CapturedbytheSS (23 page)

My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. Family! Home!
America! I’m going to get to talk to my mother! My palms start sweating as I
try to formulate the right words. After several tense minutes, my captor opens
the door and hands me the phone.

“Here, someone answered. I think it’s your mother.”

With trembling hands, I take the phone. “Mom?”

“Isabel?”

God, is that my name? I haven’t been called Isabel in ages.
“Yeah, how are you, Mom? Are you okay?” I manage to sit down.

“Yes! I’m great. Your dad and I were invited to the White
House. We’re going tonight!”

“What?”

“After you were captured, you became a national hero. The
press loves you. You’re in all the papers and on every news channel—you’ve always
been so pretty. They even showed your childhood induction picture, you know,
the one above the fireplace. You remember that picture, don’t you, dear?”

“Uh…yeah. I remember that picture above the fireplace.”

I know what she’s talking about. It was taken when I was
seven years old. It’s a picture of me sitting sideways with an American flag
draped like a cape over my shoulders.

I remember at the time that the photographer fussed over the
perfect placement of the flag. He wanted the two gold stars, remembrances of
Alaska and Hawaii in just the right place, but he also wanted as many of the
other forty-eight stars around the two gold ones in the picture as well. It
took forever to get right, especially for a seven-year-old, and he actually
snapped what felt like a thousand pictures before finally getting the shot he
wanted.

My parents were always very proud of that picture, but I
never knew why, and I never heard it called an “induction picture” or…maybe I
did, but I never understood what that meant.

“Your dad and I are so proud of you, Isabel.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m glad everything is okay.”

I glance up at my captor. He’s leaning against the counter
by the sink. He looks neither pleased nor displeased.

“Oh Isabel, I wish you could see my gown I’m going to wear for
tonight. It was a gift from the House of Glitz. Isn’t that amazing? The House
of Glitz! It’s silver and covered with beads. It’s amazing.”

“Wow. I wish I could see that.” The House of Glitz is a
trendy and famous shop in Los Angeles. The store caters exclusively to
celebrities and movie stars. A cold lump settles in my stomach.

“And,”
my mother adds, “I have an interview tomorrow
on the morning news, plus I’m having lunch with Senator Kate Brown after that.”

“Wow, you have a busy schedule.”

“Oh, you have no idea. The phone has been ringing off the
hook. Your dad and I have been on all the late-night shows. Being a celebrity
is mind-blowing, Isabel. We get gift baskets from everyone. Oh, and you should
see the stuff in these gift baskets—MP3 players, digital camera, gift
certificates, expensive wines. It is unreal.”

“I’m glad everything is going well, Mom.” I swallow a hard
lump in my throat. “Uh, listen, I…I can’t stay on the line very long. I’m
sorry.”

“Oh, that’s okay. The hair and makeup people are waving me
over right now. They want to get me ready for tonight. Press will of course be
at the White House. It was good to hear your voice, dear. We all love you very
much, and we’re all so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you too. Have fun tonight.”

I quickly hang up the phone. A strange numbness settles
around me as my fingers start trembling. My captor quickly rushes over. He
places a hand on my shoulder and takes the phone from me, which I’m grateful
for because I nearly dropped it by accident. Much to my surprise though, he
hurls the phone across the room. I hear it break as it hits something.

“Are you all right?” he asks gently, kneeling in front of
me.

Almost immediately, I start sobbing…because
my captor
just asked me the one question I wanted my mother to ask.

He takes me in his arms. “Shh, it’s all right, American.”
His fingers stroke through my hair. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. I have to get up
very early tomorrow.”

With his arm around me, he leads me up the stairs. I wipe
away my tears with my hand. “My parents were invited to the White House,” I
whisper as we climb the stairs. I’m not sure why I told him that. Maybe I
shouldn’t have.

“I know. I read about that. You’re a national hero in the
States. The press loves you. Your picture still pops up from time to time on
American news.”

“You know?”

“Of course. We keep up with news in the States. I saw your
induction picture. You were an adorable child.”

