“What is wrong with you?” he bellowed at her, dragging the young woman down the hall as she cried hysterically, struggling to try and explain herself between hideous sobs.

The sound of the party faded as he made his way deeper into the grand old building, finally falling out of earshot entirely as he shoved her into an empty cloakroom, still decorated with gilt finishes and ornate woodwork as befitted Berlin’s finest hotel.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted again, giant hands grabbing her tightly by the shoulders, pressing her roughly against the wall. “You didn’t think I would see you flirting like that? You think I’m an idiot?”

“Ernst…” she gasped, tears streaming down porcelain cheeks. “I promise… I wasn’t…”

He slapped her across the face. “Like hell you weren’t. Don’t give me that shit.”

She sobbed deeply, unable to form words, her chest heaving, her hair coming loose from its elegant chignon.

Removing the ever-present Chesterfield from his mouth with contempt, he glared at her, as if her very tears were an affront to his dignity. So she thinks she can go around cavorting with my subordinates…

The red-hot tip of the cigarette caught his eye, silhouetted against the creamy flesh of her chest. The anger burned inside him, the knowledge that she would try and get away with this sort of thing again, and he wanted so badly to mark her, clearly, so that everyone could see she was his.

The young woman cried out in pain as the cigarette pressed against her skin, going out in an instant, leaving behind a clear, red welt, obvious to all thanks to her low-cut ball gown.

She stood there, sobbing, leaning against the wall, unable to meet his gaze as he straightened his officer’s hat and shot her a look of utter disgust.

“Don’t even think about coming back in there until you’ve cleaned up. You look pathetic.”

Himmler x Röhm

aus-der-traum:

Himmler loses his glasses somewhere in the process of being pushed to the ground face first with Röhm’s fat hands around his neck. The bathroom disappears, the closed door, the stalls and urinals disappear, only the cold tiles of the floor remain, his face pressed into them as he collapses under the crushing weight of Röhm’s huge body. Now for lack of other distractions the smell of the man, breathing on his cheek, stinking of sweat and beer and aftershave, is more unbearable than ever.

Very softly, without a hint of brutality, all the more menacing for it, Röhm says, “You’ve been wondering about it, haven’t you? Wondering what it would feel like, you on all fours and a nice fat prick up your arse.” He leans in closer and Himmler feels his cock then, the bulge of it pressing between his buttocks, hard and huge and terrifying, and he forgets to breathe for a moment, the thought of what Röhm could do to him running wild in his head, every outcome of it with him filthy, humiliated and crawling back for more.

“I can take it slow if you want me to, Heinrich, I can make it feel good”, Röhm says and with one hand he is stroking Himmler’s cheek, gently like he’s one of his boys, and with the other unbuttoning his own pants, slowly, taking pleasure in the way every button opened makes the man under him hold his breath. “But you don’t want that, do you? You want to be defiled, debased, violated.” And under him Himmler winces at every word. Now he’s pale as a corpse and Röhm is no longer on top of him, he’s standing over him, lazily stroking his cock but Himmler doesn’t move, doesn’t try to get away, and Röhm ejaculates on his back and leaves him lying there, waiting.

@reichblr-ficathon