CapturedbytheSS (20 page)

“No,” I protest. I cup my hand over his, trying to push the
showerhead away, but I can’t even budge his firm grip. “Please. I can’t take
any more.” I try to wiggle away, but all I manage to do is rise up on my knees.

“Shh, yes you can,” he whispers, wrapping his other arm
around me. The pulsating water pounds my pussy and clit. I make a strangled cry
as yet another orgasm tears through me.

My captor finally pulls the showerhead away, but he doesn’t
let me go. He only holds me firmly against his broad chest as he gently kisses
my temple.

With a groan, he finally stands.

Kneeling, I watch him shampoo his hair.

I’m wondering if he’ll want me to wash him the way he did
me. He grabs the soap and then lathers his own body. I guess he doesn’t want me
to wash him. I’m actually a little disappointed. He raises an eyebrow at me as
he quickly washes himself off. I stand up and then lean against the tiled wall,
studying him. I think I’m either pouting or sulking.

As if catching my thoughts, he gently takes my hand before
pouring some soap in my palm. A smile graces his lips as he wraps my fingers
around his flaccid cock. I step closer to him and press my face against his
shoulder. He urges my soapy fingers to move. I feel him growing hard again in
my hand. I take my time lathering his arousal. After several minutes, he pulls
my hand away before rinsing himself off.

He turns his back to the water and then pushes me back down
to my knees. His hand slides behind my neck as I take his erect cock between my
lips. I feel a bit more certain of my skills this time. His fingers tangle in
my wet hair.

Sealing my lips around him, I close my eyes and suck. He
moves back and forth gently, and I quickly catch his want. Slackening my lips,
I rock slightly, letting his cock slide across my lips at a steady and rhythmic
pace. I can tell he likes what I’m doing. He climaxes quickly, and I dutifully
swallow. With a low groan, he pulls away before turning off the shower. I’m
still kneeling in the tub.

“Don’t move. Stay on your knees.”

I’m not sure why he wants me to stay on my knees, but it’s
not an unreasonable or vicious request. I sit still and merely watch him.

He slides open the curtain before stepping out of the tub.
He retrieves a towel.

“Stand up,” he orders.

I obey, and he wraps the towel around me. He takes his time
drying me off. Once he’s finished, he retrieves a second towel from under the
sink for himself.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

I nod as I wrap the towel like a robe around me. “Yes.”

He gets a fresh dress shirt for me and then wraps a tan robe
around himself. He even gives me a fresh pair of his socks.

Lunch is a simple meal of turkey sandwiches and sliced
cucumbers. As with our breakfast, he feeds me while I’m draped across his lap.
I’m tempted to ask what he meant earlier when he said I was his official property,
but I don’t.

After lunch, he sits at the table and drinks his tea as he
reads through some papers. I rest my head against his shoulder and merely wait
for whatever is going to happen next. I really don’t understand this sway he
seems to have over me. I feel so open to his whims and wants.

He finishes his tea but doesn’t rush to stand up. He’s
reading what looks like a budget report. For some reason, I become enamored
with his neck and ear. I can’t even stop myself from nuzzling against him. My
lips press against his neck, just below his ear.

“American, what are you doing?”

I immediately stop and pull away, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“I didn’t say stop.” He puts down the papers he was reading.

Hesitantly, I nuzzle against him again and plant soft kisses
up and down his neck. My tongue lightly caresses his flesh. He lets out a
ragged breath as his head turns slightly. This is the first time I’ve realized
I seem to have some sway over him as well.

He backs off slightly, obviously wanting me to stop, which I
do.

He shifts me around and urges me to stand. After rising out
of the chair, he takes my hand and then leads me back upstairs to the bedroom.
He takes a moment to change the sheets and make the bed. I only stand off the
side and watch. After he makes the bed, he walks to the bathroom. I hear water
running. He returns with a damp cloth, which he leaves on one of the
nightstands—the one closest to his side.

Folding the bedding over, he gestures for me to get into
bed, which I do. The fresh sheets smell like lavender, and I can’t stop myself
from snuggling under the newly made covers. He gently pulls my foot out from
under the bedding before relocking the leash to my anklet. Disappointment
crashes down on me.

