CapturedbytheSS (10 page)

“I don’t know. I just thought that—”

“Shh, enough.” His hands run softly up and down my arms.

I’m silent for several minutes as he caresses me.

“May I touch you again?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

My fingers lightly stroke his erect cock. He shudders from
my touch. My fingers lightly curl around him. He groans before pulling my hand
away.

“I can’t take any more of your teasing.”

“I wasn’t trying to tease—”

His lips press against mine as his fingers spear through my
hair. A bit roughly, he tilts my head back.

My arms wrap around him and I cling to the back of his
uniform. I can’t even make myself admit that this is crazy anymore. I just want
him to kiss me. I want him to hold me. The tip of his cock presses into my
folds and brushes my clit.

His tongue slides past my lips, once again claiming my
mouth. I want more than his tongue inside me. Scooting closer to him, I spread
my thighs wider, wanting him to enter me. Obviously catching my meaning, he
gently pushes the blunt tip of his arousal into my sheath. His tongue never
once leaves my mouth but instead plunges even deeper and harder.

I cling tighter to his tunic as he pushes his cock farther
inside me. His thick arousal fills and stretches my snug passage, causing just
a twinge of pain. It’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone, I guess my
body is a bit ill-prepared for penetration, a fact compounded by two things.
For one, I’ve always been a little tight. And two, my captor is a bit bigger
than my first and only lover. It’s a situation he could exploit. If he wanted
to, he could hurt me, but he doesn’t.

Apparently sensing my state, he gingerly eases himself
inside me bit by bit without thrusting or shoving. Patiently, he eventually
inserts his entire length. He doesn’t move right away. He just stays perfectly
still.

Never once breaking our kiss, he eases himself back a bit.
The movement tugs at the tender flesh of my sheath, and I whimper in protest.
He stops.

He breaks our kiss and presses his lips against my neck.
After several minutes, I feel an increased slickness around his inserted cock.
He glides out a bit before easing himself back in.

“Better?” he whispers against my ear.

“Yes.”

A bit harder, he partially withdraws and reinserts himself.
The action jostles the table I’m sitting on. I cry out softly, shocked at how
intense the experience is. His lips nuzzle against my ear as his thrusts grow
harder and faster. A part of me is convinced that this is the final act of
whatever strange play he’s orchestrating. I like his touch, yes, but I’m not
kidding myself about who he is.

His hard thrusts coax another orgasm from me, even stronger
and more intense than the first two he pulled from me upstairs. He doesn’t even
stop or slow. I try to push him away, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of
everything, but his hands capture mine and press them against the wall. I pull
against him, trying to break his grip, but he keeps my wrists firmly pinned on
either side of my head.

My release never finds an end. It only builds and builds as
he ruthlessly pumps himself in and out of me. Every muscle in my body tightens
and constricts painfully as he forces me to come again and again, over and
over. A part of me feels I might even faint.

He reaches his own breaking point and much to my relief, he
finally stops. I never even knew it was possible to climax over and over again
like that. Neither one of us moves for several minutes. Keeping my hands
pressed against the wall, he pants against my ear.

I’m soaking with sweat, and I think he is too. It’s hard to
tell with the uniform. After several minutes, he leans back, pulling himself
from me, and eyes me intensely. Again I have no idea what he’s thinking. He
doesn’t release my wrists, but instead keeps me trapped against the wall.

He doesn’t say anything.

I can’t even talk. Feelings of shame and guilt suddenly
crash down on me.

“Don’t do that,” he insists, nuzzling against my ear. “Don’t
look that way.”

A bit overwhelmed with everything, I feel I need a few
minutes alone. I can’t process this. I’m not supposed to like my enemy’s touch!

“I…may I go to the bathroom for a moment?”

He hesitates, obviously wanting to say no. “If you feel you
must. Be mindful of the glass.”

He releases me and backs away, allowing me to slide off the
table. The broken lamp and the shattered picture frame are near the table.
Looking away from him, I walk around the glass and then scurry upstairs. He
doesn’t follow me. I hurry to the smaller bedroom, the one he questioned me in.
I know there’s a bathroom in there.

