CapturedbytheSS, page 11
I place my hands on the chair’s back, bend over and then gracefully lift my leg. My face comes within inches of his tunic and t-shirt as I bend over. His distinct and clean scent invades my nostrils. Almost immediately, wetness pools between my thighs. I immediately straighten up, a bit surprised his scent is causing such an intense reaction from me.
Not at all able to stop myself, I slowly pick up his t-shirt and take in his scent. The memory of his hands and warm breath on my flesh invade my thoughts.
While clutching his t-shirt, my other hand brushes over the black tunic. Its texture is familiar. Feelings of shame immediately crash down on me, and I hurriedly put the t-shirt back down where it was. Frozen in place, I can’t stop my other hand from stroking the tunic. Suddenly angry at my actions, I yank my hand away as if the uniform is on fire.
Oh for God’s sake, I am not going to fondle the man’s uniform! I have some restraint.
Embarrassed by my lapse in judgment, I walk to the bathroom and then rinse off my face with some cool water. It helps, and I march back to the table, determined to merely read the day away. I retrieve the thickest book he left me. I don’t even look at the uniform as I walk to the bed with the book. With a huff, I sit down on the plush mattress. Sitting cross-legged, I place the book in my lap and then glare at the words. I only read a few sentences before my treacherous eyes lift up.
I stare at the uniform.
For the first time in my life, I feel lonely. I’m accustomed to spending my time by myself, but I’ve rarely, if ever, felt lonely. But today, well, I miss him, and I hate myself for missing him.
I look toward the window. It’s bright outside, albeit a little gray with some snow flurries. He said he’d be home after dark. Would it be so horrible to place his clothes next to me? I could tell him I got cold and used them for extra cover if he noticed they were disturbed. Of course, I’d put them back on the chair before he came home.
I retrieve both the t-shirt and the tunic. The black tunic is heavier than I thought it would be. I think it’s made out of wool. Again, its texture is familiar. Swallowing hard, I position his clothes next to me on the mattress. I turn the uniform in a way that I can’t see the swastika on the red armband or the SS insignia on the lapel. This is already confusing enough.
I’m torn over which garment I like better. The t-shirt is heavier with his distinct scent, but the tunic’s texture reminds me of holding him.
I’m crazy, I know. It’s one thing when he seduces me, but to voluntarily cuddle up with his clothes is a bit weird. But the scent on his t-shirt and the feel of his uniform make me feel less lonely.
Oddly enough, it’s a bit more relaxing to just enjoy his memory and his scent like this. I’m not as nervous as I am when I’m with him. I press my face against his clothes, remembering the feel of his hands on my body, his lips on my neck.
A dull ache settles between my thighs. I want him to touch me. I need him to touch me. Closing my eyes, I envision him with me. My fingers rake through my curls, grazing the sensitive flesh of my slickening folds. I swallow hard as I remember his tongue on my ear.
I roll over on my back, pulling my hand from my center and then gently strum over my rock-hard nipples. The moment my fingers graze the erect peaks, there’s a jolt between my thighs.
In all my life, I’m not sure I’ve ever been more aroused than I am at this moment. I feel a certain freedom in my current solitude as if I’m exploring an aspect of my sexuality I never knew existed. His scent is inspiring me to try new things I’ve never done with my own fingers.
I tenderly circle and then pinch each of my hardened nipples. The sensation hurts a little, but it also feels good. I only wish he were here to pinch and toy with my erect peaks.
My hands slide down my stomach and stop at my thighs. My fingers gingerly part my folds, exposing my clit to the air. My nub is throbbing. Hot wetness slowly oozes from me as I keep teasing myself.
Somehow, denying my body the pleasure of a quick and easy release is more satisfying. My sheath painfully clenches and releases, searching for something to fill it, aching for the warm cock that so recently claimed it the night before.
