War Prize, page 15
part #1 of Captured by the SS Series
He cocks his head as if shocked I even asked the question. I suddenly understand.
It’s been a few years, yes, but public executions of American spies are ugly. They don’t broadcast them in the States but somehow, video copies always end up on the family’s doorstep. The Third Reich has agents everywhere.
“Oh,” I whisper.
“Enough,” my captor states, settling his hands around my waist. He pulls me closer. Before I can even think or react, his warm, wet tongue laves my navel. I inhale sharply as I helplessly cling to his shoulders. I think I’m just about to lose myself in passion when my vision lands on something. The flogger is on the bed next to him.
“Are you going to create more scars now?”
He stops licking my stomach and instead leans back. He looks at me and then at the flogger. He chuckles softly.
“No. I promise I won’t even break the skin.”
“Does it hurt?” I know it probably does, but I guess I just want as much information as possible.
He stands from the bed and gently takes my hand. He picks up the flogger. “Does it hurt,” he repeats. “Well, I can promise I won’t do any permanent damage with this.” He gestures with the newly purchased tool.
I can tell by his tone that he sees this flogger as a toy. He’s done far worse with real weapons.
I bite back any further questions or protests. I should just be quiet, so he doesn’t get a real instrument of torture. If he wanted to, he could just whip me to a bloody pulp.
The footboard of his bed is made of wrought iron and has a low curve in the center. Because of the design, there’s a small space where the mattress isn’t blocked by the footboard. I have a sneaking suspicion this bed was custom made. He guides me to that space and pushes against my back. “Bend,” he orders.
I bend over and bury my face in the plush bedding. The next thing I know, something drags across my back. I flinch when I realize it was the tails of the flogger.
“Easy,” he whispers.
He splays the leather tails across my shoulders and lays the handle against my spine.
“Try to stay very still,” he orders. “If you move, the tails will shift, and I’ll know you moved.”
His tone is borderline threatening.
I don’t move. I don’t even breathe too deeply.
My face is still pressed against the lofty down. I don’t even try to lift my head or look around. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut. I hear paper rustling. I remember the brown paper bag on the bed, the one that had the new flogger in it. It never occurred to me that there were other items inside.
My captor gently takes hold of my left arm. Something encircles my wrist. The pictures in my captor’s books flicker through my head. A leather cuff. I think he just buckled a leather cuff around my wrist. He secures another cuff to my other wrist.
“You might pull more, and the rope will dig into your flesh. The cuffs will be better,” he explains.
Being careful not to move the flogger, I turn my head slightly to see what he’s doing. The leather cuffs around my wrists each have an attached O-ring. He runs the rope through each ring and pulls the length of it up toward the headboard. The action draws my wrists together and extends my arms toward the headboard as well. It also jostles the flogger on my back.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to move the flogger,” I explain, lifting my head.
His gloved hands smooth over my arms. “Easy, American. It doesn’t count if I move you. I just wanted you to stay still.”
My breath is shallow and shaky. I’m not sure what to expect. I hear him walking around the bed. One of his boots suddenly wedges between my feet.
“Apart,” he orders.
I try to will my feet to move, but they won’t cooperate. Will my captor be mad? Will he hurt me for it? Fortunately, he seems to understand my predicament. Firmly, but not roughly, his boot forces my feet further apart. Gloved fingers touch my calf on my right leg. He slips off my sock and secures another cuff around my ankle. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I think he’s tethering my ankle to the bottom of the footboard.
He moves to my left leg. Curious, I try to move my right leg. It won’t budge. He slips off my other sock and repeats the same process to my left ankle.
By the time he’s finished, I’m helplessly tied down and completely unable to move. A spirit of panic runs through me when he pulls the flogger away.
I struggle a bit and pull against the restraints. Instead of rough rope burning my skin, I only feel the unyielding strength of the cuffs.
“Relax,” my captor whispers, smoothing his hand across my lower back.
