CapturedbytheSS (17 page)

His hand slips between us as his tongue slides past my lips.
Nimble fingers gently pinch one of my erect nipples, sending a jolt of
white-hot pleasure straight to my clit. With his tongue filling my mouth, I
moan softly. He groans in response.

Shifting around a bit, he sits up and settles between my
thighs. Lifting my leg slightly, he bends it at the knee before repeating the
same thing to my other leg. He pushes my thighs far apart, exposing every inch
of my mound to his prying eyes.

Warm, nimble fingers gently part my lips, unveiling my clit.
His piercing eyes stare intensely at my nub. I inadvertently tug at the ropes
pinning my wrists to the headboard. His eyes lift only briefly before focusing
once again on my pussy. His finger and thumb keep my lips parted as another
nimble digit from his other hand slowly slips inside my sheath.

His actions are slow and meticulous. His inserted finger
curls slightly, touching an overly sensitive spot of raw nerves somewhere in my
passage. I think he just found exactly what he was looking for. His fingertip
gently massages the spot, causing me to squirm beneath him. His relentless
strumming nears me closer and closer to orgasm. Just before I can find my
release, he pulls his finger from me but keeps my lips parted.

“No,” I whimper, protesting the withdrawal of his finger.

He doesn’t do or say anything. He simply keeps my slick
folds open, exposing my aching nub to the room’s warm air.

“Please,” I whisper, squirming in his firm grip.

With a sigh, he settles over me. His erect cock pushes
briefly against my throbbing clit. The touch is enough to push me over the
edge. I cry out softly as his thick arousal parts my overheated and slick
flesh. The muscles of my passage spasm around his swollen organ as he slowly
pushes himself inside me. I’m already climaxing and he’s just getting started.

Just before the world goes dark, I hear my captor whisper
something about keeping me forever, but I have no clue what he means by that.

When I wake up, I can tell it’s still morning. I think I was
only out for a little while, less than an hour I’m sure. He’s asleep next to
me. I shift about on the mattress, and I suddenly realize my wrists are free.
He must have untied me before he dozed off next to me. As I study his sleeping
form, wondering why he took the time to untie me, my stomach grumbles
unhappily. For some reason, I’m starving. I abruptly remember I didn’t have
dinner last night.

I vaguely remember him saying something about dinner just
before he went to work yesterday morning, but I guess coming home and finding
me with his uniform kinda distracted him.

I can tell by his breathing he’s deep asleep, and the agent
in me immediately sees the opportunity. The key to my leash might be in his
uniform pocket. Granted, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to go anywhere,
but I’m not stupid either. American spies have something of a poor track record
while in Nazi custody.

But…even if I find the key to my leash, I can’t do a damn
thing about the locator and he warned me I would regret an escape attempt,
unless…I can find the tracking device I saw the first night. If he doesn’t have
that, I don’t think he can hone in on me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find both.

I silently move out of bed and hurriedly make my way to his
discarded uniforms piled on the chair—by my count, there should be three.
There’s the one I cuddled with yesterday, the one he took off last night and
the fresh one he had on this morning.

Not wanting to make a sound, I carefully hold my leash,
preventing it from dragging against the hardwood floor as I creep to the chair.
Kneeling on the floor, I hurriedly rifle through his trousers first, listening
for any changes in his breathing. I then carefully search each tunic before
thoroughly exploring his dress shirts. I don’t find a damn thing except a
crumpled receipt for what looks like lunch in one of the trouser pockets.

Oddly enough, I’m actually
relieved
I can’t escape,
which only serves to confuse the hell out of me. My stomach groans, and I
smooth a hand over my belly. I need food.

I abandon my quest for freedom and instead walk to the small
table near the window.

I think there are some almonds left. I know the candy bar is
still there, but it’s a little early for chocolate.

I find a covered plate with some bacon and scrambled eggs. I
think he left it earlier. I guess his original plan was to go to work after his
early morning interrogation. I sit down before quickly taking a bite of the
eggs. They’re cold, but I eat them anyway. I even devour a strip of bacon. It’s
not the best meal, but it makes my stomach happy. I gulp some of the apple
juice before tearing into the second strip of bacon. Like yesterday, he also
left some fruit and nuts for lunch. I eagerly eye an orange as I take another
bite of cold bacon.

