The White Jacket

Reads: 2938  | Likes: 5  | Shelves: 2  | Comments: 1

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

The story of how Adolf Hitler met Eva Braun in 1929, leading up to a big surprise the Fuehrer has planned for her.

The White Jacket

Part One

July 20, 1939, Hitler's study in the Berghof. Hitler seated alone at his desk, 10:30 am.

He was in the mood to reminisce. Just the other day Frau Kannenberg had mentioned that it had been nearly ten years since he had known Eva. 

"The anniversary of your first meeting is fast approaching, mein Fuehrer," she had told him as he sampled another portion of her Streusselkuchen. The powdered sugar on each piece wasn't to his liking, it wasn't nearly sweet enough. He was also a little irritated at the absence of shaved almonds on the cake. 

And what about her temerity to mention his private life? He knew Eva wouldn't mention something like this to anyone at the Berghof and he wondered who was running their mouth again. He made a mental note to ask Bormann about it.

But Frau Kannenberg's comment had unleashed a flood of nostalgic feelings: the yearning to go back and recapture a moment from the past. He found himself doing this increasingly as he grew older. His countenance softened when he thought of how young she was, how impossibly young. 

It was a chilly Friday evening on October 4, 1929 when they first met in Munich. It had been an ordinary day, desultory in fact, and there was nothing to indicate the evening would be any different. He loved reliving the moment because it rarely failed to elevate his mood, sometimes to the point of heady exuberance. It was a bit of a jolt to recall the tumultuous feelings which had washed over him.

All because of her.

This lovely, spunky, cuddly, sexy shop girl. A mystery to him then, and one it took years to thoroughly unravel. He still hadn't untangled all the loose ends of her personality and didn't think he ever would. But that was part of her charm. She was sometimes infuriating and had an array of faults that drove him to distraction. But he realized with a sigh that Eva had always been the ideal partner for him: available and fun. Relaxing and comfortable.


At the time it had seemed so inconsequential. She was just another girl who had stirred his blood and made him slightly ache. Made him feel a little restless. At 40, he was accustomed to it. Nearly any young thing could turn his head and make his mind meander to sex. So it was no different with Eva Braun.

Yet somehow...

Somehow he felt it sharper with her. Deeper.

He'd walked into Hoffmann's shop just after closing hours and there she was, perched on a ladder, returning a file to the highest shelf. He remembered smelling cigar smoke in the foyer and wondering with disgust whether his photographer was the culprit. But his gaze had instantly been glued on the girl upon the ladder, his eyes raking over her body. 

Could he now recall every detail? The color of her dress? Her hairstyle? Was she wearing perfume? Jewelry?

Hitler's desire for was instant and it was palpable, painful almost. It was as if two invisible hands had reached down inside of him and shaken him, throwing his body into an edgy sort of turmoil. His nerves felt as if they were being pricked with a sharp blade. He loved experiencing this rush, which he usually only felt on the Speaker's platform. With women? Hardly at all.

At first her face was hidden, all he could see were a pair of long legs and the dainty black high heeled shoes offset by a pink bow. Her dress seemed shorter than the usual fashion, or maybe it was just hitched up. A black garter belt made of lace was assaulting his eyes as she stretched higher to reach something above her head. There was the tiniest glimpse of her slip and her stockings. Everything was open to his gaze: her lower thighs, her knees and those beautifully sculpted calves.

He was almost on his tip toes straining to get a better glimpse. She kept shuffling photos in some sort of order and then replacing them with white slips of paper. He could only see her backside and that abundant crown of dark blonde hair. He wondered why Hoffmann hadn't mentioned he'd hired a new girl?

When she finally descended from her perch, his heart had actually flipped over in his chest. It was a complete internal somersault. It felt oddly unmasculine and his fists had clenched unconsciously, trying to squelch it. Her face was even more spectacular than her body: a gorgeous Aryan specimen standing right there in front of him, making him feel somewhat dizzy.

Hoffmann's jovial voice hurtled him back to reality.

"Herr Wolf," he said, beckoning the girl towards them with an index finger, "here is our good little Eva Braun." 

Hitler briefly wondered why Hoffmann was using his alias, but he didn't dwell on it. Feasting his eyes upon the shopgirl was the only thing that mattered just then.

Neither uttered a word, but she'd looked at him with a pair of limpid blue eyes, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to speak. He used those precious seconds to drink in her face, her hair, her breasts and her body, or at least what he could see of it. She wore a saucy purple scarf which covered most of her chest and neck. He wondered what she looked like naked, bending backwards on the floor for him, opening her legs as wide as she could, inflaming him with her nascent sexuality.

Hitler fingered his whip as he reached out to shake her hand, bowing slightly and never taking his gaze from her. He held eye contact for an uncomfortably long time and he did it deliberately.


He couldn't look away because the mutual attraction was too powerful. It was becoming embarrassing, and Hoffmann quickly intervened.

"Eva, please now allow me to introduce you to Herr Wolf."

The young girl was still staring into the ravenous eyes of this strange older man. She said nothing, but smiled and nodded slightly, extending her right hand with the barest hint of a curtsy. She felt his warm touch and his hard grip. Then he surprised her completely by bowing at the waist and bestowing a kiss upon her right hand.

Eva had never had a man do this to her and nearly swooned. She'd only seen it done in the movies and had fantasized that someday a man might do her this honor. What a charmer this fellow is! She was still only 17, and having a mature man respond to her so openly was a veritiable triumph. She was going to have to tell her sisters about this, they'd be simmering with jealous. Nobody had ever kissed their hands and no one probably ever would. 

Her heart rate was suddenly elevated as her eyes zoned in on his trench coat, the whip and the velour hat he was holding in his left hand.

When he withdrew his lips from the girl's skin and straightened up, he continued to stare sensuously into her eyes. It was the most mesmerizing moment of her life. It was almost as if he'd figuratively plunged a bayonet deep into her body. But instead of pain, there was a mounting, giddy pleasure welling up within her.

Those huge blue eyes were devouring her as Eva's entire body began to tense up in a most delicious way. Her heart was beating so furiously that she felt her blouse tightening around her chest. She could feel the blood rushing to her face and neck, bathing her in a dewy, almost indecent glow.

Hitler was seducing her with that piercing stare alone. He needed nothing more with women and it had been that way since early adulthood. It was as if the entire world was contained within those two insanely potent eyes. He wouldn't look away from her and she was offering no resistance. They were locked as one, drowning in one another. 

