CapturedbytheSS (18 page)

He emerges from the bathroom, recently showered and shaved.
The familiar scent of his soap wafts across my nostrils. He glances at me from
time to time as he slips on first a fresh t-shirt then a pair of underwear and
finally his socks. I think I’m sulking. I don’t want him to leave.

He chuckles softly as he dries and then styles his hair.
“Now don’t pout, American. You already made me miss the morning meeting.” He
walks to the closet before rolling it open. He pulls out a fresh tan dress
shirt. Usually, he wears a white shirt. I’m not sure why he switched to tan
today, though it’s probably nothing. A part of me thinks tan is considered more
formal than white, but I’m not sure.

After buttoning up the shirt, he slips on a pair of black
trousers and then a black tie. He pulls a fresh tunic from the closet and takes
his time with the buttons. When he has the tunic buttoned up, only part of his
dress shirt and tie are visible. He turns again to the open closet before
grabbing a hat and a pair of boots.

“I won’t be as late today,” he announces as he finishes
getting dressed. He retrieves a pair of gloves from the dresser before grabbing
his belt from the back of the chair. “I have to file some important paperwork
on you in Berlin. It won’t take long, but I want to get it done today.”

Paperwork? Vaguely, I wonder if that paperwork is a death
warrant. His tone is strange. I immediately sense there’s something very
important about this mysterious paperwork. He almost seems nervous about it.

I don’t say anything as he slips his belt on over his tunic
and walks from the room. His boots thud across the floor. I hear him moving
about in another part of the house. I think he’s in his office.

When he returns to the bedroom, he has two books as well as
a black duffle bag. I know the cloth bag isn’t his briefcase nor is it the case
he uses during an interrogation. It’s something different, and I can’t help but
be curious about its contents. He sets everything down on the table.

“I’ll be back soon, so I think you can survive without
cuddling with my uniform.” He picks up the older uniforms in the room. “I need
to have them cleaned. Besides, I want you to carefully study the books I left
you today, and I want you to examine the items in the bag. Your instructors
only told you the basics about sex. The expectation was that your many lovers
would teach you the rest. You’ve probably never seen some of the things in
my
books.”

Instantly intrigued, I move toward the edge of the bed. My
plan is to get up and retrieve the items.

“No,” he orders.

I stop.

“Wait until I’m gone to look at everything.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

With a subtle nod, he turns to leave. His older uniforms are
draped over his arm. “I will return shortly, American.” He closes the bedroom
door.

I hear him descend the stairs before the front door opens
and closes. His car starts, and then the engine revs briefly. I hear the
vehicle pull away from the house. Silence.

I was going to take a shower, but now, well, he’s left me a
freakin’ mystery. I hop off the bed and then hurriedly retrieve the books and
the black bag. I tote them back to the bed. After returning to my previous
cross-legged position on the down comforter, I flip open one of the books. I
inhale sharply when I see a picture of a nude woman tied to a bed.

What the hell?

A bit confused, I close the book and search for a title. It
doesn’t have one. I lay the book out flat and start reading it from the
beginning. There are German words typed on the first page. Loosely translated,
it reads,
How to give and receive discipline.

Discipline? I flip to the second page. It’s a picture of a
different nude woman on all fours. There’s a man wielding a belt over her,
obviously intent on striking her upturned ass with it. There are German words
at the bottom. The words seem strange to me, and I have to reread them to
understand the meaning,
When an open palm is not sufficient, a belt or a
hairbrush can make a useful tool.

I blink several times at the strange picture.

My captor is right. I’ve never seen anything quite like this
before. As part of my training, my instructors showed me graphic rape films
where women were usually tied to something, but they were gory and violent.
This is…different. I flip to the previous picture, the nude woman tied to the
bed. It’s nothing like the rape films my instructors showed me. It kinda
reminds me of what he likes to do, the way he ties my wrists to the headboard.

