CapturedbytheSS (9 page)

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.”

“My seduction teacher told me to disregard that old film.”

“Why did you think it was true then?” He kisses my forehead.