Tied to a chair, he watched helplessly as his brother was being strangled by a piano wire, dropped whenever he passed out, revived and then the painful process would begin all over again.
He half cursed, half begged for them to stop in tears, they told him they would stop if he gave them names; he looked at his brother in desperation, his brother shook his head weakly.
After long hours of torture, they could no longer revived his brother, they left him alone with his brother’s body hanging from a meathook; they could hear his tormented wail as they walked away, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…….”
Gerhard Roßbach perverting Ernst Röhm — or basically anybody :)
Röhm with a blond beauty of an SA man with a lovely ass
prideful POWs (brought low)
Hans was a handsome, manly kind of guy, a bit of a Siegfried maybe, tall and strong with pink scars on his chest, speckles like paint drops, and a nose like an eagle’s beak, always held high, glaring down at me with steely eyes when I made him mop piss off the floor or clean out the shit house and it was that haughty look that made me want to fuck him.
I knew if I got him alone he’d be fighting me off and he hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks but he’d still win and then he’d be punished, send to the dark cell or the hot cell or the gallows, but I wouldn’t get to fuck him, so I got myself another friend – a yappy, strong fellow by the name of John – and each of us got a knife and we cornered Hans in his cell and I was straight with him, telling him I wanted to fuck him and such, and that came as quite a shock to him, he stammered that wasn’t what he was and then that it wasn’t what he wanted to be, which sounded like quite a different story to me, but we weren’t patient with him, weren’t waiting for him to come to terms with it, I just told him we’d rape him if he didn’t comply, then I beat him and John beat him too and I put the knife to his throat and to his eyes, and that did the trick, when I ordered him to strip, to turn around, to spread his legs and put his hands on the wall he actually did it.
I greased myself up and told him to grease his own hole, fuck himself a bit since he’d never been penetrated and he did that too, and then I went in very gently and very slowly stretched his tight asshole open, he was a virgin no doubt, he groaned and moaned and wouldn’t stop saying that it hurt, sometimes in one language and then the other, and I had no doubt that it did, the way he was clenching around my dick and I even pulled out a bit, fucked him only with shallow thrusts, I wanted this to be our thing, something I could do to him again, maybe eventually he’d like it too – but this was a joint venture, John wanted his turn and he got it before I finished myself (it’s hard to get off when you’re getting your dick squeezed off), I had to let him have his go and he didn’t hold back, he fucked Hans like some loose hand-me-down and Hans didn’t moan no more, my dear friend got so carried away, I had to tell him to slow down, I didn’t want him to break poor Hans – well, he didn’t break him, just broke him in a bit and made him wet for me; we took turns fucking him to the end of our shift and he was rather tame to me afterwards, once you’ve allowed someone to fuck your ass that’s just kind of what you do, you don’t get to change your mind.
bonding over music
Perhaps you’re the last port in the
storm, it could explain the surreal act of Wünsche
sitting down heavily beside you and resting his head on your shoulder
as though you’re part of the architecture or like he doesn’t
remember the way his lips pulled back from his teeth and his brows
drew together the last time he saw you and he spat a warning before
his friends tugged him away from
your incipient brawl, now his beery breath is huffing hot on your
neck and he pats you on the knee
like he’s banging a drum and starts mumbling with a slurred tongue:“I
can still hear them singing, and the
lad who wrote that, Horst, I think he had…I think, I don’t know,
well no education in music, or maybe he went to university, yes, he
did study somewhere but, I forget, but he was a construction worker, a fucking fighter, he puts bricks and stuff together, used his hands, right, and, and stood on those fucking streets and there, somewhere in some fucking Red cunt’s house, he had a room and he sat
there and composed that song and anyway, my point is….(Wünsche’s
lips are slurring the words against your neck and you wonder if he
has a point or if he’s just been pouring over copies of Der
Angriff as he vibrates on Pervitin and pilfered schnapps)“…Peiper
when you hear it, when you sing it, don’t you think, isn’t it just, isn’t
it just, at the heart of everything, the anthem of our great,
glorious nation, and could you sign your name to Versailles while
listening to it, or any, any other treaty, no matter what, no matter where
we are now, I don’t think you could, I don’t think it’s possible,
and that should really resonate with the motherfuckers who have
robbed, cheated, and abused this great country, we deserve better, we
deserve better…”His
knuckles have gone white where they’re tugging at your collar,
wanting to bring your mouth into consonance into his, begging for the
union of shared breath and touch since you’re sticking to your
silence over his little rant – at last you pluck out a cigarettes
from your case and put it to his lips and he sucks on that as you
press a brief kiss to his temple and let a light spark for him to
draw from.
“In the SS we travel deluxe.”
On the Führersonderzug even the sleeping compartments for the SS adjutants were luxuriously furnished; rich tones and velvety plush upholstery that only provided a soft muffle to the decadently pathetic whines and moans of the lithesome dark haired man as the thrusting of wider and stronger hips behind him lurched his pale pink cock across the painfully soft material.
The ragged breaths of the gleaming blond reverberated off the dark wood paneling as his hands pressed down on the elegant neck of the wriggling form below him, his cock squeezed tight by an opulent warmth; surrounded by so much grandeur he felt like the god the SS-Junkerschule promised he would be.
With a stuttering whine, pearly cum spread across the expensive upholstery under the smaller man, staining the sumptuous material that he had haughtily admired when he first entered the compartment to find his accommodations were befitting of his status; the blight was punished with a stingingly sharp hard across his already raw buttocks and a smooth mocking voice in his ear, “Don’t you know how to appreciate the finer things?”
enhanced interrogation
The naked body on the floor looked frail without his uniform and eye patch; even if they didn’t tie his hand, he was completely helpless as he barely had any hand, but this man, the entire nation cursed as the stupid, cowardly traitor, was in fact a very strong man; they had tried lashing, the rack, Spanish boots, ripped all the nails out of his remaining fingers, he still refused to speak and Skorzeny always admired strong men.
“Ready to talk, traitor? Or should we begin our next game?” asked Gestapo chief Mueller; when the traitor didn’t answer, Mueller took a pear shaped iron device and dangled it in front of his eyes, “Do you know what is this?” the tortured man had no idea what that sinister looking device was for, “It’s called pear of anguish, we insert it to anus when we turned the screw it would expand.” Skorzeny watched the traitor’s eye widened in horror, he was obviously panic, but then resigned to his fate; Mueller forced the device inside him; the scream was deafening, but Mueller didn’t stop, he turned the screw to expand the pear, blood flowing from his victim’s anus and he wailed like a wounded animal, the sound wasn’t even human anymore.
After he expanded it to maximum, Mueller left him like that for a few minutes, the cry subsided into a sob; Mueller crouched beside him, “You can tell me the name of your leader or I’d leave it there until you talk.” he finally spoke, “Me.” Mueller was obviously not satisfied, “Other than you!” The poor thing shook his head; he could only watch in horror as Mueller got on his feet and left the room; Skorzeny watched the traitor now looked at him with haunted expression as if he was pleading, “You need a key to take that out, I don’t have it.” he lit his cigarette and started to smoke as he watched the traitor tried to control his sob.
Reichblr Ficathon 