My seduction teacher never told me about any of this, and I
never saw stuff like this in school. The images are strange, but oddly enough,
there’s something arousing about them. I slowly turn the pages of the book and
carefully take in the pictures of bound women. Reading through the brief
captions, I catch certain words over and over again…
punishment
,
discipline
,
Domination
,
submission
.

What the hell is he trying to tell me?

When I come to the end of the book, I’m both nervous and
aroused. I feel I’m in uncharted waters. Setting the first book aside, I decide
to go through the mysterious black bag next. After unzipping it, I cautiously
peer inside before reaching in. I pull out what looks like a long black stick.
It’s a riding crop, but I have the impression it was never meant for striking
horses. The firm handle is wrapped in leather, which feels supple in my grip.

After setting the crop aside, I pull out a simple strip of
black cloth that looks like a scarf. Uncertain of its purpose, I set it aside
as well.

A strange feeling of curiosity and nervousness settles
around me. Looking in the bag, I realize there’s only one item left. I pull out
something by several leather tails. Studying it, I realize I’m holding it
wrong. The handle is dangling like a pendulum. I take the handle in my hand and
then swish the leather tails to and fro. I have no idea what it is or what its
purpose could possibly be.

Everything in the bag looks new. I also smell leather.

Shrugging, I set the mysterious item aside.

The only thing left to look at is the second book. After
placing the book in front of me, I realize it’s very similar to the first one.
Both books are simple black volumes with no title or author.

As I slowly turn each page of the second book, I spot a
picture of a man wielding the mysterious tool I just pulled out of the bag.
He’s hitting a bound woman’s bare shoulders with it. My eyes linger on the
picture.

By the time I finish going through everything, I feel
strangely aroused, confused and nervous. What is he trying to tell me? Is this
just his weird way of telling me he’s going to beat me when he gets home?

In all honesty, that doesn’t sound like him. But it does
sound like something a Nazi would do. Maybe he’s just playing some weird game
with me. A bit confused about everything, I can’t help but jump when I hear his
car pull up. I stand from the bed. If I wasn’t tethered to the footboard, I
might bolt.

The minute the front door opens, I desperately look for some
place to hide. His heavy footfalls hit the first few steps, and I drop to the
floor. Like a frightened animal, I scurry under the bed. His familiar footsteps
climb up the stairs, and I hold my breath. I hear him enter the room. I see his
boots from under the bed.

“American?”

I hear the chain being picked up and then I feel a tug on my
ankle. He kneels down before peering under the bed.

“American, what are you doing?”

“Are you going to hit me?”

He frowns at me. “No. It wasn’t my intention to frighten you
with the books. Now come out from under there.”

I know he can pull me out if he wants. Hiding under the bed
wasn’t too bright, but it was more of a gut response.

A bit reluctantly, I crawl out from my poor hiding spot.

He’s standing nearby. Uncertain what to do, I sit on the
floor.

He settles into a chair. “You looked at everything I left
you, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It frightened you?”

I’m not sure how to answer that question. I shake my head at
him.

“No,” he orders. “
Talk
to me. I don’t like gestures
in questioning. They’re too vague. Did it frighten you?”

“Not at first. In the beginning, I thought the pictures
were…arousing.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I’m not sure why, but I want to keep talking to him. “At
first, I felt nervous and curious and…also…aroused.”

“So why did you hide under the bed?”

“I wondered if you were playing a game with me, like you
were threatening to beat me when you came back.”

“I wasn’t threatening you.”

I study his face. I want to ask him something, but I don’t.
Instead, I look away, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“You want to know something?”

I’m tempted to nod, but I remember what he said about
gestures. “Those items in the bag are meant to strike flesh, aren’t they?”

He smiles at me. “Yes, they are.”

“I don’t understand. You said you weren’t trying to threaten
me, but you
want
to hit me with those things? That would hurt, wouldn’t
it?”

He tilts his head, seemingly amused by my questions. “I
simply miss wielding a flogger or a crop. One can easily use each tool without
inflicting any significant harm or injury. As far as how you feel about erotic
pain, well, we’ve
yet
to explore your limits, American.”

