CapturedbytheSS (19 page)

He doesn’t respond at all. I clearly remember him saying at
the kitchen table that he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that one of my
siblings attacked me, so I guess he isn’t surprised. I don’t know why he won’t
say anything though. His hands settle around my waist. His lips press against
the scar, kissing it. It feels strange for someone to kiss that old injury. His
breath flutters across my skin. “I’m sorry that happened.”

I’m oddly touched by that statement. When it happened back
then, my father was furious, my brother was unremorseful, my sister was glad
and my mother only asked the doctor if there was any permanent damage. But no
one was ever sorry.

“Thank you,” I whisper. Somehow, that’s all I ever wanted to
hear about that.

I feel him shifting on the bed. Turning, I watch him
retrieve the wide strip of black cloth. “I think you can handle this without
hiding under the bed.” He stands, obviously intent on doing something. “Close
your eyes.”

A bit mystified, I close my eyes. He wraps the cloth around
my eyes and ties it behind my head.

“Come on.” He leads me by my hand only a few feet before pushing
me gently against something. I feel cold metal pressing against my belly. His
bed has a black, wrought iron headboard with a similar-looking footboard. I
know he’s pressing me against the footboard.

“Bend,” he orders, pushing against my shoulders.

A bit awkwardly, I comply and press my face against the
comforter. His gloved hands settle around my hips and lift me slightly. “Scoot
forward,” he whispers.

I wiggle forward.

When he has me the way he wants, my feet aren’t touching the
floor anymore and I’m bent over with my ass tilted up. The metal footboard is
pressed against my pubic bone. It’s odd to be in this position but not overly
stressful. I hear a distinct clicking noise. I heard it the first night when he
arrested me. Handcuffs. Without a word to me, he gathers my wrists before
pressing them against my lower back. He secures the handcuffs to first one
wrist and then the other.

With my hands cuffed and him trapping me against the bed,
I’m basically stuck for now. I feel him move slightly and then something drags
across my shoulders. My pulse quickens when I realize what the loose strips
moving across my back are. It’s the tails of the flogger.

“Oh,” I whisper nervously. I’m not sure what he intends to
do.

“Shh. Don’t talk.”

He doesn’t strike me with the flogger. Instead, he only
drags the tails slowly over my back, seemingly teasing me.

“Don’t move,” he orders. His tone is hard. I don’t even
breathe too deeply.

He splays the leather tails across my shoulders and then
gently sets the tool down, resting the handle on the short length of chain
between my cuffed wrists. He steps away from me.

“Stay exactly as you are. I’ve positioned the flogger in a
certain way and if you move, I’ll know. I won’t be happy if the tails are in a
different position when I come back.”

His tone is cold and hard. I hear him leave the room. I
don’t want to do anything foolish to provoke him, so I take shallow breaths to
keep from disturbing the flogger. I hear his heavy footfalls going down the
hall, but I have no idea what he’s doing.

After several minutes, I hear him approaching. He doesn’t
say anything when he walks back into the room. There’s movement followed by the
sound of something being dragged across the floor.

I sense him nearing me.

“You didn’t move. Very good.”

He doesn’t take the flogger away. I feel him set something
down on the bed close to my right hip. His hands touch me again, only I realize
he’s taken his gloves off. His hands leave me again as I hear another sound I
can’t quite identify. I feel a bit lost here. What’s going on? What is he
doing? It’s so frustrating being blindfolded.

He bends over me, covering my back with his clothed body,
though he still won’t pull the flogger away. The tails shift a bit as he
presses himself against my back, and a wave of panic courses through me. I
guess he senses my concern because he whispers softly into my hair, “Relax. It
doesn’t count if
I
move the flogger. I would take it away, but I like
how it looks splayed across your back.”

His hand pushes aside my hair. Warm lips press against the
nape of my neck. I sigh. I love it when he kisses the back of my neck, and I
think he knows that.

“You’re tense. I can feel it. I was too stern with you.
Relax for me.”

His warm lips caress the back of my neck, and I shudder.

“You like that,” he barely murmurs. His words flutter across
my flesh. It’s not a question, so I don’t respond.