With my face still buried in down, I bite the covers.
The minute the thin strips of stiff leather smack across my back, I clamp down harder on the comforter to keep from yelping.
Silence. I sense my captor’s confusion.
His hands touch me. He gently turns my head.
“Oh,” he comments. “There’s a reason I didn’t gag you,” he states, clearly amused. “Let it go,” he quietly orders, pulling the fabric from my mouth.
Grudgingly, I let him pull the bedding from between my clenched teeth.
“I want to hear you. Just relax and feel.”
There’s a patch of flesh across my back that burns. A lot. This is going to hurt.
Okay, so what was I expecting in Nazi custody? A picnic? Since I can’t bite the bedding anymore, I ball my hands into fists and try to remember my training. I was actually given a lot of information about how to handle torture. He may see his flogger as a toy and this may all just be a game to him, but it’s not a game to me.
“If you can breathe,” my instructor told me, “that is, if you’re not being held underwater or being choked, focus on your breathing. Inhale and exhale. Focus only on that.”
The leather tails fall in a different spot on my back, making the flesh there burn as if touched by fire. I cry out softly, silently clinging to my instructor’s words, inhale and exhale.
The leather tails hit me again and again. I can’t keep up with my body’s running inventory of new pains.
Inhale and exhale.
Each sharp smack seems to elicit a loud “ah” from me, despite my best efforts to stay silent. The noises I make only seem to excite him.
Inhale and exhale.
From the back of my brain comes an eerily clear memory. It’s the day I signed up for the military. On the very first day, they made me take an oath. A judge administered it to me, one-on-one, face to face. The judge was a large man with dark skin and a stern but kind face. I can see the Bible he’s holding up. I can see my hand on top of it.
“I swear,” I say, facing the judge. “I swear…I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States…I swear.”
Somehow, my words sound wrong, kinda breathless and slurred, but the judge doesn’t seem to notice, so I press on, “against…all enemies, foreign and…domestic. I…I swear.”
I swear.
I swear.
At the end of the oath, the judge lowers the Bible. He looks me hard in the eye and asks, “Isabel, would you die for your country?”
I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes but when I answer, “yes,” he almost looks heart-broken. Confusion filters through me. Why does he look that way? Why does he look like he’s sending a lamb into the lion’s den? Why?
Two points in my mind connect. I know why he looks like that. I know why…because I’m not the drone I’m supposed to be.
I’m not the drone I’m supposed to be.
“Are you with me, American?”
Reluctantly, I open my eyes. What’s going on? What’s happening? I blink at the ceiling. It takes me several minutes to put together what’s happening. I was captured by an SS officer, and I’m in his house now.
I’m on my back, which feels wrong. Wasn’t I tied face down? I try to sit up, but I only manage to shift my limbs. However, the action does tell me that I’m free of my restraints.
I don’t feel pain. I’m not sure how I feel.
“There you are,” my captor whispers. He’s on the bed next to me, stroking my hair. “I thought you were out for the night.”
I try to answer but words won’t come. My eyes unwillingly close, but I don’t fall asleep.
He mutters something about subspace, but I don’t understand what he’s talking about.
“What were you swearing to?” he asks carefully. His tone is strange, as if he already knows what I was saying.
I slowly shake my head. “I don’t remember.” And really, I don’t quite remember anymore. What was I thinking about? I feel weird, kinda loopy and disconnected. I try to focus. What was I thinking about?
My captor stands up briefly. A warm, wet cloth drags across my forehead. He also carefully swabs my cheeks and neck. His touch is kind and gentle.
“Can you hear me, American?”
I mutter an affirmative.
“Good. I know I pushed you hard, but you needed these endorphins to relax you. It’s important.”
The cloth disappears. He rolls my limp body and positions me over the edge of the bed.
His gloved hand strokes my hair. “Are you still with me?”
Again, I only mutter an affirmative.
“Tell me, did your incompetent lover ever attempt anal sex with you?”