I laugh softly at that. “Thank you for letting me call my
mother,” I whisper sincerely. Actually, I am grateful for the phone call, and
I’m glad everything is okay at home.

“You’re welcome.”

Once we’re in his bedroom, he promptly locks the leash to my
anklet. It’s turning into a routine really.

I take a moment to wash off my face with some cool water and
brush my teeth as he gets undressed. I also retrieve the bottle of body lotion
from under the sink before smoothing a little over my face. My captor only
watches me through the open bathroom door as he undresses, but he doesn’t say
anything.

Once I’m finished, I slip under the covers. He takes a quick
shower and brushes his teeth while I lie in bed and wait. He turns off the
lights before climbing into bed next to me and taking me in his arms. There’s
only the sound of our breathing. He smells like soap.

“I think you owe me a proper show of gratitude for the phone
call.” His voice is a low murmur.

My heart actually flutters at that statement. I can’t
explain it, but I want to make him happy. “What would you like me to do?”

He groans softly. “I miss the feel of your mouth.”

I can do that. Softly, I kiss his muscular chest as I slip
my head farther under the covers. I breathe in his clean, masculine scent. My
fingers skate across firm, smooth flesh. I work a trail down his stomach,
planting soft kisses on him. His nimble fingers tangle softly in my hair. He
doesn’t rush me or dictate my pace. His touch is more supportive and
encouraging.

I gently take his arousal between my lips. I’ve learned from
experience what he likes. He lets out a ragged breath as my tongue wraps softly
around him. I take in as much of his erection as I can, stopping just before
the blunt tip hits the back of my throat. The feel of his thick cock stretching
my lips and filling my mouth thrills me in a way that truly shocks me. As I
suck his swollen organ, my fingers gently wrap around the base of his cock. I
stroke what my mouth can’t take.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” he whispers.

He groans again as his body shudders beneath me. Giddiness
washes through me. Remembering something from our shower, I bob gently. He
takes another ragged breath.

“Stop,” he orders. His hands also gently push me away.
Confusion filters through me. Did I do something wrong?

He tugs me up next to him. “I want to come in your tight
little pussy. I want you writhing beneath me.”

“No,” I protest as he traps me under him. “I’m thanking you
for the phone call. I don’t want to come.”

“Well,
I
want you to come.”

“But—”

“Shh, I know, American. I know.”

I look away from him, not wanting him to see just how much I
like lying under him. The tip of his cock presses against the entrance of my
sheath. He nibbles my earlobe as my lips involuntarily tremble. Tears slowly
seep from my closed eyes. His hand slides next to my head as he abandons my
ear. He cups my cheek and gently turns my face toward him. I know he wants me
to look up at him. Hesitantly, I do.

“Every time I fuck you, your sweet lips quiver and your eyes
fill with tears.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I…I can’t help it.” I’m not sure why I’m
apologizing.

“No, I like it.” His thumb pushes away my tears. “In fact,
it makes me even harder, American. Do you know why?”

“No,” I whisper. His cock eases farther inside me. I wince
as his invading organ stretches my tight passage.

“Because it’s so innocent.”

I only look up at him, confused. “I don’t understand.” Hot
tears stream down my temples.

“I know.”

Holding me tighter, he slowly pushes the remaining length of
his cock inside me. Hot wetness gushes from me, coating him. His lips graze
mine. Without thinking, I clench my jaw, disallowing his tongue from entering
my mouth. He pauses and lifts his head. I sense he’s confused.

“I want to know your name,” I whisper. I’m not sure why I
feel compelled to demand something. I think I’m angry because he knows
everything
about me, including exactly how to touch me, and yet I don’t know a damn thing
about him.

He chuckles darkly at my statement. His thumb presses hard
against my chin as he pries my mouth open. I can tell this is a pointless
struggle, so I slacken my jaw.

“I don’t bargain with prisoners, American.” He sounds
amused.

He presses his lips against mine again and plunges his
tongue deep in my mouth, quite literally taking the kiss I tried to withhold.
Every thought evaporates.

