CapturedbytheSS, page 17
“Do you know how much you cost the empire?” His tone is harder and colder than I’ve ever heard it. And oddly enough, the slight threat in his voice is thrilling to me.
“No,” I barely whisper.
“American spies don’t come cheap and your little cunt is going to pay for your reward.”
He smacks my folds even harder with the crop. My folds are burning. He gently wedges the thinner sticklike part of the crop between my folds and grinds it against my clit. The action edges me closer and closer to orgasm.
He abruptly pulls the tool away. “No, you’re not coming yet.” He smacks my pussy again. It’s agony to be so close to orgasm and then disallowed to come. He administers three more hard smacks with the crop. I yelp and whimper with each sharp smack.
I hear him stand up and move about. I sense him kneeling in front of me. His gloved hand cups my tortured pussy. As he cups my mound, he gently kisses my forehead.
“I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
I’m touched by the question. I almost sense he’s pausing what we’re doing to ensure I’m all right. “No, you weren’t too rough. I…I liked it.”
“We continue?”
“I…” I’m not sure what I want.
He chuckles softly. “You’re a novice,” he declares. With one hand still over my mound, his other hand gently cups the side of my face. “We slow down.”
Relief washes over me. I didn’t even realize that was the answer I was looking for. He tenderly strokes my cheek with his thumb as his other hand presses into my folds. He expertly massages my center. I moan softly as he pushes me closer and closer to orgasm. I only hope he lets me come this time.
“Come, American. Come right now.” His words flutter across my forehead.
His order pushes me over the edge. I lean forward slightly as ecstasy washes through me. I cry out as he expertly rubs my throbbing clit. He doesn’t drag out my release but instead stops just before my orgasm turns painful.
I hear him take another uneven and ragged breath as he stands. With my hands still cuffed behind me, I shift around a bit and sit on the floor while squeezing my thighs together. My orgasm is now a pleasant buzz. Several minutes of silence pass. Since I’m still blindfolded, I have no idea what he’s doing. I think he’s just standing nearby, watching me.
“That was beautiful,” he murmurs. “You respond very well to verbal commands.”
I hear him walking away from me. Since I’m robbed of my sight, sounds thunder in my world. The central heating kicks on. Something drags across the floor. I’m not certain, but I think he just moved the camera to my left. He’s approaching me.
“Get back on your knees the way you were. You’re not finished yet,” he declares. I hear him unzip his trousers. I shift around a bit and return to my previous kneeling position. His warm fingers settle behind my neck. I know he’s holding the crop in his other hand because I feel the flat part of it pressing against my back. It’s warm and wet from my juices. He murmurs something approvingly as he trails it over my shoulders.
The tip of his arousal brushes against my lips. Catching his want, I gingerly open my mouth.
“Just relax,” he whispers, slipping his cock between my lips. “You know what I like.”
I seal my lips around him and gently suck his swollen arousal. He groans as the crop traces my shoulder and arm. My tongue flattens across the underside of his erection. His body shudders. The flat part of the crop presses harder into my back. He groans again.
Sucking his cock excites and arouses me, causing my nipples and clit to throb painfully for attention. I’m tempted to stroke myself as I work, but I remember he got cross with me the last time I did that. I ball my hands into fists to keep from stroking myself. I know he’s close. Warm fluid spills in my mouth as his fingers squeeze the back of my neck, and I eagerly swallow.
I can’t explain it, but my captor is becoming more and more important to me. It’s as if he fills some necessary role in my head. I vaguely know he understands something about me sexually that I don’t, but I can’t articulate or define precisely what it is. I gleaned from his books that our relationship has something to do with Domination and submission but in all honesty, I’m a bit mystified about all this.
With a sigh, he backs away slightly. I hear him walk away from me. I think he just turned off the camera.
“Stay where you are,” he orders. I hear him leaving the room.
Being blindfolded is so frustrating.
What is he doing now? Why did he leave?
After several minutes, he returns and then approaches me. He kneels behind me and unlocks my handcuffs. The blindfold comes off seconds later.
“You can stand up now.”
Not entirely sure what’s going on, I stand.
A bit disorientated, I look around. The camera is gone. My captor looks pleased.
“Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me down the hall back to his bedroom. He’s taken off his uniform and is now wearing his tan robe. The bedroom is dark. The heavy curtains are closed, blotting out the midday light. The table that’s usually by the window is once again at the foot of the bed.
The flat-screen plasma television is perched on top of the table again. The screen is blue, and the camera is already hooked up. I guess he wants me to watch what we just did. Nervousness courses through me.
He tethers the leash to my anklet before tucking me under the covers. As he slips the blankets over me, he mutters something about how I’m back where I belong. He walks away and then turns off the lights. There’s only the faint blue glow of the television in the dark room.
After climbing into bed next me, he gathers me in his arms. He aims the small remote at the television, and the screen instantly changes to an image of me. I’m naked, blindfolded and kneeling on the red sheet with the crop in my mouth.
