Tag: peiperxofc

Jochen Peiper/OFC

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One last time to let the heat of the stew warm her shaking hands as she set the bowl down beside a platter of bread and potatoes for him. One last time to smooth a wrinkle on the tablecloth adorned with flowery prints for him. One last time to step back from her work to make sure that everything as perfect as it can be for him. It was not much, she had to admit. The meat in the stew was far too few, the bread old, and the potatoes lacking spices. Hell, the utensils did not even match each other! But that did not matter any more. This will be the last time she would ever do this for Jochen.

She knew that being involved with him was wrong. The man was married with children, for the love of god. How could she be so stupid to fall in love with him? And to actually believe that he loved her back? She was not even his only mistress. That was how much she was worth to him. Why would she even care about what he would think about her tablecloth? He had no right to do so, and, if he wanted to, he could marry her or at least leave his other mistresses for her.

Unbidden, tears stung her eyes, and she hastily blinked them away. Jochen was not worth the tears. There were other men – better men out there, men who would be faithful husbands. Yet, when a knock at the door announced a visitor, she bounded to it like the obedient pet she was and swung it open. The sight of Jochen flashing his charming smile at her was enough to burn away her previous thoughts, and she fell into his arms like dough – ready to be moulded in whatever form he wished.

In one swift motion, Jochen swiped down to kiss her on the mouth – a chaste kiss that reminded her of the carefree childhood years when there had been no war and when romantic relationships were nothing but light-hearted games. Perhaps that was what drawn her to Jochen, whose boyish demeanour and playful attitude reminded her of days gone by; but little did she know that his playfulness only meant that she was nothing but a toy to him.

Pressing his forehead against hers, Jochen professed how much he had missed her over the months, how much he had thought of her everyday; and she, caught in the moment, nodded and believed him, failing to note how he had smelled like another woman or how his eyes had sparked with mischief, instead of a certain depth reserved only for official duties. Was there truly anyone who has seen the hidden depths of his eyes? Or was Jochen that private of an individual that he hides it behind a blank stare in which shallow emotions only ripple through it like a stone thrown across an ocean?

She did not know as she kissed him again, content and amazed at how soft his lips were against hers. She had kissed other men before, but none of them were as delicate as Jochen. Many of them had short prickly hairs on their upper lip that, though not at all unpleasant, was quite distracting. But Jochen never had that, in fact, he was always smooth and so clean-shaven to the point that she wonders if he ever grew hair at all. Kissing him was kissing a sense of individuality in a world wherein rigid masculinity was advertised as the only sort of manliness, because, even if Jochen was softer than most men, he exuded an air of authority and unquestionable bravery that some of the most exorbitant men lack.

“Would you like to come in?” She whispered between pants, wanton desire pooled in her stomach and flooded her nether regions. Jochen nodded silently and followed her inside. He gave her no time to offer him a meal as his hand at the small of her back subtly pushed her to where he wanted her to be. He kissed her neck hungrily when they fell onto her mattress as his fingers tore recklessly through the buttons on her blouse. She moaned when he ran his palms down to her core, his thumb pressing her clothed clitoris when he reached the end of her midsection. Soon, her skirt and knickers were off, leaving her bare for Jochen to prey upon.

Yet, instead of forcing himself upon her, Jochen eased into the mattress and pulled her on top of him, smirking when she promptly undid the button of his pants and took out his erection from the restrictive confines of his underwear. She played with his cock as if she were in a trance, mouth slightly open, eyes dazed, and hips grinding down blindly for anything that can lessen the pressure in her core.

“Suck my cock,” Jochen muttered below her, voice low and even. With neither another word nor a complain, she slid her torso downwards until her mouth was positioned directly at the tip of his erection and then took the organ in. Jochen snorted in amusement at the sight – he, laying down on his back with someone above him, still remaining to completely in control of the whole situation. That was how he sought the favour of those around him – how he made everyone believe that he was their sweet little Jochen who can do no wrong.

With her mouth around his dick, she bobbed her head obediently, shifting between a slow deliberate pace and a fast shallow one. Jochen whimpered in pleasure, causing her to flick her eyes to his face in order to catch every second of his reactions. And, Jochen did what he knew she wanted. He moaned her name in that breathless tone she loved, told her how good it felt in between perfectly timed gasps, and shivered according to her actions. Jochen always knew that people desire to be validated, and that was exactly what he does to the people who matter in the course of history in exchange for unsaid rewards and consideration. Soon, she was moaning around his erection, sending thrums of vibrations from the tip to the base and making Jochen let out a rather embarrassing cry of pleasure.