By the time I reach the bedroom, I’m shaking and nearly
crying. After hurrying to the bathroom, I quickly close the door and cover my
mouth to keep from making any noise. How could I do that with him? I should
have said no. I should have fought him. I kneel on the bathroom floor as hot
tears spill from my eyes. What the hell am I going to do?

If my seduction teacher were here right now, she’d probably
slap the crap out of me before ordering me to march back downstairs and suck my
captor’s cock. By now, it’s safe to assume my captor is attracted to me. The
logical thing to do is to exploit the situation and use it to my advantage.
That’s what any trained agent would do in this scenario.

Since I’ve already been interrogated, my only objective now
is to either stay alive or, if my situation is unbearable, try to angle for a
quick death. Since my captor is interested in me, I should barter my body for
food and shelter. That’s the smartest thing I can do right now. But…I can’t.
Because I never thought I’d like my enemy’s touch, and it scares the hell out
of me.

I guess I figured this would never happen to me. Sex was
always so hard when I was with Steven that I never even imagined that my enemy
could make me come like that. Fresh tears pool in my eyes. There has to be
another option. I can’t do this.

After several minutes of pointless sobbing, I force myself
to stop and stand up. Trembling, I lean against the sink and rinse my face with
some cool water. I just need to think. Looking in the mirror, I suddenly hate
the person staring back at me. I’m half-naked and practically glowing from the
intense pleasure I found in my captor’s arms. I don’t deserve to live.

In my despair, I suddenly find hope. I’ve been captured by
the enemy. Suicide is a perfectly acceptable option. How could I have forgotten
that? They even showed me films on how to do it. There was a time when field
agents were given cyanide pills, but because Nazis tend to
zealously
search both vehicles and people, the practice was abandoned. The pills are
essential contraband, a tipoff of clandestine motives. But I don’t need something
as fancy as cyanide. A razor would work or a handful of pills. Ideally, suicide
would have been a better choice
before
my interrogation, but that ship
has kinda sailed.

Besides, sex and seduction have their limits. He’ll probably
be bored with me by tomorrow and just kill me anyway. At least this way I have
some control of how and when. I find a familiar comfort in remembering the
films they showed me. There was even a slogan with those films—
All it takes
is a moment of courage.

“A moment of courage,” I whisper. “I can find a moment of
courage.”

With the water still running, I quickly and silently rummage
through the medicine cabinet. I spot an aspirin bottle and hurriedly open it.
There are only three pills left inside. Damn it! Setting the bottle down, I
immediately spot something else. I quickly retrieve it.

Reading the German words on the blue packaging, I quickly
conclude it’s a sleep aid. The package is still sealed, and I gently pull the
glued flap away, being careful not to make any noise. There are sixteen
capsules encased on a plastic bubble sheet. Glancing at the closed door, I
hurriedly start pushing the pills through the foil backing and collect them in
my hand.

I have a feeling he won’t leave me alone for very long. He
didn’t want to let me go in the first place.

I hear his footfalls coming. I hurriedly shove the pills in
my mouth and then hide the empty packaging under my folded blue dress. I stoop
down and fill my palm with water. Gulping the water, I quickly swallow the
pills. My face is still near the running water when the door suddenly opens.

“American, what are you doing?”

After catching my breath, I answer. “Nothing. I was just
thirsty.”

“Turn around.”

Swallowing hard, I turn and face him. I mop away the water
from my chin.

He’s studying me intensely. “What did you just do?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrow at the medicine cabinet, and I instantly see
what he sees…it’s cracked open. In my hurry to hide the packaging, I didn’t
push hard enough on the mirrored door. His eyes sweep across the bathroom. I
also carelessly left the near-empty bottle of aspirin on the sink, which I know
he sees as well.

“Did you take something?”

“No. I was just looking for aspirin. I only found three, but
I didn’t take them.” I even pick up the bottle and rattle it. He ignores me and
instead looks around the room. Lifting up my blue folded dress, he finds the
empty packaging. He quickly snatches both the bubble sheet and the blue box. He
flips the bubble sheet over.