What what was going on, she wondered feverishly. This stranger was old and that mustache seemed rather silly. But her mind and her body was responding to those eyes, my God, those startlingly blue eyes. She was thunderstruck by their color and their strange protruberance. She'd never encountered anyone like this or experienced something this bruisingly powerful. 

Eva held onto his hand for support, reveling in the warmth and tightness of his grip.

Only a minute had elapsed but the moment had seemed to last hours. For both of them, everything moved in slow motion, each savoring the other. It was an unspoken mental dance between them, and it had begun literally the moment they laid eyes on each other. The physical attraction was explosive, particularly for him, as lewd fantasies of her pounded in his head. He wanted to run his lips over her garter belt and bite her thighs, feeling her trembling underneath him, while she wrapped her legs snugly around his waist. 

They were off to the races, both of them. 

Hoffmann cleared his throat a little too obviously. He stifled a laugh and finally was able to complete the introduction.

"Herr Wolf, once more, this is my new employee, Fräulein Braun."

He felt like the piano player in a bordello playing incidental music while clients got busy upstairs. It was a little unsettling watching this attraction explode right under his nose, and in his own shop. 

Uncharacteristically, Hitler said nothing, because his mouth was too dry to speak. For a man who never stopped talking, his conspicuous silence alarmed Hoffmann, who also noticed how oddly his client was behaving. He kept clearing his throat and shuffling his feet, all a-jumble. His photographer had a habit of hiring pretty young girls as his assistants, but this one appealed to the Fuehrer in a way none other had, and he'd known them all since 1922.

This one was something extraordinary.

Her dark blonde hair framed a doll-like face, dominated by a pair of searching blue eyes with abundant dark lashes. Her eyebrows were thin in the latest style, like Dietrich, a fact he noted with immediate and intense delight. Her skin was fair and had a luster that faintly shimmered. She seemed half Flapper, half virgin. This crazy contrast inflamed him even further. Her manner of dress intrigued and aroused him: modern shoes and skirt, with light hose and heels that made her appear taller and older than she really was. 

And those unending legs! To the 40 year old Hitler, she looked good enough to eat, as all sorts of licentious thoughts raged within him. He had a sudden, deep urge to spread those legs and prop them on his shoulders before plunging into her tightness. His mind was reeling from her youthful body and the pleasures he so acutely wanted to inflict upon her. He wanted her now. Not tomorrow, not next week, not when she came of age, he wanted to fuck her that very minute. Which position did he want first Feverish imaginings pulsed in his brain. Did he want her in missionary? From behind? Bending her over the arm of a sofa? What about her feet propped on his shoulders?

His cock was standing up at a painful angle, practically bursting through the fabric of his trousers. Burning, like his blood was boiling within his skin. He had started to stiffen from the very first glimpse of her. He had to fight against the urge to rub his hand over his groin, vainly trying to douse the fire she had lit within him. She had absolutely set him ablaze.

The girl was about to return to her files when Hoffmann took her elbow and ushered her towards the door.

"Eva, Herr Wolf likes a snack around this time. Would you go to the corner and fetch some beer for us? Get an Optimator for Herr Wolf, Spaten for me and why don't you get yourself a Pils?"

It was closing time and Hoffmann had already bolted the door and turned down the lights to the shop. He fished in his pocket and handed Eva ten Reichsmarks, then added another five for good measure.

"Don't be long now," he added with a fatherly pat on her back. "And don't forget the mustard for the Leberkaese."

She looked at her boss with girlish exasperation and replied, "of course I won't!"

Eva glanced at the stranger and noted he was still staring at her in that blatantly carnal way. No man had ever looked at her like that. She didn't know that such searching, searing looks between a man and a woman even existed. But she wasn't offended with his visual assault, she was excited. In fact she getting more aroused with each passing second. Her limbs were starting to tingle and her legs trembled unconsciously.

There was something about this man that was explosively masculine yet tender: brazenly self-assured but also shy. It was an odd but compelling mixture. She liked his voice, his hair, and those hungry, spellbinding blue eyes which seemed to stare right through her into some unending horizon. The dark forelock flapping over the intensely white forehead offered such a wicked contrast. He smelled so good too, a mixture of mint and eucalyptus. 

His hands were startlingly white, hairless, always in movement. Artistic hands, she correctly surmised, experienced in the ways of women and of the world.

Already Eva had the fleeting vision of those white hands roaming over the expanse of her body, disrobing her. Flinging her underwear over his shoulder with rakish abandon. She could almost feel his hands caressing the firm, white surface of her body, sculpting her, molding her, grabbing her closely as he thrust inside of her. She wondered what her first time would be like, with this man becoming her first lover. 

Her only lover.

Eva was being overwhelmed with many new, almost violent feelings, all of them lewd. Never before had she felt this strange vaginal ache which began when their hands had first touched. She could feel her pulse deep within her body, throbbing for this man to take her, take her right there, right now. 

She'd been in his presence only a moment but had already drunk in all that he had to offer. And she could tell it was a lot.

"The older gentleman likes me," she thought with pert satisfaction. "My God, that deep voice...and he's so cute!"

Throughout this exchange, Hitler kept his gaze hanging on the legs and body of the salesgirl. He watched, riveted, as she took the money and walked out the door to cross the street, dodging a blue and white trolley as her hair was tossed by the breeze. He shifted in his seat and was glad his trench coat hid his obvious arousal.

"Well," Hoffmann said jocularly, "I could see you are enjoying my new employee! She's a looker, isn't she?"

Hitler said nothing, but sat down in the rear room at a rickety table. He removed his felt hat and put his whip on the table, then unbuckled his trench coat, but didn't hang it on its usual hook for reasons he knew all too well. His erection was blatantly obvious, sticking out at an uncomfortable angle. He couldn't stop his endless visions of pinning her wrists to the headboard of his bed, feeling her spasming around his cock as he relentlessly drove deeper and deeper into her. He imagined seeing her face the first time he penetrated her, a mixture of pain and pure ecstasy as she felt him fill her completely. 

Unconsciously, he ran his hands through his hair and glanced at his suit to make sure it wasn't wrinkled or mussed. He fingered his yellow tie nervously, stroking it and tucking it into the depths of his suit jacket. He wanted to make a powerful impression on this young beauty and intended to leave his mark on her. Yet there was the faintest twinge of regret running through him because she was so young.