I can’t even stop my fingers from slowly pushing into my slick passage. It’s not nearly as good as his thick arousal, but it helps. I pull my fingers from me, shocked at how hot and wet they are. I’m not sure why, but I feel compelled to push myself even further. I feel so wanton and lustful. I spread my thighs as wide as I can. My fingers smear my warm juices, coating the tender skin between my sheath and anus.
Steven tried to have anal sex with me once, but it hurt like hell, so we never tried again. One of my slick fingers gently pushes against my anus while my other hand massages my drenched folds.
In all my life, I’ve never explored myself so zealously. More wetness oozes from me as my fingers tenderly claim my passages. A twinge of guilt suddenly hits me. I almost feel I’m betraying him, as if my fingers are exploring territory that doesn’t really belong to me, though I know that’s utterly ridiculous. It’s my body, and I can touch it if I want. I’m not sure why, but a part of me disagrees. I push aside the odd thought.
An incredibly intense orgasm rocks through me, but I don’t drag out my release the way he does. Instead, I stop when I’ve had enough.
Groaning, I pull my fingers from me. My hands are coated with my drying juices, so I get up and quickly wash them in the bathroom sink. With an appreciative sigh, I crawl back into bed and cuddle up with his clothes. Sleepiness washes over me as I bury my face against his t-shirt.
* * * * *
Half-asleep, I take in the scent of his t-shirt beneath me. Erotic dreams linger as I sleepily stroke and clutch his tunic. The memory of his breath on my neck washes through me. Jeez, I can practically feel it. There, I can feel it again. New desire awakens in me.
I groan softly against his clothes, wanting him, needing him. My sheath painfully clenches and releases, searching once again for something to fill it…searching for him. Still half-asleep, my fingers slide between my thighs. I cup my mound and apply just enough pressure to coax a quick and blissful release. I moan softly and breathe a sleepy sigh of relief.
Inhaling deeply, I cuddle up happily with the garments and try to go back to sleep, but the hairs on the back of my neck prickle slightly. There’s a soft noise. Something’s not quite right. Before I completely wake up, I realize the breath I just felt on my neck wasn’t a memory. Oh God, he was watching me.
Shaking away sleep, I discover the room is dark. Oh crap, it’s late! Startled, I sit up. He’s kneeling on the floor next to the bed. I have no idea how long he’s been there or what exactly he saw, but I know he saw enough.
The light from the hall is spilling through the open door, illuminating both me and his uniform on the bed. Off to the side, he’s hidden in shadow.
“How long have you been there?” I demand. Feelings of shame and embarrassment crash down on me.
He doesn’t say anything. His silence scares me.
After several minutes, he finally speaks. “Do that again.”
“What?”
“I just want to watch you.” Without another word and without turning on the lights, he walks around the bed to the other side. His form blocks the incoming light for only a moment. I hear him readjusting the chair by the bed before he sits down. I can just barely make out his silhouette in the dark room. Unlike him, I’m bathed in a rectangle of light that’s shining through the open door from the hall.
“Go on,” he urges.
“I…I can’t.”
“Yes you can. Close your eyes and put your head back down.”
“Please, I can’t.”
“Do it, fräulein,” he orders. His words are cold and demanding. It’s almost a threat.
Fear and nervousness pushes away my desire. Tears pool in my eyes as I look away from him.
I hear him sigh. I think he’s angry with himself. “It’s all right, American,” he whispers a bit kinder. “You missed me today, didn’t you?”
Struggling to breath, I reluctantly answer. “Yes.”
“The scent on my uniform and the feel of it reminded you of me, didn’t it?”
I shift around a bit, feeling exposed and uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“You touched yourself for sexual gratification, and you thought of me, didn’t you?”
I hesitate a moment. I know he already knows that, but once again I sense he likes asking questions and having his questions answered. I can tell he’s waiting for me to respond. “Yes,” I finally whisper.
“Try to relax, American,” he gently instructs. “I won’t expect you to climax, but at least touch yourself for me. Show me what you did and how you did it.”
That request doesn’t sound quite as impossible. I could at least show him, even if I can’t come from it. Of course, I’m not sure why I want to show him, but I do. And I think he only caught the tamer version of what I just did while half-asleep. I’m not sure I could repeat what I did earlier this afternoon…at least, not in front of him.
