Gay Erotic Nazi Fiction
Apr. 11th, 2007 05:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
featherxquillThis piece was written by a friend of mine some time ago. It was posted under flock because 'it's about the last thing in the world I'd want my parents reading', but I have recently obtained his permission to respost it. He doesn't want his LJ username mentioned, but I will certainly send him a link to this so he can track it for comments.
This story is absolutely cracktastically hillarious. Puts fandom to shame. When I first read it, I laughed so hard that I cried. Wrong on so, so many levels. So. Funny.
Without further ado, here it is.
Heinrich Himmler sat hunched over his large wooden desk, caressing a pile of papers, the newly typed Gestapo orders. After giving them a quick glance, he pulled his large rubber stamp from under the desk and dipped it in the ink jar; he smothered it, covered it, it was dripping with ink. He brought his hand up and slammed the stamp down on the pile of papers...he approved.
Nonetheless, he just couldn't focus today, his mind flooding with thoughts of someone else, and his hunched body craving something more than just paperwork. He thrust his thumb upward and rubbed the long, rounded wooden handle of the stamp. The smooth tip glistened beneath his fingers, and almost seemed to throb. He closed his eyes and leaned forward on his desk, all the while rubbing the stem of that stamp harder. He brought his free hand beneath his desk. He rubbed faster, faster...harder. He whispered: "Joseph."
Suddenly the door to his office burst open with a magnificent force, almost primal. His eyes darted open, he jumped in his seat, and quickly pulled his hand from beneath the desk. However, he never let go of that wooden knob. It mattered not, for he was too slow. Joseph Goebbels stood at the door to his office, with a furled brow. Goebbels held in his hands a manila folder, presumably Nazi propaganda. But Himmler cared not for the folder...his eyes were focused solely on Goebbels' and the two stared, motionless, for what seemed like a thousand year Reich. Goebbels moved his hand and pushed the door closed, slowly. When it shut, he moved forward, never taking his eyes off of Himmler's. He set his folder down on the desk. Himmler opened his mouth as if to talk, but Goebbels silenced him by placing a finger gently against his lips. Himmler was overwhelmed. The sweat on his brow dripped down, and landed on the desk. He opened his mouth again, and Goebbels slowly slid his finger inside. Himmler sucked on the finger, sliding his tongue from side to side. He stood up behind his desk, but Goebbels pulled his finger back. He backed away, towards the door...he checked to make sure it was locked. Himmler's heart raced as Goebbels, by the door, slowly unbuttoned his thick winter overcoat. He slid his hands inside and threw the coat off; it floated to the floor. He ran towards Himmler.
The two opened their arms and embraced one another, tightly, each pulling the other in and holding on, as if they were the last two remaining sailors on a sinking U-boat. Their hands still clenching the other's flesh beneath the green Nazi uniforms, they brought their heads back, and gazed longingly into one another's eyes. The passion was there, they could each see it, and they knew what was coming: a flood of primal ecstasy neither could control. At this point, the Maginot Line couldn't even hold it back. Goebbels pulled Himmler's head towards his and slammed their mouths together. He shot his tongue down Himmler's throat like a Panzer tank bursting out of the woods at the Battle of Bulge. And bulge they did. Their kiss was a seal. When he pulled his head back, Himmler gasped for breath, but wanted more. He kissed Goebbels again, biting his lip and pulling upward. Goebbels pushed him back, and he hit the desk. Goebbels rushed towards him, tackling him onto the top of the hardwood. With Himmler on his back, Goebbels climbed on top of him, straddling him, and began ripping off his uniform. Himmler struggled out of his shirt, the steamy air of his office finally hitting his sweaty skin. Goebbels threw the clothes on the floor, and began to remove his own uniform. As he did, still straddling Himmler, Himmler unzipped Goebbels' pants. Himmler thrust his hand into the open zipper hole, rooting around for the "Nazi Gold" he had dreamed about. Goebbels threw his uniform and shirt on the ground, just as Himmler found what he was looking for.
Himmler caressed Goebbel's throbbing hard cock, like a V-2 rocket ready to go off. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and rubbed harder; Goebbels moaned in pleasure. Himmler pushed Goebbels off of him, turned him around and lay him down on the desk. He wanted a better vantage point. Goebbels lay back, relaxed now, smiling, and let Himmler rub his cock. Himmler's eyes glistened with joy at this fantasy in the flesh; he was -here- in the office, with Joseph Goebbels, a verifiable Aryan superman, his body like that of a god. He brought his head down, mouth gaping open and wet with saliva, towards Goebbels' cock!
But a knock! At the door! Like startled teenage lovers with their parents right outside, Himmler and Goebbels froze. Another knock! They turned towards one another. Himmler climbed off of Goebbels and let him up off the desk. They were still in shock. Then, they heard a key thrust hard into the lock. They grabbed their clothes, throwing them on haphazardly, in a whirlwind of Swastikas and double esses. But they were both too slow this time. As they stood there, half-dressed and still fully aroused, the Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler himself stood at the door, his brow furled, and his small, bottlebrush moustache twitching beneath his nose.
(In the next installment: Hitler's orgy that inspired Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut, and don't miss bottlebrush moustache fellatio!)
