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The Crossing - Part 9 free porn video
My name is Paul Ripley. Having escaped from a PoW camp in Nazi Germany,
I was now living as a woman. Circumstances had led to me becoming the
reluctant girlfriend of Count Helmut von Rumstahl, and soon I'd be his
lover.
THE CROSSING - part 9
by BobH
(c) 2015
- 21 -
It was Sunday 12th September 1943, and having attended morning service
at the church, Helmut, Gerda, and I were returning to the castle, Helmut
having one of us on each arm as we strolled up the hill. When we reached
the castle courtyard it was a hive of activity with food, drink, and
various party supplies being unloaded from delivery vehicles and swiftly
taken inside.
"Ah, excellent," said Helmut, disengaging from us, "everything's arrived
in good time. You ladies will want to spend the rest of the day getting
ready."
He wasn't wrong. It was now almost noon and we'd have to be looking
immaculate and ready to greet the first arrivals by no later than six.
This evening was the annual Autumn Ball at Castle Rumstahl, and the
preparations had been under way for days with Helmut handling everything
to do with outside suppliers while Gerda took charge of things inside
the castle, such as seeing the Great Hall was properly decked out and
the like. In this latter capacity she had had to make numerous copies of
the guest list, one of which I had swiped, as requested by Benton. I'd
seen him yesterday, our first contact since six days earlier when he had
brusquely dismissed my concerns about Helmut wanting to have sex with me
and basically told me to get on with it. He was not exactly my favourite
person at the moment, but we had to work together.
"Hmmm, the Count has some interesting friends," Benton had observed,
furtively scanning the list as we sat outside the village cafe, "but
there's no one on it important enough for Churchill to order a hit, not
even Wernher von Braun. I imagine he's still too busy clearing up after
our raid on Peenemunde to attend."
I hadn't had time to study the list myself and so had little idea who
was on it.
"You sound disappointed," I said.
"I am. I was hoping Hitler would be there along with members of the Nazi
high command."
"How would a hit be carried out?" I'd asked, genuinely curious.
"Taking out an individual would be down to me. For a group hit they'd
probably send a Mosquito. It would fly up the valley at low level and
high speed, release a bomb when it was almost on top of the castle, then
veer away sharply. Time it right, and that bomb would sail right over
the balcony and into the Great Hall. The Mosquito would then swing round
and return ten minutes later to strafe any survivors who had made it out
into the garden."
"Jesus!" I said. "And what about me?"
"If I'd been told to warn you then you'd have been able to slip out
before the Mosquito arrived, if not...."
"So I might not be warned?" I said, shocked.
"If the targets were high-value enough and we didn't want to risk
anything that might tip them off, then no. We're at war, Ripley, and
we're military. Our lives can be sacrificed for the greater good at any
time."
It's just as well I didn't go to Benton for reassuring pep talks,
because he was terrible at them.
That was yesterday. Lying in my bath now, languidly soaping myself, I
contemplated my position. By any measure I was materially better off
than I had been as a prisoner of war in Stalag Luft XII. Better fed,
better clothed, able to move about freely, and to luxuriate in a solo
bath like this rather than being rushed through the tepid sprinklers of
a communal shower in order for everyone on that day's roster to get
their turn. On the other hand I was now a spy, with torture and death
distinct possibilities if anyone else ever learned that fact about me.
As much as I was annoyed with him, Mark Benton was my only contact with
England and the only one who would be able to safely extract me from my
current situation when the time came. Unfortunately, it was likely to
come later rather than sooner.
I stayed in the bath until I was in danger of wrinkling, eventually
heaving myself out of it with a heartfelt sigh and towelling myself off.
When dry I wrapped a towel around my hair, donned a bathrobe, and sat
down at my dressing table. The Autumn Ball was the social event of the
year at Castle Rumstahl so I needed to look my best, which meant my
make-up had to be both immaculate and glamorous. Fortunately, I was
practiced enough by now to know how to achieve this. Unfortunately, to
do it properly was probably going to take me the better part of two
hours. Well, so be it.