It was hypocrisy of the worst kind since he adored them young and he'd pushed aside that taboo long ago. For Hitler, a 15 or 16 year old girl was perfectly fair game, as he'd proven several times in the past, with an immense, almost sinister satisfaction. Many Munich girls had surrendered their virginities to him and leaving his mark upon another one was a frequent masturbatory fantasy. Very few things aroused him as much as being the first man for a girl or being the source of their first orgasms. He always grew insanely hard whenever he thought about fucking young virgins.

"By the way, Hoffmann," he said as he reached for a magazine on the counter, trying to appear casual, "How old is this new girl?"

The photographer regarded his friend with a bemused grin.

"She's just 17. Can you believe it? Just out of the convent, according to her father."

The number jolted Hitler and made his erection throb even harder. He was on fire the moment he saw Hoffmann's lips form the word "seventeen."

This was the perfect age for him. Literally the apex. A girl reached their height of beauty and sexual allure at this precise point in their life. He loved young ones of almost any kind, but the age of 17 was something that made him want to groan aloud and he came close to actually doing so. Had his photographer not been present, he would happily have tilted his head back, shut his eyes and roared with abandon. He was losing control, as if he was careening down a mountain road with a faulty set of breaks. He couldn't help it, the girl was so sexy, and so tempting. How dare his photographer not reveal her to him earlier?

He sat down and pretended to leaf through a copy of the Voelkischer Beobachter, but he wasn't fooling Heinrich Hoffmann. He knew Hitler as well as anyone and he knew that his client had been powerfully turned on by his beautiful new employee.

This was exactly what he'd intended when he hired the girl, knowing that her youth and looks would light the party leader on fire. Knowing that if a "friendship" developed between them that he would reap benefits, both personal and professional. He was well on his way to becoming a millionaire already. Attaching himself to Hitler's coattails was working out precisely as planned. The Boss was crawling out of his skin at the chance to seduce Eva and he was doing very little to hide it. 

After several minutes, the girl reappeared, carrying a tray with the beer and Leberkaes. Hitler immediately assisted her, removing the cloth napkins and plates from the tray. He watched her, wide-eyed, as she arranged the cutlery neatly on the table. He even helped her with the sweet mustard and forks. Hoffmann had to suppress a sarcastic laugh. He had never seen Hitler assisting a woman with plates or napkins. Or anything else for that matter.

Again they made eye contact and it was becoming electrically charged on her end too. Eva was weakening, he could see it, and he was relishing it immensely. His enormous ego was was being inflated by the second. He was causing her melt right before his eyes and she allowed him to see her arousal, which inflamed him even more. Maybe it wasn't a case of her "allowing" it, it was more like she simply couldn't disguise it. She was aching for him and it was obvious. How he relished watching her succumb to his seduction.

It was as if some carnal instinct had claimed possession of Eva's body without her mind even knowing it. He knew very well the signs of reciprocal interest and she was displaying every single one of them: the subtle pout while licking her lips. Endlessly touching her hair and placing her fingers near her mouth. There was a faint flush on her neck and lower cheeks which was unmistakable, and it wasn't because of the short trip to the tavern to fetch the beer.

It was because of him. 

His fantasies continued to distract him to the point where he could scarcely frame a sentence. The only thing he could focus on the vision of her naked body sprawled on his bed, on his sofa, on the floor... anywhere, as long as she was unclad and willing. He imagined her lips around the head of his cock, softly sucking him, then deeper, and deeper into her mouth. So deep. He imagined looking down on her blonde head bobbing up and down on his thick shaft. He could visualize both his hands cupping her face as she went down on him, taking more and more of him into her warm mouth. Taking him down as far as she could.

He couldn't stop the fantasy from repeating in his head, he couldn't turn it off even with supreme effort. It was endless. The demands of his body threatened to spill over so blatantly it would embarrass not only himself, but Hoffmann and the girl as well.

As he gently took the forks from Eva's hand, his thighs tightened together unconsciously, his legs a bit wobbly. He tried to distract himself with the business end of this new attraction: Bormann would have to check out her background and make sure there were no Jews in her family tree. Also find out what her father does for a living.

The best play for Hitler was to sit next to Eva while Hoffmann sat opposite. Yes, he wanted to see her face and to drink in her body, but sitting beside her was better for other reasons. It afforded him the chance to touch her, even if the touches would be perceived as accidental.

She was so close to him their elbows knocked together almost immediately. He wondered if she could sense the heat coming from his body and got a thrill thinking maybe she could. Her nearness made him feel slightly drugged. He could smell her shampoo and her facial soap, and wanted to run his lips all over her skin cream and hair. She smelled so delicious, so ripe.


He wasted no time as he reached across her body, softly brushing his sleeve against her forearm. Ostensibly he was getting a glass for his beer, and it had all seemed so innocent. In exactly the same way she had touched his hand briefly when making a point about a play at the Staatstheater.

The conversation had been lively, unforced, and Hoffmann had the good sense to remain utterly invisible. He simply allowed his Fuehrer and his employee to discuss movies, the theater and other incidentals. He almost squirmed in his chair, wondering when he'd ever seen Hitler this keyed up over a woman. 

Hitler loved that her dialect was exactly like his own. She rolled her "r's," every sentence that tumbled from her lips was Bavarian and full of Munich colloquialisms. 

It seemed like she was perfect for him: she was cute, yet she was beautiful. She was saucy, but also respectable. And her body was driving him insane, especially with the close proximity. He continued to imagine her legs wrapped around his waist. He could almost feel himself tonguing her thighs while his fingers pistoned deep with her. The visions of himself fucking her hard had morphed into near hallucinations. It was as if he could see her face exploding with her orgasms, he could almost feel her clenching onto him as he drove himself into her. She'd cum so much she'd be swooning when he was through with her. 

It was becoming almost impossible not to reach over and start disrobing her, slowly drawing her stockings down those legs. The legs which were completely obsessing him.

Her soft voice interrupted his reverie.

"Do you like John Gilbert?" Eva asked him, taking a small sip of her beer. "He's my favorite actor and so handsome. You know he and Garbo are in love?"

Hitler turned to face her and again made such direct eye contact that it almost felt like an assault. She could barely breath when he looked at her like this, it was a struggle to even hold her fork without dropping it onto her plate.

"Garbo is a great beauty," he said with so much authority that doubting him was not an option.

"She has an exquisite face, perfectly proportioned. In fact I would say she is close to being the most beautiful woman on earth, the zenith of feminine pulchritude. Her mouth, her eyes, her hair, why, they cannot be improved upon in any capacity. In order to capture her on canvas, an artist would have be of the highest talent level."

