Max was all facade and nothing but insecurities behind it. He could be charming of course if he knew who he was dealing with and what he was allowed; and sometimes brutal if he did not. Looking down the familiar lens of a camera he could strike an impressive figure. He practised his grin every morning. He fixed his hair in every mirror if no one was looking and he hated when Jochen tousled it with a sly smile. No amount of preparation could get rid of his nagging doubts and in unfamiliar surroundings he often fell back on silence, smiling stupidly and hoping that breeches of a fine material or a pair of shiny boots would be defence enough; and usually they were, when Jochen wasn’t kicking his feet apart and pushing his hand down the back of his trousers. It was always a pleasure for Jochen to see Max’s phony grin freeze and his body stiffen, when he ran his thumb between Max’s buttocks. He preferred to do that to him when Max was drunk, as he often was. The alcohol induced loss of control made for a delicious difference in power. Then the slightest sexual touch made Max bend at the knees to make up for the different in size between them, eagerly presenting himself to be fucked with an arched back and moaning like a versed whore. He became an unintelligible mess as soon a Jochen made him feel his cock – not fucking him just yet, only pressing it between Max’s ass cheeks, rubbing it on his asshole, prodding, teasing, but not giving him what he needed. Max also looked very photogenic when he was sucking on Jochen’s fingers to get them wet and even better when Jochen shoved them into him and the facade crumbled and fell and he just looked so pale and weak and ugly. Eventually the fingering wasn’t for the sake of preparation anymore, Max became well-accustomed to the size of Jochen’s dick, it was however useful to make him beg for his cock, especially if Jochen wasn’t actually feeling like fucking him and could just easily walk off. Jochen occasionally called Max ‘pretty’ and ’a doll’, usually when his dick was inside of him all the way and he was spreading Max’s fat ass to get in just a little deeper, never too often to make the insult lose its weight. It was a good way to get Max’s ass to tighten, so Jochen could to be done quicker, when there were knocks on the door or steps around the corner of a hallway. Once Jochen had been transferred to the Eastern front he did miss Max a little. He wouldn’t have done that sort of thing to any of his comrades, who were good, honest men like him. So he was rather happy to find that even in the Russian tundra he managed to run into Max now and then and as it turned out war hadn’t affected Max’s most useful traits a bit.