He spends several minutes kissing the nape of my neck before
pressing his firm lips against my shoulder. Wetness pools between my thighs.
I’ve never had anyone spend so much time patiently giving me so much pleasure.

He nuzzles my ear. “Tell me, did your incompetent lover ever
attempt anal sex with you?”

I hesitate for a moment. “Once,” I finally admit.

“He hurt you, didn’t he?”

“Very much.”

He kisses the back of my neck again. “I’ll try not to hurt
you, but if I do, tell me, and I’ll stop. Understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper, though there’s a part of me that thinks,
No,
I don’t understand.
Why does he care whether or not he hurts me? That’s not
what I was taught. That’s not what I was told. But it’s actually quite typical
of what
he
would say. I quickly push everything from my mind. I hear
another soft click, like a bottle top, and then his fingers glide between my
cheeks. I inhale sharply as I realize his fingers are smearing wetness over my
clenched entrance.

“Oh,” I whisper.

“It’s all right,” he coos, placing a hand on my lower back.

I’m a little nervous about him touching me there. I well
remember my self-exploration yesterday, but that was different. Those were my
fingers, not his. I have no idea how fast he’s going to go or how hard.

“Please don’t go too fast,” I whisper.

“Shh, try to relax. Speak only if I hurt you.” He grabs the
handle of the flogger and rearranges the tails over my back. I take it as a
silent warning to be quiet.

Swallowing hard, I press my lips together, willing myself to
stay silent. A wet finger presses against my clenched anus, obviously seeking
entrance. I try to relax. The tip of his finger manages to breach my entrance,
and he murmurs something approvingly. Firmly, but not roughly, he pushes his
finger farther inside me. It feels strange for him to penetrate me like this.

He withdraws his finger before firmly pushing two wet
fingers against my entrance. The additional finger causes a twinge of pain as
he enters me, and I whimper slightly. He stops and instead reinserts just one
finger. I’m not sure why but his gentle pushing and withdrawing is actually
arousing me. Again, he penetrates me with two fingers.

His additional digit stretches my passage, creating some
pain, but I refuse to make any noise because the pleasure of it far outweighs
the slight pain. Instead, I only gulp. Obviously sensing something amiss, he
slows and then holds his fingers perfectly still, giving me a chance to recover.
After a brief pause, he gently pulls and reinserts his fingers. The slow and
steady rhythm only serves to worsen my arousal. I inadvertently tug against my
handcuffs, wishing I could stroke myself.

His two fingers gently stretch my passage before he slowly
wiggles in a third. I whimper as a spear of real pain hits me.

“Shh, it’s all right,” he whispers. His other hand
reassuringly rubs my lower back, coaxing me to stay relaxed.

After giving me a chance to recover, he slowly works his
three lubed fingers farther inside me. He doesn’t rush or hurry. His movements
are slow and careful. His fingers fill my tight passage, making my clit throb
painfully for attention. After several minutes of stretching and pushing and
pulling, he withdraws his fingers completely. I’m actually quivering with need.

A cloth towel just barely touches me. I think he’s cleaning
the lube off his fingers. I hear him unzipping his trousers. There’s another
soft click. I’m fairly certain it’s a bottle of lube. His body presses against
my back once again. His lips return to the nape of my neck. For some reason,
he’s still dressed though I’m not certain why. Sighing, I turn my head in the
other direction. He murmurs something disapprovingly.

“No. Turn your head the other way.”

I’m not sure why he wants me to look in a certain direction,
but I comply.

I know the closet has two mirrored doors. Maybe he’s
watching me in one.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Very good, American.”

The blunt tip of his erect and well-lubed cock prods at my
carefully prepared entrance. Despite his meticulous preparation, his swollen
arousal seems unable to breach me. Pushing a little harder, he manages to
insert the head of his cock. A whimper escapes me.

“Shh, it’s all right.”

His lips press against my ear as his cock slowly slips
inside me. He takes his time as he slowly inserts the entire length of his
arousal. I can tell he wants to go faster, but he doesn’t. When he finally has
his thick erection seated, he lets out a heavy sigh against my ear. He pulls
back a bit before slowly reinserting himself. A soft cry escapes me.

“Are you all right?” he whispers.

