CapturedbytheSS, page 12
Silence. My breath hitches as he strokes me.
“You like being with me. You like being in my custody.”
They’re not questions and he hasn’t drugged me, but I still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.” But I don’t want to like it.
Without saying anything, he rolls away from me and then turns on a lamp. I blink several times at the light. Wordlessly, he drapes his discarded t-shirt over the shade, dimming the light. I have no idea what he’s doing. He walks across the room and then leaves the bedroom. Lights in the hall flick on. I hear him moving around in another room. The lights in the hall once again go out, leaving only the dim light of the lamp with his t-shirt over it.
When he returns, I can tell he’s holding something, but I don’t know what. I think he’s intentionally hiding whatever it is behind him. After climbing back into bed, he takes hold of my right wrist and pulls it up toward the headboard. I realize he’s holding cut sections of rope. I’m not sure, but I think they’re the same pieces of rope he restrained me with on the first night.
“What are you doing?” I ask. A ripple of genuine concern washes through me as he ties my right wrist to the headboard.
“I’m tying you up,” he declares simply.
“Why?”
“Because I want to, and I like how you look tied up. Now stop asking me questions, American.”
After tugging my left wrist up, he knots the rope tightly to the headboard, pinning my limb. The rough rope digs into my flesh. I pull against the restraints, but I quickly find out he hasn’t left any wiggle room for escape. Somehow, being tied up on a bed like this freaks me out. It reminds me a little too much of certain films I had to watch. Squeezing my eyes shut, I can feel myself trembling beneath him. His body is like a warm blanket over mine.
“It’s all right,” he murmurs against my ear. “You know I won’t hurt you.”
For some reason, I do believe him. Aside from a little arm twisting and a few needle pricks, he’s yet to actually harm me, but I can’t easily shake off a lifetime of training.
“Please,” I whisper. “I don’t like being tied up like this. I didn’t like it the first night either.”
“It reminds you of what they told you would happen, doesn’t it?”
Sometimes, I feel he’s seen the same damn films I have.
“Yes,” I whisper. “There were a couple of really vicious rape films they made me watch where a woman was tied to a bed.” I’m not sure why I told him that. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted those films freaked me out.
He murmurs something. I have the impression he has indeed seen what I’m referring to. “For now, just believe that I won’t really harm you. It’s all right if you’re afraid. I just like seeing you tied up, that’s all. It makes you look so vulnerable. Besides, it pleases me to see you this way.”
I squelch my protests and simply try to relax. I don’t want to provoke my captor, but oddly enough, a part of me also wants to please him.
Shifting around a bit, he straddles my hips and merely studies me. I involuntarily tug against my restraints. A slow smile spreads across his face. Uncertain what to do or what to feel, I look away from him.
With a sigh, he returns to his previous position over me. His lips brush against mine before turning into a familiar, parted-lip kiss. Almost immediately, his kiss makes my nervousness dissolve. If I weren’t tied up, I would embrace him. His tongue slides past my lips, claiming my mouth. Every thought evaporates.
Backing away slightly, he breaks our kiss and shifts around a bit. His firm lips caress my left nipple. I reluctantly giggle from the light touch. If I weren’t tied up, I’d push him away. A bit firmer, his lips take my nipple in his mouth. A warm, wet tongue glides over the sensitive flesh of my areola. The tip of his tongue mercilessly teases my erect nipple. I gasp, a bit overwhelmed. I’ve never had anyone lick or suck my nipples. It feels weird, more tickly than arousing.
I tug harder against my restraints. Another soft giggle escapes me.
Blissfully, he stops. His knuckles rasp over my other nipple. I like his knuckles better.
Shifting around, he hovers over me at arm’s length. His eyes settle on my tied wrists. I’m not sure what he sees. His cock prods at my slit. I tug against my restraints as his thick arousal stretches my snug passage.
“You are so tight,” he mutters, slowly pushing his cock inside me. “You feel so good.” He sinks down and settles on his elbows, trapping me under him. His lips barely graze mine.
He slowly inserts himself as I twist against my restraints. He tries to pull out a bit, but my passage is like a warm fist around him and his partial withdrawal hurts a little. I whimper in response.
“Shh, it’s okay.” He gently kisses and laves my ear. “Just relax.” His tongue draws a line down my neck to my shoulder.
The feel of his hard organ filling my passage excites and arouses me in a way that truly shocks me. How can I like this? Guilt filters through me as fresh tears sting my eyes. Although it takes a great deal of effort, I manage not to sob. I turn my face away, hoping he doesn’t notice my tears.
His hand caresses my cheek. His nimble fingers take hold of my jaw and turn my face up. His thumb swabs the hot tears streaming down my temples.
“It’s all right, American. I won’t keep you tied up very long. Don’t cry.”
Relief washes over me. He doesn’t know why I’m crying. He thinks it’s because I’m tied up.
His lips tenderly brush against mine. “Just relax.” His gentle words and soft kisses actually do make me feel better, and I manage to lose myself in the moment. I don’t quite understand it, but I feel I’m surrendering myself to him. And strangely enough, the idea excites me.
