Pieter Kohler

Bark for Reinhardt

Her wedding dress spread over his body like a puffy white cloud fallen to the bed as his tongue slid into her cunt and his hands held her by the waist. The taste of her juices, the perfume of her body and the gentle rocking of her thighs around his head; all intensified the hardness and strength of his cock, and he wanted to turn her onto the bed, push deeply into her body and flood her womb with his superman seed. He wanted her to become pregnant with his power and brutal beauty. How easy it had been to reach this point. Hans struggled in the binding ropes on the chair, forced to watch his cousin fuck his willing wife, and craving to crawl on the bed and suck the cum out of her cunt, and to feel Reinhardt’s cock, to see it, to lick it, to smell it, to submit to its glorious power. 

                                                                                      *****

Yes, Reinhardt remembered, when he was an exchange student in London, fucking whom he pleased, he used to think of sex as mere fun and games, nothing important. After his return to Germany, sex became a business: impersonal, professional, profitable. And now, it had become essential, the thing itself most worth living for. As long as he kept his body prime and seductive, he’d have no end of customers, and no end of pleasure. In his mirror, he saw a magnificent Ubermensch whom inferiors would properly adore and serve and pay. 

Seduction of his cousin and his wife had been unsurprisingly easy for him to achieve his desires. The first three visits to his cousin’s house after their wedding had been pleasant, included a tour of the University of Leipzig, and general discussions at lunch with Jane about nothing in particular. They became increasingly comfortable and familiar in his presence. In the university laboratory where Hans spent half his day among beakers, Bunsen burners, Petrie dishes, retorts, and cupboards of chemicals, he had attempted to demonstrate his latest bit of research, to which Reinhardt paid respectful attention, standing close to Hans, even at one point placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. Wearing a muscle-hugging black T-shirt and jeans fashionably torn at the knees, Reinhardt casually flexed and rubbed his biceps, noting that Hans glanced at them when he did so. Hans did not shirk the hand off his shoulder. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the sensation of Reinhardt gently rubbing his neck, and even admitted, that feels so good.

“Maybe I should give you a massage. You’re so tense, Hans.”

And he rubbed the neck and shoulders more firmly, allowing Hans to step back against his body.

“That feels so good.”

“I will make you feel better than this. I know what you need.”

Before Reinhardt could feel if Hans had a boner, which he was sure he did, a lab assistant walked in, so the two left. Hans liked his company whenever they happened to be alone, and now he eagerly wanted Reinhardt’s approval on what he was doing, and embraced him longer than necessary upon arrival and departure. 

On the fourth visit within five weeks, during dinner when he listened to Han’s gabble on about research work, he had kept his eyes on his cousin, who had trouble returning the gaze. Eye contact was crucially important. Reinhardt liked to fix his subject or prey with his steady, penetrating glare, his eyes often sparkling like sun on water, forcing the weaker one to look away, but also to return, half-mesmerized, sometimes frightened, but connecting and not wanting to be let go. Sooner or later, the prey’s eyes sparkled with a “please fuck me” look. When that happened, Reinhardt knew that he had subtly established the proper relationship between the Master and inferiors, male or female or whatever gender anyone was pleased to call itself, all potential slaves. 

Usually, he was paid to play the role of master, but now he wanted to experience the thrill owning and enslaving someone like his cousin Hans, and maybe his wife also, not only because it would shock his mother, if she ever knew, but also because he simply wanted to. He would put into practice his belief that a superior alpha male had the inalienable right to control, dominate and fuck, regardless of social morality. No money would change hands in this transaction. Fidgety under Reinhardt’s confident and friendly demeanour and steady gaze, Hans drank too much wine. More abstemious than most, Reinhardt nursed his single glass of Riesling, to maintain complete clarity and command.  

Jane interrupted to praise her husband, and then to ask Reinhardt if he ever regretted not pursuing his scientific studies.

“Your mother says she’s sorry that you dropped out of university given how exceptional you were in physics.”

‘Well, she only knew what I told her,” he replied.

“You mean you weren’t gifted?”

“Perhaps I was, perhaps I am, but not in the way my mother means.”

Then Hans reached over the table and touched Reinhardt’s hand and said:

“Not everyone wants to be an academic, darling. Look at him, Reinhardt could be a movie star. Already he’s had a few parts in movies. 

Reinhardt wondered if Hans had actually seen the porn flics he fucked in, aside from the bit parts in had in mainstream films. 

‘Have you ever seen a professor with muscles like Reinhardt’s?”

“You’re being silly, Hans.”

“No, seriously, I mean it. Reinhardt is gifted in his own way.”

Reinhardt wore a black T-shirt under a sports jacket, which he had removed before sitting down.

“No, really, I mean, it takes dedication and talent to create a body like Reinhardt’s. It deserves recognition and admiration.’

“You’re drunk, Hans.”

Reinhardt noticed how Jane kept her eyes on his body as Hans praised his cousin. And then he locked onto her eyes and saw the depths of her own desire for him. Yes, the please fuck me look. He knew that she’d fall before him like her husband, and soon his alpha cock would be deep inside emptying his seed into her receptive womb. From the moment he saw her emerged from the limousine at the church, her wedding dress billowing around her slender body, he wanted to fuck her and make her his bitch. And, of course, he’d also degrade and enslave her husband. His cock surged under the table.

In the kitchen, Reinhardt stood by the sink as Hans stacked the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Reinhardt stood close to him, and when Hans bent over his back side touched Reinhardt’s groin, which responded, and Hans didn’t move, so Reinhardt just pushed gently against his cousin’s buttocks. Hans stood up, turned around, his face beaming with a red flush, his mouth open as if to speak. Reinhardt knew there and then Hans had fallen for him, thunderstruck by envy mixed with lust. Hans ran his fingers along Reinhardt’s biceps.

He needed Reinhardt’s muscles and power; he needed to serve; he needed to absorb the strength and virility that he lacked; he needed to adore Reinhardt. But he had to show it first; it was imperative that Hans respond to the presence of his superior by explicitly acting upon his desire. Reinhardt simply raised an arm and flexed, and Hans instantly raised a hand to touch and let his fingers trace the shape and veins of his cousin’s ripped abdomen. Reinhardt gripped his cousin’s neck and pushed his face closer to the muscle. 

“Remember how you used to follow me around when we were kids? You always wanted to be with me. And do what I told you. Remember?”

“Yes, Reinhardt, I remember.”

“I think you still want it.”

“Want what, Reinhardt?”

“You want to do what I tell you, don’t you?’

Without waiting for an answer, Reinhardt pressed his cousin’s face against his pec and gripped his neck. Hans at first seemed to resist then relaxed against Reinhardt’s muscles and began moaning as if entering a private state of bliss. His wife was still in the dining room, waiting for them to return. So easy to lead his cousin into the bedroom and tie him to a chair and then fuck his wife in front of him. So easy once they gave into their deepest desires. And he, Reinhardt, was there to fulfill them.

Yes, Hans would worship him. He was an academic wimp secretly hankering after muscles and men of merciless power and would willingly lick the boots of his Master. Wasn’t there also a kind of primordial beauty in brutality, now rendered impotent and shameful by contemporary morality? That’s what Hans needed: to submit to power and violence. The bitch needed to renounce his pathetic humanity and crawl for his master. Reinhardt would reduce him to the level of dog and make the professor bark on command. The very thought of it made Reinhardt’s cock, still trapped in the jeans, harden to its fullest glory. His hands still gripping the professor’s neck, Reinhardt led Hans to the dining room where Jane slowly rose from her seat, her eyes shining with lust, as they approached, and accepted Reinhardt’s extended hand.