Gorgeous Peiper’s big cock, Beautiful innocent girl…

aus-der-traum:

They had told her the Germans were barbarians, huns, horrible monsters, ugly inside and outside, but the young officer she found in her father’s stable (stroking her favourite horse’s nose as if it was his own steed) was anything but that: in contrast to that stern uniform he looked so young and so gentle, the faint smile on his lips, the depth of his blue eyes and a ray of sun from the window that fell on his face made him look angelic – only the intensity of his gaze gave her goosebumps, no man had ever looked at her like that, there was something dangerous about it, a dagger with delicate ornaments still had a blade and any blade could cut.

He had noticed how nervous she was when he put his hand on hers (how could a soldier have hands that soft?) and stepped closer, closing the distance between them, breaching the space that was socially acceptable for strangers to keep, the shiny tips of his boots nearly touching her tiny shoes, so he spoke to her encouragingly in soft words, French and German too because he saw that she liked that, not knowing what he said, just looking at him, caught by his eyes like a pretty bird in a net, and she wanted to see more of him, take off that uniform, see him, touch him, feel his body against hers; he waited patiently for her to lean in for a kiss.

He was big, much bigger than she had thought from his slender frame, jarring really how fat and heavy his cock lay on his stomach, pink on white, bits of the straw they were lying on already clinging to his skin, his gorgeous body finally for her to see, yet she couldn’t help but feel fear welling up when he placed her hand on his cock, to make her feel the weight of it and how much he wanted her, and suddenly she remembered what the others had said, the Germans were conquerors after all, not brutal ones, polite neighbours, but conquerors nevertheless and it was only fair if it would hurt her a little – and it did, despite how wet she was for him, she bled when he pushed into her, slowly, very slowly, coaxing her body to submit while he kissed her neck and pressed his hand on her mouth so her parents wouldn’t hear her cries.

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Red Army officer and his secret harem of young German men

aus-der-traum:

They called him Ivan, not because that was his name but because it amused him, the irony of it, to hear his Germans stutter the name they had chosen as surrogate for all of their hated enemies from the east, those Mongolian hordes, and to hear them say it with desperate affection, begging Ivan not to be terrible, begging him to please be good and please be kind and please don’t send them to Russia, anything but that.

He kept them in the basement of the little villa he had seized for the duration of his stay in Berlin, two or three of them in each room, they needed some company after all when he was gone for the day, he was was no monster, he took good care of his boys, especially the young ones in their little shorts, they were the first to get some blankets and he brought them big cups of warm milk every time he came to play with them – he really did feed them well, better than any of their comrades outside, who were fighting over scraps of food like wild dogs, by comparison it was a comfortable life, he thought, they lived more like their wives and sisters who made pretty eyes at their liberators and that was a luxury for men who should rightfully be in Siberia providing food for mother Russia.

He had quite a zoo assembled in those cold cells, besides the Berlin boys there were two East Prussian SS men, brothers that looked like twins (he could make them do all sorts of fun things to each other), with them he kept a scrawny young officer of the same company, then he also had three jolly Bavarians, Gebirgsjäger who were brown like Italians, a group of drab looking and very damaged nobodies he rarely visited, a tall Swede with hair almost as white as his skin and deep-set blue eyes (no doubt an eager volunteer with those splendid racial assets), also a man from Alsace with long brown eyelashes who was good with his tongue but wept at an annoying frequency and his personal favourite: a stern and bitter old officer with a crooked nose who had once – before Ivan took them – worn nearly as many medals on his tunic as he had fencing scars on his cheeks; but all good things must come to an end and eventually the harem had to be disbanded, the young ones he let go first and they ran away into the ruins of their city like little mice, most of the other Germans he sent to the Siberian camps, a blinded one from Hamburg he brought to the train station so he would find his way back home, the Alsatian he gifted to a friend in the French occupation zone,

before he had decided what to do with the Swede that one had managed to slit his wrists and bled out down the drainage, and the arrogant old man he took along to Moscow where they hanged him for war crimes.

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von Stauffenberg doesn’t take being hurt too lightly

aus-der-traum:

He looked at himself in the mirror, naked with his bandages removed, standing in the pile of his dress uniform; his wife stood behind him in her light nightgown. She had her head on his shoulder, one slender arm around his stomach and the index finger of her left hand gently pressed to his empty eye socket, more so pointing out the flaw than hiding it, the tip of her finger dipping into the hollow space. “Have you been crying again?” she asked as she ran her finger over his dark eyelashes and pressed on the reddened skin of his eyelids with the sharp edge of her nail; shamefacedly he turned away from his reflection and pressed his lips to her forehead in a plea for forgiveness.

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