CapturedbytheSS, page 7
“You like how I touch you,” he murmurs. “I can tell.”
I swallow hard. I sense he’s waiting for me to answer. “Yes,” I finally admit. There’s no point in lying to him. I haven’t been able to hide anything so far. “But…I don’t understand why you’re doing this or—”
“Shh. No more talking.”
In all honesty, I really don’t understand what’s happening. If he just wanted sex, then I would understand. I’m not ignorant. But I don’t get this.
It’s as if he wants me to want him, and the weird thing is…I do, though I have no idea why.
He pushes me back slightly. Uncertain what to do or what to feel, I shut my eyes. His lips graze mine before settling into a parted-lip kiss.
In all my life, I’ve never liked kissing, especially any parted-lip or open-mouth kissing. I’ve always found it unappealing. But now, well, I find myself liking it. He gingerly sucks my bottom lip, tugging it, which coaxes soft whimpers from me. My hands helplessly clutch the sides of his tunic.
He releases my bottom lip and reverts instead back into a parted-lip kiss. Much to my surprise, I actually want to reciprocate his actions. Hesitantly, I gently suck on his lower lip, mimicking what he did to me. I feel my actions are a bit awkward, but he groans approvingly, obviously pleased with my efforts.
I’ve lost my mind, I know. Maybe it was something in the food. The guy has truth serum. Maybe he slipped an aphrodisiac in my eggs. But I know he hasn’t drugged me. I’d feel it if he had.
His fingers spear through my damp hair. I sense he wants to take control, and I stop sucking his lip. He backs away slightly, breaking our kiss, and I tilt my head back in a way I don’t quite understand. I think I’m silently pleading with him to take control.
Once again his parted lips press against mine, only harder. His tongue plunges past my lips, claiming my mouth. I’m not certain if he wants me to push back against him or not, so I tentatively meet his firm tongue with mine. As if sensing my uncertainty, he murmurs something affirmatively.
A strange warmth settles deep in my belly. I’ve never had anyone make me feel this way before.
After several minutes, his tongue slowly pulls from my mouth. I whimper in protest, not wanting him to stop. His firm lips remain parted, and his hand presses against my back. He’s obviously encouraging me to do something, but I’m not sure what. Quickly catching his want, I gingerly ease my tongue between his lips. Again he murmurs approvingly. I’m shocked at how much he can tell me in a soft sound or in a gentle press of his fingers.
When I was in school, I was told to engage in sexual practices, which my eager boyfriend willingly provided, but no one ever explained stuff like this to me. I was always taught that the clit was the source of all pleasure and joy, but no matter how enthusiastically Steven pressed or flicked or ground against my clit, I could never find joy in the experience. I used to just scream “Oh yeah”, thinking that’s what I was supposed to do.
I never dreamed that kissing alone could be like this…and certainly not from my enemy.
A bit bolder, I plunge my tongue deeper in his mouth. I can tell he’s pleased. It’s a little harder for me to take the offensive like this. I like it better when his tongue fills my mouth.
His fingers tap softly against my back, and I can tell he wants me to stop, which I do. He breaks our kiss but doesn’t back off. A bit loopy and confused, I open my eyes.
“Come with me.” He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. I offer no protest as he leads me from the kitchen and up the stairs. He leads me to a different room than the one he questioned me in. This room has a plush queen-sized bed with a snow-white comforter.
The moment I walk into the bedroom, I stop.
“Come here. I won’t hurt you.” Holding my hand, he tugs me forward, coaxing me to move. I reluctantly follow him to the bed. Without releasing me, he folds over the plush bedding, exposing the ivory sheets. He sweeps his hand toward the mattress, indicating exactly where he wants me.
I swallow hard as my limbs turn to lead. I don’t move. I can’t. He tugs me toward him and then turns me slightly. Eyeing me darkly, he pushes me down on the bed. I don’t fight him as he slips my limp body under the blankets and sheets. A bit confused with everything, I only watch him slip off his boots and then his hat. He doesn’t take off his uniform, though, or even his gloves.
