“French bitch,” he snarled. “Did you think your German friends would protect you?”
Beth stopped breathing as she recognized the question. It was the first line of the submissive fantasy she’d sent Sean. Then her belly tightened and her heart started pounding against her ribs. Was he going to dominate her?
“How dare…” She wet her lips and tried again. “How dare you stop me? You are a fool to challenge the Nazis, rulers of all Europe. Now go home and don’t bother your betters.”
The truck’s hood slammed down. Beth glanced around Sean’s arm and saw…Dave Hemmings as the second cameraman? He watched her from beyond the camera, his face neutral. Its young operator definitely looked like Sean’s offspring, as he recorded her reactions.
She could ask Dave for help if she wanted to. Kidnappings were dangerous, with their open invitation for police involvement. Her skin ran cold and then hot.
No. Dave Hemmings was her safety net; she could simply walk away with him and avoid any danger from Sean. If she didn’t do that, then she consented to the fantasy being played here, taking the chance of submitting to Sean.
She would have no control once she left with Sean and would have to rely solely on him. She could be hurt physically or frustrated emotionally if he wasn’t able to dominate her. She dismissed the first risk quickly; Sean would never harm her, although he must know that she could enjoy pain’s vivid stimulation.
The second risk was more real; he’d never proven that he could top her in a way that placed his satisfaction before hers.
But this was her one opportunity to discover if Sean was a switch, capable of both taking and being taken. See if he really was the man of her dreams. Almost no chance but still, maybe it would work.
She looked back at Sean and swung her arm in a roundhouse swing at his face. “Imbecile!” she spat out the third line of her fantasy.
His eyes blazed down at her and he caught her hand, millimeters from his cheek.
“Foolish wench,” he laughed and she felt the scene’s energy snap into place between them. Her breasts tightened and dew beaded between her legs.
The truck kicked into a smooth rumbling purr, like all those old war movies. “Hurry up!” the driver called.
Sean twisted her arm behind her back and pushed her to the truck, the gun’s barrel pressing into her back. Dave’s face relaxed and he gave her the smallest of thumbs up signs.
Sean tossed her between the swaying canvas curtains into the back and followed her in a smooth dive. She found herself trapped between a blanket-covered hay bale and a very big man, who still had a gun in her ribs. There were crates of apples in old-fashioned wooden crates towards the front.
She trembled and grew wetter. The hay rasped her nipples through the blanket and her heavy field jacket.
The truck’s doors slammed shut an instant before it pulled away from the curb. Beth didn’t think of trying to guess its route or destination. This was now 1944 France and the Resistance would never let collaborators know their secrets. Her only hope was the man above her, with the hard ridge threatening to tunnel into her trousers.
He shifted himself, just enough to quickly buckle her hands into leather cuffs behind her back. Metal clanked and a chain slid into her palm. She tried to tug her wrists apart but the leather and steel refused to yield more than a few inches. She couldn’t possibly free herself.
She cursed him, angry and excited.
Then he pulled her head up and smoothly gagged her with a silk scarf, a knot in her mouth to keep her silent. Another silk scarf covered her eyes in a blindfold and he tied her bootlaces together to hobble her.
Beth tossed her head from side to side, trying to orient herself in the new world composed only of sounds. The truck ran smoothly, taking the hills and curves easily if loudly. Its heavy engine sent a continuous vibration through its frame and into her body, triggering an answering throb from her shoulders to her hips. And into her core, which registered its opinions in the dampness of her panties. She could smell her musk begin to rise over the masculine scents of hay and engine oil.
He yanked her onto her back and she tried to roll away. He grabbed the neck of her jacket, stopping her easily. Then he ripped open her jacket with one brutal tug, sending buttons flying. She tried to scream, even as her breasts firmed in anticipation.
He ripped open her broadcloth shirt quickly and easily. Beth twisted under him, too anxious to stay still. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing and her nipples were spikes of eager tension.
She froze when a knife slid up her bare midriff and teased her simple white silk bra. Her thighs tightened against her wetness. The knife felt like an extension of his touch, in the darkness behind the blindfold.
He cut the silk off her with a single smooth stroke and she moaned when his hand cupped her. He kneaded her breast hard, lifting it towards him. He chuckled wickedly when her nipples tightened further. His other hand played similar games until both breasts were throbbing and heavy.
“Such tempting morsels,” he rumbled, dropping his head. If his hands had been inviting, then his mouth was irresistible. She writhed under him, as incoherent pleas formed behind the gag. But she couldn’t talk and she couldn’t see. She was free to respond to him, without worrying how to please him.
