CapturedbytheSS (12 page)

He pulls his hand from my center and instead firmly clasps
the side of my hip. He shifts around a bit, trapping me under him as he hovers
over me. His arousal prods at my pussy as his tongue ruthlessly pushes against
mine.

The blunt tip of his cock teasingly brushes my clit before
slowly entering my sheath. He slides into me a little easier than he did
before, but my passage still feels snug around his invading erection. Once he’s
inserted, he tries to pull out, but the movement only tugs at my passage,
creating some pain.

With his tongue still filling my mouth, I cry out softly. He
doesn’t pull himself from me, but instead remains perfectly still. He breaks
our kiss and instead nuzzles my ear. He murmurs something about how good my
tight pussy feels. Damn it, why do I have to be so tight? He has to love that.

After several minutes, he gingerly withdraws his cock before
easing himself back in. I’m actually a bit shocked by his patience and
restraint. I didn’t even know men could control themselves like this. Steven
kinda just took what he wanted however hard and fast he wanted it. I’m oddly
touched by my captor’s actions, which only serves to confuse me further. I run
my hands up and down his muscular back.

Abandoning my ear, he once again presses his lips against
mine. His tongue claims my mouth as he slowly works his cock in and out of me.
The steady pumping of his thick arousal spreads my hot juices and gently
stretches my tight passage, allowing him to slowly quicken his pace. Gentle
pushing turns into hard thrusting, finesse turns to need.

Similar to what happened downstairs, I climax quickly, but
he doesn’t stop fucking me, which only serves to drag out and prolong my
release. His tongue slips from my mouth as I climax, but his parted lips hover
mere millimeters from mine. My quick pants and sharp exhalations ricochet off
him and back against my lips.

More than anything, I’m ready for this to stop. Being made
to come again and again is almost too much for me. Once again my muscles
tighten and knot up painfully. I’m hoping he’s almost near his own release, but
I sense he’s intentionally focusing on not coming. I think he likes doing this
to me.

“P-please,” I whisper.

“Shh, this will stop when I decide.”

I’m not certain, but I think he finds something unusual in
how he can make me come again and again, as if I have some gift or talent.
Personally, I think he’s the one with the talent because he can make my body do
things I never thought it could.

Hell, I could never even make myself do this with my own
fingers, so I have no idea how he knows exactly what buttons to press.

Eventually, he reaches his own breaking point, spilling his
hot seed inside me, and thrusts hard against my clit with a final, brutal
thrust. Tears blur my vision as I let out a strangled cry. I’m sensing he’s
angry with himself though. I think he wanted to keep going.

Panting, he sags against my body. I take slow, deep breaths,
trying to process everything that’s happened in such a short amount of time.
Again the questions haunt me. What the hell is he doing? What is this? A game?
An experiment?

In my confusion, I manage to tell myself this is all some
strange game he’s playing. I don’t delude myself into thinking something that’s
not true. He’s still my enemy, and I’m still an American spy in his custody.
For all I know, my execution is tomorrow. Deciding not to dwell on the
inevitable, I simply enjoy the feel of his warm body against mine. Pulling
himself from me, he rolls over and scoops my spent body into his arms.

“How can you do that?” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“The way you can come again and again like that. How can you
do that?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was some gift you had,” I barely
whisper. I’m thoroughly spent and half-asleep. I wish I hadn’t said he had a
gift, but I wasn’t really thinking.

Silence. I sense his body growing rigid next to me. I think
he’s angry about something. I force myself to wake up. Something’s not quite
right. Panic washes through me. Did I do something wrong? Is he going to kill
me now?

He pulls away from me and clicks on a lamp. Blinking at the
light, I watch him rise out of bed. I hear a drawer by the bed open and close.
Before I can even react, he’s on top of me and straddling my hips. The familiar
black bag opens on the bed next to me.

I’m not sure what’s going on, but I don’t offer any
resistance. He looks angry. I look away while he unwraps another syringe.
Keeping my head turned, I close my eyes. I feel him swab my wrist with
something cold and wet. The pinch of the needle soon follows. Similar to what
it did before, the drug almost instantly overtakes me. I feel his fingers on my
cheek and eyelid. I think he’s checking to see if I’m under. Once again there’s
only darkness in my vision.