I’m not sure why, but I turn my head and bury my face against his chest again like I did the first time we did this.
“No, I want you to watch, American,” he insists. His fingers turn my face toward the screen.
Swallowing hard, I turn my head and reluctantly look at the television.
He takes my hand and wraps it around his rock-hard cock. I don’t say a word. I think he’s memorizing every detail on the screen.
He doesn’t move a millimeter while the video plays nor does he say anything, though he replays the part where I suck his cock and he mutters, “Perfect.”
The image flickers at the end of the scene. He clicks the camera off, but I see a few frames of his wedding reception before the screen turns blue. Obviously, he continued our video escapade on the same disk he used before. I’m convinced he’s about to roll over and fuck me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rolls toward the nightstand next to him. He retrieves something. It’s a small bottle.
Holding the bottle in one hand, he pulls off the blankets and sheets before pushing them toward the foot of the bed.
“Roll over on your belly,” he whispers.
In an instant, I understand what he wants. I’m not quite as nervous as the first time we had anal sex, though I’m a bit rattled from watching the video. Inhaling deeply, I turn on my belly before burying my face against the pillow. I close my eyes. I hear him flick open the bottle as he kneels next to me. I try to brace myself for whatever he’s about to do. Warm, oily fingers glide across my shoulders and start kneading my tight muscles.
“Oh,” I whisper in surprise.
He doesn’t say anything. His strong, nimble fingers skate across my flesh. I feel him locate knots in my shoulders, and he patiently presses and rolls his fingers over them. It feels good, but it almost hurts a little. Each time his fingers pass over the knots, I wince.
“Hmm, this is going to take some time. I don’t think I’ll be able to work all this out tonight, but I’ll make it better.”
I wasn’t expecting a massage. “Thank you,” I mutter, turning my head.
“Shh, don’t talk.”
I close my eyes and let his fingers work my knotted muscles.
His hands slowly slip down my back and then settle on each of my ass cheeks. His oily fingers plunge into my cleft and glide over my anus. His massage helped me relax a bit, and I think he senses it.
“Turn on your side a little and bend your knee.”
I shift around as he gently guides me into the position he wants. When he has me situated, I’m basically on my stomach but tilted a bit to my side. My bent knee is angling my ass up and slightly parting my cheeks.
One of his strong, well-lubed fingers slips between my cheeks and presses gently against my anus. A soft whimper escapes me as his finger pushes slowly inside me. His lips nuzzle my ear as he works.
He murmurs something reassuring as he eases a second finger inside me. My breath hitches.
I think he’s using a different lubricant than he used the first time. This one feels lighter and less goopy. As it did the first time, his gentle toying is arousing me.
The images from the video haunt me as he slowly stretches my anus. Fresh feelings of shame and guilt filter through me. His tongue caresses my ear as his fingers delve deeper.
Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and pretend this is all just a dream, as I did the first time he took me to his bed because…there’s a part of me that can’t accept any of this. More than anything, I wish I could see my captor as just a man, but I can’t. As much as I’ve tried, I can’t forget he’s a Nazi and a member of the SS. And I think that may be the point of the videos and why he wears his uniform in them. He doesn’t want me to forget. The guilt and shame turn to confusion as I start trembling next to him. He presses his chest against my back as he nuzzles my ear.
“I know you don’t want to like this, American,” he whispers. The fingers impaling my ass delve deeper, and I whimper as a spear of slight pain hits me.
“Shh, it’s all right.” He nuzzles against me and gently kisses the back of my neck. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so confused and vulnerable while feeling so safe and protected at the same time. But oddly enough, it’s not a bad feeling. It’s actually strangely arousing.
His expert touch pushes away all thought and reason, leaving only desire and want. Panting in need, I cup my mound, desperate for release.
“Mm-mm,” he murmurs disapprovingly. “Your body belongs to me now, not you. Pull your hand away or I’ll have to punish you.”
Punish? A bit nervous about a possible punishment, I slip my hand away and clutch the pillow.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
His fingers gently pump in and out of my ass. I quiver in need as he slowly works.
He pulls his fingers from me and then slides out of bed. He tugs me gently toward him. When he has me the way he wants, I’m bent over the side of the bed with my feet on the floor. I press my face into the mattress as his arousal prods at my anus. His breath flutters across my neck as his cock pushes into my tight but carefully prepared passage.
His erection stretches my entrance, causing just a hint of pain. Groaning, he slowly inserts the entire length of his thick arousal. With his cock impaling me, his muscular body is like warm steel against my cheeks.
His hand cups my dripping pussy as he gently works himself in and out of me. His skilled fingers glide into my slit and tenderly stroke my clit. I make a strangled cry as his nimble fingers force me to climax. As he expertly draws out my orgasm, all I can do is involuntarily whimper and gasp. My fingers clutch the mattress’s bottom sheet.