“I’m sure that’s cold by now,” he mutters.

Startled, I turn and look at him. He’s lying on his side,
watching me. He steps out of bed, eyeing me with amusement. After retrieving a
tan robe from his closet, he slips it on.

“I forgot to feed you last night, didn’t I?”

He walks out into the hall before quickly coming back. When
he returns, he’s holding something. I know it’s the key to my leash. No wonder
I couldn’t find it—he stowed it beyond my reach.

He takes my hand and tugs me out of the chair. “Come on.
I’ll get you something better.”

After unlocking the chain from my anklet, he takes my hand
again and leads me from his bedroom. He leaves the key on a table in the hall,
just outside his bedroom, but I mentally abandon any future efforts to escape.
I’m sure the tracking device for my locator is somewhere safe under lock and
key. And Nazis don’t make hollow threats. If I try to escape, I know he’ll find
me, and I
know
I will indeed regret it.

Once we’re in the kitchen, he coaxes me near the stove and
then picks me up as if I weigh nothing. He sets me down on the counter. It’s
chilly in the house, and I pull my unbuttoned shirt tighter around me. I have
the socks on from yesterday, but I’m still cold.

“You’re cold,” he observes.

“A little.”

“It is a bit cold in here.”

He turns on a gas burner that’s closest to me. Almost
immediately, the heat from the stove warms me up. I place my hands over the
burner. After turning on the stove, he walks away from me and stops in the
hall. He fiddles with something on the wall. I hear the house’s central heating
kick on. He returns to the kitchen.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I continue to warm my hands over the stove
as he retrieves three pans. He walks to the fridge and pulls out several
items—eggs, cheese, butter, bacon, tomatoes, avocado, ham. Food. After setting
everything on the counter, he turns on the coffeemaker.

As he works on breakfast, he glances at me from time to
time. I have no idea what he sees. It’s strange. I know him, but I don’t know
him.

He’s preparing an omelet with lots of cheese and sliced ham.
He also adds some diced tomatoes and sliced avocados. As he works on the
omelet, several strips of bacon sizzle in another pan that’s farthest from me.

He only smiles at me as he warms two split muffins in a
small pan. I can tell the food is almost ready, and my stomach grumbles.
Retrieving a platter, he carefully places the omelet on the serving dish
followed by the bacon. He pulls the split muffins from the pan before smearing
butter on them. He places them on the plate as well.

I’m not sure why he’s placing everything on one dish.
Obviously satisfied with the platter, he places it on the table. After pouring
a cup of coffee and setting it on the table, he retrieves a fork and a napkin.

“Do you want coffee, juice or milk?”

“Juice.”

He nods as if he expected the answer. “Orange or apple?”

“Apple.”

He pulls a large plastic tumbler from a cabinet and pours
some juice in it. I actually love apple juice. I used to drink gallons of it
back in the States. He puts a straw in my tumbler.

The weird thing is he keeps putting everything at one place
on the table. The platter, his coffee, my juice, the fork and the napkin are
all in front of one chair.

“Come here,” he whispers, helping me off the counter.

After leading me to the table, he pulls out the chair and
sits down at a slight angle.

He takes hold of me and gently guides me to sit sideways
across his lap. He scoots the chair closer to the table and then lays the
napkin in my lap.

He uses the fork to cut into the omelet and spear a small
piece. He lifts it to my mouth. I bite into warm egg and cheese. As I chew the
food, he cuts off a piece for himself. It’s strange for me to not feed myself,
but not overly stressful. He offers me a strip of bacon. I bite into it,
breaking off a piece. He takes a bite from the same strip of bacon. I want a
sip of juice, but I don’t want to provoke him. I look toward the blue tumbler.

Obviously catching my want, he picks up the plastic tumbler.
He holds it closer to me.

I take several gulps of the juice through the straw before
he sets it down.