“Are you leaving?” I ask, watching him lock the chain to my
locator.

“No.”

“Why are you putting the leash on?”

“Because I like the idea of you being chained to my bed.”

After he has me tethered to the footboard, he doesn’t follow
me under the blankets and sheets. Instead, he pulls the small table that’s by
the window over to the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing?”

He only smiles at me before walking out of the bedroom.

I hear him in his office.

He walks back into the bedroom with a thin flat-screen
plasma television. After placing the television on the table and plugging it
in, he draws the heavy curtains closed. The screen is blue. A bit baffled, I
watch him walk to the closet. He rolls it open and then pulls something off the
floor.

I spot a tripod folded up. Almost immediately, I remember
all the strange noises I heard when he had me initially bent over the foot of
the bed. And I especially remember his specific instructions about turning my
head a certain way.

Oh crap. I think he recorded us while I was blindfolded and
then hid everything in the closet afterward.

“What did you do?” I ask, watching him retrieve a video
camera from the closet floor.

“I wanted a recording of you. I only have audio so far, but
I wanted video as well.”

“You videoed me?”

“Don’t panic. It’s just for us…well, more for me.” He plugs
the camera into the television and retrieves a remote.

With a sigh, he pulls off his robe and slips under the
covers. “Come here,” he insists, gathering me in his arms.

I want to protest, but I don’t. He seems so excited and
eager. Did recording me really make him this happy?

He clicks on the camera with the remote. The screen
flickers. I see myself bent over the foot of the bed. A bit overwhelmed, I
close my eyes and press my face against his chest.

“No, don’t hide, American.” His fingers curl under my jaw.
He tilts my face toward the screen. “Watch yourself. You’re lovely. Besides,
we’re the only ones here.”

Turning my head slightly, I reluctantly watch the screen.
Splayed across my back, the tails of the flogger look even more intimidating
than I remember. Without looking at the camera, he steps into the frame.

On the recording, he’s dressed in his uniform while I’m
naked, handcuffed, blindfolded and bent over the foot of the bed. I know I’m
his prisoner, yes, but somehow, the image on the screen is driving home that
point…which I think may be his intention.

I want to look away again, but he groans softly at the
image. His hand takes mine and wraps it around his erect cock. “Such a lovely
prisoner,” he mutters, kissing my forehead.

My pulse quickens at his strange words. It’s as if my captor
somehow understands my buried fantasies, my most personal and darkest desires.

I can’t explain it, but it’s as if I
want
to be a
prisoner. I quickly push aside the strange thought. Maybe my superiors and
instructors are right. Maybe I’m just weird.

A soft sound from the video demands my attention. I remember
making that soft whimper. It was the moment when his finger first breached my
passage. I swallow hard as I watch him work me over. He never once looks at the
video camera. On the recording, he’s focused solely on me. My body remembers
what I’m watching and wetness pools between my thighs.

The audio is basically him whispering “Shh” and “It’s all
right”. In all honesty, I’m more focused on him right now. I can tell he likes
watching this. I hear him whispering on the video, “The empire paid a great
deal for you, and now that you’re
my
official property, I fully intend
to make you pay back that debt over and over again.”

“What does that mean?” I whisper against his chest.

“Don’t talk, American.”

I can tell he’s deeply engrossed in the video. I say
nothing. He keeps my hand curled around his cock, but he doesn’t stroke
himself. I think he’s trying to wait. Before the video ends, he rolls me
slightly and pins me under him. His hands brutally hold my wrists against the
mattress.

A bit overwhelmed with his rougher treatment, I cry out
softly, convinced he’s about to shove his cock inside me. I tense up, fearing
he’s about to hurt me. But he doesn’t fuck me. Instead, his firm lips nuzzle
against my neck. “My American,” he whispers. “My sweet American.”

He’s called me American since the first day, but this is the
first time he’s called me
my
American. He starts whispering things in
German as he gingerly eases his thick arousal inside me. Loosely translated, he
whispers, “My innocent prisoner” and “My captured spy”. I’m not sure what to
make of all this. He’s more possessive than usual.

