Europa 5 the Blue Bear Cave -Winter 1941.
By Bald Hairy Man
Email, bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com, The Excite address doesn't work any more.
This is an adult story for adults. It is not intended for minors, nor for persons who are offended by alternate life styles. If you are offend, Don't Read the story! There is no effort expended to make this story realistic or depict safe sex practices. This story is a fantasy, not a sex manual.
I was in the bath when the General came in and stared at my cock. It was hard to piss under his gaze. He solved that problem by deciding to suck me while I pissed. I had never been into water sports, but I found myself turned on by the General's efforts to coax the golden liquid from my cock. He wasn't shy or embarrassed or concerned. It was pure cock passion and he was filled cock lust.
The General was childlike as he swallowed the last of my piss. It was as if I had given him a special gift. I later found he liked everything that spurts from the cock. He didn't care if it was cum, precum or piss. When I finished, he got up.
"I can't tell you how much I want to have sex with you." he said. "Let's get naked and play."
"What about Von Hellenburg?" I asked. I didn't want him to know I knew Wolfie as well as I did.
"He's a member of the fraternity." General W answered. "He's well hung. Not as good as you, but it's beautifully formed. The cock of a Greek god."
"Would that it be a Teutonic God?" I asked.
"I'm so sick of German this and German that I could puke." he responded. I love the fatherland, but there is a limit."
"I will bet German cock isn't one of the things you are sick of." I said. He winked at me and then burst out laughing.
"You understand me well enough!"
I had joked about my career as a ^ÑMata Hari' like spy with Samuel, but it only took a few minutes to realize I was General Wildebrandt's idea of a sex kitten. I knew he liked body builders and athletes, but he liked big cocks even more. He wasn't my idea of the man of my dreams, but he was a nice man and good company.
The General was a bit overweight and moderately hairy. His cock was average, but his balls were monstrous. He later told me there had been in a sexual drought for the last several months. It was difficult to indulge his sexual interests with the Gestapo sharing the same building. He knew they had a file on him and his preferences, but he didn't want to give them any extra evidence to use against him. I realized this was why he was so interested in having sex with a Frenchman. He thought it unlikely I would be connected with the arch-enemy, the Gestapo
When I sucked him, I briefly thought he was feeding me his own piss, but quickly realized it was precum. The sweet liquid flowed from his cock in a constant stream. I thought it was constant during all sexual activity until I poked a finger in his ass and rammed his prostate.
I had never encountered a burst of precum approaching the force of an ejaculation before my experiences with the General. In him, the walnut sized gland was the size of an apricot. I asked him if it was healthy. It was so large I thought it might be the result of a tumor. He told me doctors had checked him. The gland was big to match the balls.
"If only the cock matched the balls!" he complained. "My life would be perfect." The stubby, fat cock was rock hard, but small enough to deep throat without choking. I told him the cock was a good size to play with. Wolfie walked in the bathroom.
"I wondered what could be keeping you two!" he said, laughing. "I should have realized that Mein General was up to his old tricks!" Wolfie was undressing to join us.
"Wolfchen! You know I have always done everything I could to promote friendship with our neighbors." the General said. "The war won't last forever and we will need friends afterwards." Wolfie continued undressing, still amused.
"I appreciate that! If they ever give a Nobel Prize for the man fucked by more men of different nationalities, I will nominate you. Peace through homosexual intercourse! " Wolfie proclaimed. "If you don't mind my French friend, if you could rearrange yourself so you can suck Mein General while I fuck him, I would greatly appreciate it." I did as they suggested. The General obediently bent over so Wolfie could more easily enter his ass.
"Be careful my friend. When I thrust, the cock ooze approaches flood level." Wolfie added. "They say Wagner originally envisioned the Rhine maidens swimming in the General's lust juice!" The General liked the comment and tittered in high pitched laughter. Wolfie rammed him mid titter and I almost choked. Every movement of Wolfie's cock in the love chute was reflected in the General's dick and the river of precum flowing from it.