Then he continued with a monologue about the Swedish actress for the next five minutes, discussing with authority her films, the directors and her technique. Eva listened to his deep voice with awe, it was so rough and unusual. She loved watching his hand gestures and listening to that incredible baritone. She didn't understand some of the big words in his vocabulary and just knew she had better consult her father's dictionary when she got home.

"Have you seen Garbo in The Wild Orchids, or The Kiss?" he asked her casually.

He said "the Kiss" with such emphasis it was embarrassingly obvious. His eyes pierced her as he enunciated the words, "der Kuss." His eyes languidly strayed from her face to her legs, and then up again.

The girl was being so coy, so adorably unreadable. The little vixen, he fumed, and wondered how someone this young had mastered this feminine trick already? The erection that had been so incessantly throbbing finally settled down, but every time he glanced down at her thighs he felt it stir again. Those creamy, beautiful, white thighs. Virginal and untouched.

He instinctively straightened his tie and sat up straighter, trying to appear more imposing. Again his fists clutched together as he reached for his whip, the eternal talisman. Does she like me or not, he inwardly fumed. Does she want me as much as I want her?

When the Leberkaes and beer were finished, Eva was the first to stand up. As he glanced again at her legs, his cock began again to stiffen immediately, he could feel all the blood in his body racing in that direction. His stare continued to be completely locked upon her lower thighs, just below the hem of her skirt. He wanted his mouth right at that spot, wandering upwards. He wanted to feel her fingers run through his hair and grab the back of his neck as he began to pleasure her with his tongue, softly flicking her clitoris. It was as if his fantasies were on a never ending tape loop.

"I didn't realize it was so late, Herr Hoffmann," she cried, a little worried. Then she glanced at Herr Wolf, his stare compelling her to lower her eyes flirtatiously. He noted she had a double set of eyelashes, slightly curled and adorable.

It was already 6:30 and dinner would soon be ready at her parent's house. If she was not at the table by then she would have to deal with her father's fury. 

When she stood up, Hitler mirrored her movement, steadying her elbow with his left hand. Their eyes met once more and his gaze burned through her, making her breath hitch in her throat. She had to get away from this man, he was stirring up inside her all sorts of sensations she didn't even know existed. Her vagina continued to throb and tighten whenever their gazes met, and there was nothing she could so to control it. It was as if she was on the verge of orgasming just by chastely sitting next to him. No man had ever turned her on to this acute degree. 

Eva was feeling slightly crazy but she didn't dare betray any of this in front of the two gentlemen. She had to  control herself or Herr Hoffmann might certainly discharge her. She'd only had the job a week! She couldn't help it if this stranger had been undressing her with his eyes for the past 40 minutes. She had to break free, if only to save her job and her sanity.

She slowly walked to the back room to retrieve her coat and purse, strangely relieved to break free from him. But she couldn't help but  press up on her crotch, trying to alleviate the unbearably erotic feelings that he'd awoken in her.  Taking four fingers of her right hand, she pressed hard against her vulva. She imagined him doing that to her, and pretended that his white hands were caressing and stroking her nudity. Unconsciously she continued self pleasuring herself for several minutes, until she realized she was perilously close to climaxing. She stopped abruptly, shuddering with the thought Herr Hoffmann could have walked in on this embarrassing scene. 

She exhaled slowly, straightening her skirt and gently brushing the hair from her forehead. Her heart rate was elevated to the point where she was inhaling fiercely, almost gasping.  It took considerable effort to to pull the reigns on her sexual fantasies of the man standing in the next room. He was making her feel positively wicked.

At the same time, Hitler retrieved his hat from its hook and Hoffmann disappeared into the back courtyard to smoke. Besides, he wanted to leave them alone for their farewells. Undoubtedly he'd been titillalated by the entire experience. It amused him to see Hitler making his play for Eva and to doing it openly in front of him. He began to speculate how long it would take Hitler to maneuver this girl into his bed. He couldn't help but notice his friend's enormous erection or the pre cum dampening the front of his pants. He'd seen this before with him, with other young girls.

But, Hoffmann mused, there was one unspoken hitch to all this:


That was a barrier that was absolute and he knew it better than anyone, perhaps even Hitler himself.

But at that particular moment, Geli was the last thing on the Fuehrer's mind. He was too busy obsessing over the thighs, the hips, the skin and the eyes of this shop girl. He feverishly wondered what kinds of panties she was wearing. Was her bra made of lace or cotton? Maybe silk? He couldn't wait to unbuckle it and draw it down over her toned, white shoulders. 

When Eva returned from the rear anteroom, Hitler was standing in front of the door, watching her walk towards him, dwelling entirely in his own erotic dreamland.

He liked the feminine wiggle to her hips and he adored the little white hat she had put on at that rakish angle. He loved her legs so much that it took every drop of self control not to just grab those legs, opening them to his mouth, squeezing and adoring them. Drowning in them.

It was as if the only two things that existed for him in the world at that moment were her legs. He felt he could happily die as long as he was entwined between those two magical objects. Unconsciously he tilted his head back and clenched his eyes together. Her body was driving him to the point of madness.

The mental images her continued to pummel his brain:  dominating her, owning her body. Endlessly fucking her, leaving the bedroom only for a glass of water every few hours. Then he'd return to fuck her some more. She would be begging him for it soon enough, they all did. 

Once she felt him inside of her, he knew that no comparable feeling would exist for her. Everything else would be subordinate to her need for his cock, thrusting and filling her up to the brim, taking her pleasure to level where her piercing screams would fill the room and spill out into the corridor outside her bedroom. Those beautiful white legs would be wrapped tightly around his waist all night as he penetrated her, over and over. He could feel himself running his mouth upwards from her knees to her thighs, fingering her, adoring her, making her body writhe helplessly.

He still couldn't stop these erotic mental images from crowding out every other conscious thought. How many times had he ordered his brain to pull the plug on all this, yet his mind was recalcitrant. It was going to do whatever it wanted, his will be damned. The fantasies were now so vivid that he scarcely heard what she was saying to him, or  knew whether she was speaking at all.

His reverie was broken by her soft, sweet voice.

"Herr Wolf," he heard dimly, as if she was speaking to him from hundreds of miles away.

It was her touch upon his sleeve which hurtled him back to reality.