“Yes,” I manage.

His slow movements become steady and rhythmic as he works
his thick organ in and out of me. I can’t help but whimper and pant helplessly
as he fucks me. The sounds I make seem to excite him further, and his breathing
starts to mirror mine.

My lips quiver a bit as fresh guilt washes over me, but I
press my face against the comforter, hiding my tears from him. I’m actually
grateful he’s not facing me. The feel of his thick cock slowly pumping in and
out of my ass thrills and excites me, which also renews my guilt and shame. A
soft sob escapes me as he works.

“Shh. It’s all right,” he whispers against my ear. “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.”

Official property? I’m suddenly wondering what important
business he had in Berlin this morning and exactly what kind of papers he filed
about me. He makes it sound as if he claimed me.

I can’t think about what he’s implying, I can’t process how
good this feels. For now, I just enjoy the feel of his breath on my ear, his
hands on my body. I will away the familiar guilt and shame, convincing myself
this is all an elaborate act before my execution.

His erect cock slowly works in and out of me as he wedges
his hand under me. It takes a little finesse from him to get his hand over my
mound since my center is pressed against the metal footboard, but he manages. I
shudder when he cups my dripping cleft.

He groans. “You’re soaked.”

He strokes my drenched folds, forcing me to climax. I cry
out helplessly as his fingers ruthlessly continue to strum my aching clit,
making me come again and again, over and over. His body shudders when he finds
his own release.

With a low groan, he slowly pulls himself from me. I feel
spent and sleepy. Pressing my face against the mattress, I drift to sleep.

“Are you awake, American?”

I inhale sharply, shaking away sleep. I can tell I wasn’t asleep
very long.

I murmur something affirmatively. Moving around a bit, I
realize he unlocked my handcuffs and he’s lying next to me. But I’m still
blindfolded. I feel the synthetic slickness of the applied lube everywhere.
It’s between my cheeks, on my thighs. I think some even smeared on my back. My
hand moves across his bare chest as he pulls me against him. He’s naked now.

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling me out of bed.

He takes off the blindfold and then unlocks my leash. He’s
leading me toward the bathroom.

I guess he feels the same goopy wetness too because he’s
stepping in the shower. He has me stand in front of him as he turns the faucet
on. The warm water hits me first. I sigh, welcoming the blissful downpour.

After I’m thoroughly drenched, he tugs me to the side. He
pours liquid soap in his palm before washing my arm. As his soapy hands move
over my body, my eyes meet his. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. He carefully
and meticulously washes every inch of my body, going so far as to kneel down and
wash my feet. But he carefully avoids both my pussy and ass.

Once he finishes with the rest of my body, he takes his time
pouring more soap in his palm. He rubs his hands together, lathering the soap
as he eyes me darkly. He takes me in a loose embrace. Working in tandem, his
soapy hands gingerly massage my curls while also lathering the cleft of my ass.

Quivering with renewed desire, I lean against him for
support, burying my face against his rock-hard pec. His soapy fingers gingerly
stroke my clit and anus while I mindlessly kiss his chest. As he works, he
expertly strums my clit, nearing me closer and closer to orgasm. Panting
against him, I squeeze my eyes shut and cry out softly as he forces me to come.
As usual, he drags out my release until I’m whispering “Please” helplessly
against his chest like a chant. But he doesn’t stop.

I vaguely hear him mutter, “No, you take it.”

It’s an order that oddly excites me.

He pushes me past the point where I can stand on my own…and
even then he still won’t stop stroking me. Holding me against him, he makes me
come until
he
decides when to stop. I’m barely conscious when he finally
pulls his hand from my mound. My body sags boneless in his firm embrace. When
he finally releases me, I sink down in the tub. I’m a little surprised he
didn’t push me past consciousness. He knows how to do it.

Seemingly unfazed, my captor grabs the handheld showerhead
before kneeling down next to me. I’m sitting on my heels. He carefully rinses
my hair, face and body. With some gentle pulling and pushing, he gets me on my
hands and knees. The steady stream of water massages my shoulders and back
before slipping between my cheeks. Slipping the showerhead under me, he forces
the pulsating water to assault my mound.