He slides under the covers and gathers me in his arms. “Now try to relax again, like you did downstairs. You were doing well in the kitchen.”
I have no idea why, but I actually like his gentle praising. He eases himself next to me before pressing his lips firmly against mine. We essentially pick up where we left off, but instead, I’m now lying on what feels like a cloud.
We don’t take turns anymore as we did downstairs. He alternates between sucking my bottom lip and pushing his tongue in my mouth. I can tell he doesn’t want me to take control again, which I actually prefer.
After several minutes, he shifts his position and hovers over me. I’m convinced he’s about to crush me under his full weight, which is what Steven usually did, but instead, he holds himself up on his elbows and only presses himself against me.
Is this the way it’s supposed to be? I’d been taught about sexual positions in school as part of my education, and I’d been shown the missionary position. But the picture was always just the man on top with the woman on bottom. I didn’t know the man was supposed to hold himself up like this.
As his firm tongue pushes against mine, nimble fingers begin to unbutton my shirt…well, his shirt. Fresh nervousness courses through me as he quickly parts the unbuttoned garment. He only kisses me harder, not giving me a chance to protest as a gloved hand cups one of my breasts.
I suddenly feel even more vulnerable as I realize just how covered up he is while I’m completely exposed.
His hand abandons my breast and glides across my stomach to my chestnut curls. The feel of his gloved hand against my flesh is strangely exciting and arousing.
Nimble fingers just barely caress my curls and tease my folds. His hand slips from my mound and instead firmly clasps my hip.
All too soon, he lifts up slightly, breaking our kiss. He sits up and then straddles me before taking hold of my arm. With some gentle pulling and coaxing, he rolls me over on my stomach. I press my face against the pillow and close my eyes, blotting out everything except the feel of his hands on my body. I only wish I didn’t still have the unbuttoned shirt on.
He flattens his palms against my back and then firmly rubs my weary flesh. I sigh against the pillow. He shifts around a bit and presses his still-clothed body against mine. I can feel the buttons of his uniform on my back as his hand gently pushes aside my hair. He exhales on the nape of my neck, and I shudder from the sensation.
Firm lips replace his warm breath. I’ve never had anyone kiss the back of my neck, but it’s by far one of the most pleasurable things I’ve ever experienced. Kissing turns into licking as a warm, wet tongue draws a line from the top of my spine to the edge of my hair. The wetness there chills me slightly, causing my nipples to harden against the mattress.
He tugs at the collar of the unbuttoned shirt, exposing my shoulder. Warm lips caress my back and neck. His gloved hand slides under me, finding my mound. He puts his hand exactly where I want it to be, where I need it to be. Skilled fingers curl slightly into my center, massaging my clit. In all my life, I never knew someone could touch me like this.
Shuddering beneath his clothed body, I know he’s capable of making me climax, which is something Steven was never able to make me do. This realization terrifies me. I shouldn’t be doing this! What the hell is wrong with me?
“Please…don’t,” I whisper, trying to get up. The hand massaging my folds only strokes me harder.
His body presses against mine, pinning me down. “Don’t talk.”
In a sudden panic, I try to wriggle away. As if to placate me, his lips nuzzle against the back of my neck again. I stop struggling.
He barely murmurs, “Good girl,” as my body surrenders to his touch.
I can’t stop myself from writhing beneath him. His nimble fingers and warm lips are pushing me closer and closer to orgasm—a release I’m terrified of reaching. My very first orgasm with a man is going to be with, of all people, a freakin’ Nazi. Panic and confusion edges my breathing to near hyperventilation.
“It’s all right,” he whispers. “Just relax and feel.”
I manage to convince myself this is all just a dream—yes, I’m still tied to the bed, and I’m only dreaming. Or maybe I was never captured. Maybe I’m back home, warm and safe in my bed, and I’m just having a bizarre erotic dream brought on by too much stress.