"Herr Wolf, you're blocking the door. I'm sorry I have to dash, but supper won't wait. I'm afraid my father is very particular about punctiality."

He hadn't realized it, but it was true. His entire body stood directly in front of the entry. Unconsciously, he didn't want her to leave.

She had said it so sweetly and was smiling at him without any affectation at all. His desire remained constant, especially now that she was just inches away. Her nearness excited him unbearably, made him light-headed. Silently he cursed that he couldn't see her breasts because of that damn scarf. He was obsessing over her chest as well, along with everything else about her. He could clearly imagine himself biting hard into her nipples while her nails engraved their presence up and down his back. He planned on looking at himself in the mirror after their first nights together to admire the marks and bites she would scatter all over him.

Instead he smoothly shifted gears and assumed utter control of their leave-taking.

"Would you permit me to drive you home?" he said off handedly, trying to act as if he didn't care whether she would come or not.

"My Mercedes is right outside, do you see it?"

Hitler pointed to the black Supercharger parked right outside the door. It was such a huge vehicle it dominated not only the curb, but the entire street. Eva noticed a beefy man with a mustache sitting behind the steering wheel and some thuggish looking men congregated in the backseat. She'd never seen such an expensive car except in the movies and was suitably impressed. This man must have money, she thought, yet his trench coat was so ordinary and his suit seemed a little nondescript as well.

"Is that... is that your car, Herr Wolf?" she asked with a hushed sort of awe.

Hitler smiled and answered with bravado.

"It is indeed. I actually have two such vehicles at my disposal. One is garaged in Haidhausen for trips up north. The one outside has a 6.3 liter engine, and it's equipped with a supercharger and six cylinders. Its top speed is 180 kilometers, but I never allow my chauffeur to drive so recklessly. Imagine if I was in the car and he hit a child? I could never recover from the trauma that would cause me."

Eva smiled up at him with an innocent air. Men and their damn cars, she thought absently. This wild-eyed man must also be loaded to possess such a flashy machine and that also intrigued her. She wondered how he earned his money since his profession hadn't come up during beer time. He had a chauffeur as well? That was another thing she'd only seen in Hollywood films.

Then he repeated his question, "will you allow me to accompany you home, Fraulein Braun?"

The manner in which she declined him was clear in his memory. She wasn't overawed or intimidated in the slightest. Best of all she was returning his eye contact and was literally drowning in his stare. He could see the pupils of her eyes dilating. He could see her fumbling with her hands and straining to stand as straight as she could, pushing her breasts towards him unconsciously. Unveiling herself to him without even realizing it. He also noticed her legs stretched widely apart, as if she already was aching to be penetrated by him. Wanting him as fiercely as he wanted her. 

But then he was toppled back to earth.

"Oh no, Herr Wolf, I couldn't possibly."

Eva gently moved around him as she reached for the door handle to the shop. Then she turned, smiled in her intoxicating way and said, "maybe next time you come into the shop I can take that ride. Have a restful weekend!"

And she was gone. Just like that she was gone. He was hoping she would turn around and give him a lingering, heated look, but that hadn't happened. In fact she hadn't turned around at all. 

He could no longer see the legs or her innocent eyes. He could longer salivate over how ripe she was and how ready she'd be for him. The memory of those taut thighs would remain just that: a memory. The whiff of her shampoo still lingered, making him clench his fists until his fingernails broke skin.

Hitler watched her turn left down Schellingstrasse and had a sudden urge to order Schreck to follow her. He had visions of stopping her at the door to her parent's apartment and bundling her into the car, making her his prisoner. A glimpse of her naked legs spread wide open flickered through him once more. He imagined her eyes pleading as her hips moved up against him rhythmically, begging him to get her off again. And then again. Then once more.

He thought about Adolf Mueller's home on the Tegernsee, which he knew was empty that weekend. He could take her there, Mueller wasn't in any position to deny him. Then he could endlessly drown in those gorgeous legs and feast upon her at will. Send his staff away and spend the next 48 hours fucking this girl until Monday morning. Nothing on earth compared to sex with a new partner, especially one so young and willing. Virgins would always make his blood run wild.

At Wachenfeld I'll sneak her upstairs after lunch, no one'll even notice. That's two hours right there.

He was going to teach this virgin every trick in the book. This would take longer than one weekend, but it would be a beginning. The pleasure he would inflict on that little body would chain her to him for the remainder of her days. Once she had a taste of him she would look for no other man, nor need one. Once his cock was inside her body and her mouth, that sensation would become the most necessary thing to her on earth, as he'd proven with countless young women before her.

But it couldn't happen right now and he wasn't happy about it. In fact he was on the verge of raging about the injustice of it all. Hoffmann was already sniffing around his private business and undoubtedly noticed their explosive mutual attraction. There was no place to take the shopgirl, no possibility for privacy. And dammit, she lived at home with her parents, so seducing her there was out of the question. The frustration was mounting.

It was also much too soon to start fucking her because Geli would be asking  questions. She would start nagging and going through the pockets of his jackets, bitching that he was straying, accusing him of God knows what. He already had tickets for the theater Saturday night and had just bought her a new blue gown with black leather pumps to go with it. Besides, Bormann hadn't investigated the salesgirl's family. He'd encountered plenty of other blatantly Aryan girls only to have them be uncovered as one-quarter Jews. 

Hitler glanced at the wall clock and knew he had to leave himself. Yet he remained standing there for several minutes, trying to regain some equilibrium.

His cock was literally burning. He even considered going to Hoffmann's office, locking the door and quickly jerking off. It wouldn't take longer than 30 seconds and God knows, he needed the release.  He had actually done this before in the photograhy studio, when he'd felt a sudden, urgent need. Damn Hoffmann for constantly being around at the most inconvenient moments.

The salacious thoughts had to stop, but it was as if he had lost control of his impulses. He took a deep breath, assumed his Fuehrer countenance and walked to the Mercedes, knowing his trench coat would hide his arousal from the goons in the car. Pretending that he was as cool as a cucumber.

It was many months laters that he learned from Eva that she had forgotten her purse in the shop that evening. She had returned just minutes after he'd driven off by Schreck.

It was then that Hoffmann cornered her and asked, "what did you think of Herr Wolf?"

She shrugged, not willing to reveal any emotion. 

"All I know is that he is a friend of yours, Herr Hoffmann."

The photographer had burst out with a raucous laugh and then said, "my dear girl, don't you ever look at the photographs we sell here? Don't you ever look at our postcards? Why, that was our Hitler, that was Adolf Hitler!"