“Are you trying to manipulate me?” he asks.

Manipulate him? “No.”

“Did you fake any of your orgasms with me?”

“No.”

“Were you trying to flatter me just now, especially when you
said I had a gift for making you come like that?”

“No.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Are you trying to play me or
seduce me in any way to gain some favor in my eyes?”

“No.” Although that’s what I’m supposed to be doing.

He pauses again. “Your orgasms were real?”

“Yes.”

“And you really believe I have some knowledge or skill to
make you come like that?”

“Yes.”

Silence. “Why?”

“Because Steven never did that to me, and I’ve never been
able to do that to myself.”

He chuckles softly at my statement. “Your former lover was
incompetent and self-gratification can only go so far.”

He slips off me. I hear the drawer next to the bed open and
close. The mattress shifts as he slips into bed next to me. His arms take my
limp body against his muscular form.

“You like being in my bed, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You like the things I do to you?”

“Yes.”

I sense he already knows all this, and I don’t think my
answers surprised him. I have the impression he likes asking questions and
having his questions answered. I think he sees interrogation as some dark art.
The drug forces me to answer, yes, but I remember from our first couple of
sessions that a slight rewording can alter the response. I think he likes
finding the right questions to ask.

“Thank you, American,” he whispers, kissing my forehead. “I
just had to know for sure.”

I’m not certain what exactly that was all about. I quickly
dismiss the entire thing.

His body is like a warm boulder against me. Inhaling deeply,
I take in his clean, masculine scent. I’m still under the influence of the
drug, so my limbs don’t move the way I want them to. I’ve never felt so safe
and so lost at the same time. I have no idea what this is or where it’s going.
After several minutes, I will myself to sleep. There’s really nothing else I
can do.

Chapter Four

When I wake up, it’s brighter in the room. I can tell it’s
early. A soft noise jostles me fully awake. Lifting my head, I see my captor
standing at the foot of the bed. He has his back to me. He’s wearing a long
black leather coat. He turns slightly, and I realize he’s dressed in a fresh
uniform only he’s added a coat this morning.

I watch him secure a delicate silver chain to the footboard
of the wrought iron bed with a small lock. He picks up a pair of metal sheers,
cuts into the chain and then loops another lock through the last link. Without
looking at me, he gently takes my foot before hooking the lock around my
anklet, essentially tethering me to the bed. His gloved fingers feel oddly
familiar against my flesh.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He turns and looks at me. His eyes are shadowed by the
low-rim hat. “I have matters to attend to in Berlin.”

“You can leave me loose. I have the locator.”

“Yes, but I don’t feel like chasing you across Germany, and I
have a suspicion you’ll run if given the opportunity.”

I can’t argue with that logic. I probably would.

“The chain is long enough so you can reach the bathroom. I
made you breakfast and left some fruit and nuts for lunch.” He gestures toward
something, and I turn my head to see what he’s referring to. There a small
table and chair set by the window that’s just big enough to seat two people. A
covered plate is on the table, and I also see an apple. My stomach grumbles.
There’s a stack of books next to the covered plate.

“You’ll probably be hungry by the time I get home, but I’ll
make dinner for you later.” I turn my attention back to him as he talks.

After checking the strength of my leash, he looks satisfied.
“It’ll be dark by the time I get home, so I left you some books to pass the
time. I will see you later this evening, American.” He turns and then picks up
a briefcase. With a polite nod, he leaves the room, closing the door behind
him. Much to my disappointment, he takes the metal sheers with him.

I don’t move from the bed. I’m a bit surprised this morning
wasn’t the day of my execution. A part of me thought it would be. I hear him go
down the stairs and then the front door opens and closes. I even faintly hear
his car drive off. Silence. I jump when the central heating kicks on.

As I pull the blankets and covers off, a sudden chill takes
hold of me. I can tell it’s cold outside. It’s relatively warm in the house,
but I’m only dressed in an unbuttoned shirt and I’m also barefoot.