“Enough,” he groaned, breathing deeply through his nose to stave off his orgasm, and pat his thigh as if beckoning a dog. Whispering an okay, she straddled him and let him slip through her entrance. She watched in delight as Jochen fluttered his eyes shut. It was a sight to behold – the face of ironic innocence. How a man so untameable, rough, and sinful be akin to a helpless and vulnerable puppy baffled her.

Mouth agape, she ran her hands through the dark blonde strands of his hair as she ground her hips against his. Jochen trembled and cursed softly when she began to move at a rate particularly favourable to him. Hearing Jochen curse always made her snicker. Such hideous things seemed completely out-of-place in his world – his accent was too aristocratic and clean, his choice of words proper, and his mouth delicate.

But what of the disturbing reports of Jochen in the front-lines? What of the horrible news she had heard of that delicate mouth commanding his subordinates to raze a village to ashes? What of the rumours about that aristocratic drawl being the reason why more than twenty unarmed prisoners-of-war lost their lives in a short span of ten minutes? Would simple swears be so out-of-place then?

She stared at the man beneath her and bent down to kiss him. She had wanted to kiss those horrid thoughts away, to assure herself that her Jochen could not have done such crimes; but he declined her that comfort. Instead, he canted his hips fervently and greedily took whatever pleasure her body can offer until he spilled his seed into her without a care for consequences. Feeling the warm rush of semen inside, she cried out in distress and tried to wrest herself away from him, but he gripped her hard until he was drained and breathless.

“I have to leave,” Jochen then said when not even ten minutes have passed since they had sex. She shook her head into his shoulder, but he pretended to not know as he pushed her away. She watched as he got dressed and felt her stomach drop when she realised that this would be the last time she would allow him to come see her, to let him use her like some cheap whore. Strengthening her resolve, she followed him to the door and tugged the sleeve of his coat just as he walked through the doorway. Jochen turned to her with a questioning gaze, and she opened her mouth to forever ban him from her home. Yet, no words came, even if she had practised this moment for months; because, in the end, Jochen Peiper always got what he wanted.

Peiper? I’m desperate

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aus-der-traum:

Maybe
it’s the whining that makes him so callous, that it’s her fault
that he has no patience for it, that when she can’t help but twist
her blouse between her fingers and beg, please, please, she’s so
desperate, she needs it, that he looks at her with that impassive
gaze and keeps writing the important letter he’s involved with.

She
has no permission to leave, he just chuckles at how her swollen, wet
slit drips onto the floor even when it’s not touched at all. There
are a pile of letters he needs to get through and with each one he
drags the stamp through her cunt before affixing it and she’s so, so
happy for the attention.   

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Peiper breeding at Lebensborn

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aus-der-traum:

Jochen first saw the girl’s husband (Gerda was her name, he did not know his nor did he care to know) when he dropped her off one day, maybe the fourth meeting, he could not recall, but it looked more like she dropped him off, put the little boy in the car’s driver seat where she left him to play with the wheel or the console (to keep him entertained as Jochen was entertaining her, again and again, until he could give no more and she lay next to him on stained sheets, sweaty, panting, with a blissful smile on her smeared lips), and that was of course the reason she came to Lebensborn – in contrast to his tall blonde wife the man was lacking in all racial assets: dark hair, dark eyes, mole-like features on a stout little guy who was nervous like a mouse and in height but not in circumference smaller than Jochen who wasn’t particularly tall himself, a rarity in these establishments where blond giants towered over him (he would have felt inferior had he not understood then already that race was more than the quantification of bones and expressed in deeds and bearings as much as the colour of your hair).

Like a mouse the guy was nosy too, eventually he dared to venture out of the safety of his car (or she let him out) and into the little villa with the discreet Lebensborn sign by the front door, where once he had begged his way inside he awkwardly stood around, looking here and there, down empty hallways, at white walls and at every so very superior young man that passed by, which is how he spotted Jochen too and watched him with unconcealed jealousy, while Jochen stood on the veranda, back in his uniform, his hair slicked back, looking neat as ever and smoking as he watched the birds in the garden, unconcerned with his own observer, and inside just a few rooms away the little guy’s wife had two fingers up her pussy to stop the cum from running down her thighs.

When he next saw Gerda’s husband it was coincidentally also the last times she came to use his services (he had done his duty, already visibly so when he stripped her out of her conveniently loose fitting dress, and she could not come up with other excuses to see him again), the encounter was by coincidence: Jochen had left his gloves on the nightstand and went back into the bedroom to fetch them when he found the man kneeling at Gerda’s feet his arms around her like a slave pleading for his life and his head between her thighs up to the nose in her wet folds eagerly drinking the bitter swill dripping out of her, then he understood what that jealous look had been about and he considered reporting the man but he did not, he thought the sobbing creature with its greedy little eyes was punished enough by its own existence.

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Gorgeous Peiper’s big cock, Beautiful innocent girl…

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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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