“American, what did you do?” He tosses aside the telling
items.

“Nothing.” I try to back away from him, but his hand wraps
around my wrist.

“What did you do?”
It’s less a question and more of a
demand.

“Nothing,” I whisper.

His face grows hard and angry. Still clutching my wrist, he
brutally pulls me toward him. His fingers viciously tangle in my hair, pulling
it, as he forces my head over the sink. Before I can even react, two of his
gloved fingers invade my mouth and ram the back of my throat. I gag and
momentarily retch before the contents of my stomach spill from me.

My breakfast is a watery pool of thin goo in the bottom of
the sink. The blue capsules are mostly intact, though they’re glistening with
moisture and they look softer. Because I just took them, the hard plastic
capsules haven’t had much of a chance to dissolve, though I think a few may
have split open.

The minute he sees the pills, he starts cursing in German.
Still clutching my hair, he rams his fingers down my throat again. I gag but
there’s nothing left to purge. Apparently determined to empty my stomach, he
forces me to retch, producing only dry heaves, until tears cloud my vision. He
finally releases me, and I sink to the floor, trembling and crying. I hear
water running.

“Come here,” he snarls, picking me up off the floor.

“No,” I protest, sobbing. I try to fight, but he only
ignores me. He cradles me tight against him and carries me from the room. He
practically sprints down the hall. Before I know it, we’re back in his bedroom.
He puts me down but deposits me on the floor instead of the bed. He straddles
my stomach, keeping me pinned as he retrieves the all-too-familiar black case
from a drawer near his bed.

He drops the case on the floor next to me and then hurriedly
opens it. He pushes aside several sealed syringes before grabbing a small,
square envelope. He quickly tears it open. I think it’s a pill. He forces my
mouth open before pushing the pill to the back of my tongue. His hand seals
over my mouth.

“Swallow it,” he snarls.

I already have, though I didn’t mean to. I’m not certain, but
I think he just gave me Nironin. It’s a charcoal-based drug that prevents the
body from absorbing any medications or toxins, either ingested or injected.
Harmless itself, the drug is used in the treatment of overdosing and poisoning.
If it is indeed Nironin, which I’m pretty sure it is, I’m going to pass out for
the next several hours. It’s the drug’s single side effect.

After several minutes, the world turns blurry. And then
there’s only darkness.

Chapter Three

Sleep falls from me as my eyes slowly open. I’m lying in the
queen-sized bed and tucked securely under the heavy bedding. The room is dark.
I can tell it’s late. I sit up in bed and my stomach aches from being made to
purge and my mind is fuzzy from the Nironin. A sound filters through the hall. I
hold my breath and listen. There, I hear it again. It’s a voice, a female
voice. A second later, I hear my captor’s voice. Is someone else in the house?
Curiosity compels me to move.

I gingerly slip out of bed and then tiptoe across the room.
I stop at the open door. Again I hear the same female voice. The voice sounds
familiar. Poking my head from the room, I risk a look down the dark hallway.

The door at the end of the hall is open. There are no lights
on in the room, but I see my captor’s profile. His face is bathed in the light
of a computer screen. He’s still dressed in his uniform, though he’s not
wearing his hat, gloves or boots.

I shouldn’t spy on him, I know. It might provoke him if he
catches me, and I’ve done more than enough to provoke him already today. My
stomach grumbles unhappily.

I suddenly hear the voice again. The fingers of his left
hand toggle between two keys. His other hand is curled against his chin and his
eyes are closed. I can tell he’s deep in concentration, but I have no idea what
he’s doing.

On soft feet, I creep through the dark hall toward the room,
curious about the voice. I know I’ve heard that female voice before. About
halfway between the bedroom and the office he’s working in, I hear the dialogue
streaming from his laptop. I freeze as I immediately recognize the
conversation. The female voice I heard earlier is me.

It’s from the first night, when I told him about the C-60
and the details of my mission. I didn’t even know he’d recorded it, though I
guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I quickly discover he’s not listening to the
details I gave him. Instead, I think he’s listening to my English.