“When you want a drink, just touch the table’s edge with
your fingers. Understand?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

His request seems a bit odd to me, but I don’t mind. My
captor looks pleased and satisfied about this unusual setup.

He cuts off a bigger piece of the omelet before offering it
to me. I bite again into warm egg and cheese, but this bite also has some
tomato, ham and avocado in it.

I murmur softly, enjoying the taste.

“Good?”

“Yes. Very. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies with a swift, single nod of his
head.

His mannerisms are so abrupt and military that I can’t help
but wonder how long he’s been in the service. I want to ask, but I don’t…ours
is a strange relationship. And I’m not even sure where it’s going. At the
moment, I’m hungry and I’m being fed. For now, that’s enough. He offers me a
muffin, and I bite into warm, buttery bread. After I take some, he takes a bite
as well.

I tentatively touch the table’s edge with my fingers,
silently asking for another sip of juice. He sees the act immediately and
promptly picks up my tumbler. I take several gulps through the straw, nearly
emptying the cup. He left the pitcher on the table, and I’m hoping I can have
more.

“More juice?” he asks.

“Please.”

He hesitates for a moment before retrieving the pitcher and
filling my cup. “I like how you say ‘please’. It’s very sweet, especially when
you’re begging me to stop making you come.”

I only swallow hard at that. I’m not sure what to say.

Without resuming our meal, he continues. “I have hundreds of
recordings on my computer. I have several language tutorials and CDs. I’ve
heard the word please hundreds of times in English, but the way you say it is
so…sincere.”

Again, I’m not sure what to say. I just let him talk. I feel
he offers me information about himself in small snippets. There’s something
guarded about him.

He picks up the fork and cuts off another bite of the
omelet. Without another word, he offers it to me.

We continue our breakfast as if he didn’t say anything, with
him offering me a bite of something before taking one himself. I find it oddly
touching that he always offers me the first bite of something different.

We polish off the last of the meal. I feel happy and sated,
even a little full. He doesn’t stand up or rush to clear away the dishes. He
just sits and sips his coffee. I’m not sure what to do, so I rest my head
against his shoulder and merely wait.

After several minutes, he gently pats my arm, coaxing me to
stand, which I do. Standing near the table, I watch him clear away the dishes.
Afterward, he wordlessly takes hold of me and then effortlessly lifts me up. He
sets me down on the table.

Pushing my shoulders back, he makes me lie flat on the table
with my legs dangling over the edge. Tilting my head up, I watch him seat
himself. He squares the chair directly between my knees. My unbuttoned shirt
doesn’t cover me at all, and I feel uncomfortable and self-conscious lying
exposed on the table. Embarrassed, I draw my legs together.

His hands slip between my thighs, pushing them apart.
Keeping my head up, I only watch him. His head dips down toward my stomach. A
warm, wet tongue laves my navel, and I shudder from the strange sensation. His
head dips lower as his tongue ruthlessly plunges between my folds. I gasp and
try to wiggle away, but he only holds me in place as his tongue suddenly claims
my sheath.

I cry out softly as my hands reach for the table’s edge,
which is just above my head. His tongue slowly and meticulously explores the
length of my sheath, fucking me, which causes me to squirm and wiggle
helplessly in his firm grip.

After thoroughly exploring my passage, he slowly licks my
clit and then gently sucks and nips my folds. As if wanting to explore every
inch of me, his tongue circles my nub before gently caressing the sensitive
tissue lining each of my lips. I whimper helplessly, both loving and hating the
strange, rough sensation of his tongue.

I have the impression he’s truly enjoying this. I squirm
about on the table as his expert licking and sucking actually makes me come.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally stops. He sits up straight and
offers me a wicked smile.

“You taste good, American. I wish I could spend more time
tasting you, but I have business to attend to. Come, get up. This will have to
continue when I have more time.” He helps me off the table before leading me
back up the stairs. My clit is still warm and wet from his greedy mouth.

He pulls me back to his bedroom before tethering the chain
to my anklet. Apparently satisfied, he turns and walks into the bathroom. I
hear water running. Since my chain doesn’t allow me to go too far, I sit on the
bed and simply wait for whatever happens next.