I inhale sharply as a spear of pure pleasure and ecstasy pierces my center. Taken over by lust and want, I slide my hand over his, pressing his gloved fingers deeper into my cleft. He lets me guide his fingers where I want them, where I need them. He doesn’t pull away or try to decide the pace. Through my guidance, his fingers smear hot wetness over my throbbing folds.
It’s only when my orgasm lessens that his hand moves independently again. His fingers delve deeper into my cleft as a single digit claims my sheath. It feels strange for his gloved finger to enter me like this, but I want him to touch me there, I need his finger filling me. My passage feels snug around him.
He groans against my ear. “You are so tight,” he mutters. There’s a dark eagerness in his tone. He eases his finger deeper into my sheath. His invading digit nears me toward another release. His thumb deftly rolls over and massages my aching clit, which only serves to push me over the edge.
My muscles tighten and constrict painfully as wave after wave of pleasure and warmth crash down on me. I make a strangled cry against the pillow as my release reaches a near-painful zenith. His thumb keeps strumming my overly sensitive nub. Just when my orgasm starts to turn painful, he stops. He pulls his finger from my passage.
My orgasm turns to a pleasant buzz between my thighs. His hand doesn’t leave me but instead remains cupped over my mound. A strange combination of fear and humiliation creeps over me. Have I lost my freakin’ mind?
His hand pulls out from under me. He gently tugs my arm, compelling me to roll over. As I settle on my back, he presses himself against me. I feel something prodding at my center, but I’m not sure if it’s his arousal or not. I think it’s something in his pocket.
Softly, he covers my heated face with kisses. After several minutes of simply kissing my face, he lifts himself up and studies me. “Now, American, we continue your education.”
An urge to flee suddenly settles around me. “I have to get out of here,” I gasp. I abruptly push him over and then leap out of bed. Without looking back, I bolt from the room. I think he’s so surprised, he doesn’t even think to grab me.
“American! Stop!”
I dash across the hall and then sprint down the stairs. My parted shirt billows like a sail around me. My bare feet pound the stairs as I fly for the exit. I hear his footsteps thundering after me. I reach the door and desperately fiddle with the locks. I manage to unlock and partially open it. But he’s behind me. His open hand hammers flat against the door, slamming it closed.
“No,” I protest. I try to bury my elbow in his gut, but an incredibly strong arm wraps around me, pinning my arms next to me.
Pulling me away from the door, he drags me to a small table near the wall and then shoves me against it. A glass bulb pops as a lamp clatters to the floor. Not at all gently, he forces me to sit on the table with my back against the wall. His hands pin my wrists on either side of my head as he wedges himself between my thighs.
In the struggle, a framed picture near my hand jostles free and hits the floor. I hear the glass shatter. We’re both panting from the chase.
“That was stupid, American! And where did you think you were going half-naked and with a locator around your ankle?”
“Please, just kill me,” I beg. “I’ve already told you everything.”
“Do not tell me what to do! And my plans do not involve killing you.”
“Plans? What the hell am I, a conquest?”
He looks annoyed. “I don’t have to explain anything to you, American.”
“Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”
“No. You answer my questions first, and then maybe I’ll answer yours.”
I’m silent for a moment. I’m not sure if I’m intrigued or crazy. “Okay.”
“No running away?”
“No.”
He slowly releases my wrists and backs up a bit. He stands up straight and tugs the hem of his rustled tunic, smoothing down the uniform. “Why did you run from me like that? I wasn’t hurting you.”
“I…I didn’t like what you were doing to me.” A complete lie, I know.
His blue eyes narrow. “I know you like my touch, American. I don’t need my needles to see that truth in you.”
I look away from him.
“Tell me the real reason.”
“Will you answer my questions?”
“Probably not. Now tell me why you ran or I’ll make you tell me.”
“Because…this is…wrong.”
He seems confused by my answer. “Wrong?” he mutters. His initial bafflement shifts to intrigue and then amusement. He smiles darkly and steps closer to me.
