Chameleon Love

The German was fast and furious with fire-off power; Henri more controlled. Hans was kneeling over Henri's prone body, his knees separating Henri's bent legs as he released a bucket of cum across Henri's heaving chest. Learning fast, the blond god rubbed the bulb of his bubbling cock over and over again on one of Henri's cum-slicked nipples while taking Henri's cock in his other hand and pumping him. Seeing through the slit in the draperies that it nearly was dawn, Henri gave the German his seed, arcing it up to mingle his cum with the young soldier's on his chest.

Hans' breathy whispers of devotions, in which Henri discerned the word Liebchen—lover—assured Henri that he had won one ally in the cruel triumvirate.

* * * *

The days stretched into weeks, and it wasn't hard for Henri to make clear to the men he normally serviced and received favors from that he now was exclusively taken—and by the enemy. This was ominously so, though. The first thing he noticed was that the house of the Jewish teacher, Samuel Levin, was closed up, the windows boarded up, but with scorch marks on the bricks around them to indicate that there had been a fire.

It was Ansel who told Henri of the village gossip that Samuel had been taken away in the night and torches thrown through his windows that caused fires that the neighbors put out after Samuel had been dragged away. Henri had known nothing of it even though it had occurred just across the square from his family villa, because he was being strung up facing a pillar of Suzanne's bed at the time, in her room with the thick walls and noise-dampening draperies and having his legs held up and stretched out at either side by Mueller and Kant, while Reins fucked him from behind.

He did recall afterward that Reins kept going to the window on the front of the villa and peeking through the curtain, so it was highly possible that the captain had prior knowledge of what would happen with Samuel that night.

The next day, Henri found there was no need to make excuses about not going to the bakery, as the bakery was closed up tight. So was the butchery. And so were the stables, the stable manager, Pierre, having melted away without calling in the two fuck sessions Henri had promised him. The baker, butcher, and stable manager, as well as more than half of Henri's rugby team had taken to the countryside to form a resistance group.

As tough a choice as it was, Henri's giving in so readily and easily to the wants of Hauptmann Reins had worked in the Ballard men's favor. If the soldiers had not billeted in the Ballard villa, the family's source of bread and meat would have evaporated. Instead, Reins had forced both businesses to remain open with new proprietors and more than sufficient food was being supplied to the Ballard villa kitchen.

The secret of the totality of Henri's collaboration with the enemy came out full blown in the village gossip stream not too long afterward when the captain decided he wanted to treat his unit of men to an evening of debauchery.

He commandeered the local maison close—brothel—on the edge of the village, complete with the two prostitutes who worked the two rooms above the barroom, and put on a lavish party. Henri didn't have a head for liquor and probably didn't know fully what he was doing when he was coaxed to stand on top of a table with the two women prostitutes, all naked, and danced a sensuous dance until each was pulled down by the eager hands of soldiers, laid out on separate tables, and gang fucked by a succession of randy and drunk German soldiers, all the time with their captain looking on, laughing and egging them on.

The brothel's staff—other than the two unfortunate prostitutes—fled the bedlam early in the evening. But they looked on from safe positions and all later attested to the willing wantonness and fraternization of Henri with the Germans when, long after the two prostitutes had curled up into bruised, whimpering balls of withdrawal, Henri was sitting on Hauptmann Reins' lap, riding his cock, and waving his arms like he was an American rodeo star.

After that all doors in the village were closed to Henri—with the exception of the village church. The next afternoon, when Father Christophe entered the main sanctuary, it was to find Henri lying, belly down, arms outstretched in front of the altar and murmuring prayers of confession. In the day's light he fully understood what his drunken behavior the previous night had revealed to the village. His ability to be a chameleon was abruptly being compromised.

At the soft voice of the priest, Henri looked up. He groaned. He had hoped it would be old Father Marc who would be there to hear his confession, but it wasn't. It was the younger Father Christophe.

"Come. Rise. Come through with me and we will discuss this," Father Christophe said. In the father's spare cell behind the church kitchens, Father Christophe gently pressed on Henri's shoulders to make the young man sit down on the side of his bed, raised his cassock to reveal he was naked underneath and in erection, and, cupping Henri's chin, guided Henri's mouth to his cock.

An hour later, when Father Christophe, one of Henri's regular hookups in the village, had fucked Henri in a side split from behind in a spoon position on the cot to ejaculations by both, Father Christophe said, "I can hear your confession now."

Henri dutifully confessed his sins in trying to be the chameleon and to the best he could for his family under the conditions of the German occupation. Christophe took the confession, named the penance, which was mild, but added the word of advice, "The resistance here will become violent, I'm afraid, son. It would be in your best interests to withdraw to somewhere else considering what the village is saying about you."

It hadn't been a full confession, as Henri had heard that he wasn't the only one cooperating with the French—that Christophe was falling into their line too and was fraternizing with the enemy as much as Henri was. Indeed, as the priest led Henri back to his sleeping cell, Henri caught a glimpse of a young German soldier withdrawing down a corridor.

Henri didn't think really that he needed to be told that he should leave the village—and he wondered who heard Father Christophe's confession and suspected that much of the melancholy in the priest's voice in giving him this advice came from the regret the advice would end this occasional trysts in the priest's bed. He was trapped, though. He knew the priest was right, but there was Grand-Père Ansel to think of. What would befall him if Henri just left? It was Henri's responsibility to put the well-being of his family first.

Oh what a pickle his attempt to play chameleon to solve problems that were insolvable had placed him in.