I had never tasted a man being fucked before, but I was close to sharing each thrust with the two fucking men. I knew exactly where Wolfie's cock was at each moment. There was a brief burst of fluid when the cock head popped through the sphincter, followed by an even drool as the shaft followed. Then there was an orgasmic explosion when the head hit the prostate, after that a thick, even flow until the shaft was fully enveloped in the chute.
I stopped Wolfie's methodical and even fucking when I wanted to get more precum. Wolfie rubbed his bloated head across the prostate several times and the General was crying in ecstasy.
"Stop, stop! I can't take it!" he cried. Wolfie wasn't a considerate man. He clearly liked having the General in his power. After toying with the General, Wolfie pulled out.
"It's time for the main attraction. It's time for French cock!" he proclaimed. We changed positions. "Now General. Do you want to show the Frenchman how a German General shoots his load, or do you want your best friend to wash his dinner down with your seed?" Wolfie asked. I chuckled at the thought. I took it as a rhetorical question, but Wildebrandt seemed to take it seriously. I realized the General was embarrassed by his cock, but proud of his seed. While he was considering his answer I shoved my cock in his hole in a single thrust to the hilt.
Wolfie deep throated him as soon as I was fully lodged. The general's ass was tighter than I expected after Wolfie's long fuck session. The tunnel was hot and juicy, but tight fitting like an expensive glove. The General moaned in pleasure. I pulled out and shoved it in slowly the next time. This time I felt his prostate and paused there, caressing the organ as Wolfie had done before. Wolfie sports an impressive display of manhood, but mine was longer and thicker. I was also about as hard as I ever had been. When my bloated cock head touched the General's stimulated and abused prostate, he began to growl.
It was a deep guttural growling that seemed to be generated deep in his body. To this day I think there is a connection between the prostate and the vocal chords. Wildebrandt's normal speaking voice was a tenor. His prostate's voice was a bass-baritone. I felt as if my cock was a bow and his prostate was the strings of a sexual bass. I grabbed his tits and pinched them. The tone dropped an octave.
I was halfway through playing the Marseilles on his prostate when his entire rectum contracted. The prostate turned into a rock squeezing my cock as it passed. The General had an orgasm that was close to being a seizure. Wolfie took a couple shots then got out of the way and let the sperm fly all over the room. I would normally admire the display, but I was distracted by my own orgasm. It was intense and enjoyable. Remarkably, my ejaculations alternated with his. His ass contracted before each of his shots and I felt as if he was milking me.
General Wildebrandt eventually introduced me to a sub culture of the Werhmach. It included several cultured and aristocratic officers as well as working class enlisted men. The enlisted men were typically, big, muscular and athletic. All were interested in man sex, but none more than the General himself.
He was anti-Nazi, but weak. His only real form of protest was to underachieve, thus he was kept away from places were real soldiers were needed. With the manpower shortages characteristic of a single nation which decided to invade the world, the General was needed to hold this place in this part of France even if he didn't do it well. Wildebrandt had a good sense of self preservation but as long as none of his men got hurt, he was unconcerned by the activities of the French Resistance. Fortunately for me, the General's fortunes changed. He relocated to the Chateau Des'Alps, a large house on the edge of town. It was a 19th century confection of towers and halls in a style inspired by the Four Musketeers. The owners had fled to Nice. The General was freed from everyday surveillance by the Gestapo. Even if they wanted to watch him the Chateau was a mass of hidden passages and secret rooms.
More importantly the local Gestapo leader was transferred to Poland, and his replacement was a fervent Nazi, but avaricious and dumb. He had risen to high rank by heaping praise on his superiors. Wolfie claimed that if you ever need boot polish you need only look at his tongue. The Gestapo agents under him were corrupt and eager to get wealthy through bribes and extortion. They understood that you can't extort money from a dead man, so they were odious and nasty rather than murderous.
I was fortunate. As a translator I could associate with the Germans with out the stigma of collaboration, but the Germans trusted me enough to leave me alone. Thus I began a triple life. Spy for the British, sexual play thing for the General and member of the Resistance.