When Schreck had deposited him at Prinzregentenplatz, he'd been relieved that Geli had gone out somewhere with her mother. They'd only moved in a few weeks earlier and she'd told they needed more linens. He had immediately gone into his bedroom, locked the door and laid face down on the bed, where all his suppressed urges could finally be spent. He couldn't stop himself from grinding his crotch into the mattress, pretending to fuck the new girl at Hoffmann's. Slowly at first, then harder and faster.

It went on and on until he rolled over on his back to wrap his hand around his shaft, imagining her cuming while pinned beneath him, imagining her eyes clenched together and her mouth wide open, silently screaming. His orgasm had been especially powerful, and afterwards he'd buried his head into his pillow, and imagined kissing her neck while holding those amazing legs within both hands. He was going to make certain their first time together would consist of one long, intense night of sex. 

Predictably, the next several months were spent drowning in fantasies of taking her virginity. He endlessly quizzed Hoffmann, "does the girl have a love interest? Do any boys call on her in the shop? Does she walk straight home when her work day is through?"

He had to be her first lover and he was going to make that an absolute certainty. No other man was getting near this little treasure. 


He was going to make certain that he became the focal point of her life, as food, drink and sleep would become utterly secondary. Her life would center on pleasuring him whenever he wanted her. He wanted to snap his fingers and have her on his knees, unbuttoning his pants. He wanted to throw her a quick look and have her undressing and lying on her back, panting for it. He wanted her dripping wet the moment he walked in the door. He wanted to see her wetness running down her thighs to her ankles. 

Now it had been nearly ten years since their first encounter. Her intensity still enthralled him. He adored her laugh and the way she looked at him at the dinner table. Certainly in bed she remained an absolute tigress, but her fanatical devotion and love for him continued to amaze him. It also stirred his blood thinking she was not only incredible sexually, she was also marvelously and romantically his girl. 

Adi noted with quiet satisfaction that every fantasy he'd ever had about Eva had come true tenfold. He didn't need to imagine what her naked body looked like anymore, her nudity belonged to him entirely, and it would forever stay that way. She was his possession and any man who dared doubt it would pay for that uncertainty with his life. He would have no compunctions to kill any man who trespassed on his territory, and sometimes even fantasized about doing it himself.

He'd fucked her in every conceivable position and had allowed Eva to suggest positions her promiscuous sister had told her about.  Because he trusted her implicity, he was able to indulge himself with Eva completely. She'd opened sexual doors he had previously kept tightly bolted and it was liberating to fling open those portals. He was open for anything with her because their chemistry had always been explosive. Besides, she was just so damn fun.

Eva was an eternal one night stand, a woman of prodigious sexual skill. Her smoldering body and what she could do with it never got old. How could it? She has left so many deep claw marks down his back that they'd slowly morphed into permanent gashes. Post-lovemaking, sometimes she would flip him over on his stomach and slowly tongue each red indentation, moaning as she did so. Her arousal flamed higher knowing she'd left lasting marks on her lover. 

The sex was still spectacular and it was frequent when they were together. After absences, they would routinely make love off and on all night, frantic and in heat for each other. She still was able to surprise him with her her insatiable need to leave no sexual stone unturned. She remained madly in love with him and her emotional, needy nature resulted in intense sex.  He'd never had a girlfriend cum this much,this effortlessly or with such intensely. It was sometimes jaw dropping to watch Eva in action. She was his own personal acrobat between the sheets: flexible, adventuresome and with a libido that dwarfed any man's.

Eva endlessly strove to make her body the haven which he craved above all else. Her love of sex and physical pleasure were reasons enough for him to seek her out as often as his obligations allowed.  Hers was a completely unselfish, uncomplicated love and he endlessly wallowed in it. She propped us his masculinity and fed his ego, which in turn ragingly stimulated his desire for sex. She sometimes made him feel like he was 18 years old again. 

He knew that if he walked twenty paces, he would find her ready for him in her bedroom. She would probably be sprawled on her bed, half clad or often entirely nude. She'd be imagining him, crying out for him softly into her pillow. Stifling her moans into the cotton fabric of her bedding. That beautiful, lithe body that so consumed him. So toned, so athletic, so smooth. Everything about her was a work of art, superior to any nude in his private collection or in any art gallery in the world.

Open, trembling, and alive for him. Always ready, always waiting for him to open the door, take her into his arms and ease her down on the bed, the floor or the couch. He firmly believed she had the most fuckable body on earth. 

To Eva, it didn't matter how he took her or in what position: from the front, from behind, forcing her against the wall, bending her over, it was immaterial. As long as she could feel his shaft penetrating her, she would be sated, yet never satisfied. The moment her orgasm ended, her body began to slowly coil up for more from him, always more. His cock absolutely obsessed her and always had: it was perfectly shaped and substantial in size.. The head was particularly large, which resulted in him touching places within Eva that no other man could possibly reach. It made him even harder thinking about her dependence upon this most private part of him.

Even if he'd make love to her twice in the afternoon, he'd still find her writhing on her fingers the very same night. He had stumbled upon this scene often enough. More times than he could count, in fact. He found it arousing, but also a bit annoying. It was a little deflating that he could almost never keep up with her. It reminded him that their age discrepancy forced her to resort to this, frustrating him to the point of shredding his cuticles with his teeth.

As she explained to him, "I take matters into my own hands. My Fuehrer is too tired right now, it's acceptable and understandable. I can wait till you're ready for me again. I have patience, Adi."

He didn't quite know how to handle this, it embarrassed him a little. Made him uneasy. She was lying again and they both knew it. She was always frantic for another round and "patience" didn't exist within her sexual vocabulary.

"I thought I had taken care of my girl already today," he would gently  scold, forcibly removing her fingers from between her legs. 

Yet he knew why she did this and had come to understand it, if not entirely accept it. Eva had an explosive sexual temperament and there was no getting around it. His previous lovers had never come close to this type of clawing sexual need. He satisifed her as completely as he could, but it was impossible give her the number of orgasms her body craved. He couldn't have kept pace with her even had he been half his age. She was inexhaustible.

Sometimes, when they were alone in Munich or on the mountain, he'd ask her why she was this way. He'd say it in a teasing, sometimes almost fatherly way, twirling a strand of her hair between his restless fingers while softly kissing alternate cheeks. His hands would meander over the skin of her back and thighs, caressing her tenderly, holding her in his hands like a fragile baby bird.