My breath hitches at his odd words. Something about how he
said
yet
concerns me.

“A flogger? Is that what the other item in the bag is, the
one with the tails?”

He smiles darkly at me. “Yes.”

I shift around a bit. “Those tools in the bag look new.”

“They are. I bought them recently for you.”

“But you said you miss wielding those items.”

“Ah, very good.” He nods at me. “You listen well. I actually
threw out a lot of things after the divorce. I gave up looking for what I
wanted a long time ago.”

Confusion washes through me. What does he want?

He stands, and I simply watch him, wondering what he’s going
to do next. He walks to the bed before retrieving the mysterious tool I
couldn’t identify earlier, the one with the leather tails. The flogger.

“Stand up,” he orders simply, approaching me.

He holds the tool much more confidently than I did, as if he
knows exactly how to use it. Somehow, he looks different to me holding the
flogger…more intimidating, I think. Swallowing hard, I reluctantly stand. He
takes a hold of my arm, just above my elbow, and pulls me closer to him.

He presses the flogger against my shoulders. I can feel the
leather tails through the shirt I’m still wearing. “I’m going to strike you
with it just once across your shoulders, so you know what it feels like. It
won’t be very hard.”

I don’t think he’s asking. It’s more like he’s warning me.

Before I can even process what he’s just told me, I feel a
sharp slap across my shoulders. I jump and yelp, more from surprise than
anything else, but it didn’t really hurt. My eyes meet his. He looks intrigued
by something. His breathing seems a bit quickened and uneven. His grip
tightens. The tails of the flogger slap my shoulders again, only harder than
the first time. I jump and then pull against him. I’m not sure what to make of
all this. He’s not hurting me, but the experience is somehow…overwhelming.

He strikes me a third time and then a fourth. Each sharp
smack warms the flesh on my back and shoulders. His gloved fingers tighten
around my captured limb as he strikes me a fifth time.

I sink to my knees, trembling, though I’m not afraid or
cold. He doesn’t let me go but instead holds my arm awkwardly above my head. He
still has his hat on, so his eyes are somewhat shadowed. But I can tell his
gaze is hard.

He’s giving me a strange
you-better-behave
look that
thrills me in a bizarre and foreign way. Finally, he releases me, but he seems
to do it only reluctantly. I have the impression he wanted to strike me again.

“Thank you,” he mutters.

I don’t even move. I can’t. He settles on the bed’s edge.

Several minutes of silence passes.

“We will do this again in the near future, yes?”

I reluctantly look at him, feeling even more confused and
embarrassed. “Yes,” I whisper, still kneeling on the floor.

He seems pleased by something. “Come. Stand up.” He sets the
flogger next to him on the bed.

Swallowing hard, I stand. He takes my hand and then pulls me
between his knees.

“Take off the shirt,” he orders, plucking at the sleeve. “I
keep getting so distracted by your charms, I never think to completely strip
you.”

My shirt is already unbuttoned, so I slip it off. He takes
it and then tosses it aside. His eyes slowly look me up and down.

“Turn around,” he orders, leaning back a bit on the bed.

Steadying my nerves, I turn and face the wall. His gloved
finger traces the scar across my lower back. I wince, wishing he hadn’t seen
it. But I knew this was going to come up eventually.

“What is this?” he asks.

I’m not sure why, but I don’t want to tell him.

“Answer me, American,” he demands.

I know there’s no point in withholding anything, but I still
don’t want to tell him. “It happened a long time ago.” I shrug a bit
indifferently, hoping the answer will be good enough.

“I didn’t ask
when
it happened. I asked what it was.
Now answer my question or I’ll get my needles.”

So much for shrugging it off. I turn my head to talk to him.
“One evening, I overheard my father saying something to my brother about how he
didn’t score as well as I did on those stupid tests. Later that same evening,
my brother attacked me with a kitchen knife. The other lacerations healed, but
that one was the deepest, so it left a scar.” I turn my head back around and
stare at the wall.