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The Crossing - Part 11 free porn video
An escaped PoW now living as a woman in Nazi Germany, I had reluctantly
become the girlfriend of Count Helmut von Rumstahl. Now that we had had
sex, what happened next?
THE CROSSING - part 11
by BobH
(c) 2015
- 25 -
Now that we were lovers Helmut and I shared a bed every night.
Sometimes we slept in his bed, sometimes in mine. This was the pattern
we settled into the week after Helmut took my virginity. And every
night we had sex, just as I had both expected and dreaded we would.
Each time we did it was a little bit easier to take than it had been
the time before. I worried that being on the receiving end of
penetrative sex might eventually come to feel routine, perhaps even
'normal', and if it did what was I then? Fortunately it hadn't done so
yet. I prayed it never would.
What I did get used to surprisingly quickly was sleeping with Helmut
spooned up behind and the warmth of his body next to mine - comfortable
with it, even - and as used to his caresses as I had become to his
kisses. Of course, bigger than all this was Helmut declaring his love
for me in the meadow. As a boy I'd always imagined myself one day being
a man and declaring my love to a pretty girl. Instead, I *was* the
pretty girl and a man had declared his love to me. The peculiar
circumstances I found myself in being what they were, my reply to him
was the only one I could give.
"I love you too, Helmut," I said, adding one more to my long list of
lies and doing so with an apparently delighted grin.
If you don't want to lose them, this is how you have to reply when
someone tells you they love you, and my mission as a spy required me to
stay as close to Helmut as I could.
"I'm so glad," he'd replied, hugging me. "You've made me the happiest
man in all of Germany."
Now that we were lovers, Helmut had also started to open up about his
secrets. I could use that, but I couldn't press him too hard, too fast.
No, I needed to ease into it with something more innocuous.
"Since you're now trusting me with your secrets there's something I
want to ask you," I said, "which is: does the castle have any secret
passages?"
"What?" laughed Helmut. "Whatever made you ask that?"
"Hollywood movies," I replied, truthfully.
"I see. Well to the best of my knowledge, no; it does not have any
secret passages."
I was looking into his eyes as he said this and, as far as I could
gauge, he was telling the truth. So the passage I'd discovered in my
room *was* unknown to everyone but Benton and me. That was both
interesting and reassuring. It might even be the only one in the
castle. I wondered if what I'd assumed about its purpose had any basis
in fact.
"Who built it," I asked, "and when?"
"In the mood for a history lesson, eh? Well why not. Our line started
when my ancestor Heller was ennobled by the Holy Roman Emperor for his
valour during the Crusades and awarded these lands. The castle was
built by his grandson Manfred, the third Count von Rumstahl and scourge
of the Ottoman Turks, early in the fifteenth century. The village soon
grew up around it."
"My room seems rather grand for a guest room. Was it always used as
one?"
"Traditionally, yours was the master bedroom and had been for
generations, which meant it was also our mother's room. After she died
I was expected to claim it as my own, but I just couldn't."
"I understand. I'm curious about your study. I'm guessing it wasn't
always one, that it once served another purpose."
"I would imagine so, yes, but the castle records don't go back that far
so we can only speculate as to what use Manfred originally intended for
it."
I was right about my room, but my assumption about Helmut's study could
not be confirmed one way or the other. It looked like the reason for
the existence of the secret passage linking the two would have to
remain a mystery. So that was where I had left it.
We usually listened to radio in the family room after dinner most
nights, with me on the sofa in my now accustomed place nestled up
against Helmut, and Gerda sitting in one of the chairs. What we heard
on Sunday 26th September was something special. First came news that
repairs were finished on the M?hne river dam, which had been heavily
damaged by an RAF bombing raid in May. The Edersee Dam, bombed in the
same raid, was also expected to be fully operational within the next
few days. Helmut and Gerda were cheered by this news of course, while I
was not. Next came an announcement that the German Armed Forces Command
had issued a public decree removing from service anyone classified as a
"Mischling of the First Degree". This was apparently a person who had
two Jewish, or otherwise non-Aryan, grandparents. The offspring of
mixed marriages had already been barred from serving by the Nuremberg
Laws of 1933. This extended the prohibition. I glanced at Helmut and
Gerda, both of whom greeted this with grimaces of disgust. However,
these news items paled into insignificance compared to the final one.
