Настало время обсудить Heiny's ШЛОНГ в местном филиале рейхблра.
>с инцельским взглядом на мир
Это с чего бы?
Но в итоге-то он всё равно пососал хуй
Скорбят по Хайни? Я тоже, можем скорбить вместе итт. Как же хочется вылизать пальчики рейхсфюрера.
А мне, мне-то когда доведётся пососать его хуй?
Ты грязный пидорасина, полезай в крематорий
>Ночь.
>Настало время обсудить Heiny's ШЛОНГ в местном филиале рейхблра.
Но я хочу на колени к Хайни, а не в крематорий.
Фанат маршала Смерть, ты? Не созрел признаться в желании выпить маршальского молочка?
>>239512532
>>239512562
Вы ебанутые? Единственным пидарасом, которого Гиммлер переносил и то до поры, был Рём. А вами бы при рейхсфюрере занялась гестапо.
Я бы хотел оказаться на месте этой лоли.
>занялась гестапо
Анон, я же сейчас нофапон сорву
Черт, это был лазерный целеуказатель а я подумал оранжевый паучок на дисплее и убрал...
>подумал
Ты, наверное, очень волевой человек, у меня от взгляда на Хайни мысли мгновенно исчезают.
А я просто хочу отсосать Андрюше Власову.
Блять вы дауны? Гиммлер был омежкой, настоящими альфачами были такие люди как Шпеер и Шахт
Химмла был очарователен, статный полнокровный красавец с обаятельной улыбкой и в строгом пенсне. В твоих Шпеере и Шахте нету изюминки, хотя они тоже красивые.
>Гиммлер был омежкой
>не зассал путчить
>возглавил СС
>хладнокровно расправился с Штрассером и Рёмом, которые его продвигали
>подмял под себя все правоохранительные структуры в Рейхе
>организовал систему концлагерей
Этого человека ты омежкой называешь?
Двачую, Хайни был тот ещё альфач.
Важна не красота, а вклад в дело, если бы не Шахт, Фриц Рейнгардт, пропагандист Штрейхер, то твои Гиммлеры и Гитлеры остались бы простой кучкой маргиналов, которых рано или поздно отправили в тюрягу - принудительно работать
Тут рейхблр-тред нахуй, итт я дрочу на красоту Хайнички, на его немецкий шлонг и пенсне, а
>вклад в дело
меркнет в сравнении с тем фактом, что Хайни красивее, чем
>Шахт, Фриц Рейнгардт, пропагандист Штрейхер
вместе взятые.
ещё скажи что он арийцем был
Не знаю, был ли он арийцем, но знаю, что я выпил бы воду, в которой он омывал ноги.
https://bunkerarchives.home.blog/2019/10/11/calamari-a-la-fascismo/
Himmler was utterly plain and normal, an ordinary blend of small town police officer and school teacher, friendly, strict and a little neurotic in just the way that it was acceptable, maybe even called for, to be neurotic when one carried so much responsibility.
To his adjutant it was reassuring at first, how mundane he was, even his ugliness and unimpressive stature adding to the impression of the man as office and duty rather than an autonomous agent. It became worrying later, with schedules and appointments out of the picture, in the private moments, in quiet offices that smelled of disinfectant, on the long rides to strange places, in the back seats of cars loud enough for all the privacy if one just whispered quietly enough, and in grey hotel rooms and in the infinite span between dusk and dawn.
But then it was too late to escape his grasp and his young adjutant found himself trapped by things mundane, like contracts and obligations and expectations, and otherworldly too, dark secrets left best unspoken, old rituals and lost artifacts and things that came crawling out of a deep darkness that had never seen a single star.
At night his captor came quietly as if invited into his bed. He spoke to him with familiar voice and touched him with familiar hands and touched him also with unfamiliar parts like he’d seen only in books and museums on creatures of the sea, long tentacles, not wet but smooth like snake skin except for the suckers on them with their many teeth, cephalopod arms that slid over his body and under his nightshirt as he lay there frozen and mortified, mortified not by the terrible organs but the man they belonged to, that very plain man at the centre of all these horrors.
Himmler talked to him like father to son. He held him tight in his arms only to calm and comfort him as the tentacles slid up his legs like snakes seeking warmth, slid around his thighs and his abdomen and touched his limp sex briefly, disinterested.
They weren’t content with just touching him from the outside and sought entry in his body, sliding between his legs, thick as ship ropes. First the thin ends prodded at his anus, two or three or four, like the small fingers of curious children. They weren’t wet like one would imagine them to be and it wouldn’t have made any difference. When they first broke into him they stretched him so wide it tore his sphincter and it ripped the skin of his perineum to his balls, clean and quickly, as if it was snipped with scissors. One or two or three, he couldn’t tell, pushed deep into his guts, penetrated far too deep and deeper still, not inches deep but feet, so deep he’d would have thought they might come out of the other end soon, had he had the mind to think and do anything but feel the mind numbing pain and the heavy weight inside him, moving like many creatures, wiggling, and the pressure of it, like being slowly lowered onto a stake.
Other arms came sliding up his heaving chest and caressed his mouth that stood wide open from the pain of it all, breathlessly gasping beyond screams. Himmler kissed him on his quivering lower lip, intimate but without lust. One tentacle slid inside his mouth and down his throat. The invasion was so brutal he couldn’t even gag.
He thought he would die then, suffocate on the limb, and it was a relief to know the torment would end. In that moment the tentacles pumped their seed inside of him, twitching for many long seconds. They ejaculated into his guts and into his stomach and it was too much for his body to keep, gallons of sticky, bitter, thick ejaculate. It was so much it filled his stomach to the top. He didn’t even throw up, it just spilled over and it came running out of his mouth, and his nose and his ass and he was covered in it inside and outside.
Worse than the pain and the filth was the way Himmler whispered to him all throughout it, about new Germany and new soldiers, new men and how he would breed him each night until they would make that new man together, his good soldier, his favourite womb.