What color is Göring painting his nails?
Himmler’s spectacles.
“They don’t appreciate you like I do.”
“They don’t appreciate you like I do,” the old Obersturmbannführer whispered in the cadet’s ear, leaving tickling warm breath on the back of his neck, like a kiss, and he buried his nose in the cadet’s stiffly combed back hair, drawing in the smell of pomade and sweat and some cheap aftershave on his neck and on the cadet’s breath the sour note of wine, heavy red wine, the perfect mix of sugar and alcohol to go to the cadet’s head – no, he didn’t need it to make him pliable, the boy adored him so, he would do anything for him, but it helped with the minor hurdles along the way, getting past those ethical concerns, making him just a little more slack in his arms and a little more hungry for touch and love.
The cadet giggled nervously when the Obersturmbannführer’s heavy hands wandered down the front of his uniform, stroking the cheap thing as if it was as nice as his own, the unblemished body under it as worthy of affection as the Obersturmbannführer’s scarred hide – he couldn’t find fault with such a flattering approach by his most respectable superior, so when the Obersturmbannführer said “don’t tell anyone you’re my favourite” and “you’ll make them jealous” his cheeks became just a little redder and he pawed only weakly at the man’s hand when he slid it under his waistband to wrap his fingers around the boy’s stiffening cock.
He had only just started playing with him when the cadet came breathlessly gasping his dear Obersturmbannführer’s name, at which point he pulled down the boy’s trousers and shoved two sticky fingers in the boy and the boy howled with pain and struggled to get away from the man, but he was much too drunk and there was no use calling for help all alone in the man’s own dark office, and so the Obersturmbannführer wrestled him to the ground and got on top of him, all the while still finger fucking him, pushing the boy’s spunk up his tight little ass, working him open for his own impatiently throbbing cock, and calling him by his first name and calling him strong and pretty and brave, and he did a good job: when he fucked him, grunting like a pig and thrusting into him like one too, it hardly hurt the boy anymore, at least he did not say so, laying there flat on his stomach, sprawled out with his pants at his ankles and drooling on the floor, his eyes not fixed on anything but staring vaguely in the direction of a portrait on the wall.
“who would you like to play you in the film they’re going to make of all this one day?”
It’s the middle of April, 1945, and Goebbels is sitting with Hitler in the bunker, pretending to read a magazine, thinking about how this must be the end, how each day the Soviets get closer, and how one day soon the Führer will certainly take his own life and then Goebbels knows he will follow him.
He hears Hitler clear his throat and looks up just in time to hear him ask, “Who would you like to play you in the film they’re going to make of this all one day?” and the little propaganda minister momentarily cannot think of anything to say, because the question is so unlike Hitler to ask– and, to be honest, it’s not like he knows the answer.
“Someone who understands me,” Goebbels says just to give an answer, and Hitler nods before saying, “Yes, and hopefully the actor who plays me will have the same eyes as me, you know everyone thinks they’re one of my best features,” and Goebbels replies that he certainly knows this, while thinking of the impending doom facing them all and how Hitler wouldn’t have asked such a question even a year before.
Make out on public place.
werewolf Hitler.
Goebbels is a vampire
Her naked body fell to the floor, her face cold as ice and the two parallel ant-sized holes placed ever so nicely on the side of her neck letting out miniature streams of blood; another mistress of sorts, dead as a doorknob; she didn’t look as beautiful dead on her own carpeted floor, Goebbels thought, as he pulled himself together and escorted himself out of the now deceased maiden’s household.
Goebbels could not remember when he had become this creature, nor a time when he was once human, but it was almost obvious by now; his pale skin contrasting his dark hair and eyes, his lacking appetite for anything, really, and his excessive use of sunglasses, hats, and parasols in harsh sunlight; and one could not forget his beautifully sharp fangs, two pairs symmetrically separated by four teeth displayed in the front, one pair each on one row of teeth, and what gems of a set of fangs to have; how they would glisten and sparkle with a variety of cherry colors when he bit into another unsuspecting maiden to sustain himself, and the pearly white glow they’d give when they weren’t absolutely draped in that sweet scarlet nectar.
He knew he couldn’t hide his secret forever from the Reich, despite his ways of hiding it (hiding his fangs via fake molds to cover them with), and who knows what would happen if the Führer found out, or anyone for that matter about who he truly was; the only thing he could do was wait and continue to bask in the night’s cool breeze and shadows, and puff his cigarettes, his only escape from his everlasting existence in this harsh reality.
needles
More of Mpreg
You ask and you shall receive.
———————–
Reinhard was sitting on the edge of the bed, while his companion was sleeping peacefully on the other side, it was early in the morning, roughly 6 AM, he couldn’t fall asleep again since he felt nauseous as hell, not to mention that there were a million thoughts running in his head wondering what’s the cause of this, he laid down onto his side and wrapped his arms around his stomach.
Slightly writhing about, he doesn’t know if he’s lucky or unlucky that his partner is a heavy sleeper, but the pain wasn’t subsiding, rather it was getting worse and he just couldn’t keep it in anymore, thank God that the bathroom was next to their room, he sprinted towards the door and nearly slid on the tiled floor on his knees.
Few months have passed and his case has only relived a bit, still every time he wakes up, he feels like throwing up, but not to the extreme as it was in the beginning, there is something that alarms him, his stomach has been protruding, not like it was fat, since he was training daily, but when he touched the area, it was sensitive, yet firm, something is off, but he’s too anxious to visit a doctor, he’s scared about what’s happening and doesn’t know what’s better, knowing what it is or not knowing at all, something is sure though, this isn’t normal.
Reichblr Ficathon 