I was never a part of the organized Resistance. My only contact with the main group was through the Museum of Man in Paris. It was France's greatest anthropological institution and was a center of anti-Nazi activities. M. Albert D'Alan was my contact there. He always said he was the assistant to the assistant to. Albert was a classic low level bureaucrat no one would ever pay any attention to, certainly no one in the German Master Race.
Albert was 45, of average height with thinning, mouse brown hair and he was dumpy. He had a droopy mustache that made him look a bit like a Basset Hound. We met three years earlier at a conference in Paris. Our actual meeting took place in the men's toilet at the urinal trough. He admired mine and I admired his. The dumpy man had a donkey dong, graceless, but thick and meaty.
We got together after the conference at his apartment. He was slyly humorous in the satirical, world-weary way Parisians like to affect. We weren't much attracted to each other, but were sexually compatible. It was great sex with no strings attached. Intense, fun, very enjoyable, but meaningless. Needless to say, we made an effort to get together as regularly as possible.
I was in Paris in May 1941 at a meeting at the Museum for regional directors and he asked me to have dinner with him. I readily agreed. Food was beginning to become scarce even then, but Albert was a skillful cook and you wouldn't have guessed there was a problem. He said he had been talking to a Swiss art dealer, Herr Westburg, about selling some duplicate items from the collections.
"As you well know, we have far more items than we could ever use or need." Albert said. "Herr Westburg said he had buyers, but it was impossible to get them across the borders. The German Guards seem to take a portion of all the items. They usually claimed they were objects which had belonged to Jews and thus belonged to the Reich. Herr Westburg said you might have some thoughts on . . . . transport."
"Small objects are no real problem." I said. "I must confess that smuggling across the border is second nature to many of the farmers of the district."
"Some of these objects might be quite large." Albert replied. "The size of a man." I had drunk several glasses of wine and I just then realized what he was talking about. I laughed.
"That can be done."
"Very good. Is there a place to store these items until transport can be arranged?" he asked.
"My research into early cave paintings was very successful as you recall." I answered. "I think there are several good, safe and secure places. As far as I know, I am the only one to find them. You could be hidden there for years, if there was food. Even in our farming region, food could be a problem."
"Herr Westburg is a friend of yours?" Albert asked.
"An old friend," I said, "and we all share the same interests, recreational as well as professional."
"All of our communications have been by post, so he is exceedingly careful and guarded in his letters. I take it you are working with him?"
"I do what I can." I replied. "I am a true son of France."
"M. Petain thinks the same, I am afraid." Albert said with great bitterness. "If we are betrayed it will more likely be a Frenchman than a German."
"I would not be that Frenchman." I said. "What do you want me to do."
"We need to get people and information out of the country to the Free French authorities. The route through Spain is difficult. We need additional escape routes to Switzerland. We also need safe places to stay along the way." he explained. "Can you help?" I agreed of course. Albert said he would arrange to have a inspection visit to my museum in a week or so. The Director of the Museum of Man would arrange the trip. He would look over my sites and see if they would be useful.
I suddenly had a chill foreboding. What if Albert was an agent of the Vichy or the Germans. I was ready to go back to my lodging and he asked me to have another drink in the library. His apartment was small and he led me to his wine cabinet. The cabinet opened to reveal another room. He flicked on a switch and I saw a small printing press.
"Did you know my father was a printer?" he asked. "I used to set type as a boy." On the walls and piled on the floor were copies of the underground newspaper "Victoire!" They were dated later in the week and hadn't been distributed yet. The paper was a sensation in Paris since it carried the news from the BBC as well as letters from DeGaul. "I swore I would never set type again, but here I am working every night."
"It is very dangerous." I said. "They will shoot you!" I felt a wave of relief to know Albert was a leader in the underground.
"I don't want to shock you," he said, "but they probably would shoot you too!" He laughed. "We are lucky. As homosexuals we have no wives and children. We can be brave without worry. We are the only ones to die." Frankly I hadn't thought of myself as a homosexual. I was a man who likes sex with other men. I also didn't think of myself as a spy and I didn't want to be a martyr for France and Liberty. What he said was true however. I was a homosexual and a spy and, unless I was very lucky, I might become a martyr.