Exhaling deeply, I turn my face away from him and from the light. Burying my face against the soft cloth of his t-shirt, I inhale the familiar scent I’ve breathed in all afternoon. My hand strokes over the tunic as my breathing slightly quickens. Much to my relief, he doesn’t say anything. I think he’s even taking shallow breaths to keep from disturbing me.
The all-too-familiar combination of his scent and his clothes’ texture wrap me in blissful and familiar warmth, a feeling I’ve enjoyed and basked in all afternoon. Much to my surprise, my desire reawakens. I wait for him to say or do something, but he doesn’t. A strange giddiness washes over me. I’m suddenly thrilled by the idea of him watching me, though I have no idea why. Only moments ago, the idea of him watching frightened me. But now that he’s backed off a bit, I feel I might be able to actually climax.
I roll on my side, wanting him to see what I’m doing, wanting him to see where I put my hand. My other arm is folded lazily over my eyes, blocking out the light. I can feel his eyes on me. I detect a slight hitch in his breathing, though I sense he’s trying to hide it from me.
My fingers just barely graze over one of my nipples before slipping down between my thighs. I hear him take another sharp breath. When he exhales, it’s ragged and uneven. My fingernails rake through my curls, and I groan softly. Swallowing hard, I fold my fingers toward my clit. I gently stroke my aching nub, applying just enough pressure to find a quick and intense release. I cry out softly, and I hear him take another uneven breath. After several minutes, I merely wait for whatever he’s going to say or do next.
I hear him approaching.
“Come here,” he orders quietly. He kneels on the bed and then gently pulls me off the mattress and into the dark. Wordlessly, he pushes me to my knees on the floor. I know what he wants. I hear him unzip his trousers before his hand slips under my hair and firmly clasps the back of my neck.
I don’t have any experience in oral sex. Steven used to tell me he liked the feel of my tight pussy, and he never asked me to do it. I feel a bit lost, but I’m willing to try. My seduction teacher actually gave me a lot of advice on this.
The blunt tip of his erect cock prods at my lips. Closing my eyes, I open my mouth. He pulls me gently toward him. It feels a bit awkward and foreign for a man’s cock to stretch my lips, to have a thick arousal fill my mouth almost to the back of my throat. But it’s not overwhelming.
As if sensing my inexperience, my captor offers me instruction.
“Wrap your lips around me,” he whispers. “Suck me.”
Sealing my lips around smooth skin, I gently suck him and pull back slightly on his erection. He groans in response, which I take as a sign of approval. But I think he prefers more of his cock inserted because he quickly adds, “Try to take a little more of me in your mouth—” He pulls me toward him again. “The way you had me before.”
His hand is warm and supportive on the back of my neck. Slackening my lips, I take in more of his arousal, stopping just before the tip touches the back of my throat. My tongue naturally glides out flat on the underside of his organ. I’m a little surprised at just how easy this is coming for me. Again, he groans in response.
Like him, I think I prefer more of his cock inserted. The idea of his arousal filling my mouth and claiming this virgin territory strangely arouses me. Balancing myself on my knees, I gently strum my hardened nipples. Since we’re in the shadows, I don’t think he knows what I’m doing, which I’m currently grateful for. It shocks me how lustful this man makes me. Hot liquid slowly oozes from me as I keep sucking and working his member.
The dull ache in my pussy becomes too great for me to ignore. I slip my fingers into my dripping cleft and desperately stroke my clit.
I can’t believe how much I missed him today. I’ve never ached for anyone or longed for someone, but I ached for him today. I suffered without him. I had to make do with only his scent on the uniform, and now, well, I’m so relieved and happy he’s here that I’d do anything to please him.
“I want you to swallow when I come,” he rasps.
I barely register the words as warm fluid spills in my mouth. I mindlessly swallow. His release is enough to push me over the edge. With his cock still in my mouth, I moan slightly as I quietly climax.