I swallow hard and vaguely wonder how the hell I ended up here in this situation. “I can’t do this,” I admit. “Please, you know everything. I told you about my mission. Just kill me.”
“No, I do not know everything,” he declares, leaning hard against me. His face is mere inches from mine. “As far as why I’m doing this, there is more about you I want to know.”
Being this close to him, I can smell his clean, soapy scent again. His distinct scent reminds me of his warm breath on my neck, his hands on my body. I clutch the edge of the table to stop myself from embracing him.
“What else do you want to know?” I whisper.
He leans in closer. His breath caresses my ear. “What I want to know is my own business, American.”
His lips slide across my neck and settle in the crook just above my shoulder. I tilt my head to the side, giving him better access. My hands release the table’s edge and settle instead around his waist. The surface of the table is too narrow for me to back away from him. With him wedged between my thighs, I can easily feel his arousal through the uniform.
Images from gory rape films flash through my head. Fresh panic and confusion washes through me. Everything I was told in my training rushes to the surface in one horrific moment. I’m convinced he’s going to brutally rape me and slit my throat simply because that’s what I’ve been told. I’m a prisoner—of course he’s going to rape and kill me. My hands pull away from him and settle instead back on the table.
What game is he playing? What is he trying to do? In my panic, I vaguely remember something from a film. It said some Nazis, particularly SS officers, have cock piercings. According to the film, razor-sharp studs can be slipped in those piercings before sex for no other reason than to tear up a woman while raping her.
That was actually an older film. My seduction teacher even told me to disregard that particular piece of information. But for some reason, I’m convinced it’s true.
In a panic, I try to shove him away.
“What’s wrong?”
I look away from him as I start trembling.
“Tell me or I’ll get the needle.”
“You’re…pierced,” I manage through trembling lips.
He doesn’t say anything. I sense he’s confused. “Oh,” he finally whispers. “Are they still teaching that?”
I don’t answer him.
Without backing away, he unzips his black trousers. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Try to relax. I just want to show you my cock, that’s all.”
I’m expecting his cock to be heavily pierced and tattooed like the pictures I’ve seen.
“Open your eyes, American. Look at me.”
I can’t.
Without asking, he takes my hand. “Here, touch me.” He forces my hand to curl around tight, smooth skin. I inhale sharply, shocked at how his arousal feels in my hand. I hesitantly open my eyes and cautiously study him. His cock doesn’t look anything like those old pictures they showed me. He looks and feels like a man, not a monster.
“I want you to talk to me now, American. It’s important. If you fight me on this, I will get my needles if necessary, but I’d rather not do that.”
I can feel my heart racing.
“I look different than you thought I would, don’t I?”
Confusion bubbles through me. I can’t even talk.
“I feel different, yes?” He keeps my hand curled around him.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I want to say yes, but the word won’t come.
“Say it. Answer my question. Does my cock feel different than you thought it would?”
I exhale sharply and study his eyes. I only nod.
“No, I need you to talk to me. We can do this with the needle if we have to.”
I force myself to speak. “Yes.”
“Good. Very good.” As if to reward me, he lets me pull my hand away. He seems to understand I’m struggling with this bizarre lesson.
My eyes drift to his swollen member. The skin is stretched tight. Inexplicably, I want to touch him again. Convinced it couldn’t be any worse than trying to run away as I just did, I gently run my fingers over him without asking. He doesn’t say anything, and I keep running my fingers up and down the shaft.
They are no piercings or sharp studs. Maybe some SS officers have that, but he doesn’t. All I see and feel is tight, smooth flesh. A single drop of fluid appears on the tip. I pull my hand away.
“Did I hurt you?” I don’t know why I should care about that, but I do.
“No. It felt good.”
“I was told that most SS officers have piercings down there, and they would put in sharp studs…just to rape women and tear them up.”
He grimaces at that. “A long time ago, back in the fifties, a few did that, yes. But that practice has been banned for decades. I’m actually a bit surprised they told you that old piece of information.”