Anal sex? Memories of pain and agony filter through me. I only groan.
My captor chuckles softly. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”
I manage to nod and barely mumble, “Yes.”
“Okay. We’ll go slow. Let’s talk about why. There are different reasons why people engage in anal sex,” he explains.
I hear a bottle top snap open. A warm, wet finger slides between my cheeks. He’s taken his gloves off. I shiver as his fingers leave behind a trail of wetness.
“Some people like the taboo aspect of it. Some see it as naughtier or dirtier to take it up the ass, so to speak.”
As he smears the slick wetness, I only keep my eyes closed, focusing on his words. It’s strange. I feel he’s telling me something very important.
“Of course, some people just like how it feels. It’s a different sensation than vaginal penetration. There can also be a humiliation factor there, depending on how the recipient feels about anal sex, which is what some people want to feel.”
He smears even more wetness between my cheeks as his other hand settles on my lower back.
I don’t think it’s possible for my captor to make me feel humiliated. He makes me feel wanton and lustful.
“Some people see it as more submissive than vaginal intercourse,” he continues. His strange words are like a spell on me. “Like they’re offering something more vulnerable.”
Offering? I don’t remember sending him an invitation.
“Of course, with you, I don’t think you’ll ever willingly bend over and offer me anything.”
Hmm, I guess that’s my “transparent quality” again.
“No, with you, I have to force your lovely thighs apart every night. And for anal sex, I had to flog you into another universe.” His wet finger slowly breaches my clenched entrance. I hold my breath, but it’s not that bad.
“So right now, you may be thinking, why? Why am I doing this? Why do I want to put my cock in your ass? Why?”
Yeah, that’s a good question. He gingerly works a second finger into my passage, making me wince a bit in pain.
“I’m doing this because I need to feel you everywhere, in every way. I have to claim every passage of your body to make you totally and completely mine.”
I only swallow hard at that. He removes his fingers. Something hard and foreign presses against my lubed entrance. It’s not his cock. I know that.
“This is only a very small toy,” he explains, “it will aid in preparing you for penetration.” The toy slowly, ever so slowly, invades my passage but blissfully, it’s not painful. My captor simply leaves the toy inserted, which oddly enough…arouses me.
“Oh,” I groan softly, feeling my arousal growing.
“You like that,” my captor says. He sounds a little surprised but also pleased. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re so sensitive, so sensual. Perhaps this won’t be such a chore for you,” he declares.
He carefully pulls the toy out, making me pout a little. My body immediately misses the insert. Something else presses against my entrance. It’s also lubed but the minute my captor begins inserting it, I realize it’s a little bigger than the last object. I unwillingly yelp. My captor immediately stops.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have gone so fast.”
Gingerly, and with great care, he resumes what he was doing.
His apology only serves to confuse the hell out of me. If he wanted to, he could just hold me down and shove his cock up my ass. Why is he being so careful? Why is he even bothering with lube?
The thicker toy slowly, ever so slowly, claims my lubed passage, filling me in a way I’ve never experienced before. The new insert hurts a little, but it’s not too bad. I’m still loopy from the flogging, which I think may be the only reason why this is manageable. I think my captor was right about the endorphins.
His warm lips press against my lower back. “You are so beautiful.” He plants petal soft kisses up and down my back as his warm hands slide over my flesh. His clothed body settles over me as he nuzzles the nape of my neck.
Skilled fingers glide between my cheeks, smearing the lube, and circle the protruding end of the anal insert. “This toy is about the size of my cock. Since you can take it, you’ll be able to take me.”
There’s no request in his statement—it’s more like a dark promise.
He kisses the back of my neck, which only serves to heighten my already growing arousal. My nipples tingle as they tighten to hard peaks. His nimble fingers never once leave the sensitive crease between my cheeks.
I jump when something else suddenly happens.
“Easy,” my captor whispers. “It’s just the toy. It’s only meant to arouse you.”