He’s silent for a moment. Backing away, he pulls himself from me.
“Were you touching yourself?”
“Yes,” I whisper without thinking.
He chuckles. “Naughty girl. I didn’t say you could do that.”
A brief wave of panic hits me. Did I do something wrong? I guess he senses something amiss because he quickly adds, “It’s all right, American. I forgive you.” His fingers rake through my hair. “I know you’re untrained.”
Untrained? Untrained at what? Before I can ask what he means by that, he gathers me up off the floor.
He leads me back to the bed where he has me slip under the covers.
He doesn’t follow me under the blankets. Instead, I hear him taking off his uniform. He walks away and then turns off the light in the hall. The room turns black. I hear him come back.
With a sigh, he slips under the blankets with me. I bury my face against his bare, muscular chest. I’ve never felt such an overwhelming need to be near someone. His arms blissfully wrap around me. I know he recently climaxed, so sex may have to wait, but just lying next to him in the dark like this is kinda…nice.
“I should leave you home alone more often,” he mutters.
I only swallow hard at that statement. He makes it sound as if this is going to last longer than I initially thought.
“And what else did you do today, American, other than curl up with my uniform?”
“I went through your closet and all your drawers.”
“I’m not surprised. Did my little spy find anything interesting?”
“I found a wedding band in your drawer and a wedding album in the closet.”
“Hmm, I didn’t know I had a wedding album in my closet.” After pausing for a moment, he adds, “Oh, I think I kept it because it had some nice pictures of my friends.”
“Are you still married?” I ask.
He chuckles at the question. “No,” he answers simply.
“How long were you married?”
He sighs. “A few years. It didn’t work out.” A bit bitterly, he adds, “She was only interested in being married to an SS officer. Apparently, it opens lots of social doors.”
I find it strange he’s offering so much information. I think finding me with his uniform knocked him off guard. I’m tempted to ask another question, but I think he wants to keep talking. I’m not sure what exactly I sense from my captor. Despair? Anger, maybe? I’m hoping silence prods him to speak again.
“It’s strange,” he mutters, “that you’re asking me about her. I haven’t thought about her in so long until this morning when I was securing your leash to the bed, and it reminded me how—”
He stops suddenly. I have no idea what he’s trying to say. I sense his mood darkening even further. Unfortunately, I’m not learning anything about my captor. Nothing he’s saying is making any sense. Why would chaining me to his bed remind him of his ex-wife? He wouldn’t do the same thing to his wife before going to work.
“What’s your name?” I ask cautiously, trying to learn something a bit more useful. I’m hoping he keeps talking to me.
He only chuckles. I think my question snapped him out of whatever dark mood he was slipping into. “You’re very inquisitive tonight, American. But you don’t need to know my name.”
Somehow, I knew he wouldn’t tell me. Since he won’t tell me his name, I try to think of more general questions to ask instead.
“Will you answer a few more of my questions?”
“Maybe. What do you want to know?”
I don’t have a specific question but talking in the dark like this is nice. I’ve never just lay in bed in the dark and talked to someone. It’s very intimate. I scramble for a question and quickly come up with one. “What did you do today?”
Again, he seems amused by my question. “My day was actually quite dull. Mostly meetings about budgets and financial reports. Nothing exciting. Most of my days are very mundane. I don’t usually get to interrogate lovely American spies.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Although I did have an appointment with your driver this morning.”
A wave of anger crashes down on me. “And what did he want?”
“To receive his reward of course. The empire does offer generous rewards for spies, you know.”
I don’t say anything.
“I actually keyed in the electronic transfer of funds myself. Usually, my secretary handles those details after I give the authorization, but with you, I wanted to handle the transaction personally.”
His tone is strange. I have the impression that paying my driver’s reward was the highlight of his day.
“I very much enjoyed paying your driver. It’s the empire’s money, of course, but I couldn’t help but feel I was purchasing you at the time.” His hand runs firmly down my back. His touch is strangely possessive.