After I was done, I donned fresh underwear and the ball gown I'd last
worn when Gerda's lover Hans had taught me to waltz. Next, as arranged
beforehand, Gerda and I got together to do each other's hair. Finally,
with the addition of my long white gloves and jewellery, I was ready. I
examined myself in the mirror from every angle, delighted with the
result. I looked amazing. Yes, I was a heterosexual male and it should
worry me that I could take pleasure in looking like this, but just for
today I was going to ignore the little voice in my head that fretted
about such things. We were throwing a party and I was determined to
enjoy myself.
When Gerda and I hitched up our dresses and descended the stairs to
greet our visitors our timing was spot on. As we reached the bottom so
the first arrivals turned up.
"Cousin Martin, his wife Katrina, and their daughters Alyce, Annamarie,
and Agneta," said Gerda. "This is Eva. We're so glad you could make it."
The daughters appeared to range in age from ten to thirteen and all
looked adorable in their mini ball gowns.
"You look like princesses!" said Agneta, the youngest, staring at Gerda
and I wide-eyed.
"Why thank you!" I said. "You and your sisters look very pretty, too!"
I showed the family through to the Great Hall where tables had been
sited along the walls and were now laden down with enough food and drink
to bring tears to the eyes of those back in England suffering rationing.
Awaiting them were Helmut, looking splendid in a tuxedo and bow-tie, the
hired musicians, and the servants. A lot of the early arrivals had
children with them. Gerda explained to me that young families tended to
arrive early and leave early so as not to have the children stay up too
much past their bedtimes.
Gerda greeted each new arrival, introduced us to each other, and I would
lead them through to the Great Hall. Most of these were related to the
von Rumstahls, some were not. One of the latter gave me a shock. I
recognized him immediately and was barely able to hide my shock on
seeing him. I prayed he wouldn't recognize me as I had him.
"Colonel Klingermann, commandant of Stalag Luft XII, our local prisoner
of war camp," said Gerda. "This is Eva Schumacher. We're so glad you
could make it."
"Have we met before, Fraulein?" he asked, studying my face and frowning.
"You look very familiar."
"I don't think so, Herr Colonel," I said, my heart in my mouth. He had
seen me and Alec Delon performing our play in drag at the camp, so he
knew what I looked like as a woman. If he made the connection....
"Is that a Munich accent?" he asked.
"Why yes, it is," I said, knowing he'd only heard me speak English
before and hoping this would throw him off. "Do you know the city?"
"Very well," he said. "You probably remind me of someone I knew from
there."
"Yes, that must be it. Let me show you through to the Great Hall," I
said, inwardly breathing a huge sigh of relief. That had been a close
one.
By the time eight o'clock approached a lot more people had turned up and
the ball was in full swing. Helmut was spinning me around the floor as
we moved among the other waltzing couples, his arm around my waist. He
was a very good dancer and I was enjoying myself, but some of the others
present made me a little uneasy.
"I expected many of the men to be in uniform," I whispered in his ear as
we danced, "but I hadn't expected any of them to be in the SS."
"Almost every family in Germany has members who have bought into Nazi
ideology," said Helmut. "These, alas, are ours."
Maybe so, but given my close call with Colonel Klingermann I couldn't
help feeling a little vulnerable and jittery. Instinctively seeking
protection, I pressed closer to Helmut, which he didn't mind at all.
When the waltz ended he gave me a quick hug, took my hand, and led me
off the dance floor.
"Let's sit the next one out," he said, taking us over to where Gerda was
sitting alone at a table, nursing a drink. She looked sad, but perked up
when we joined her. It was typically considerate of Helmut to have
noticed his sister's mood and then have us attempt to cheer her up.
A short while later the arrival of a particular couple caused quite a
stir. All heads turned to face them and conversation stopped. They
looked to be a few of years older than Helmut and Gerda, so mid-
thirties. She was wearing a striking blue ball gown, but it was he who
was the object of everyone's curiosity. Classically handsome and wearing
the uniform of an Oberstleutnant in the Wehrmacht, he also had an
eyepatch, and the black leather gloves he was wearing could not disguise
the fact there was something amiss with his hands.