I want to ask what’s going on, but his expert touch drives
away my questions.

His erection stretches my tight channel, and I wince
slightly as his rock-hard organ gradually impales me. I think he’s working as
slowly and gently as he did when he penetrated me anally, which I think tries
my captor’s patience. He tenderly nuzzles my forehead.

His soft kisses tug at my buried guilt. Fresh tears pool in
my eyes as he fucks me, and I will myself to not sob. He looks at me briefly,
but he doesn’t say anything or ask what’s wrong. I think he knows what I’m
feeling. I look away from him. But his hand gently cups my cheek, turning my
face back toward his. I reluctantly meet his gaze.

He plants petal-soft kisses over my face as he slowly works.
His sweet kisses only serve to confuse and embarrass me as ancient films from
school bubble to the surface. “Know your enemy. Defend your country,” the
narrator chants in my head. A sob escapes me. I hold my breath, trying to stop
my crying.

“Shh, I know, American. I know. It’s all right. Don’t hold
your breath. You can cry.”

I hate that my captor always sees me like this, but at the
same time, I’ve never in my life allowed myself to feel so vulnerable. In my
pre-captured days, I couldn’t afford to let my defenses down. I’ve spent every
moment of my adult life on edge and on guard. But with my captor, I feel…open and
relaxed. And oddly enough, he doesn’t just tolerate or put up with my emotional
meltdowns—I think he welcomes them, perhaps even gets off from them.

He manages to pull an incredibly intense orgasm from me, and
I helplessly sob and cry out beneath him. As I climax, I vaguely register
voices and sounds coming from the television. We both ignore the noises. He
drags out my release and forces me to come until I’m begging for him to stop
and on the brink of unconsciousness.

With a low groan, he finally finds his own release and
spills his hot seed inside me. Exhausted and spent, I close my eyes.

Reality slowly comes back to me. He’s panting against my
ear. There’s another voice. It’s a man speaking German, lecturing about love
and honor. A bit confused, I open my eyes and tilt my head up. The video is
still running, only it’s not us. The answer hits me almost immediately because
I recognize the images from his wedding album. He recorded us over a video of
his wedding. Groaning, he leans over and retrieves the remote. He clicks the
camera off before placing the remote back down.

“You recorded over your wedding?” I whisper. My breath
slightly hitches. I’m not sobbing anymore, but I’m still a bit weepy.

He doesn’t answer me but instead retrieves the wet cloth he
left earlier on the night stand. He hovers over me, trapping me under him as he
gingerly drags the soft cloth over my tear-stained face. “I nearly threw it
away years ago. I only kept it to remind myself not to make the same mistake
twice.”

I’m not sure what happened between him and her, but I think
she cut him deep.

Once he finishes mopping away my tears, he swabs my folds
and inner thighs, wiping away our hot juices. He sets the cloth aside and takes
me in his arms. I’m exhausted, spent and emotionally drained but also…happy.

“You called me your official property,” I whisper against
his chest.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why? What does that mean?”

He chuckles at my questions, but he doesn’t answer me.

“Please,” I sit up and study him. “Talk to me. Tell me
what’s going on. Tell me what I am to you… Tell me who you are.”

He gently pulls me against his chest, returning me to my
previous position against him. His fingers brush through my hair. I’m already
drowsy and thoroughly spent. His soft petting is lulling me to sleep, and I
think he knows that.

“You are a captured American spy in the custody of the SS,”
he whispers gently. “Now go to sleep.”

I stubbornly try to stay awake, determined to get a straight
answer, but his fingers keep brushing through my hair. Despite my best efforts,
I drift to sleep.

I reluctantly open my eyes. It’s dark in the room, and I can
tell I’ve been out for a while. I think it’s the middle of the night. My face
is pressed against his chest. I want to go back to sleep, but I can’t. I have
to pee. More than anything, I’d like to get out of bed and go to the bathroom.
But I’m kinda trapped in his warm embrace. I can tell by his breathing that
he’s deep asleep. If I move, I might wake him. Ignoring my bladder, I try to go
back to sleep, but I can’t. I have to get up.