prevalent throughout the story, and I apologize for any errors or mistruths regarding accuracy and authenticity in regards to historical significance . The erotic part doesn't start immediately, as there's a slow build up during the plot; if you're looking for a quick fix, something else might be more suited. Please enjoy.

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1.

When they came to collect me, I was standing in my studio by the large window overlooking my backyard, watching the winter snow drift down from the sky in the pale afternoon sunlight. I had been painting earlier, but had taken a break to clear my thoughts. I swept loose strands of my ash blonde hair out of my eyes, smoothing them back over my scalp, thankful that my short back and sides offered me reprieve from an excessive amount of hair.

The smell of slowly drying paint wafted around the room, strong but comfortable, a scent that calmed me. Yet, even as I heard a car pull up sharply at the front of the apartment and heavy, fast footsteps approaching the front door, I suddenly didn't feel so tranquil.

It was close to the end of another very cold winter in Stuttgart, southern Germany, nineteen forty. These were unpredictable and worrying times, nothing could be expected these days, everything was questionable. The German Nationalist Party had gained huge support and the German military and it's leaders were experiencing some huge wins in the war. Being anything other than what the Nationalist Party wanted you from German citizens was a risk to your wellbeing and your life.

For a moment I almost believed that the footsteps belonged to visitors to fellow neighbours, but there was something too firm about those strides. I turned away from the window, and walked over to the front window, peering through the curtain as I examined the street below. A large black car had pulled up by the footpath, and I saw a group of half a dozen men, dressed in the black German military police uniform approach the front door.

Before I had a chance to even wonder what was going on, a loud knock could be heard. I stepped back from the curtain, panic hitting me like a pile of bricks. What did the police want with me and why were there three of them? It seemed a little much for someone who hadn't committed a crime, although these days just being a Jew or a homosexual, for example, was enough to be causing trouble in the eyes of the police and military.

"Open up, it's the police," came a muffled shout from below, as I forced myself to move towards the door of the studio and down the stairs to the lower floor. The front door was only metres away and I approached it, just as another loud knock began on the other side, more persistent than the first.

"Open u-," continued the voice on the other side as I quickly unlocked and swiftly pulled open the door.

"Miss Feldt?" I could see the judgement in his eyes as he regarded my scruffy appearance and short hair bleakly. Seeing a young woman in her mid twenties wearing pants and a loose cotton shirt must have unnerved his uptight expectations somewhat and I almost laughed in his face, knowing his discomfort.

"Good afternoon," I replied, coolly, my determined gaze burning through the officers.

"Miss Feldt," the officer continued, his voice no longer containing any traces of uncertainty. "It has come to our attention that you are required to attend the Stuttgart Transfer Campus immediately."

"Excuse me? I haven't committed any crimes, what's going on?" I tried to control my fears as the group of officers shoved open the door and stormed the threshold, their shiny boots heavy on the floor.

"We have been permitted to confiscate and store any and all property which is required in this process. Please cooperate or we will have to use stricter methods." The officer held up a clipboard, pointing to the stamped paperwork on it.

"We have been fully authorised to carry out this arrest by the Stuttgart Transfer Campus." He gestured to one of his companions, a tall, stocky brute who held up a pair of handcuffs. "If you choose not to comply, you will be restrained."

I watched, dumb-struck as the other officers wandered through the building, opening cupboards and draws and shuffling through a small stack of letters and bills on the kitchen table, in the dining room beside us in the hallway. What were they looking for? Evidence? Confidential information? What of my paintings, I realized with a start, will they take all of them? Steal them and sell them?

"Please, just tell me what's going on!" I begged, plagued by the situation.

"You'll know soon enough, Miss," the officer with the clipboard replied shortly, frowning at my question.