"Claus von Stauffenberg," Gerda whispered to me, "and that's his wife
Magdalena with him, though everyone calls her Nina."
"Claus!" said Helmut, going over and clasping his friend's shoulder. "I
heard you'd been injured, but not the extent. What happened?"
"It was in Tunisia back in April," he said, "near Mezzouna. My vehicle
was part of a column strafed by enemy aircraft. I got shot up pretty
badly -lost my left eye, my right hand, and two fingers on my left
hand."
That explained it. There was a false hand in one glove and stiff
prosthetics in two fingers of the other.
"Oh, Claus," said Helmut, sympathetically.
"Well, I'd never really known what to do with all those fingers,
anyway," he said, giving a thin smile. "Worst part was how long the
convalescence took. Being home at Castle Lautlingen was good, but it's
only in the past week that my doctors have allowed me out. This is my
first social engagement."
"He owns a castle, too?" I whispered to Gerda.
"His family own several," she said.
Helmut brought the von Stauffenbergs over and introduced us.
"Claus, Nina, my sister you know, but this is Eva Schumacher, my
girlfriend."
"Enchanted," said Claus, taking my hand as Gerda and I got to our feet,
brushing my finger tips with his lips.
I kept my eyes on his, ignoring the obviously wooden hand beneath the
glove, but before I could respond to his gesture, another pair of
newcomers arrived.
"Uh oh, it's Cousin Albrecht," said Gerda.
So this was Albrecht Grost. Tall, shaven-headed, and built like a bull,
he was wearing the sinister black uniform of the Gestapo. His companion,
in defiance of the dress code for ladies at the ball, wore a slinky
evening dress that hugged every curve of her body. And what a body it
was! A beautiful red-head, she had a classic hourglass figure, and I was
mesmerised by it. This was a woman who was definitely my type.
"Helmut, Gerda, good to see you!" said Grost, but though he smiled I
could tell from his eyes there was no love lost between them.
"Hello, Albrecht," said Helmut. "Allow me to introduce Eva Schumacher."
Grost looked me up and down briefly before turning back to Helmut.
"I see you're still dating women built like boys, Helmut," he said. "I
sometimes think that if such deviant behaviour wasn't illegal you'd date
actual boys. What you need is a real woman like Giselle here, a woman
with breasts. She'd soon make a man of you."
With a final disapproving glance at me, he took his girlfriend's hand
and headed off across the dance floor.
"What an unpleasant man!" I said to Gerda, affronted by his casual
dismissal of me. "And he's your *cousin*?"
"Unfortunately. His father, Manfred Grost, married Aunt Johanna, our
father's sister. Uncle Manfred is a major industrialist, and while we
are far from poor the Grosts are much wealthier than us. Albrecht was a
little shit as a boy and is a little shit now."
"Not so little," I murmured, watching as he made his way over to where
the musicians were playing.
He got the conductor to pause the music, much to the annoyance of those
who were dancing.
"My apologies," he said, "but I was informed before coming here that
Minister Goebbels will shortly be making an important announcement, one
I'm sure we'll all want to hear. So if the radio could be brought into
the hall...?"
A couple of servants were sent to bring the radio in from the family
lounge where it resided. Fortunately it was on castors so they were
easily able to wheel it through. Once it was in position they plugged it
into a wall socket, and turned it on. As the valves warmed up so it came
to life, but having been moved it needed to be retuned. As they slowly
turned the tuning knob, searching for the correct station, one of the
things we caught a snatch of was Lord Haw-Haw's nightly propaganda
broadcast. My eyes narrowed. *There* was someone who had a well-deserved
appointment with the hangman when this war was over. Eventually they
found the station and the familiar voice of Reich Minister of Propaganda
Joseph Goebbels began emerging from the speaker.