Yesterday, the Soviet Red Army had recaptured the Ukrainian city of
Smolensk from German forces who were now in full retreat. Having been
carefully following the news from the east and the mounting German
defeats (most recently the Red Army's retaking of the Black Sea port
city of Novorossisk) and charting them on a map Helmut knew what this
meant.
"That's it," he said, a note of awe in his voice. "Thanks to the
dictates of geography, you can either come at Moscow through Poland or
through Ukraine."
"I can see the strategic importance of Poland to Russia," said Gerda,
"but why Ukraine?"
"Much of Europe is essentially an enormous plain," Helmut explained.
"Only where there are mountains and major rivers do you get physical
barriers of any consequence. In Poland there's a 'pinch point' where
the plain is less than five hundred kilometres wide. Beyond that to the
east it soon opens out to over two thousand. If there was a mountain
range in northern Ukraine Russia wouldn't be worried about it, but
there isn't. Ukraine has always been its soft underbelly. Ukraine is
also important to Russia in that Crimea gives it the only warm water
port it has access to. Most of its northern ports are frozen for much
of the year. Ukraine in general and Crimea in particular have always
been of vital strategic importance to Russia, and they always will be.
Regardless of who's in charge, be they a tsar or a general secretary of
the communist party, they're always going to want to control it."
"I see," I said, "so what happens now?"
"The war in the east will grind on but both the approaches to Moscow
have now been denied to us. It's only a matter of time before we have
to accept we've lost. Given the number of troops we have across there
we're going to see the biggest mass retreat in human history. But it's
what comes next that really worries me."
"Next?" said Gerda. "What do you mean?"
"Our boys will fight for every centimetre of ground, but the Red Army
is going to push us out of Russia, through Poland, and all the way back
to the Fatherland. Once they have us on the run I can't imagine they'll
stop when they've driven us across the border. No, they'll be coming
for Germany, and given we're the ones who invaded them they're not
going to be in a very forgiving mood when they eventually get here. Not
that those in power would admit to any of this. They probably think we
can turn the tide, that this thing is still winnable. It's possible it
is, of course, that they have something up their sleeves they haven't
told us about, but I doubt it."
"Assuming you're right, how long do you think we've got?" I asked,
intrigued by his analysis.
"A year, maybe eighteen months, but no more than that. Which makes it a
really stupid time to ban anyone from serving in the armed forces. What
were they thinking?"
"The Armed Forces Command may have announced the decree," said Gerda,
"but I doubt very much it was their decision. This was driven by the
deranged racial ideology of the Nazi party. If what I'm hearing over
the medical grapevine is true there's been a major move against the
Jews over the past few weeks in almost every territory we control. Mass
deportation of whole communities to God only knows where. It's all part
of the same whole."
"Do you think Hitler ordered it?" I asked.
"Maybe," said Helmut, thoughtfully, "he certainly sets the tone for the
whole party but he rarely gets his hands dirty directly. No, he leaves
the details of that sort of thing to Heinrich Himmler. This feels more
like him."
"If what you reckon about the Red Army arriving on our doorstep is
true," said Gerda, "then we need to start making plans now."
"Precautions would be prudent, yes," said Helmut. "We have some of our
funds in a Swiss bank account but we need to move more there. Also, I
think it would be a good idea to move certain irreplaceable physical
items there too - paintings, jewellery, and the like. What would you
say to a drive down to Switzerland in the next few weeks, dear sister?"
"I'd say sooner rather than later, dear brother. It's autumn now and it
would need to be done before winter sets in."
- 26 -
When he declared his love for me Helmut had also said he didn't want
there to be any secrets between us. He had then told me about his work
on the V-2 rocket with his friend Wernher von Braun. On the surface
this was just the sort of 'pillow talk' Mark Benton had assured me
would follow if Helmut and I became lovers, but I had my doubts. He
might let me know what he was working on in general terms, but I
suspected he would still keep important specifics from me, which is why
I continued to spy on him at work in his study via the air brick in its
wall over the next few weeks. This didn't result in anything I
understood, unfortunately, but I did get to copy down a bunch of
equations from Helmut's blackboard that I hoped the boffins back in
London would be able to make some sense of. Having done so it occurred
to me that the reason Helmut hadn't gone into specifics might just be
because he didn't think I'd understand them. As Eva Schumacher I'd told
him I had little formal education to speak of, but even having received
a good technical and scientific education as Paul Ripley the stuff
Helmut was working on was beyond me.
