June, 1940, Blaye-et-Sainte-Luce, France
Henri noticed how quiet the square was as he left the bakery shop with the piles of baguettes under his arm to be delivered around the village. Was this the day, he wondered. The Germans would enter the town to occupy it any day now. Their month-long movement was just about to reach the Bordeaux region, arriving in his own village on the southwest coast at the Gironde Estuary before the push into Bordeaux. The only saving grace was that they wouldn’t billet many troops here, saving the bulk of them to occupy the far larger and better strategically placed Bordeaux.
Many of the villagers had already left, so he had just two deliveries to make--to the large, but deteriorating villa directly across the square and then to the house of the teacher, Samuel Levin, in the smaller house at the edge of the square. He would dither at the teacher’s house until it was time to scrum with the village’s rugby team out in the field to the west of the village. The first delivery was to his own house, where he lived with his grandfather, Ansel, a former, greatly revered town mayor, now almost immobilized by gout, and his maiden aunts, Suzanne and Marie. The Ballard family, once the richest and most prominent in the village, had fallen on bad times financially, with the deaths of Henri’s parents in one of the plague-like influenza outbreaks that had passed through the village a decade earlier. The bread he was bringing to them from the baker was part of Henri’s wages from working in the bakery in the morning.
After the delivery to his relatives, Henri crossed the still-ominously and atypically silent square to the house of the teacher to deliver his daily bread as recompense for the tuition for the baker’s four children. As usual, the door to the small house was ajar, the first floor of the building being two schoolrooms. Henri mounted the stairs to the dwelling of the teacher above, and knocked on the door.
“Is that you, Henri? You alone?”
“Yes, teacher. As always.”
Henri did so, leaving the bread on the counter in the kitchen, living, dining and nearly everything else room and then moved to the doorway to the back room--Samuel’s bedroom.
Samuel, dark, hirsute, forties, and bearded, was Orthodox in appearance, other than the fact that he was naked and sitting on the side of his bed in full erection. He motioned Henri to come forward and kneel before him, which the young, perfectly formed and handsome man in his early twenties did, without hesitation. Henri knelt between Samuel’s spread thighs, took the teacher’s erect staff in his mouth, and gave it suck.
Later Henri became as naked as Samuel. Samuel was still sitting on the side of his bed. Henri’s body was reclined toward the floor, supported by Samuel’s legs, with Henri’s legs wrapped around Samuel’s gaunt torso, ankles crossed behind his back, while, gripping Henri’s wrists, the strong Jew pulled Henri off and on his cock.
When ejaculation was achieved by them both, Henri was belly down on the arm of Samuel’s reading chair in the corner of the bedroom, with Henri looking down on the side table where Samuel’s wire-frame glasses rested on student papers he was correcting, and Samuel crouched over Henri’s back and fucked him from behind and above.
When both were dressed, Samuel, as usual, walked Henri down to the front door to the house after Henri picked up the coins representing his payment from the kitchen counter where he had laid the baguettes. After surveying the supposedly empty square--but not too well--the teacher and village male prostitute kissed inside the shadows of the hallway--although not far enough inside. After drawing away from the kiss, Henri looked down, laughed, and pointed out that Samuel’s trousers were not buttoned. Henri did the service for him.
What neither had noticed was that there was an open-roofed German military command car sitting at idle across the square, where the Wehrmacht Hauptmann--captain--sat in back waiting for the column of foot soldiers to arrive for the formal occupation of the village. Hauptmann Gerhard Rein watched the farewell of Samuel and Henri in Samuel’s doorway, the buttoning of Henri’s fly by Samuel not the least, with great interest and with pleasure that it would not require much effort to set up his routine while in this village.
It was known to only a small segment of the population of Blaye-et-Sainte-Luce--mostly those connected with the activity--that Henri, the greatly attractive young heir to the declining Ballard fortunes, was also the village male-on-male prostitute. All villages had them, of course. In many villages they were barely tolerated--but tolerated nonetheless because they were a necessity of life. Henri was from a tragic prominent family and was so likable--and of such a handsome countenance and sweet disposition--that even those who knew of his nefarious function in the village and were not connected with it tolerated it and accepted him. Those who would publicly disapprove were simply kept in the dark to ensure village stability.
