Little Czech Riding Hood and the Big Bad Blond Beast

heldenreich:

♛ Little Czech Riding Hood & the Big Bad Blond Beast ♚

My eyes gradually become adjusted to the gloomy darkness of the night. I am only able to conjecture where he might await my next move; I hesitantly walk down the near-black alley, step by step my heels resound in the foggy uncertainty, making myself a predestinated aim for his game – the prey and the hunter.

He always loved to play – on one condition: He had to win.

I finally arrived at the little guesthouse which functioned as my accommodation while staying in the small town close to Třebíč. Only a few hours left till I had to assist him as his secretary. It will be a very important and top secret meeting and I already knew he would expect and demand my highest concentration, as always.

Engrossed in thought I already entered the small room and searched for the power button of the antique lamp which rested on the nightstand. The complete darkness and the unfamiliar housing made it impossible for me to find the socket knob. I fumbled around in hope to find matches or a lighter near the chimney. I lighted the match and tossed it in the fireplace, inflaming a small but nevertheless brightly coloured flame.

Suddenly a gloved hand aimed for my ankle until it rested on my calf. The strong hand turned me around and I saw him kneeling in front of me – the mere thought of such a powerful likewise frightening man in this servile posture in front of me has been a grotesque scene, he literally subordinated himself. All of a sudden he raised from his knees as if he could read my mind and towered above me, occupying his space and regaining his well-known intimidating integrity.

He took off my coat which was made of siberian wolfskin and dropped the present he bought me two weeks ago, right in front of the blazing fire. He skillfully opened my carmine red-velvet dress, never loosing eye contact.

Tenderly yet roughly he lowered my almost undressed body until I sensed the heavenly-soft fabric of the luxurious fur beneath my almost undressed body. He bent over me and examined my body from head to toe. His ice cold eyes reflected the wildly burning flames and I am not able to distinguish the fire in his eyes and the desire to claim me. His leathered hand slowly but steady wandered up my inner thigh.

“Oh, Obergruppenführer” I said, “what large hands you have.”

“The better to touch you with.“ He guided my wrists above my head and rested them in his very strong grip. His forehead touching mine, I focused on his shapely lips.

”But, Obergruppenführer, what sharp teeth you have.“ I utter faux-naïf.

”The better to mark you with, my dear.“ His spare hand wrapped around my neck, making it hard for me to breath. His teeth unexpectedly bit my sensitive skin, warm liquid trickled down my throat.

”Oh, but, Obergruppenführer, what a terrible big…,“ I gestured down his trousers ”you have!“

”The better to fuck you with.“ He smugly stated.

Thank you for reading! God bless you.🖤

@reichblr-ficathon​

sensory deprivation

pomegranateandpanzer:

When the shrapnel split the bone and tissue apart like a knife through warm butter all the microscopic strands of synapses became collateral damage of a brutally personal war, severing Heinz from the senses that had seemed so perpetually connate, thoughtless even, until they were ripped away; sense of time and memory, sense of hunger, sense of arousal, sensations once sharp replaced with dullness, a sort of deprivation that left him sleepless and gaunt as the days blurred together and he ached to feel something once again, something besides the bite of ice against his chafed skin and the constant migraine that felt like the shrapnel was once again embedded into the grit of his skull, awaiting a final and fatal shove to severe all senses at last.  

He doesn’t moan when Jochen grasps his cock in his ever so barely calloused hands, or twitch when he feels his quick breaths against him before being enveloped in the wet warmth of his always eager mouth, only the grazing of teeth and sting of neatly manicured nails in his thighs when the younger man becomes sulky and frustrated with the lack of response awakens the dulled nerve cells, if only for a fleeting moment, sending a dizzying flood of pleasure and rush of blood, bringing him to the catastrophic realization that only pain can conquer the void; he’s raw and bloody when Jochen peels away from him, sticky with sweat and cum and a faint look of meek terror in his gaze that Heinz can’t bring himself to meet, his listless eyes instead watching with vague satisfaction as the ashes from his cigarette land on his finger raked chest, flecks of burnt red mingling with throbbing abrasions that he will be certain to feel with every move under the tailored uniform.

The cotton and wool abrades his chest throughout the endless frigid days in the Belgian woods, sending the lightest sensation of teasing irritation through the channels of his brain in the moments where decisions and frustrations are lost in the fog of exhaustion and need, and desperate to feel something more again, he seeks out Jochen in his command post, a glorified shack that barely keeps out the cold wind as it slices through dark night; fervent with a fresh taste Pervitin coursing through his system, Jochen was more than keen to soothe Heinz’s deprivation, hands and teeth cruelly traversing the pale skin that was already blossoming in mottled shades of purple as he shoved roughly into him, spit followed by blood doing precious little to ease his way, and spurred onward by the moans and tremors of the man under him, Jochen found his meekness conquered by the hurricane of his innate desire to please and artificial stimulants brewing inside him, until finally, drained of forced energy and cum, he collapsed to Heinz’s side, who breathless and blood smirched curled into his side with a whispered word of gratitude and eyes still wild with the smarting ecstasy of agony.