"Shortly after 2:00 pm this afternoon," he announced, "SS
Hauptsturmf?hrer Otto Skorzeny led a glorious mission to rescue our
loyal ally Benito Mussolini, the rightful ruler of Italy, who was
recently deposed by traitorous elements in that country. Il Duce had
been imprisoned at the Campo Imperiale Hotel, located in the Abruzzi
Mountains. In a daring raid, eight gliders landed silently at the
resort, carrying a crack team of the Reich's finest commandos. They were
followed by seventy paratroopers, who secured the grounds while
Skorzeny's team overpowered the prison guards. Twenty minutes after the
attack began, a Fiesler Storch plane departed with Mussolini and
Skorzeny on board. Four days ago the same traitorous elements that
betrayed Benito Mussolini concluded an illegal armistice with Allied
forces, surrendering the south of the country to them. The northern part
of the country is still controlled by loyal Italians and by German
forces. The Fuehrer has declared that this shall henceforth be known as
the Italian Social Republic until such time as the rest of Italy can be
liberated, and that Mussolini will be its ruler. Heil Hitler!"
"Heil Hitler!" shouted several of those in the room, some giving the
Nazi salute.
"Great news!" said Grost, rubbing his hands. "One in the eye for those
defeatists who think this war is turning against us."
"The man's a fool!" said Claus von Stauffenberg outside Grost's hearing
but within ours. "The war in the east has turned decisively against us,
as our defeat last month at the Battle of Kursk proved."
The musicians started playing again, and Helmut took my hand.
"Shall we?" he said, leading me onto the dance floor.
I nodded. He took my right hand in his left, slid the other around my
waist, and I placed my free hand on his shoulder. And then we were off!
Helmut and I moving in perfect synch as we whirled around between the
other couples, couples who shortly included the von Stauffenbergs but
not Albrecht Grost and his girlfriend. They briefly took a table at the
edge of the dance floor and he watched the dancers, scowling. I don't
know whether he disapproved of dancing or just couldn't dance himself,
nor did I care because this was the fastest-paced waltz of the evening
and I found myself being totally swept up in it. It felt wonderful and I
laughed out loud as Helmut and I continued to move as one, faster and
faster. When the waltz eventually climaxed, Helmut and I came to a halt
and stared at each other, breathless and panting. From the look in his
eyes he would have thrown me down and had his way with me right there
and then if he could have. And while I didn't want him in that way I
understood. If sport is war sublimated then dancing is sex sublimated,
something I'd always known.
"I need to kiss you right now," said Helmut, breathing heavily. "Let's
go down to the garden."
I nodded, and he led me out onto the balcony and down the stairs to the
garden at the rear of the castle. It was dark, the garden illuminated
only by the light spilling out from the Great Hall, casting deep shadows
as it hit bushes and shrubs. Helmut was leading me to the gazebo, but as
we rounded the length of hedge that hid it from the castle, we heard the
unmistakeable sound of people having sex.
It was Grost and his girlfriend. Giselle was bent over, dress up, hands
on the gazebo bench, while Grost thrust into her, trousers around his
ankles, grunting like a hog. I'd noticed they'd left their table while
we were dancing. Now I knew why.
"God, the man has no class at all!" said Helmut angrily as we left them
to it.
"Shh, calm down," I said, pulling him to me. "He's not worth getting
worked up over."
We kissed then, but uncouth though Grost's behaviour might be I envied
him his girlfriend. After a couple of minutes kissing Helmut, I pulled
away. I had gotten used to doing this with him but it still wasn't
something I enjoyed very much.
"Mmmm, that was nice," I said, saying what was expected of me, "but
you're the host so we really ought to be getting back inside."
"You're right, of course," said Helmut, squeezing my shoulder. "God, if
only you knew what you do to me!"
"I'm beginning to get a pretty good idea," I said.
Climbing back up the stairs to the balcony we found Albrecht Grost and
Claus von Stauffenberg standing out on it, arguing about the progress of
the war. Given what we'd seen Grost engaged in barely ten minutes
earlier they couldn't have been doing so for very long.