He slowly works his throbbing arousal in and out of me as he
kisses me hard and deep. As usual, he gets me to climax quickly, and he breaks
our kiss. I whimper and pant helplessly beneath him. The tip of his tongue
teasingly traces my bottom lip as I come.

My soft whimpers and sharp pants only excite him, and his
movements become even harder and faster. My muscles knot up painfully as he
forces me to come again and again.

Just before the world turns dark, I hear myself chanting the
one word I know he likes, “Please, please, please…”

Reality slowly comes back to me. Opening my eyes, I realize
I’m lying in his arms. My face is pressed against his chest. I can tell he’s
not asleep.

“Are you awake?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

His concern for my well-being always confuses me. “Yes.”

He exhales deeply. I can tell he’s sleepy.

“Can I ask you a question?” I whisper.

“You can ask me anything. Of course, I may or may not
answer.”

“Will you ever tell me your name?”

He laughs softly at my question. “Yes, but not tonight.”

“When?”

“When I decide.”

His fingers brush through my hair. “Now go to sleep,
American.” His gentle petting lulls me into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Chapter Eight

I’m half-asleep when the phone stirs me awake. My captor
actually stayed home from work today, even though he said last night that he
had to get up early. I think he was worried about leaving me alone since the
phone call with my mother upset me last night.

We spent most of the day in bed except when we ate
breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s relatively early in the evening. Glancing at
a clock, I see it’s only a little after eight. I think my captor left me to nap
while he went to work in his office.

The phone rings a second time. It sounds as if it’s coming
from his office at the end of the hall. The phone in the kitchen is still
broken. After two rings, I hear his voice. He answers and converses in German.
I can tell he’s talking to a friend.

Loosely translated, I hear, “Hello.” Followed by, “Yes. How
are you?”

There’s a stretch of silence.

“Nothing, just working.”

He sighs. “I take time off. My American has kept me more
than distracted lately.”

I perk up at that. He’s talking about me.

“No, of course not. You can meet her.”

Meet? Does he want me to meet someone? What’s going on?

I hear him laugh, followed by, “Uh-uh.” And then, “Yes.”

The conversation seems to switch more to business. “No, I
don’t think that report is coming out until later this month.”

After a pause, I hear, “Right.” And then, “Yes. I have a
copy of that report.”

Silence, followed by, “No, come by the house tonight. I’ll
give it to you. You can meet my American.”

Oh crap! What the hell is this?

He says goodbye before I hear his footfalls coming. He finds
me sitting up in bed.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” he declares in English.

“I heard you on the phone.”

“Yes, that was a friend of mine. I want you to meet him.”

He’s not wearing his uniform. Instead, he’s wearing his tan
robe, but he’s obviously intent on changing. I don’t say anything but instead
watch him slip on a fresh uniform.

He tosses a clean white dress shirt to me. “Here, put this
on.”

This is all I get for company? I don’t say anything. If I
protest, he might make me stay naked. Hell, I’ll take what I can get. I slip on
the shirt before carefully buttoning it up. Since I have so little, I don’t
want to miss a single button, though I leave it parted at the top.

After getting dressed, he looks at me and frowns.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s nothing,” he chuckles, grabbing a hair brush from the
top of the dresser. He uses the brush to smooth down my hair. He doesn’t hurry,
and he patiently brushes out my shoulder-length hair. “There. Much better,” he
declares, setting aside the brush.

He unlocks my leash before taking my hand and then leading
me downstairs. We walk into the rarely used living room. He grabs something off
the couch. It’s a large, flat crimson pillow, which he tosses on the floor by
the sofa.

“Here, kneel down,” he instructs, gesturing toward the
oversized pillow on the floor. I’m a bit annoyed I have to sit on the floor,
but I guess there are worse things. I kneel on both knees and sit on my heels.

I’m actually nervous. Who’s coming over? What’s going on?

He turns on lamps in the living room before stepping into
the kitchen. I’m not certain, but I think he turned on the coffeemaker. My
palms are sweaty, and I press them against my shirttails, which are covering my
thighs.