It takes me a minute to realize that the toy is vibrating.
“Oh,” I gasp, genuinely shocked at how this feels.
My captor says nothing and instead keeps toying with the protruding end of the insert.
My breathing becomes shallow and erratic as I writhe helplessly on the bed. The vibrations from the toy seem to filter through my mound, stimulating me in a way I’ve never experienced before. It’s as if the intense vibrations bring me to the brink of orgasm, but I can’t quite go over the edge. I just stay in that place, desperately needing a release but unable to find it.
Hot wetness gushes from me. My captor rolls me over, leaving the toy nestled deep inside.
He plants his firm lips over mine, seemingly unable to hold himself back. His tongue plunges deep in my mouth. His fingers play with my nipples, driving me mad with lust. Between his skilled fingers and the vibrating toy, I can’t take anymore. I desperately need to come.
Almost reluctantly, he breaks our intense kiss. He keeps strumming my rock-hard nipples, though, seemingly punishing me for something.
“Oh, your pussy is dripping. I’d love to just shove my cock in your hot cunt right now.”
I only moan softly, needing his cock inside me.
“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, rolling me back on my stomach. “Distracting me like that. This is important.”
He seems more focused now and less blinded by sheer lust. I, on the other hand, am lost in full-blown need.
“This toy really turns you on,” he observes. “Good.”
I moan and helplessly grind my mound against the bed. The intense vibrations from the toy seem to hit my clit in just the right spot, but it’s not enough to push me over the edge. He doesn’t say or do anything. His hands settle on my hips, steadying me, as the toy keeps tormenting me.
Finally, as if unable to restrain himself any longer, he pulls the wicked, vibrating toy out. The blunt tip of his well-lubed cock presses against my entrance. I inhale sharply as if burned by his flesh. He’s going to fuck me there. He’s going to claim me there, just as he promised.
Slowly, as if to prove something, he slides his hot, thick organ inside me.
He’s already prepared me with lube and toys, so his cock doesn’t quite hurt as it slides into me, though it is a struggle to be penetrated like this. But there’s something else, something silent between us as his flesh fills me. His strange words echo back, “I’m doing this because I need to feel you everywhere, in every way. I have to claim every passage of your body to make you totally and completely mine.”
He doesn’t move right away. He just leaves his hot and hard organ motionless inside me. My hands clutch the bedding when he does start to move. He works slowly and gingerly, clearly not wanting to harm me, but also with undeniable insistence.
Each shallow thrust softly jostles my body.
His hand slides under me and finds my mound. My body instantly responds to his touch. His skilled fingers play with my clit, drawing an intense orgasm from me. I cry out in exquisite pleasure.
I’m still drained from the flogging, and this is proving to be too much for me. I have nothing left. As I come again and again, over and over, the world around me slowly dissolves.
When I wake up, it’s dark…sort of. I can tell it’s dark outside, but there’s a flickering light in the bedroom. I move slowly, wondering if I’m restrained in any way. I soon find out I’m not tied down and the cuffs are gone. My passages are free of his wicked toys, and all I feel is drained and sleepy. I don’t say anything and try to gather as much information as I can. I’m lying on my side. My captor is sitting up in bed next to me. I quickly deduce there’s a television in the bedroom. I blink at that. There’s not usually one in this room. He must have moved it from somewhere. The audio is very low, presumably to keep from waking me, but I can hear it.
My pulse quickens. It’s us. I hold my breath. It’s from today. He recorded us, though I have no idea where the camera was. I don’t dare move when I realize he’s masturbating off the video. I can’t help but feel oddly mesmerized by that. Is he really that intrigued with me? The video suddenly turns blurry for a moment before it comes back into focus. It’s not us anymore. The audio is a man speaking German. He’s talking about love and eternity. My captor curses softly in German and quickly kills the video. I saw enough to know what he did, though. I recognized it from the pictures I saw.