"The British are no threat," we heard Grost sneer. "They left all their
artillery and heavy armour behind in France in 1940 when we drove them
back to the sea. We had their retreating forces pinned down on the
beaches at Dunkirk and could easily have wiped them out there and then,
but the Fuehrer magnanimously allowed them to escape back to England
with their tails between their legs. He hoped this act of generosity
would convince the British to negotiate a peace with us, but Churchill
threw the offer back in his face. If the Americans hadn't ignored the
advice of Joseph Kennedy, their ambassador to London, to stay out of it
and leave the British to their fate they would now be confined to their
damp little island and all but impotent."
I was genuinely curious what Claus had said to provoke this outburst.
"I think I'd better stay with them and make sure things don't get too
heated," whispered Helmut.
"Good idea," I said. "I'll leave you to it while I go inside and repair
my lipstick."
Just inside the entrance to the Great Hall was an alcove with a table
set up in front. This had Helga the maid stationed behind it and acted
as a cloakroom, the table being where hats and military caps were laid.
Off the alcove was a small room that had long since been turned into a
ladies powder room, minus any toilets. It was here I went to check my
hair and reapply my lipstick, Gerda joining me on the way. Inside she
bumped into an old school friend.
"Lisle!" she said, "I haven't seen you in ages. I missed your arrival.
Eva, this is one of my closest friends from school."
"Yes, but not the closest," said Lisle, as the two women briefly hugged,
"that was Hanna Strohmann. What ever happened to her, anyway?"
"Last I heard she was running the family farm with her brother," lied
Gerda.
They chatted briefly, then Lisle left to return to her husband. When
she'd gone, Gerda's shoulders slumped.
"God, I miss Hans," she said. "I really wish he could be here."
Of course. *That* was why she had looked so sad earlier. I mentally
kicked myself for not realising it before this. Now it was my turn to
give her a hug.
And that was pretty much how the evening went. We danced some more,
drank more than we probably should have, and enjoyed ourselves greatly -
even Gerda who cheered up considerably. It was almost one in the morning
by the time the final stragglers left and Helmut, Gerda, and I were able
to make our way to our respective beds. Castle Rumstahl's Annual Autumn
Ball had, as always, been a great success. What none of us knew then was
that it was the last one there would ever be.
- 22 -
"All in all, I think the ball went well," said Helmut.
It was the middle of the evening two days later and he, Gerda and I were
in the family lounge, which we'd retired to after dinner. Helmut was
sitting at one end of the sofa, his arm around my shoulders, while I was
nestled up against him, my feet tucked up under me. I found this
arrangement...not uncomfortable. Occasionally, Helmut would dip his head
and kiss the top of mine. Gerda was sitting in one of the high-backed
leather chairs, smoking a cigarette and watching us with benevolent
amusement. We had all been comparing our impressions of the ball,
something we'd started the previous evening, chuckling at the more
amusing foibles of our guests.
"Hmm, almost time for the news broadcast," said Helmut, as eight o'clock
approached.
"I'll get it," I said, swinging my stockinged feet off the sofa and
standing up.
The hem of my dress swished about my calves as I crossed the short
distance to the radio, a once alien sensation now so familiar I barely
even noticed it any more. Turning on the radio, it became apparent
someone had moved it off-station again. Unlike one of the government-
supplied radios owned by most of the populace, ours had full
functionality and range so it could pick up a lot of stations, both
domestic and foreign.
"Germany Calling, Germany Calling..." came a familiar nasal drawl and I
found myself inadvertently pausing in my tuning.
"What is that?" asked Helmut.
"A nightly propaganda broadcast to the British on behalf of the Nazis by
someone I'm told they call 'Lord Haw-Haw'," I replied. "Sorry, I didn't
mean to stop there."
"What is he saying?" asked Gerda, neither she nor Helmut knowing
English.
I listened for a bit, then gave her a summary.
"This particular broadcast seems to be aimed mainly at British forces
overseas," I said. "He's warning them that while they're fighting abroad
sex-crazed American troops stationed in Britain are having their way
with their wives and girlfriends, and that many of those Americans are
Negroes. He's also warning that in the unlikely event Britain wins the
war she's condemning future generations to crippling debt in order to
pay for war supplies from the US, and that lend-lease is a plot by
Jewish bankers in America to suck Britain dry now they have her over a
barrel."