Now that October was upon us and the days were getting colder, my daily
(or as daily as I could manage them) visits to the cafe on the square
saw me sitting at an inside table rather than outside. On this occasion
the only one other customer when I entered the cafe was the village
policeman Captain Wendt, who had taken a table along the wall and was
poring over some police reports, his cap on the table next to his
coffee.
"Good afternoon, Herr Captain," I said, taking one next to the window.
"And a good afternoon to you, Fraulein Schumacher," he replied, giving
me a smile before returning to his reports.
Franz, the cafe proprietor, came over the my table carrying a coffee
made just the way I liked it and a pastry.
"Your usual, Fraulein," he said, placing it on the table in front of
me.
"Thank you, Franz," I said, "as efficient as always."
I pulled a book out of my bag, and propped it up in front of me. This
was the poetry anthology with the red cover, a signal to Mark Benton
that I needed to see him for the first time in a month. I didn't have
to wait long. Twenty minutes later I heard someone enter the cafe and
take the table behind mine. I did not look around to see who it was.
Franz provided identification when he asked the newcomer:
"What can I get you, Herr Schmidt?" Johann Schmidt was Benton's cover
identity.
"Black coffee and a strudel, please."
Franz hurried off to get these.
"I have something for you," I whispered to Benton, carefully watching
Captain Wendt for any sign he had overheard me. Fortunately, he
appeared engrossed in his reports.
"What is it?" whispered Benton.
I would have replied but Franz's brother chose that moment to emerge
from the rear of the cafe. Taller, thinner, and younger than Franz, he
had none of his sibling's confidence.
"Good afternoon, Joachim," I said as he reached my table on his way to
the door.
He turned bright red, mumbled a greeting in return, and rushed out of
the cafe. I smiled. Joachim was extremely shy and got completely
tongue-tied with me. Franz returned with Benton's order.
"Your brother was in awful hurry," I commented.
"Yes, we've just had some supplies delivered by train. Joachim has gone
to the station to pick them up."
"Still shy around women, I see."
"Yes," said Franz, "and it's a shame. He's a good-looking boy and would
have no trouble attracting a girlfriend, but he finds it impossible to
look a woman in the face let alone talk to one."
When Franz had resumed his usual place behind the counter, I continued
my sotto voce conversation with Benton while trying to give the
impression I was engrossed in my book.
"What I have for you are more formulae and engineering calculations I
copied down," I told him. "It's several weeks' worth of stuff for our
boffins to pore over."
"Good man!" said Benton as I surreptitiously passed over the
information behind me at low level and he reached back to take it.
I looked up to see Franz approaching again, a tea towel over his arm.
"Can I help you?" I said.
"Yes, Fraulein, I rather think you can," he said, pulling a luger out
from until the towel. "Please don't move, nor you, Herr Schmidt, except
to put your hands up."
We both complied, not looking at the other.
"What's going on, Franz?"
This was Captain Wendt, who had risen from his chair.
"They were very careful about it and didn't meet too often, but over
the course of several weeks I gradually noticed that whenever Herr
Schmidt came into my cafe he always took the table behind Fraulein
Schumacher," explained Franz, keeping the gun trained on us, "and
though I couldn't be sure, I thought I saw them whispering to each
other."
"So?" said Wendt. "Secret assignations between a man and a woman are
not illegal. The Count is a good man and I would be sad if it turned
out Fraulein Schumacher was cheating on him, but it would also be none
of our business."
"Yes, I too thought it might be that at first, so I watched them very
carefully and today I saw Fraulein Schumacher pass Herr Schmidt a note.
He placed it in the right hand pocket of his jacket. If you would
please retrieve it Captain I'm sure we will discover what exactly is
going on. If this is indeed a lovers' assignation I will apologise
profusely, if not...."
Sitting there, my hands in the air, I could feel my heart racing. This
was my worst nightmare come true. I listened carefully, hearing Captain
Wendt take the papers I'd given Benton from his pocket. Unfolding them,
he took them over to Franz.
"What is it," asked Franz impatiently, keeping his gun trained on
Benton and me, "what does it say?"
"It contains formulae and calculations," said Wendt. "They have to be
the Count's, part of the classified work he is doing for the
Fatherland. It looks like your suspicions were correct, Franz. We've
just caught ourselves a couple of spies."
*****************
To be continued
*****************
Becky
- 03.01.2022
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