Hot wetness gushes from me, coating his inserted cock. He groans softly.
Again, he patiently pulls out a bit. His cock glides from me without tugging at my passage. He slowly pushes himself back in.
“Oh,” I groan, twisting against the ropes. I writhe helplessly beneath him as he slowly fucks me. I’m not sure why I feel compelled to struggle a bit against my restraints, but the action seems to please him.
His movements become more steady and rhythmic as his thick cock glides in and out of my passage. With each thrust, he grinds against my clit. His expert movements pull a quick climax from me, which is something he’s been able to do from the beginning. As usual, he doesn’t stop when I come. But instead, he continues to fuck me, turning my release into a near-painful and dragged-out ordeal where I’m forced to come over and over again.
I look up at him, silently pleading him to let my release find an end.
The expression on his face is focused and driven. His lips gently graze mine as he works. I have the impression he’s going to drag this out as long as possible. Quivering beneath him, I alternate between panting and whimpering. I tug against my restraints as hard as I can. The muscles in my stomach and legs tighten and cramp painfully.
“Please,” I whisper.
He groans deeply. I feel him reach his own breaking point, spilling his hot seed inside me as he shudders over me. With a final, brutal thrust, he finally stops. I cry out in relief as my prolonged orgasm finally reaches an end. I honestly think we’re finished as he pulls himself from me. But his thumb suddenly presses against my clit as he slips his hand between us. Sliding over my slick folds, his thumb rolls and pushes against my overly sensitive nub.
I try to close my legs, not entirely certain I can handle much more, but he’s still positioned between my thighs. I yank and twist against my restraints, but the action only serves to excite him. His touch forces me to come again and again, over and over, until I’m literally sobbing and screaming in ecstasy.
Resting my face against his shoulder, I feel only sleepy and thoroughly spent. I’m no longer restrained, but I have no memory of him untying me.
“What happened?” I whisper.
“You fainted.”
I’m not sure what exactly I hear in his tone. Satisfaction, maybe. He sits up and retrieves something from the nightstand near him. With a low groan, he leans over me. He gently drags a cool, wet cloth over my tear-stained face.
“I must say it’s quite satisfying to make you faint from ecstasy.”
A ripple of genuine concern washes through me. I guess he senses something from me because he adds, “Don’t worry. I won’t push you so hard every time.”
Every time? Just how long is this going to last? He kinda makes this sound long-term. I want to ask what he means by that, but I’m too exhausted and confused.
He patiently swabs my face before passing the wet cloth over my folds and inner thighs. Drowsiness washes over me as he mops away our hot juices. I’m not uncomfortable, and I don’t mind the wetness still oozing from my cleft, but I sense he’s enjoying tending to me. He even scoots my limp body closer to him, so I’m not lying in the wet spot.
Once he finishes, he sets the rag on the nightstand.
“Come here,” he whispers, taking me against his broad chest. The cool, wet cloth chilled me a bit, and I cling to him, shivering. He holds me tighter, warming me, and I drift to sleep in his arms.
Chapter Five
Sleep falls slowly from me. Sighing, I roll over, searching for my captor. My hand slides across the mattress but finds no one. A bit reluctantly, I open my eyes. The sun is up, but I can tell it’s early. Sitting up, I spot my captor in the chair nearest the bed, the same chair he watched me in last night. I have no idea how long he’s been there. He’s dressed in a fresh uniform. The rim of his hat is shadowing his eyes, but I can tell he’s staring intensely at me.
I’m tempted to say something, but I sense that speaking right now may not be a good idea.
“Good morning,” he whispers.
“Good morning.”
Several minutes of silence passes.
“I very much enjoyed last night,” he replies evenly.
I have the impression he doesn’t want me to respond. After several minutes of simply watching me, he stands. He cocks his head as he approaches me, seemingly angry about something. I hear his boots hitting the hardwood floor. He stops by the bed, and I notice his black bag is unzipped.
I think he has more questions for me.
“Why are you so different?” I have the impression he’s not really asking me a question. I think he’s just thinking aloud. He turns and eyes me darkly as he unwraps another syringe. “Why are you so sensual? Hmm? I’ve never seen that trait in an American spy.” He drops the needle’s plastic cap, letting it clatter to the floor. “I’ve seen vulgar, calculating, manipulative, raunchy…but never sensual.”
I offer no resistance as he takes my hand and sterilizes my wrist. A bit roughly, almost brutally, he injects the needle. I wince from the hard jab. I don’t even try to fight the effect of the drug. The all-too-familiar darkness lingers over me once again. I have no idea what he wants to ask me. His fingers gently lift my closed eyelid. Similar to before, there’s only darkness in my vision.
“Were you sent here to confuse me?”
Confuse him? “No.”
“Were you sent here to seduce me?”
Didn’t he already ask me that the other night? “No.”
“Are you a special agent or a member of an elite group?”
“No.”
“Why did you suck my cock?”
You told me to. “I wanted to.”
Silence.
“Did you enjoy it?”
I don’t want to answer that question. Can’t I have a few secrets? “Yes.”