"Will he be believed, do you think?" asked Gerda.
"Some will believe him and some won't," I said, shrugging, "but there'll
be plenty who brood about what he's said and wonder if maybe there's a
germ of truth in it. That's the point of these broadcasts after all; to
sow doubt and to reduce enemy morale."
"What do you know about this 'Lord Haw-Haw'?" asked Helmut, his
curiosity piqued.
"His real name is William Joyce," I said. "Before the war he was one of
Oswald Mosley's lieutenants."
"Mosley. He was the British fascist leader, correct?"
"Yes. His British Union of Fascists held huge rallies in 1934 at
Kensington Olympia, a vast exhibition hall in west London. Yet they were
never able to turn that support into political power of any
consequence."
"Do you know why?"
"No, not really. Even by the time my family returned to Germany in early
1939 they still enjoyed significant popular support. For some reason
though, fascism didn't take root in Britain like it did elsewhere in
Europe, and I'm not sure why. Certainly the Battle of Cable Street
dented the image of Mosley and his blackshirts in the public eye, but it
wasn't a fatal blow."
I found myself thinking about Mussolini, who was now reduced to being a
Nazi puppet ruler like Marshall Petain and Vidkun Quisling. This was the
age of the dictators, of people like Hitler, Mussolini, Franco, and
Pavlic, so why hadn't Mosley succeeded in becoming ours?
"'The Battle of Cable Street'?" said Gerda. "I don't think I've heard of
that."
"It was a march through a predominantly Jewish part of London's East End
in which the BUF had seven bells kicked out of them by the locals,
trades unionists, and Communists who turned up on the day to stop the
march. The blackshirts did not exactly cover themselves in glory. I
heard Mosley himself had been imprisoned in 1940 as a possible threat to
national security, though he may have been released by now."
I crossed back to the sofa, ready to resume my previous position, but
Helmut patted his lap. Obediently, I sat down there instead, knowing
what he wanted. I draped my arms around his neck, and we started
kissing.
"If you two are going to be canoodling then I'm off to bed," said Gerda,
stubbing out her cigarette and getting to her feet.
"Goodnight, dear sister," said Helmut.
"Goodnight, dear brother," she replied. "Try not to tire poor Eva out."
"As if I would," Helmut whispered in my ear as she left.
He slowly slid his hand under my dress and up along my stockinged leg
until he found my penis. I gasped as he started to stroke it.
"I...I'm not ready yet," I said, suddenly anxious.
"Do you know when you will be?" he cooed, still stroking it.
"The weekend," I said, thinking of the plugs I was still working my way
through, "on Saturday."
"Good, good...I'm looking forward to it very much," he said, "but in the
meantime I want to give you something I know you want."
He gipped my member firmly and began moving his hand up and down to
raise an erection. Had I been sexually attracted to him it would have
done. I wasn't, yet I was supposed to be, so if it didn't...."
I needed to imagine it was a woman doing this to me, someone reasonably
commanding. Desperately, I started going through Hollywood actresses.
Vivien Leigh? Hardly. Joan Crawford? Better, but no. Barbara Stanwyck?
Yes, yes, she'd do! I closed my eyes, using every iota of my ability as
an actor to imagine myself in a given situation to picture her and not
him attempting to pleasure me. And it worked! I became erect, moaning
all the while, but just as I did so Helmut stopped. I opened my eyes to
see him taking out a handkerchief. Ah, of course. I closed my eyes
again, as Helmut placed it over the head of my penis before he - and
Barbara - resumed. Ten, maybe twenty seconds later I ejaculated, letting
out a little cry as I spurted into Helmut's handkerchief.
"Thank you," I said, gazing into his eyes as I came down from that brief
orgasm, knowing that this was only the beginning.
I was committed now. Saturday was the main event, the day Helmut would
finally mount me and make me his.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
**********************
To be continued
*********************
Notes:
If anyone is interested in hearing what Lord Haw-Haw's broadcasts were
like, several are available on the BBC website. Easiest way to get to
them is via the link at the bottom of his wikipedia page.
Josephina
- 13.06.2022
- 8
- 0