For his part, Henri enjoyed doing what men wanted him to do, and he needed the extra money and services to keep his family fed. His grandfather could do nothing any more but dispense wisdom and affection. His aunts took in sewing, but that was hardly enough to keep the roof of the large villa from caving in on them. So Henri had his arrangements--the morning work at the baker and bread for the family for an occasional side fuck by the variety-loving baker. The coins from the teacher. Select meats from the village butcher. And so forth.
From the teacher’s house Henri walked west of the village to the field where the town team practiced its rugby. Henri was a popular player there because, though smaller than most of the rest, he was strong, fast, clever on his feet. And he was good with his hands in finding and holding the ball. Even a few of the rugby players could attest to how good he was with his hands. The village butcher, Giles, a huge, muscular man, was both the team goalkeeper and its captain/coach. He was the power player on the team, defending the goal fiercely and well.
Following the practice, while the other teammates, muddied but highly pleased with the practice and each other, headed east toward the village, Giles placed an arm around Henri’s shoulder, with the excuse of pulling him aside to give him some strategy pointers. The others looking in the direction they were headed, Giles marched Henri into a grove of trees next to the field. Neither noticed the military staff car that had been parked near the field, with Hauptmann Reins watching the practice--both the play and the obvious after play.
In the grove of trees, Henri lay on his back between the roots of a tree with his soccer shorts and cup off, his legs raised and spread, as Giles, shirt off and soccer shorts pinned down under his balls, knelt between Henri’s thighs. Henri arched his back, panted, and cried out at the initial penetration as Giles’ oversized cock entered his ass channel. As the bigger man began to pump Henri’s ass, the younger, blond beauty slitted his eyes, licked his lips, and ran his hands over the bulges of the butcher’s chest and biceps. There would be a fine cut of meat on the Ballard dining table tonight. And Henri wasn’t the least bit embarrassed at how he was providing for his family. He enjoyed the attentions of men, and it was a precarious life for all in the village, especially with the uncertainty of the now-arrived German occupation.
Henri loved the fucking. He didn’t have to love all of the men who provided it. But if he had to be a chameleon about showing his love for what they did to him, a chameleon he would be.
After Giles left him, Henri lay there for several more minutes, his legs spread, calming his breathing. Giles had the biggest, cruelest cock by far of all the men Henri took in the village. It took Henri a few minutes to recover.
In those few minutes, however, Hauptmann Reins appeared at the edge of the trees, and the eyes of the two met. Henri defensively reached for his soccer shorts to cover his privates, but neither of them was fooled about what had transpired there.
Henri’s first response was feeling a chill of fear run up his spine. The Germans were reputed to be highly puritanical--to persecute any variant activity. Would Henri be sent to the camps he’d heard about on the first day of the German occupation?
But then Hauptmann Reins smiled broadly at Henri, and Henri understood that that was not to be his fate. He smiled back, tossed the soccer shorts off to the side again, spread his bent legs farther apart, rolled his hips up, fisted his cock with a hand, and gave the German captain a provocative look. If a chameleon he had to be a chameleon he would be.
The German army officer unbuttoned his trousers, pulled out a long, thin, erect cock, and approached and sank between Henri’s thighs. As the cock made a long, cruel thrust up into Henri’s channel and Reins closed his hands around Henri’s throat and began to pump, Henri, the chameleon, arched his back; gagged, gasped, and groaned, as he knew the German would want to hear; and began to move his hips in the rhythm of the fuck. There must be some way he could gain advantage from this for himself and his family in the German occupation, he mused.
When Reins had ejaculated and was holding Henri close and breathing hard, his cock still buried deep inside Henri’s channel, Henri whispered in the almost adequate German he’d learned thanks to his liaison with Samuel Levin, words to try to bind the German to him--words of loving the fuck, of wanting it again. Of how handsome and masterful the German officer was. Of how he melted to the attentions of a man in uniform.
Beaming not only because of how sweet and willing Henri’s body had been, or even that the young man knew some German, but mostly because the sweet piece wanted to be fucked again immediately, seeming eager to have Reins plowing him again, Reins took as little time as he needed to comply.
He’d been of two minds--whether to use the public humiliation of this young man and the resulting punishment as an example to cow the people of this village into subjugation, or to use him and hold the vilification for later. The Frenchmen’s succulence and willingness had determined that he would live a little longer.