I swallow hard. I sense he’s waiting for me to answer. “Yes,” I finally admit. There’s no point in lying to him. I haven’t been able to hide anything so far. “But…I don’t understand why you’re doing this or—”
“Shh. No more talking.”
In all honesty, I really don’t understand what’s happening. If he just wanted sex, then I would understand. I’m not ignorant. But I don’t get this.
It’s as if he wants me to want him, and the weird thing is…I do, though I have no idea why.
He pushes me back slightly. Uncertain what to do or what to feel, I shut my eyes. His lips graze mine before settling into a parted-lip kiss.
In all my life, I’ve never liked kissing, especially any parted-lip or open-mouth kissing. I’ve always found it unappealing. But now, well, I find myself liking it. He gingerly sucks my bottom lip, tugging it, which coaxes soft whimpers from me. My hands helplessly clutch the sides of his tunic.
He releases my bottom lip and reverts instead back into a parted-lip kiss. Much to my surprise, I actually want to reciprocate his actions. Hesitantly, I gently suck on his lower lip, mimicking what he did to me. I feel my actions are a bit awkward, but he groans approvingly, obviously pleased with my efforts.
I’ve lost my mind, I know. Maybe it was something in the food. The guy has truth serum. Maybe he slipped an aphrodisiac in my eggs. But I know he hasn’t drugged me. I’d feel it if he had.
His fingers spear through my damp hair. I sense he wants to take control, and I stop sucking his lip. He backs away slightly, breaking our kiss, and I tilt my head back in a way I don’t quite understand. I think I’m silently pleading with him to take control.
Once again his parted lips press against mine, only harder. His tongue plunges past my lips, claiming my mouth. I’m not certain if he wants me to push back against him or not, so I tentatively meet his firm tongue with mine. As if sensing my uncertainty, he murmurs something affirmatively.
A strange warmth settles deep in my belly. I’ve never had anyone make me feel this way before.
After several minutes, his tongue slowly pulls from my mouth. I whimper in protest, not wanting him to stop. His firm lips remain parted, and his hand presses against my back. He’s obviously encouraging me to do something, but I’m not sure what. Quickly catching his want, I gingerly ease my tongue between his lips. Again he murmurs approvingly. I’m shocked at how much he can tell me in a soft sound or in a gentle press of his fingers.
When I was in school, I was told to engage in sexual practices, which my eager boyfriend willingly provided, but no one ever explained stuff like this to me. I was always taught that the clit was the source of all pleasure and joy, but no matter how enthusiastically Steven pressed or flicked or ground against my clit, I could never find joy in the experience. I used to just scream “Oh yeah”, thinking that’s what I was supposed to do.
I never dreamed that kissing alone could be like this…and certainly not from my enemy.
A bit bolder, I plunge my tongue deeper in his mouth. I can tell he’s pleased. It’s a little harder for me to take the offensive like this. I like it better when his tongue fills my mouth.
His fingers tap softly against my back, and I can tell he wants me to stop, which I do. He breaks our kiss but doesn’t back off. A bit loopy and confused, I open my eyes.
“Come with me.” He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. I offer no protest as he leads me from the kitchen and up the stairs. He leads me to a different room than the one he questioned me in. This room has a plush queen-sized bed with a snow-white comforter.
The moment I walk into the bedroom, I stop.
“Come here. I won’t hurt you.” Holding my hand, he tugs me forward, coaxing me to move. I reluctantly follow him to the bed. Without releasing me, he folds over the plush bedding, exposing the ivory sheets. He sweeps his hand toward the mattress, indicating exactly where he wants me.
I swallow hard as my limbs turn to lead. I don’t move. I can’t. He tugs me toward him and then turns me slightly. Eyeing me darkly, he pushes me down on the bed. I don’t fight him as he slips my limp body under the blankets and sheets. A bit confused with everything, I only watch him slip off his boots and then his hat. He doesn’t take off his uniform, though, or even his gloves.