The Stuttgart Transfer Campus was a well-known place in Stuttgart, infamous, actually. All the locals knew how much trouble you'd have to be in to land yourself a place within its walls. Some close friends had known people who had wound up there for one reason or another, and had never been heard from since. When it was first built in 1938, it was all very hush-hush, until large numbers of people had been brought into the place, many whose fates were never known.

What was known, however, was that it was essentially a one way trip to somewhere else unpleasant, like a concentration camp or a forced labour camp. At first, Jews had been the main group of people brought there, then there had been 'traitors' and even rumoured resistance members from the community who were targeted. Anyone who didn't fit the bill for the 'perfect' German citizen was sent through those walls and often never returned to society. And now I was one of those people.

Once the military police from Stuttgart Transfer Campus had swept through my house for an initial examination of my belongings, they packed me into their vehicle. We travelled for about twenty, long, drawn out minutes until we were passing through the security clearance gates, one after another. I remember thinking how locked up the place was up close. I'd never gone near the place before since it wasn't an ideal location to be hanging around and I rarely had any need to be in this corner of Stuttgart anyway.

It was an odd thing, really, being trapped between two armed Stuttgart Transfer Campus officers in a vehicle. If I wasn't so afraid I'd have laughed at the situation. It seemed so pitiful, so foolish, how my people had signed up as officers just to arrest their own people, in the name of 'German honour'. In my opinion, the war was such a waste of time and lives. Had no one learned from the First World War?

The rest of that evening was quite strange, in that time had moved to fast or too slow at different moments. I was led into the entry grounds by the officer with the clipboard and taken in though the initial signing process at the front entryway, where I confirmed my identity and signed my attendance. Then I was led into a consult room by another guard, where I waited at a small desk for someone to enter, after I was informed that I would be assessed.

I spent several minutes, or it could have been half an hour waiting, everything seemed to be taking so long at this point. Then the metal door behind me opened and plump man in a more refined and slightly more decorated uniform shuffled in and sat down in front of me, across the desk.

"Good evening Kristin, I'm SS-Hauptscharführer Hoffman. You may address me as Sir or Officer at all times," he announced sharply, as he placed a folder down on the table.

"Hello," I managed to answer, sounding miserable, even through my own ears.

"So, you're in Stuttgart Transfer Campus for assessment at this point. I'll be your evaluator for today." I said nothing, simply observing as he opened the folder and ran his chubby finger down the first page, eyes narrowed in concentration. Resting his hands on the table, he clasped them thoughtfully, as he peered at me eerily.

"I will explain to you why you are here, Miss Feldt." I looked up into his burning eyes as he stared through me without blinking, his gaze insistent. "This morning, at approximately seven o'clock, your Uncle Vessmer was arrested and brought here. He is a man with... Unsupported beliefs here, which have been deemed unacceptable."

I stared at Officer Hoffman, horrified by what I was hearing.

"He has been transferred to another secure location, where he will no longer be an unsuitable part of society."

"Where is he?" I asked, suddenly regretting my question. What did it matter? Uncle Vessmer was gone and I knew in that moment that he might not even be alive.

"That information is classified. At this point his children, your cousin's, Markus and Sara Vessmer, are missing and we have not yet found them." Hoffman's lack of elaboration was exasperating.

"Oh," I muttered, wondering if Markus and Sara had been able to flee the country, knowing that they could be next for arrest. There was a slim chance they were still alive.

"What do you know about their whereabouts?" Officer Hoffman asked suddenly.

"Nothing. I'm surprised they weren't moved with him. This is all news to me." Officer Hoffman took a long moment to stare me down through my denial, looking for any signs of lies, any kind of weakness.

Finally he sighed, looking down as he brushed through the pages of the folder in his hands. "So you're an artist," he remarked, a sceptical undertone in his voice.

"Yes." I was tight lipped, silently fuming at his not so subtle disdain. He was probably baiting me, I guessed, but I wasn't going to let him get to me. It was a clever tactic to pin something on me and lower my chances of getting out of custody.