* * * *

By listening to the Hauptmann and his two attendants converse, Henri was able to discern that the occupation of the village was in trouble, both because the resistance here was threatening to swamp the resources the Hauptmann had been given and because the resistance in nearby Bordeaux was necessitating the retrenchment of forces there. Bordeaux was, by far, a higher priority for occupation than this small village was.

Increasingly Reins was showing his worry and concern—and his fear. The soldiers he had under his command were drawn closer to the Ballard villa, strengthening the defenses here, but acknowledging the weakness to the activities of the resistance elsewhere in the village and surrounding countryside. His worry was shown also in the frenzied way he and his attendants were using Henri's services throughout the day—like each fuck might be their last.

As active as Henri had been before, although he'd never been involved in threesomes before now nor been put in the positions of bondage and cruelty before as now, he had never been double penetrated. Now that was happening routinely, with the third usually using his mouth at the same time. Henri had no idea how much crueler Gerhard and Johan could get, with regularly now riding him on all fours on the floor while digging the heels of their boots into his calves and beating every exposed surface with a riding crop. Only the young soldier, Hans, held back from this—satisfied, no doubt by Henri's nightly visits to his bed for more intimate and loving fucking.

Having the Germans comfortable with his presence, though, helped Henri in the timing of what he knew needed be done. This was brought to a head by Hauptmann Reins himself one night over dinner.

"I'm afraid we pull out tomorrow," he informed Henri. "We have been called to pull back to Bordeaux to strengthen the defenses there."

"I . . . I will miss you," Henri answered, halfway believing it himself. He had not done much self-analysis of his response to the captain's form of lovemaking—halfway in fear of what he had to admit his response was—arousal, and to a high degree, pleasure at the cruel use of his body, especially now by the gaunt and grizzly Obersoldat Mueller, who made no bones about testing Henri to the limit. Catholic that he was, despite the light penance Father Christophe had given him, Henri knew that he deserved what Mueller was doing to him. And, to his embarrassment, he longed to have more of what Mueller did to him.

"You don't have to miss me. You are coming with me," Reins said. "I am comfortable with your services. I don't see the need to find a new young man who will serve my needs as well as you do. I'm sure you realize—and appreciate—that I could have you thrown into a camp at any moment for deviant behavior and have not done so."

This was the way Henri realized it would go with Reins and it was the direction in which Henri had tried to develop the relationship. It wasn't a final answer, he knew. He no longer believed there was a final answer that would save him. But this could save his family and help his country.

He crept away to Grand-Père Ansel to tell him in as limited way as he could what he must do and why—although he was sure that the old man had known all along and hadn't seen any better choices for Henri and the family than the one Henri had made.

"You must go now, Grand-Père, by the secret door in the fence to the neighboring lot." The villa was guarded front and back by German soldiers and the two adjacent house had been commandeered and vacated. But there was access across the lots through hidden doors in fences that had long been devised and maintained by the residents.

"You must find the resisters. I know that the butcher, Giles, is leading them. You must call me out as a German collaborator and say that you and the aunties have managed to escape me. And then, after the Germans have pulled out—I am going with them—you must live as quietly as possible. You and aunties must learn to be chameleons. The Germans may return, and, when they do, it may be for all time."

Understanding, Ansel hugged his grandson, and, with tears in his eyes, shuffled away to the secret door into the neighboring lot.

Before returning to Reins and his attendants for a last frenzied night of demanding sex in the Ballard villa, Henri told the cook to put out a breakfast on the buffet in the dining room early in the morning and then, herself, to use the secret door to escape—and to assure Giles, in the function she had been serving of slipping messages to the resistance from Henri, that he would continue to do all he could to get whatever information on German plans and movements back to the resistance as he had done all the time he was with the captain.

"Ahh, you should not be taking all of this on yourself, Monsieur Henri," she objected. "You have been the best of patriots yourself, sacrificing yourself like this—letting the villagers, and now, even your own grandfather, believe you are a collaborator. When you are not."

"I am whatever I have to be, Lisle," Henri responded, knowing that the safest way to continue life as a chameleon was to maintain pretenses as much as possible. "Grandfather is too infirm to be expected to keep the secret. So he must not know yet. And you must denounce me in public after I'm gone as well. If justice prevails, Giles and the others will vindicate me someday when the Germans have been expunged from France. For now my collaboration must be believable."

The next day Henri rode out of the village of Blaye-et-Sainte-Luce in Hauptmann Gerhard Reins' open staff car, not knowing what the future held, but continually looking for the opportunity to use chameleon love to survive.

Reins sat close to him on his right and Mueller on his left, and they were barely on the road when both began to fondle his body and put upon him—with Mueller even managing to reach into the folds of his clothes, grasp his balls, and squeeze to the point of making Henri gasp and want to faint. It would have been so much better to be able to sit next to the young golden god, Hans Kant, now in the front seat of the vehicle, who was so besotted with Henri now that he would do anything—including passing on plans of German troop movements and intentions.

Still, the chameleon in Henri made him work up all options. The last thing he wanted to have happen to him was to be exposed as a male-on-male prostitute and sent to a camp. He'd rather die than that. When the car was stopped on the road for Reins to confer with a group of soldiers, Henri turned his face to Mueller and whispered, "It is my hope that someday you and I can be alone and I can enjoy the full attentions of your specialties."

Mueller glowered at him, his mouth twisting into a cruel leer. "Trust me, if I get you alone, I'll break you for all time."

It was an ultimate option for Henri. Something to keep in reserve in case his attempt at patriotism came to a dead end.