He slides under the covers and gathers me in his arms. “Now try to relax again, like you did downstairs. You were doing well in the kitchen.”
I have no idea why, but I actually like his gentle praising. He eases himself next to me before pressing his lips firmly against mine. We essentially pick up where we left off, but instead, I’m now lying on what feels like a cloud.
We don’t take turns anymore as we did downstairs. He alternates between sucking my bottom lip and pushing his tongue in my mouth. I can tell he doesn’t want me to take control again, which I actually prefer.
After several minutes, he shifts his position and hovers over me. I’m convinced he’s about to crush me under his full weight, which is what Steven usually did, but instead, he holds himself up on his elbows and only presses himself against me.
Is this the way it’s supposed to be? I’d been taught about sexual positions in school as part of my education, and I’d been shown the missionary position. But the picture was always just the man on top with the woman on bottom. I didn’t know the man was supposed to hold himself up like this.
As his firm tongue pushes against mine, nimble fingers begin to unbutton my shirt…well, his shirt. Fresh nervousness courses through me as he quickly parts the unbuttoned garment. He only kisses me harder, not giving me a chance to protest as a gloved hand cups one of my breasts.
I suddenly feel even more vulnerable as I realize just how covered up he is while I’m completely exposed.
His hand abandons my breast and glides across my stomach to my chestnut curls. The feel of his gloved hand against my flesh is strangely exciting and arousing.
Nimble fingers just barely caress my curls and tease my folds. His hand slips from my mound and instead firmly clasps my hip.
All too soon, he lifts up slightly, breaking our kiss. He sits up and then straddles me before taking hold of my arm. With some gentle pulling and coaxing, he rolls me over on my stomach. I press my face against the pillow and close my eyes, blotting out everything except the feel of his hands on my body. I only wish I didn’t still have the unbuttoned shirt on.
He flattens his palms against my back and then firmly rubs my weary flesh. I sigh against the pillow. He shifts around a bit and presses his still-clothed body against mine. I can feel the buttons of his uniform on my back as his hand gently pushes aside my hair. He exhales on the nape of my neck, and I shudder from the sensation.
Firm lips replace his warm breath. I’ve never had anyone kiss the back of my neck, but it’s by far one of the most pleasurable things I’ve ever experienced. Kissing turns into licking as a warm, wet tongue draws a line from the top of my spine to the edge of my hair. The wetness there chills me slightly, causing my nipples to harden against the mattress.
He tugs at the collar of the unbuttoned shirt, exposing my shoulder. Warm lips caress my back and neck. His gloved hand slides under me, finding my mound. He puts his hand exactly where I want it to be, where I need it to be. Skilled fingers curl slightly into my center, massaging my clit. In all my life, I never knew someone could touch me like this.
Shuddering beneath his clothed body, I know he’s capable of making me climax, which is something Steven was never able to make me do. This realization terrifies me. I shouldn’t be doing this! What the hell is wrong with me?
“Please…don’t,” I whisper, trying to get up. The hand massaging my folds only strokes me harder.
His body presses against mine, pinning me down. “Don’t talk.”
In a sudden panic, I try to wriggle away. As if to placate me, his lips nuzzle against the back of my neck again. I stop struggling.
He barely murmurs, “Good girl,” as my body surrenders to his touch.
I can’t stop myself from writhing beneath him. His nimble fingers and warm lips are pushing me closer and closer to orgasm—a release I’m terrified of reaching. My very first orgasm with a man is going to be with, of all people, a freakin’ Nazi. Panic and confusion edges my breathing to near hyperventilation.
“It’s all right,” he whispers. “Just relax and feel.”
I manage to convince myself this is all just a dream—yes, I’m still tied to the bed, and I’m only dreaming. Or maybe I was never captured. Maybe I’m back home, warm and safe in my bed, and I’m just having a bizarre erotic dream brought on by too much stress.