* * * *
Henri’s premonition of what was to come and an understanding of the high-stakes risks that now existed propelled him into motion as soon as he returned to the villa. Luckily, he got no argument from Suzanne and Marie and stalwart support from Grandfather Ansell. Of course he didn’t tell them the real reason this had to be--but they weren’t stupid. They’d heard about other French villages the German had occupied. They could discern what some of the safer options were.
On his way back into the village, Henri had stopped at the stablery and hired a buggy, horses, and driver to appear at the back gate of the villa grounds. He had no trouble doing so, as the stable master, Pierre, was one of his men. He only had to promise two free lays, which he considered cheap, considering the short notice and how far up the coast the farm of the Ballard cousins was. The deal was struck on the spot with Henri giving the stable master a quick blow job.
While Marie packed trunks for herself and Suzanne, Henri and Suzanne scoured the house for valuables whose absence wouldn’t be notice by first-time visitors and hid them away in the recess in the chimney in Suzanne’s room that had been used for similar emergencies in the two hundred years the villa had stood here. There were more secrets in the house than just this hiding place.
The women had been gone none too soon when the knock on the door that Henri had anticipated came. Standing on the landing in front of the door, backed by two soldiers--one older and grizzly and one almost as young as Henri and wide-eyed and full of unspoken questions--was Hauptmann Gerhard Reins, eyes aglow from the servicing he’d received earlier in the day. Henri didn’t regret having given into the man. He was maybe in his late thirties, ramrod straight and tall, on the thin side, but muscular, hair even blonder than Henri’s--nearly pure white--and piercing, cruel pale-blue eyes. The mouth was set in a superior-attitude near-sneer, which contrasted with the older soldier behind him, whose sneer was knowing and demanding. When he was honest, Henri had to admit to himself that he preferred a demanding--and, yes, even a bit cruel--man. This soldier, at least, had been told of Reins’ tryst with Henri, Henri was certain. And it was just as likely that he wanted to claim a share.
“We require billets,” Reins declared. “Your house has been identified as the most appropriate one in the village. And I expect it to provide full amenities.” The captain gave Henri a meaningful look.
Henri knew there were houses in better shape, but he had to admit that this villa was the most imposing one and with the most furnished bedrooms. This had been his premonition--that the German captain would come straight here for housing--and other benefits. The “other benefits” fit in with Henri’s desperate plans, though.
Henri merely inclined his head in assent and acquiescence.
“This is Obersoldat Johan Mueller,” Reins said, gesturing to the older solder, “and this is Soldat Hans Kant,” he said, pointing to the younger and obviously junior--and certainly only nervous one--of the trio.
And then Reins said what Henri had been hoping for. “We do not pay for the use of the house, but we pay for the food, enough for everyone under the roof--and who will that be?”
“Just my grandfather and me,” Henri answered. “He is old and hard of hearing and won’t be in your way.”
“Ah, good. And for the heat when it comes to need that, and do you have servants?”
“Just the cook and a day maid,” Henri responded.
“And because of the special circumstances, I will pay extra for your exclusive services--for me and these two soldiers who will billet with me. Am I right that you receive payment for your services? That this is a function you serve in this village?”
The look was piercing. The younger soldier didn’t seem to understand what was being said, but the older one certainly did. And now Henri was certain he knew the real reason his house had been chosen by the captain for billeting.
“Yes,” he answered demurely, eyes downcast. “These are the services I provide.”
“And to my two adjuncts too?”
“Yes, of course.”
Then Henri looked up--his smile went behind the captain to the Obersoldat, Mueller, conveying his particular interest in the rougher of the three. “If you’ll come upstairs with me, I’ll show you to bedrooms. All are prepared”--and, indeed, part of the work of Suzanne and Marie’s departure was to remake their rooms, both quite comfortable rooms dominated by four-poster beds with heavy, durable canopies and strong corner pillars. And with thick draperies on the windows and thick, sound-proof walls. To be sure they understood, Henri noted, as they mounted the sturdy staircase from the front foyer, “There are four bedrooms on the second level. The bedrooms on the third are not in use. Both the cook and my grandfather have rooms on the first floor in a wing beyond the kitchen, well away from the main house. The rooms on the second floor are for you, your two soldiers, and me. My room connects to yours, Captain. I hope this meets your needs.”