Her answer was unvarying and quite simple:

"I crave your cock," she'd say matter of factly. "You're my man, you're my lover. I'm supposed to be needy for you. And besides, I happen to be deeply and passionately in love with you."

Such basic feminine logic. Her plaintive words always made him melt. It only took a few sentences for her to spill out the contents of her heart to him. And he endlessly remembered those words during long drives, or nights in Berlin, when he'd lie in bed alone, wondering what she was doing without him in Munich. Slowly stroking himself while endlessly thinking of Eva.

Then he'd hear her soft, girlish voice: "I crave your cock."

He made certain he gave her variety and allowed her to choose which position she wanted. He was sexually generous with her because it aroused him furiously to do so. He even used his fingers or his mouth on her when he was exhausted, but she was still raring to go. Heaven knows he tried to give her as much pleasure as her body could endure. During his high libido periods, he allowed her every opportunity to be with him, sometimes managing three sessions in a 24 hour period.

But he had to admit these periods were brief and becoming less frequent the older he got. And after such interludes, his libido would be so doused he wouldn't want sex again for days, sometimes even a week. His foreskin would literally be torn and so sore to the touch that intimacy became impossible.

It didn't matter if she wandered into his study naked in high heels. It didn't matter if she dropped to her knees and fumbled with his trouser buttons in the hopes of sucking him off. He wasn't a machine and when he was spent, he was just that: spent. Completely done in.

She didn't comprehend the concept of "not being in the mood" or simply preferring to do something other than endlessly make love. She was always in the mood, always famished to fuck him. Sometimes she thought of little else for days, for weeks. She just obsessed over the memories of their last session. 

They'd had their share of arguments about the disparity in their drives. Eva didn't understand the limitations of "old men," and she'd made him feel like that on occasion.  Never intentionally, but the undercurrent was there. Sometimes he wondered if there wasn't something wrong with her, something broken within that gorgeous, taut body of hers. She had no finish line, there was just a never ending reset button. Whereas sex sated him, making him feel sleepy and contented, her orgasms just fanned her flames ever higher. There was apparently no ceiling to her needs. None whatsoever.

His epic conceit demanded that he tame her once in awhile. Demonstrate that he could match her drive and dominate her into begging submission. Prove that the Fuehrer's sexual stamina could, at intervals, equal the exploits of any younger man. These moods didn't happen often, but when they did occur, it was always at the Berghof. Their private love nest, the only place where it felt as if they were husband and wife and they could behave as such. In crude terms, it was where could fuck each other raw.

Clever observers at the Berghof noticed many an afternoon when Eva would disappear upstairs and then shortly thereafter, the Fuehrer would follow. When Hitler was in these highly charged phases, their absences would last many hours and no one dared walk upstairs during these interludes. They knew better. It was an unspoken, tacit agreement: leave them alone.

The only person permitted anywhere near their private rooms at such times was Heinz Linge, the Fuehrer's valet. He was the only person privy to hearing the orgasmic howling coming from Eva's bedroom. Occasionally her shrieks were so loud that the valet's teacup rattled on its saucer. And Hitler's gutteral roars when he reached his own climaxes made Linge flush with embarrassment. He was the only person privy to all this and was actually astounded at just how much sex they had. Some afternoons he heard them go at it for hour after hour as their mutual decibel level steadily increased. Both could be vocal during sex, especially Eva, who had a very distinct scream when she reached her peaks.

These were undoubtedly the high points in Eva's life: those brief, tantalizing periods when his need nearly matched hers. He could never exceed her libido, but once in awhile he came close to equalling it. She never knew what triggered these delicious spikes, but when he came to her bed in this state, she instantly became manic, hypersexual and submitting to her lover as often as he demanded. Her next few days would be spent in a near constant state of orgasm. 

She often wondered if Dr. Morell hadn't given him some kind of potency drug at such times. She was tempted to beg him to continue with the magical elixir, but didn't dare. But Eva always assumed it had to be an injection or some sort of sexual agent because his cock would remain perpetually hard for days. It was if Morell had injected him with an obscenely potent aphrodisiac. Adi never admitted it and she never asked, she just drowned in the enormity of her pleasure.

When he was in these moods, it would be 48 hours of as much sex as she could handle, and her capacity was almost limitless. Of course they still went downstairs for meals and still walked to the overlook in the afternoons. He did have official business to attend to as well. But any break in his schedule meant returning to her bed and to the unending pleasures they could inflict upon one another. He was like a 20 year old sailor returning to his girl after six months at sea. He was that frantic and of that white hot intensity. For that brief period, he would fuck Eva at will.

He would also become almost pathologically visual, He was always a visual man, especially during sex. But in his super charged libido periods, he became visually obsessed with Eva's body. Every single thing about her became hotly erotic to him. He would want to caress her, bathe her and most especially, pose her naked. He wanted to see her doing backbends and offering herself to him, widening her legs as far as they could go.

Adi's erections seemed unending, and he would be ready for another round sometimes within a few minutes. By the morning of the third day, she would be deliciously raw when he was finished with her. The soreness would always be slow to arrive, but it inevitably worsened, much to Eva's fury. She knew the signs: she would become so chafed that she almost winced when he initiated another round. The walls of her vagina became so tender that every orgasm became a mixture of pleasure with a mounting dose of pain.

There came a point when she no longer could take the powerful thrusts of his cock. He was too big, too persistent... too much. As desperately as she needed to feel him inside her, there was still a limit to her physical capacity. Even Eva had a breaking point. He always sensed when she started to feel discomfort, and then gently substituted his fingers, probing her. He knew for certain she had reached a saturation point when he lowered his head to tongue her, but she wearily pushed his head away and denied him access.

"Adi," she'd whine pitifully, "I can't anymore. It hurts too much down there, please, darling."

Then she would stifle a small cry and bury her head in his chest, running her hands over his back and upper thighs as he cradled her in his arms. Her entire body would be faintly bruised and aching. She'd have whisker burns scattered  over her cheeks and neck, while her lips would be visibly swollen Her jaw would ache from taking his cock into her mouth repeatedly, the skin inside her cheeks would be chafed to the point where she could scarcely swallow. Even in the midst of her pain, she still caressed his cock, cupping his balls in her hand and remembering each thrust he'd given her over the past two days. Burning that memory into her mind.

As if she could ever forget.