I inhale sharply as a spear of pure pleasure and ecstasy pierces my center. Taken over by lust and want, I slide my hand over his, pressing his gloved fingers deeper into my cleft. He lets me guide his fingers where I want them, where I need them. He doesn’t pull away or try to decide the pace. Through my guidance, his fingers smear hot wetness over my throbbing folds.
It’s only when my orgasm lessens that his hand moves independently again. His fingers delve deeper into my cleft as a single digit claims my sheath. It feels strange for his gloved finger to enter me like this, but I want him to touch me there, I need his finger filling me. My passage feels snug around him.
He groans against my ear. “You are so tight,” he mutters. There’s a dark eagerness in his tone. He eases his finger deeper into my sheath. His invading digit nears me toward another release. His thumb deftly rolls over and massages my aching clit, which only serves to push me over the edge.
My muscles tighten and constrict painfully as wave after wave of pleasure and warmth crash down on me. I make a strangled cry against the pillow as my release reaches a near-painful zenith. His thumb keeps strumming my overly sensitive nub. Just when my orgasm starts to turn painful, he stops. He pulls his finger from my passage.
My orgasm turns to a pleasant buzz between my thighs. His hand doesn’t leave me but instead remains cupped over my mound. A strange combination of fear and humiliation creeps over me. Have I lost my freakin’ mind?
His hand pulls out from under me. He gently tugs my arm, compelling me to roll over. As I settle on my back, he presses himself against me. I feel something prodding at my center, but I’m not sure if it’s his arousal or not. I think it’s something in his pocket.
Softly, he covers my heated face with kisses. After several minutes of simply kissing my face, he lifts himself up and studies me. “Now, American, we continue your education.”
An urge to flee suddenly settles around me. “I have to get out of here,” I gasp. I abruptly push him over and then leap out of bed. Without looking back, I bolt from the room. I think he’s so surprised, he doesn’t even think to grab me.
“American! Stop!”
I dash across the hall and then sprint down the stairs. My parted shirt billows like a sail around me. My bare feet pound the stairs as I fly for the exit. I hear his footsteps thundering after me. I reach the door and desperately fiddle with the locks. I manage to unlock and partially open it. But he’s behind me. His open hand hammers flat against the door, slamming it closed.
“No,” I protest. I try to bury my elbow in his gut, but an incredibly strong arm wraps around me, pinning my arms next to me.
Pulling me away from the door, he drags me to a small table near the wall and then shoves me against it. A glass bulb pops as a lamp clatters to the floor. Not at all gently, he forces me to sit on the table with my back against the wall. His hands pin my wrists on either side of my head as he wedges himself between my thighs.
In the struggle, a framed picture near my hand jostles free and hits the floor. I hear the glass shatter. We’re both panting from the chase.
“That was stupid, American! And where did you think you were going half-naked and with a locator around your ankle?”
“Please, just kill me,” I beg. “I’ve already told you everything.”
“Do not tell me what to do! And my plans do not involve killing you.”
“Plans? What the hell am I, a conquest?”
He looks annoyed. “I don’t have to explain anything to you, American.”
“Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”
“No. You answer my questions first, and then maybe I’ll answer yours.”
I’m silent for a moment. I’m not sure if I’m intrigued or crazy. “Okay.”
“No running away?”
“No.”
He slowly releases my wrists and backs up a bit. He stands up straight and tugs the hem of his rustled tunic, smoothing down the uniform. “Why did you run from me like that? I wasn’t hurting you.”
“I…I didn’t like what you were doing to me.” A complete lie, I know.
His blue eyes narrow. “I know you like my touch, American. I don’t need my needles to see that truth in you.”
I look away from him.
“Tell me the real reason.”
“Will you answer my questions?”
“Probably not. Now tell me why you ran or I’ll make you tell me.”
“Because…this is…wrong.”
He seems confused by my answer. “Wrong?” he mutters. His initial bafflement shifts to intrigue and then amusement. He smiles darkly and steps closer to me.
