Peiper breeding at Lebensborn
Jochen first saw the girl’s husband (Gerda was her name, he did not know his nor did he care to know) when he dropped her off one day, maybe the fourth meeting, he could not recall, but it looked more like she dropped him off, put the little boy in the car’s driver seat where she left him to play with the wheel or the console (to keep him entertained as Jochen was entertaining her, again and again, until he could give no more and she lay next to him on stained sheets, sweaty, panting, with a blissful smile on her smeared lips), and that was of course the reason she came to Lebensborn – in contrast to his tall blonde wife the man was lacking in all racial assets: dark hair, dark eyes, mole-like features on a stout little guy who was nervous like a mouse and in height but not in circumference smaller than Jochen who wasn’t particularly tall himself, a rarity in these establishments where blond giants towered over him (he would have felt inferior had he not understood then already that race was more than the quantification of bones and expressed in deeds and bearings as much as the colour of your hair).
Like a mouse the guy was nosy too, eventually he dared to venture out of the safety of his car (or she let him out) and into the little villa with the discreet Lebensborn sign by the front door, where once he had begged his way inside he awkwardly stood around, looking here and there, down empty hallways, at white walls and at every so very superior young man that passed by, which is how he spotted Jochen too and watched him with unconcealed jealousy, while Jochen stood on the veranda, back in his uniform, his hair slicked back, looking neat as ever and smoking as he watched the birds in the garden, unconcerned with his own observer, and inside just a few rooms away the little guy’s wife had two fingers up her pussy to stop the cum from running down her thighs.
When he next saw Gerda’s husband it was coincidentally also the last times she came to use his services (he had done his duty, already visibly so when he stripped her out of her conveniently loose fitting dress, and she could not come up with other excuses to see him again), the encounter was by coincidence: Jochen had left his gloves on the nightstand and went back into the bedroom to fetch them when he found the man kneeling at Gerda’s feet his arms around her like a slave pleading for his life and his head between her thighs up to the nose in her wet folds eagerly drinking the bitter swill dripping out of her, then he understood what that jealous look had been about and he considered reporting the man but he did not, he thought the sobbing creature with its greedy little eyes was punished enough by its own existence.
“I won’t ask anything of men that I wouldn’t do myself”
If asked if there was one certain thing Kurt Meyer prided himself on, he would answer, his voice thick with fatherly bravado, that he would never ask anything of his men that he wouldn’t ask of himself, lead from the front was his creed and his young soldiers found reassurance and respect in this vow as they race over the dusty Ukrainian hills to their doom, their beloved Panzermeyer spearheading their attack; with firm claps on the back and a stern but affable smile, Kurt keeps morale up among his boys, knowing without a doubt they would follow him anywhere, as long as he kept leading the charge.
Dirt stained and sun bleached, Max recalls the sentiment as his calloused fingertips grasp at the makeshift desk constructed of ammunition crates and wooden boards that was precariously supporting his weight, the whole structure rocking with every rhythmic intrusion into his body, splinters digging into the pale skin of his thighs, already streaked an angry chafed scarlet from hours on a motorcycle; he almost laughs as the thought crosses his mind that this was where Kurt’s pledge ended, that as routine had proven, only one of them would be bent over and left raw, but the unrelenting hand around his throat stifles the raspy sound turning it into a death rattle as Kurt squeezes tighter with his own release.
With all the tenderness of a harried school nurse, Kurt bends Max’s hand back and digs a splinter free from the taut palm with the jagged edge of his nail, all the while chiding him to be more mindful, after all it would be careless to pick up a nasty infection in such competent hands, his words trail to a halt when he registers the taller man’s thoughtful stare, icy blue eyes narrowed curiously; the crates creaked as Max, slowly, mindfully, bent Kurt over the boards, his stigmata hand leaving a bloody imprint on the man’s wool clad shoulder, and as buttons come unfastened once again he can almost feel Kurt’s smirk growing as he leans down close to his ear, “You’d never ask something of your men that you wouldn’t be willing to do yourself.”
The Führer being caught eating cake in the middle of the night.
It was generally known amongst the iner circle of Hitler’s love of cake and sweets, whenever it was offered to him he would take it immediately and wolf it down to the amusement (or surprise) of everyone around him, but the day came when his favorite blue suit only just fit around him and his belly could be seen straining against the fabric, it was then that Adolf decided that he needed to go on a diet and lay off the sugar, “the fuhrer cannot be fat! I would look stupid, like goring.” And Knowing his iron will, everyone asumed that loosing the weight would be easy for the mighty fuhrer, and at first it was, the numbers on the scale began to go down and his blue suit fit well again, but as time went on, it became harder and harder to go without the sugar.
Adolf tossed and turned in his bed, it had only been a few months, and he was only ¾ of the way there, but he missed his cake, it was all he could think about, sweet, soft, creamy cake, he could almost taste it, he licked his lips, no! he couldn’t have any sweets! He would get fat again, but a little taste wouldn’t hurt would it? No it couldn’t, he got up and put his bathrobe over his pajamas before feeling his way downstairs and into the kitchen, and opening up the pantry and pulling out a nice fluffy vanilla cake “just a little won’t hurt” he told himself as he cut a slice, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy his craving for cake, so he cut another, and another, until there was no more cake left but the stray frosting clinging to his mustache.
He licked his lips in satisfaction, getting the last of the frosting off his lips, but after it was gone, he regretted his decision, had he really eaten an entire cake? Well there wasn’t a cake anymore, and he felt very, very full, he stood up with some difficulty, and turned around to realize that to his horror, a maid had been watching him, eyes wide the entire time, he walked toward her and she shrank back, fearing punishment, Adolf grabbed her by the arm and looked her in the eyes “you are not to tell anyone about this, do you understand?” She nodded fearfully before watching him walk back into the shadows and up the stairs to his room, one hand on his stomach, heavily regretting his decision.
Reichblr Ficathon 