"I think I would rather live for France than die for her." I said. "But I am glad to know I have been sucking the cock of a true French Patriot."
"Essence de Cocque" the Champagne of Man Seed!" Albert said with his normal world weary voice. "This work has distracted me and I just now realized I have failed to drain the sexual plumbing for two weeks." We returned to his bedroom and enjoyed the rest of the night.
Two weeks later, Albert arrived in an official car with two companions and a chauffeur. Emile, the chauffeur looked like a wrestler or boxer. He acted the role of a servile chauffeur unconvincingly. Louis De le Porte was an effete looking art historian and exhibit designer from the Louvre. The final member of the quartet was Jean Nouvelle, another curator. I soon found out he was Jan Noveki who had been at the National Museum in Warsaw. He had been an officer in the Polish Army who had escaped to France.
They stayed at my house and after looking over my small museum, we went on a hiking trip into the mountains. It was difficult hiking, our Neanderthal ancestors must have felt difficult access protected them. Curiously De la Porte had no problem, unlike his stronger looking companions. He climbed over the rocks as if he were a native of the area.
I led them behind a rock out cropping and then into a narrow crevice. At the rear of the crevice was a fissure, just wide enough to let a man slip through. Two meters into the crack, the space expanded into a chamber. Before us was the brilliant painting of the Blue Bear, a superb work of art. I shone my light on it. Alan, Louis and Jan gasped in amazement.
"You presented this in Dresden and it didn't get publicized?" Alan said. "It's extraordinary."
"I found it the summer after my Dresden trip." I replied. "No one, except for me, knows about it."
"It's a wonder." Louis said. I took them down a dark tunnel like place and then turned to the side and went down another constricted space.
"Am I crazy, or is it getting warmer?" Emil asked.
"That is another surprise of this place." I said as we turned a corner. We could hear the sound of running water. We were now in a large cavern. It was broad and high and had several springs running through the room and a thermal pool. There was the faint smell of sulfur. There were cave paintings here also, but only of the imprints of hands. There was no other figural work.
"This is great! Emile said. "While the traitors take the baths at Vichy, we have found our own spa. It's beautiful here." Emile had been quiet and seemed out of place in the group, but he was enthusiastic about the cave.
"We can say the place is decorated in Neanderthal Nouveau!" Louis suggested. Everyone laughed.
"There is one more room." I said. The water from the thermal pool disappeared onto a crack in the floor. To one side there was another small opening. We passed through it into a domed chamber with a pool of hot water occupying three quarters of the room. There was no way for the heat to easily escape so it was hot, rather than warm.
"Is the water safe?" Louis asked.
"Perfectly. I had it tested. It isn't drinkable because of the high mineral content, but it is the same water you find in a spa." I said. "The water in the cool springs in the outer chamber is potable. There is some supply of fresh air here, because it doesn't smell, but I don't know where that is." We had two oil lamps, so the lighting was dim. On the other side of the room there was a hulking figure, covered in hair and bear like.
I started, then realized it was Emile. He had stripped naked and was looking for a place to get in the water. He found a place and stepped carefully into the pool.
"Come on in and join me!" he yelled. "The water is great!"
Louis and Jan were soon in the water. I was more cautious. I was no longer sure of my swimming skills after the automobile accident of several years earlier. My fears were groundless, the water was hot, but not uncomfortably so and salty, so you had a tendency to float on the top. In the dim light I couldn't see much other than the figures of my companions floating in the water.
My impressions of the men changed during the trip. Albert was every inch a Parisian and uncomfortable anywhere else. Jan was uneasy in the cave. I realized he must have suffered from claustrophobia. Caves frightened him.
Emile looked like a cave man and was entirely at home. Most surprising was Louis. He liked to affect the mannerisms of an effete pretty boy, but was physically strong and agile and seemed at home in the rough conditions of the cave. Emile and Louis could not have been more different physically, but they were both at home in the Blue Bear Cave.