But the strange thing is that she felt on an incredible high even while suffering through tenderness and brusing. Adi had shredded her internally and externally, but she was glad to accept the pain when the reward was having his cock inside her body and her mouth for two straight days. Her vagina would remain tender for a week or more but the memory of how she got that way always made her visibly tremble. Her body would unconsciously shudder in latent pleasure as she relived his passion. She also loved seeing his handprints on her thighs, remembering how he forced her legs to remain wide open for the endless assaults of his tongue and his cock. 

Two straight days of this man made Eva's head spin. There was nothing new in that, he'd been doing that for ten years but it never ceased to stun her. His effect on her only was elevating as the years passed and she cherished what she had just experienced with him. Adi's rapacious side was tightly controlled, but when it burst forth, he was an incredible, once in a lifetime lover. In the proper mood, he was indefatigable.

These were the moments for which she endlessly thirsted, but she did pay a price. Not that she was complaining, but the next several days would be quite unpleasant. Their excess meant Eva would have to endure the residual pain. His sheer size and the fact he had fucked her senseless did have physical consequences for her. 

The part of her body which ached the most would always be her breasts. Her nipples would be so swollen and distended that she could barely wear a bra. In fact, sometimes she didn't. He noticed, of course, but her jackets hid it from the others. The friction from the fabric made her wince, the slightest pressure was painful. Her neck would illustrate his persistent, almost violent passion; her lower chest would plainly show his teeth marks, his hickies and his outright wounds. It took days for these love bites to finally recede and vanish. The purple and yellow bruising across her breasts would take even longer.

On several occasions, Eva could scarcely walk after such interludes. She was so sore that her beloved high heels were substituted by the only pair of flats she owned. 

"Sensible shoes for a nun!" she'd mutter, reluctantly putting them on in the morning. Shuddering when she looked her refection in the mirror.

Adi would glance down, see the shoes and smile at her with a burning, wicked stare. Dripping with the knowlege and memory that his cock and his invasive fingers had caused this change in wardrobe. He knew that he had fucked her so long and so hard that she could barely walk. And this made him feel an unbelievable rush of power, almost indescribable. He needed this validation, even if these interludes happened only once or twice a year. Conquering her to the point where her gait turned wobbly made him burn, as if every nerve ending was being set afire.

During her recovery, she wasn't needy in the slightest. This was an utterly alien concept to Eva. In fact, bizarre. She felt like a stranger in her skin, as if she had been bundled back to the convent, a prim and sexless school girl. She despised feeling like this. She was accustomed to always being desperately needy whenever he was near.

It was incomprehensible sitting next to Adi at lunch, making eye contact and not feeling that desperate, painful ache for his cock. Or seeing him walk away from the table and not automatically follow him upstairs for a quickie. It was hell watching him shave in the morning and not have the primal need to kneel down and envelop his erection with her mouth. Or walking into his bedroom and seeing him shirtless yet not immediately dropping to her knees to service him.

Several times he reached underneath the dining room table during meals to squeeze her hand and caress her wrist. Normally this always was a signal for her to go upstairs, disrobe and wait for him in his study. In normal times, this translated into two hours of passionate fucking.  Now it meant nothing because sex was not on the agenda. 

And he would tease her, sometimes flagrantly, right on the Berghof terrace with Speer, Morell and von Below all practically within earshot.

"Are you still raw, Fraulein Braun?" he would ask her, with a devilish twinkle in his eye. "I notice you're limping, are you alright, Schnacksi?"

And now Hitler was orchestrating another such moment for his Evchen. He was feeling especially magnanimous and wanted to reward her for her fidelity. A decade's worth of complete obedience and utter devotion, never mind the frenzied sex. Never mind the endless delights of her body and her mouth. He had planned for this moment carefully and for many months. He had all his ducks in a row and was rubbing his hands together frantically. He had relished the development of this plot and was almost giddy knowing the day had finally arrived.

But she didn't have a clue. During these sneak attacks, he had to make the perfect moves at every turn. The challenge made him hot, unsettled and impossibly horny.

His goal was simple.

He was hoping to experience something new with her: watching Eva orgasm without him even touching her.

He didn't know if it was possible, though she'd come close in the past. After long absences, she could climax just from kissing him or grinding herself against his crotch. But there had always been touching. Some form of physical pressure on her body. She'd never spontaneously orgasmed without him being the tactile instigator or without her own fingers.

With mounting anticipation, he picked up his desk phone and summoned Linge. The adjutant was accustomed to hearing the Fuherer's orders delivered over the phone, but he was being personally summoned this time. He hoped nothing was wrong. He jogged from his room down the hallway over the plush red Berghof carpeting, his boots leaving velvety prints upon the rug.

When he entered the study, Hitler was standing in the middle of the room and wasted no time getting to the point.

"Linge," he said, "please inform the guests and the kitchen staff that lunch will be delayed today. I won't be coming down until 3:00, I have to make a vital decision and need to be left alone for that purpose. I need absolute silence in the house because many weighty things hinge on my judgment in this matter. Europe's fate is in the balance, this is no trifling matter."

"Jawohl, mein Fuehrer!"

"Also instruct the housekeeping staff they don't need to clean the rooms today, I want complete privacy. No disturbances of any kind. If something urgent arises, you can call my phone here in the Arbeitszimmer."

Another click of the heels and then the closing of his study door. Hitler rubbed his hands together gleefully.

Now his fantasy would begin.

Part Two will follow soon.


Note: everything about the description of Eva and Hitler's first meeting is accurate. They did meet on October 4, 1929 in Hoffmann's shop. It was a chilly Friday night, Hitler did first see her atop a ladder and was introduced to her as Herr Wolf. Eva described to her sister Ilse that "the stranger was devouring me with his eyes."

She said she sensed he as staring at her legs when she was on the ladder. They ate the Leberkaese and drank the beer as well. Hitler asked to drive her home and Hoffmann did tell her, "that was Hitler!" The sexual interplay between the two is presumed and embellished, though probably at a similar level as to what actually happened.

Also, anyone doubting that Hitler was hung, just look at this:

Submitted: December 24, 2017

© Copyright 2022 AdiEva. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:



I love stories of Adi and Eva. Thank you for an erotic experience.

Mon, January 29th, 2018 8:44am


Thanks again, I am so happy others love Adi as much as me. The hottest and sexiest man ever.

Mon, January 29th, 2018 10:35am

Facebook Comments

More Fan Fiction Short Stories

Other Content by AdiEva

Short Story / Fan Fiction

Short Story / Fan Fiction

Short Story / Fan Fiction