I immediately examine the chain leash tethering me to the
bed. Similar to my locator, the silver chain is thin and light. It looks
delicate, more like jewelry than an actual leash. I wrap the corner of the
sheet around my palm and fingers, using it as a glove, before winding some of
the leash around my hand. I pull the chain taut.

Just because my execution wasn’t today doesn’t mean it won’t
be tomorrow. My captor may have introduced me to passion, but that doesn’t mean
I trust him. Bracing my feet against the footboard, I lean back and pull on the
chain. I tug as hard as I can, hoping something somewhere will give. Since he’s
gone, this is my best chance to get a head start. If I do escape, he’ll be able
to track me with the locator, yes, but maybe I can stay ahead of him.

I tug until my fingers and hands ache, but nothing will
yield. Sighing, I examine both the lock on the locator and the one tethering me
to the bed. They’re small, light and fragile-looking, each measuring less than
one square inch, but I’m quickly learning that looks can be deceiving. I frown
at each small silver lock.

They’re both pick-proof locks. I can tell by the distinct
V-shaped slot for the key. Even if I had a bobby pin or even real lock-picking
tools, I wouldn’t be able to unlock either one. If I had my tool kit, I could
use the saw. But I had to ditch that incriminating piece of evidence as soon as
possible.

I’ve only seen pick-proof, V-slotted locks at military
facilities, and I’ve never seen one this small. I have no idea why he has such
small, sophisticated locks just lying around his house.

In retrospect, I suddenly realize how calm he was about
securing my leash to the footboard, as if he’d done it before. Maybe I’m not
the first American spy he’s taken to his bed. Logic dictates I’m probably not.

Not wanting to miss anything, I stand and examine the bed
I’m tethered to. I don’t see any way to take it apart…at least not without
tools. I take a hold of the footboard and try to lift it, just to gauge the
weight, but I can’t even budge it. Jeez, this bed weighs a ton! What the hell?
I should be able to at least lift it. Baffled by the unusual heaviness, I kneel
down, trying to determine the problem. Upon closer examination, I realize the
bed itself is actually bolted to the floor. Hmm, so I’m not imagining it—he
really has chained people to his bed before. Why else would the bed be bolted
down?

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The man is a Nazi after
all, not a saint. But for some reason, I am surprised.

I go back to yanking on my leash, not certain what else to
do. After several minutes of pulling and tugging, I soon figure out that I’m
not going anywhere. Exhausted from my pointless struggling, I sit on the floor,
panting. I’m actually sweating a bit from my efforts, and I take a few moments
to cool down and catch my breath.

I look over at the table by the window. The covered plate
reminds me I have breakfast waiting. Snow flurries dance across the foggy pane,
and I shiver slightly. The sweat is now serving only to chill me. The central
heating is running, but I’m suddenly cold. I guess I could go back to tugging
against my leash for exercise and to warm up, but I’m hungry.

I stand up and wrap my arms around myself, trying to warm
up. I pull back the comforter on the bed before retrieving an ivory blanket.

Using the blanket as a robe, I shuffle across the room to
the table by the window. Wrapping the blanket tighter around me, I check out
what he left me for breakfast. It’s some bacon and scrambled eggs along with a
muffin smeared with butter. There’s also a glass of apple juice.

I pull out one of the two chairs at the table before sitting
down. I’m actually quite hungry, and I quickly dig into the food. I was forced
to purge my breakfast yesterday, and I didn’t eat anything else. He also left
me a banana, an apple, a candy bar and a jar of almonds. After finishing my
breakfast, I quickly eat the banana. I scan through the books he left me as I
eat. Not surprisingly, they’re all in German, which is actually what I used to
read back home. I used to read German books to keep the language fresh in my
head.

Despite the blanket I’m wrapped up in, I’m still a little
cold. Looking around, I wonder if I can find a pair of socks. If I could cover
my bare feet, I think I could warm up. I shuffle across the room to a three-drawer
dresser. After kneeling down, I open the bottom drawer. I find several pairs of
men’s socks. Victoriously, I pull out a pair.