diekatakombe:

My German is perfect. My father was a German, you see. Spoke in German, thought in German, felt in German. Exposed me to the German. I understand German perfectly.

When I speak, I break your language. I break your rules, your etiquette. Du/dir/dein. Exhausted, beaten, bloodied and bruised but still very contemptuous–you still scoff. You flaunt your signature expression of disgust.

And I can sympathize, Führer. It is demeaning to see a sweetheart violated by the wretched tongue of a Bolshevik. Raped by the thick, unwashed accent of the poor countryside. It infuriates you. But it does not surprise you. Only confirms. By nature I am incapable of civilized discourse with the civilized person.

You possess a dirty peasant’s tongue too, though it is quaint German peasantry and so this comparison makes your lip curl. Your teeth show. You would bite my tongue off if you could, like an animal. You believe otherwise. Pure Aryan, not pure animal. But this is the thing about animals, Führer. No awareness of their own stupidity, their own inhumanity. A primitive brain makes for a primitive bearing. And I am certain you agree.

But you consider us beasts so I will behave according to expectation. I will act as beasts do. We will do as animals do.

I lean toward you over the steel table. Yet your empty reaction is much more belligerent. You do not pull back. You do not look away. You do not move. After all, you are a soldier. A Leader. Der Angreifer. So you have surely heard about your women. Maybe even some of your men–strictly a bragging right, of course. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Retribution is a mixed bag. Lots of variety. All manner of flavors. I hold your chin with gentle, leather-clad fingers, a soft pressure. To be sure you understand. And I see you debating. Should you recoil from my intimate touch; or rob me satisfaction by sitting unfazed?

I tell you it does not matter. You have a very important decision to make now. Do you want this Red’s prick on that clean German tongue or would you prefer it in your arse? This is your performance and I do not care which you choose. But the wife, she might.

And this nudges a reaction. Not much, only in your breath. Though I wonder if you realize how loud the smallest movements become amidst total stillness.

You are smart, Führer. You knew before we grabbed you. Your language is not the only sweetheart we can violate. Your sweetheart is not the only creature we will violate. If only you had moved faster. Been smarter. But now she will be fed your leftovers.

So choose carefully. Reflect a moment. Consider the implications. Then offer up your confession. We are all eager to hear. Will you finally concede yourself a coward or a faggot?

@reichblr-ficathon