"You're here because of your Jewish connections, Miss Feldt. Your Uncle and your cousins had few connections, but you were one of them. And an important connection too. We intend to find out where your missing relatives went. Whether or not we find out, your connections with Jewish individuals has identified you as an untrustworthy and doubtful German citizen. Therefore we will decide what sentence you receive in due time. Do you understand?"

"I, uh, pardon?" I struggled to breathe, my throat running dry in horror.

"I'll give you some time to think about it," he stood, "You'll be placed in a holding cell until we speak again." He gathered up the folder before walking towards the door and departing from the room before I could think of anything to say.

A moment passed, until another guard opened the door, crossed the room and led me out and into the holding cell. It was a minute room where I sat at a small, bolted down desk, trying not to be blinded by the bright lights of the room. A small metal bunk was positioned in the corner of the room, securely bolted down also, and a toilet was stashed in the other corner. I wondered briefly if someone else would be placed in confinement with me, once I saw the bunk bed, but then I thought that perhaps I'd rather not be face another detainee-I was in no mood for conversation.

After some time, guards entered the holding cell and took me through several corridors until I reached a reasonably sized office. At the large timber desk sat Officer Hoffman, working though several stacks of paperwork neatly aligned on his desk. Looking up as I entered, he readjusted himself in his seat, twirling his pen between his chunky fingers.

"Hello again, take a seat Miss Feldt," he waved to the seat opposite him facing his desk. I attempted to smile in response, but I faltered awkwardly. He watched as I walked over to the seat, aware that the guard remained in the room beside the door, silently watching.

"I have reviewed your situation Miss Feldt, and have come to an approved solution. You'll be transported to the Stuttgart Detainment Facility within the next few days. Once there, you'll undergo further assessment."

"How long will I be there?" I asked, dreading his response.

"Until such time that you are informed." Officer Hoffman gave nothing away, much to my disappointment.

I was brought back to my room after my second meeting with Hoffman. I remember seeing no one during the entire two days after being told what my future held. I was confined to that one small holding room for the whole time, passing the hours by sketching unrefined portraits in a notebook I had been given by a guard after seeing Hoffman for the second time. It served as a good distraction as I tried to whittle away the hours by any means possible.

For a few hours on both nights, I twisted and turned as I attempted to sleep, dreaming of white walls and long endless corridors, with someone calling my name in the distance.

2.

During the morning on my third day of custody, I awoke to someone banging on the cell door. I lurched out of my bed and sat there, with the sheets wrapped up around me as the locks within the door slid open, until the door swung open. A single guard entered, holding in his arms a brown paper package which he gave to me carefully, seeing how nervous I was. I swear I caught him smile gently at me, a solemness in his eyes.

"You have five minutes to change. You're departing for the Stuttgart Detainment Facility immediately after," he told me calmly, then he turned on his heel and left me, closing the door behind him.

I dressed quickly, knowing that time was flying by and everything was changing so quickly that I had to move along with the change or risk being left behind altogether. I left the room in a hurry, abandoning the notebook on the desk, I didn't need it at this point.

Once again, I found myself losing track of time as I was led through the corridors and out into a large transport yard to the side of the campus. I was hauled into a large bus, along with what looked like another seventy people who had been held at the Stuttgart Transfer Campus grounds. I wondered how we could all fit in a bus, there were so many of us, with only one place to go. There were guards along the isle of the bus, and no one moved, there was nowhere to run as the bus moved swiftly through the almost deserted morning roads.

The Stuttgart sun rose slowly, basking everyone in the bus in a strange crimson light, and even as the first flakes of snow for the day began to fall ever so gently, the sun shined on. Just as the sun rises, we must live. All we can do for now is live until we cease to exist...

The Stuttgart Detainment Facility was as daunting as I had predicted, with higher, stronger concrete walls enclosing the buildings within. This place was a prison of all levels, I realized, as the bus slowly entered the first security buffer, then the second, the third and then passed through the grey walls into the facility's grounds, only to stop at another vehicle security buffer. In comparison to the Stuttgart Assessment Facility, this place was a fortress of security.