I think he learns more about my body every time he fucks me because he seems to get better and better at getting me to climax quicker and come longer and longer. My sexual noises apparently excite him because he tends to exhale when I do, as if he’s riding the same high I am. I squeeze my eyes shut as he forces me to come again and again. The world dissolves as he reduces me to a sobbing, panting mass of sweaty flesh, where all I can do is beg him to stop.
When I wake up, I’m back in bed and lying on my back. I’m only partially awake, and I can’t even open my eyes. I’m already drifting back to sleep. He’s pulling the blankets and sheets over me, tucking me in. He’s not in bed with me. I try to say something, but I can’t.
I hear him moving about the room and then I hear water running. I think he’s taking a shower. I try to force myself to wake up, just to talk to him, but I unwillingly drift to sleep. Although a part of me wants to deny it, deep down, I know I am indeed his official property.
Chapter Seven
In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever had steak, shrimp and lobster tail all in one meal. But that’s exactly the decadent dinner my captor and I shared tonight, along with some steamed vegetables and buttered bread. He said it was part of my reward for the video we made yesterday as well as the first one we made the other day.
As usual, he draped me across his lap and fed me. Right now, I’m still there with my head against his shoulder.
He’s drinking some hot tea and reading a report. He just got home from work a little while ago, and he’s still wearing his uniform, though his hat and gloves are on the table. The food was from a restaurant I’ve never heard of and the empty takeout containers from our meal are still on the counter.
I can’t help but smile again at our extravagant meal. I’m full and I dare say…happy. It’s strange. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this happy. Here, now, in the warmth of his house and in the safety of his lap, I feel complete. But my blissful state is shattered by a brief, mental picture. For some reason, I see my mother sobbing.
Fresh grief and guilt crash down on me. By now, everyone back home probably thinks I’m dead. And yet here I am, lounging in my enemy’s lap after the most extravagant meal I’ve ever had. Tears blur my vision. As if sensing something amiss, my captor sets down his papers and looks at me.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t say anything.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“I was just thinking about my mother,” I whisper. “She probably thinks I’m either dead or being tortured.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Would you like to call her?”
My eyes meet his. “Are…are you serious?”
“Quite serious. I have to call the Gestapo to unblock the line, but it only takes a phone call.” He looks at a clock. “Let’s see, it’s nine now, so it’s three in the afternoon on the East Coast. Would anyone be home around this time?”
“My mother is usually home during the day. If not, I could leave a message on the machine.”
He nods. “I have terms for this arrangement. First of all, I will stay in the room with you. Second, do not discuss any military or security issues. And third, do not tell them anything about me or where you are. You will only say you are safe if they ask, which they probably won’t. Understood?”
“Yes. Of course.” It’s more than a fair agreement. I’m not sure why he said they wouldn’t ask where I am.
“As far as time, you can talk for as long as you want. But I have a feeling you’ll be looking for an excuse to end the call. If you need to, simply say that you can’t stay on the line for very long.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just in case,” he shrugs. He shifts me in his lap. When my feet touch the floor, he nudges me to stand, which I do. He retrieves a pencil and a notebook before handing them to me. “Write down the phone number, including the area code.”
Eagerly, I comply.
He takes the notebook and examines the number. “Stay here for a moment.”
He picks up the cordless phone from the charger on the counter before walking into the adjacent room, which I can tell is for formal dining. As he closes the door, I hear him say in German, “Yes, I need to place a call to America.” I can’t hear anything after he closes the door. I’m assuming he’s giving a password or a code clearance, which is why he probably stepped into the next room. I don’t even try to eavesdrop. I don’t want to do anything to lose this.
My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. Family! Home! America! I’m going to get to talk to my mother! My palms start sweating as I try to formulate the right words. After several tense minutes, my captor opens the door and hands me the phone.
“Here, someone answered. I think it’s your mother.”
With trembling hands, I take the phone. “Mom?”
“Isabel?”
God, is that my name? I haven’t been called Isabel in ages. “Yeah, how are you, Mom? Are you okay?” I manage to sit down.
“Yes! I’m great. Your dad and I were invited to the White House. We’re going tonight!”
“What?”
“After you were captured, you became a national hero. The press loves you. You’re in all the papers and on every news channel—you’ve always been so pretty. They even showed your childhood induction picture, you know, the one above the fireplace. You remember that picture, don’t you, dear?”
“Uh…yeah. I remember that picture above the fireplace.”
I know what she’s talking about. It was taken when I was seven years old. It’s a picture of me sitting sideways with an American flag draped like a cape over my shoulders.
I remember at the time that the photographer fussed over the perfect placement of the flag. He wanted the two gold stars, remembrances of Alaska and Hawaii in just the right place, but he also wanted as many of the other forty-eight stars around the two gold ones in the picture as well. It took forever to get right, especially for a seven-year-old, and he actually snapped what felt like a thousand pictures before finally getting the shot he wanted.
My parents were always very proud of that picture, but I never knew why, and I never heard it called an “induction picture” or…maybe I did, but I never understood what that meant.
“Your dad and I are so proud of you, Isabel.”