I swallow hard and vaguely wonder how the hell I ended up here in this situation. “I can’t do this,” I admit. “Please, you know everything. I told you about my mission. Just kill me.”
“No, I do not know everything,” he declares, leaning hard against me. His face is mere inches from mine. “As far as why I’m doing this, there is more about you I want to know.”
Being this close to him, I can smell his clean, soapy scent again. His distinct scent reminds me of his warm breath on my neck, his hands on my body. I clutch the edge of the table to stop myself from embracing him.
“What else do you want to know?” I whisper.
He leans in closer. His breath caresses my ear. “What I want to know is my own business, American.”
His lips slide across my neck and settle in the crook just above my shoulder. I tilt my head to the side, giving him better access. My hands release the table’s edge and settle instead around his waist. The surface of the table is too narrow for me to back away from him. With him wedged between my thighs, I can easily feel his arousal through the uniform.
Images from gory rape films flash through my head. Fresh panic and confusion washes through me. Everything I was told in my training rushes to the surface in one horrific moment. I’m convinced he’s going to brutally rape me and slit my throat simply because that’s what I’ve been told. I’m a prisoner—of course he’s going to rape and kill me. My hands pull away from him and settle instead back on the table.
What game is he playing? What is he trying to do? In my panic, I vaguely remember something from a film. It said some Nazis, particularly SS officers, have cock piercings. According to the film, razor-sharp studs can be slipped in those piercings before sex for no other reason than to tear up a woman while raping her.
That was actually an older film. My seduction teacher even told me to disregard that particular piece of information. But for some reason, I’m convinced it’s true.
In a panic, I try to shove him away.
“What’s wrong?”
I look away from him as I start trembling.
“Tell me or I’ll get the needle.”
“You’re…pierced,” I manage through trembling lips.
He doesn’t say anything. I sense he’s confused. “Oh,” he finally whispers. “Are they still teaching that?”
I don’t answer him.
Without backing away, he unzips his black trousers. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Try to relax. I just want to show you my cock, that’s all.”
I’m expecting his cock to be heavily pierced and tattooed like the pictures I’ve seen.
“Open your eyes, American. Look at me.”
I can’t.
Without asking, he takes my hand. “Here, touch me.” He forces my hand to curl around tight, smooth skin. I inhale sharply, shocked at how his arousal feels in my hand. I hesitantly open my eyes and cautiously study him. His cock doesn’t look anything like those old pictures they showed me. He looks and feels like a man, not a monster.
“I want you to talk to me now, American. It’s important. If you fight me on this, I will get my needles if necessary, but I’d rather not do that.”
I can feel my heart racing.
“I look different than you thought I would, don’t I?”
Confusion bubbles through me. I can’t even talk.
“I feel different, yes?” He keeps my hand curled around him.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I want to say yes, but the word won’t come.
“Say it. Answer my question. Does my cock feel different than you thought it would?”
I exhale sharply and study his eyes. I only nod.
“No, I need you to talk to me. We can do this with the needle if we have to.”
I force myself to speak. “Yes.”
“Good. Very good.” As if to reward me, he lets me pull my hand away. He seems to understand I’m struggling with this bizarre lesson.
My eyes drift to his swollen member. The skin is stretched tight. Inexplicably, I want to touch him again. Convinced it couldn’t be any worse than trying to run away as I just did, I gently run my fingers over him without asking. He doesn’t say anything, and I keep running my fingers up and down the shaft.
They are no piercings or sharp studs. Maybe some SS officers have that, but he doesn’t. All I see and feel is tight, smooth flesh. A single drop of fluid appears on the tip. I pull my hand away.
“Did I hurt you?” I don’t know why I should care about that, but I do.
“No. It felt good.”
“I was told that most SS officers have piercings down there, and they would put in sharp studs…just to rape women and tear them up.”
He grimaces at that. “A long time ago, back in the fifties, a few did that, yes. But that practice has been banned for decades. I’m actually a bit surprised they told you that old piece of information.”