On entering the grounds, the first thing that hit me was how pale and grey everything looked-there were no plants at all, just a vast expanse of bitumen and a massive building up ahead. Smaller buildings had been placed along the larger building, along with half a dozen security towers in sight, each with at least two guards within them. I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I looked around and saw vehicles moving containers, supplies and materials around the place. This was a well organized misery hole, that was for sure.

The bus pulled up at a vehicle bay, and we were all hoarded off, some of us were shoved onto the platform below. A few people yelled, a couple of women were crying, their faces hollowed by who knows what kind of sorrows and many nights of no sleep.

One of us, a man with several fingers missing, collapsed, either in trauma or illness. One of the guards from the Detainment Facility nudged him with a boot, then started yelling as the man burst into tears.

"Get up, you swine!" spat the guard. "Stop, leave him be!" Yelled a young man from our bus, who had started trying to lift the now sobbing man to his feet. "Fuck you!" Yelled the guard, before pulling out his sidearm and whacking him on the head with the butt of the handgun. The loud crunch of metal against flesh was heard by all of those surrounding the scene. Screams broke out as the younger man collapsed, a strange wheezing sound coming from his throat.

"God no," I whispered, as drops of blood splattered over the snow on the platform. I turned my head away, raising a hand to my face, wondering why my cheek felt strangely warm and cold simultaneously, only to find I was wiping away a single stream of tears.

We had been ushered away along the platform then, into the large warehouse-like building, leaving the older man screaming in terror behind us, several guards now surrounding him and the crumpled form of the younger man.

Our group huddled together in the huge building as our names were called and we were each weighed, measured and sent through to a large, open room, with a large metal stage centred at the front. There were no seats, so instead we were lined up and ordered to stand silently. I ended up at the front of the group, second from the end of the line. It seemed like we were waiting for something, someone, I realized, as several people entered the stage from a door behind the stand.

Several heavily armed guards flanked a woman who walked out to the centre of the stage and stood confidently above us all. She wore a black Nazi uniform, decorated with more badges than any of the officers I had seen so far. I noticed the red SS patches on either side of her collar, she was definitely a higher officer. The black material fitted perfectly over her figure, with every seam tailored to fit, and I felt a pang of envy, knowing that the clothes I had been given were at least one size too big. Even among her comrades, she cut an imposing figure, standing there, brimful of authority and harshness.

She was by no means a younger lady, I guessed at the time that she must have been in her fifties. Her porcelain complexion, slim, angular face, with sharp cheeks and thin lips gave her a severe, chiselled appearance. Her pale blonde hair reminded me white gold, forming soft waves around her face, falling just level with her jaw line. Her figure was well camouflaged by her uniform, but it was clear that she was definitely sculpted to some degree. Judging by her aura, she wasn't someone who'd willingly let herself go, no matter how busy life or her schedule was.

"My name is Obersturmbannführer Adler. As you know, this is the Stuttgart Detainment Facility. I would welcome you, but this is not a very welcome place," her voice was loud, crisp, clear. It carried itself through to all of the group, with all its smooth throaty tones. She paused for a moment, assessing each of us, one by one, her sharp eyes moving systematically from one of us to the next.

"You all know why you're here, but you don't know what lies ahead. This is a facility for management and distribution of individuals who do not fit society, and who do not encompass all of the true and honoured German values. You saw outside what can happens here when you fail to keep in line, so obey the rules and don't cause trouble," looking around, Adler was met with nothing but our silence and engrossed stares.

"So what can you expect here? My answer is nothing, there is

nothing

you can expect anymore. Many of you will be sent away to work in specialized locations. Others will remain here until we see fit. All in all, be aware that we have no obligations to any of you... So be aware of what you do and show respect to your superiors."