This story is absolutely cracktastically hillarious. Puts fandom to shame. When I first read it, I laughed so hard that I cried. Wrong on so, so many levels. So. Funny.
Without further ado, here it is.
Heinrich Himmler sat hunched over his large wooden desk, caressing a pile of papers, the newly typed Gestapo orders. After giving them a quick glance, he pulled his large rubber stamp from under the desk and dipped it in the ink jar; he smothered it, covered it, it was dripping with ink. He brought his hand up and slammed the stamp down on the pile of papers...he approved.
Nonetheless, he just couldn't focus today, his mind flooding with thoughts of someone else, and his hunched body craving something more than just paperwork. He thrust his thumb upward and rubbed the long, rounded wooden handle of the stamp. The smooth tip glistened beneath his fingers, and almost seemed to throb. He closed his eyes and leaned forward on his desk, all the while rubbing the stem of that stamp harder. He brought his free hand beneath his desk. He rubbed faster, faster...harder. He whispered: "Joseph."
Suddenly the door to his office burst open with a magnificent force, almost primal. His eyes darted open, he jumped in his seat, and quickly pulled his hand from beneath the desk. However, he never let go of that wooden knob. It mattered not, for he was too slow. Joseph Goebbels stood at the door to his office, with a furled brow. Goebbels held in his hands a manila folder, presumably Nazi propaganda. But Himmler cared not for the folder...his eyes were focused solely on Goebbels' and the two stared, motionless, for what seemed like a thousand year Reich. Goebbels moved his hand and pushed the door closed, slowly. When it shut, he moved forward, never taking his eyes off of Himmler's. He set his folder down on the desk. Himmler opened his mouth as if to talk, but Goebbels silenced him by placing a finger gently against his lips. Himmler was overwhelmed. The sweat on his brow dripped down, and landed on the desk. He opened his mouth again, and Goebbels slowly slid his finger inside. Himmler sucked on the finger, sliding his tongue from side to side. He stood up behind his desk, but Goebbels pulled his finger back. He backed away, towards the door...he checked to make sure it was locked. Himmler's heart raced as Goebbels, by the door, slowly unbuttoned his thick winter overcoat. He slid his hands inside and threw the coat off; it floated to the floor. He ran towards Himmler.
The two opened their arms and embraced one another, tightly, each pulling the other in and holding on, as if they were the last two remaining sailors on a sinking U-boat. Their hands still clenching the other's flesh beneath the green Nazi uniforms, they brought their heads back, and gazed longingly into one another's eyes. The passion was there, they could each see it, and they knew what was coming: a flood of primal ecstasy neither could control. At this point, the Maginot Line couldn't even hold it back. Goebbels pulled Himmler's head towards his and slammed their mouths together. He shot his tongue down Himmler's throat like a Panzer tank bursting out of the woods at the Battle of Bulge. And bulge they did. Their kiss was a seal. When he pulled his head back, Himmler gasped for breath, but wanted more. He kissed Goebbels again, biting his lip and pulling upward. Goebbels pushed him back, and he hit the desk. Goebbels rushed towards him, tackling him onto the top of the hardwood. With Himmler on his back, Goebbels climbed on top of him, straddling him, and began ripping off his uniform. Himmler struggled out of his shirt, the steamy air of his office finally hitting his sweaty skin. Goebbels threw the clothes on the floor, and began to remove his own uniform. As he did, still straddling Himmler, Himmler unzipped Goebbels' pants. Himmler thrust his hand into the open zipper hole, rooting around for the "Nazi Gold" he had dreamed about. Goebbels threw his uniform and shirt on the ground, just as Himmler found what he was looking for.
Himmler caressed Goebbel's throbbing hard cock, like a V-2 rocket ready to go off. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and rubbed harder; Goebbels moaned in pleasure. Himmler pushed Goebbels off of him, turned him around and lay him down on the desk. He wanted a better vantage point. Goebbels lay back, relaxed now, smiling, and let Himmler rub his cock. Himmler's eyes glistened with joy at this fantasy in the flesh; he was -here- in the office, with Joseph Goebbels, a verifiable Aryan superman, his body like that of a god. He brought his head down, mouth gaping open and wet with saliva, towards Goebbels' cock!
But a knock! At the door! Like startled teenage lovers with their parents right outside, Himmler and Goebbels froze. Another knock! They turned towards one another. Himmler climbed off of Goebbels and let him up off the desk. They were still in shock. Then, they heard a key thrust hard into the lock. They grabbed their clothes, throwing them on haphazardly, in a whirlwind of Swastikas and double esses. But they were both too slow this time. As they stood there, half-dressed and still fully aroused, the Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler himself stood at the door, his brow furled, and his small, bottlebrush moustache twitching beneath his nose.
(In the next installment: Hitler's orgy that inspired Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut, and don't miss bottlebrush moustache fellatio!)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-04-11 11:45 am (UTC)And you're right, the levels on which this is wrong are too numerous to count.
What made me snicker was the thought of Göbbels being called a "superman with his body like that of a god". Let's rather call him a little evil goblin.
Quite well written, but other than that I find it utterly disturbing.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-11 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-11 02:11 pm (UTC)