I hear him take a slow, uneven breath.
“Although your answers are certainly interesting, I’m no closer to determining why you’re so unique.” I hear him flipping through the pages of a notebook. “I know you were tested repeatedly from kindergarten to the second grade and you were probably selected by the age of seven, but do you remember having a surgical procedure done when you were a child?
“It would have taken place shortly after your parents received payment. It would have been sometime in the third grade. You were probably about eight, and it would have included several follow-up procedures.”
“No.”
I find his question odd.
“Think hard, American. It’s important. Do you remember one or both of your parents repeatedly taking you to a place that looked like a hospital?”
“Yes.”
“You do?”
He sounds surprised.
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did these trips to the hospital occur after your parents came into wealth?”
“Yes.”
He murmurs something. I hear rustling. A pen scribbles across paper.
“What is your most vivid memory of that hospital?”
“A nurse always gave me candy and told me I did well.”
“What else do you remember?” He sounds intrigued. “Tell me everything.”
“The smell of alcohol and long, white halls and…toys, they always had toys for me to play with in the waiting room.”
“Anything else?” he prods.
“I don’t think so.”
How does he even know about that hospital? I only have vague memories of that mysterious place.
“Candy and toys,” he barely murmurs. He sounds angry about something, but I don’t think he’s mad at me. “Did you usually leave the hospital feeling sick?”
“Yes.”
“Was the sickness usually accompanied by a severe headache or a migraine?”
How the hell does he know that? “Yes.”
“Did you ever experience any ocular hemorrhaging that the nurses may have called bloody tears?”
“Yes.” That usually only occurred at the hospital, though it happened once at school. I was in the cafeteria with hundreds of other students. An older boy teased me and called it stigmata. A teacher calmly took me to the school nurse, who let me lie down in her office for the afternoon. I think the teachers punished the boy who teased me and warned the others not to say anything because no one ever mentioned it again after that day.
I have no idea why he’s asking me about this. I was always told it was nothing and not to worry about it. My mother was usually more concerned about the blood staining my clothes. It was never a source of stress or concern to anyone, so I never worried about it.
I hear the pen whispering across paper. The pages of his notebook rustle slightly. “All right. I have no more questions for you today. The drug will wear off in a moment.”
After several minutes, the darkness lifts and finally dissolves. When I open my eyes, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Why were you asking me about that hospital?”
“It isn’t important.”
I want to ask more questions, but his tone is somewhat final…and borderline threatening. I push back my questions.
He places everything neatly back in his bag before zipping it up. Without a word to me, he takes it and his notebook and walks from the room. I hear his footfalls going down the hall. He returns without the items.
“In case you’re wondering, we’re not finished yet.”
I watch him retrieve the sections of cut rope from the nightstand as he sits on the bed. He takes my hand and gently brushes his thumb over my wrist. He even plants a soft kiss where he stabbed me with the needle. I think he regrets his rougher treatment earlier with the syringe. He pulls my wrist to the wrought iron headboard before tying it firmly in place. Shifting around a bit, he straddles me before repeating the same thing to my other wrist.
As he works, my eyes drift over his uniform. He’s still wearing his boots, which I find a bit odd since he’s in bed with me. His sidearm is once again missing. I think he makes a point not to wear it around me because I haven’t seen it on him since the night he arrested me.
But there’s something else today, something different on his uniform. A sheathed dagger is clipped to his belt. The casing is black with silver trim. I’ve never seen it before. The handle of the dagger has a silver skull on the end, though it’s a little different from the skull pin on his hat.
After he finishes tying me down, he leans back a bit and merely studies me. His gloved hands settle around my rib cage before sliding down around my waist. As usual, I feel nervous and uncomfortable about being tied down, which I think he likes. Swallowing hard, I will myself calm and merely wait. His hands leave me before he pulls the dagger from the sheath. I shift around a bit, feeling uncomfortable.
“Don’t move. I want you to stay very still,” he whispers.
My eyes meet his.
He presses the flat part of the blade against the side of my neck.
I don’t even breathe. The blade is cool against my flesh. I close my eyes, wondering what he’s going to do next. After several very stressful seconds, my mind starts to function once again. Filleting me to death would be awfully messy, and I don’t think he’d do it in his own bed.
I cautiously open my eyes. He’s not even looking at me. He’s focused solely on the dagger. I can tell by his body language and facial expression that murder isn’t his motive here. He moves the blade slightly and just barely presses the tip under my chin. I swallow hard as my heart races. Finally, he pulls the blade away, and I let out a heavy sigh of relief.
As if intensely cold, I start trembling. He re-sheaths the dagger before settling over me. Warm lips nuzzle against my ear.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m not even sure if he wants me to. He gently kisses my neck exactly where the blade was. Logically, I know I should be quiet and just let him do what he wants, but I can’t help but ask, “Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
I have the impression that what just happened was somehow important to him, as if it were a ritual he had to do. With a sigh, he sinks down against my body. I can feel his warm breath on my neck. His clean and unique scent invades my nostrils. He doesn’t say or do anything. There’s only the quiet sound of our breathing. My heart finally stops racing.