The German captain quite explicitly said that it did. Perversely, Henri had assigned Reins to Suzanne’s room, the one with the fireplace that hid the family’s most precious possessions.
That night Reins showed his fetish streak. He had his two soldiers tie Henri’s wrists to a corner of the frame of the canopy bed in his room, with him, naked, stretched below. The grizzly and wiry older solder, Mueller, held Henri on one side by puling Henri’s leg up toward the headboard, while the younger, magnificently built private, Kant, did the same on the other. Kant wasn’t just the one in the best muscular shape; he also was the lowest hung of the three. Reins stood, ramrod straight other than the forward jut of his pelvis, with his long, hard cock thrust upward, while, his two soldiers maneuvered Henri’s rolled up hips in position and then, screwing his ass channel on Reins’ cock, moved Henri back and forth on the shaft.
Knowing what he had to do and sensing even then that he needed to enlist the sympathy of at least one of the three, and the choice being obvious to him, as he could tell there would be no sympathy in any kind to expect from Mueller, he turned his face to that of the youngest soldier, and the two kissed deeply.
Later, as Mueller cruelly pistoned Henri from behind, bent over the side of the bed, Kant knelt in front of the still-reclining Reins--by his own choice--and sucked Reins to an ejaculation.
Before dismissing his attendants, Reins had them tie Henri, wrist and ankle, to the four strong posts of the bed. They tied him high off the bed, so that the droop in his buttocks surpassed six inches off the surface of the bed. Bursting one of the feather pillows open, the captain poured the feathers over Henri’s body and blew and delicately pushed them along the surface of Henri’s delicate skin to take pleasure in Henri’s moans and begging for relief and in watching him struggle against his bonds and writhe in midair. When Henri was whimpering from exhaustion, Reins moved onto the bed, knelt between Henri’s suspended thighs, grasped and spread Henri’s buttocks with his hands, pulled Henri’s puckered entrance onto the bulb of his cock--then deeper and deeper on the cock, as Henri writhed, arched his head back and marveled in words he knew the German wanted to hear of how deep the cock was reaching. Then Reins pulled Henri on and off his buried cock to a mutual ejaculation, and Henri’s murmurs of maximum pleasure.
Guarding the tone of his voice and pulling a wan smile across his face, Henri told the sadist German captain that this masterful sex made him love Reins and wish for all of the inventive ways his body could be used to stimulate and serve the German’s needs. He hoped that Reins’ inventiveness would last him for some days to come.
That seemed to be enough for Reins’ wants for the night, although in days and nights to come he was to devise many more unusual and decadent fetishes in the taking of Henri, much of which entailed the bondage of Henri and the use of the strength of the bed pillars and overhead canopy. All four men retired to their respective bedrooms.
To further Henri’s own plans, he crept into Hans Kant’s bedroom in the middle of the night; climbed under the covers with the young, hung, magnificently built German soldier; coaxed him to the hardest of woods with mouth play; straddled the young soldier’s pelvis; and rode him for an hour, leaving the young soldier glassy-eyed and murmuring of awe, love, and devotion.
Hans’ hands on Henri’s waist were strong and calloused. He was a young stud, new enough to sex with men to be surprised and jerk and tremble when Henri, thoroughly experienced in the pleasures of men, surprised him with intimate touches--eating out Hans’ ass as he writhed and luxuriated in the first such intimate service, taking the young man’s balls in his mouth and humming, taking Hans almost to ejaculation by deep-throating the whimpering warrior’s throbbing staff before mounting him, kissing and pinching Hans’ nipples while rising and falling on the cock, nipping his nipples and his neck for the feel of his flinching and driving his cock deeper, begging constantly in broken German for the cock to dig deeper, reaching back and entering the young stud with a finger at the conclusion and rubbing Hans’ prostate to make him explode deep in Henri’s ass.
Other than one of the village priests, who was delicate and almost effeminate in sex even though he was on top, Henri was mostly fucked by older men. It was a thrill to have a younger, perfectly cut, vigorous, and virile man between his thighs. And even after an hour, it wasn’t just the one fuck, with Henri riding Hans’ thick cock. The young German soldier lost his shyness and, after a short recovery, took control and rode Henri--and then rode Henri again--and again.
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.