The truck’s motion sometimes sent her closer to him but sometimes further. The burlap was rough against her back, despite the protection of her remaining clothing, while the hay rustled with every movement. She could smell the hay’s earthy scent and the apples’ sweetness combined with her musk, as she grew wetter and wetter.
She tried to rub her legs together to relieve her tension but he blocked that by shoving his knee between her legs. She pushed her hips against his knee but his hands bit into her hips. She whimpered as she accepted his rules: he set the actions and the pace.
Thankfully, he returned to her breasts after her hips lay acquiescent against his leg. Perhaps soon he’d use his hand on her below the waist.
The truck stopped and he sat up. A whisper of cold air brushed her nipples, in stark contrast to his mouth’s heated warmth. She listened hard, impatient for his return.
He cupped her breasts in his hands and she felt his avid gaze. She smiled under the gag when he pinched and twisted her nipples, enjoying the rapidly returning excitement. He focused his attention on one breast and its crowning bud until she was frantic.
Then he slowly, wickedly claimed that nipple with a sharp stab of pain. She recognized a Japanese cloverleaf clamp’s wicked touch immediately and gasped, adjusting herself. Soon only a hard ache remained.
She arched eagerly when he rubbed cold metal over her other breast and moaned when the second clamp took it. She would be very sensitive when he removed them.
Chain crackled then lay across her abdomen like a lover as he linked the clamps. She was held captive by him, at her breasts, wrists and ankles.
He unzipped her trousers then yanked them down to her hips to free her mound. He cupped her and she sighed at the welcome warmth after cold air’s snap. His fingers slid between her folds and she tried to open herself further, only to be stopped by the unyielding corduroy. A big finger stabbed into her, then another finger joined to screw into her.
Her belly tightened as her hips pushed up against him, desperate to find the climax that he was lifting her towards.
“Now, woman! Come for me now,” he snarled as a rough finger rubbed her clit in exactly the stroke she loved. Her body exploded obediently and willingly.
She gasped for breath afterwards, feeling the last pulses die away. Then his mouth closed over one breast, immediately returning it to a state of pure excitement. She grunted behind the gag when his hand delved between her legs. Soon he demanded another climax of her and she gave it willingly, her body spasming under his wicked touch.
The drive went on forever as he fucked her with his mouth and hands. Or was it only a few minutes? They left the hills and drove across a city, full of dissonanc
e as the route turned senselessly. The truck bumped across railroad tracks more than once, producing a change in his hands’ rhythm, and over bridges.
His breathing was occasionally ragged but he never rubbed himself against her, never released his cock from its confinement into her welcoming warmth.
Sometimes his mouth used her breasts but sometimes it traded places with his hands. Sometimes he led her slowly from orgasm to orgasm but sometimes he took her at a gallop.
They stopped once, the truck idling while cars thundered overhead. He ran his hands over her, skimming from collarbone to pelvis as her body rippled in an echo of their passage. She hummed, trying to understand his new demands, as her body fell into a slower pulse of arousal. Then he circled her breasts until she sobbed her willingness. His hands cupped her nipples lightly, warming her as he hinted at his next move.
One hand delved below, gliding deep into her swollen folds. Her hips thrust into his touch as she obeyed his unspoken demand. Just before she eased into a new climax, he snatched one clamp off with practiced ease and simultaneously thumbed her clit. She screamed soundlessly as the two stimuli sent her body into a blinding orgasm.
She was still shaking when his mouth covered her other breast and his hand found her favorite pleasure point deep inside. He pressed firmly with his hand while he simultaneously sucked her breast deep into his mouth. He repeated the two demands until her body throbbed in response, waves flowing from her breasts to her cunt and back again. Her body bent into a great bow of arousal as it offered everything to him.
“Now, woman!” he snarled, snatched the last clamp off and thrust deep inside her. His insistence was a rare hint to her effect on him. She came in a thundering rapture that ran throughout her body, from both her clit and her cunt.
The truck rumbled back into life while she was trying to catch her breath. Rain fell as they left the overhead highway’s protection, first as a steady mist but soon as a downpour. He swirled his tongue over her, lapping at her enflamed nipples like a rare appetizer.
The rain’s drumming was an echo of her heartbeat before she satisfied yet another command to climax for him.
Finally the truck lurched its way down a railroad track and he stopped his assault on her senses, moving completely away from her. She was too sated to do more shiver as the cold air returned to her overheated body.
It bumped onto smoother pavement then stopped. Water poured over one side of the roof, indicating some shelter from the weather. The engine fell silent as the Luger returned to her ribs. A door opened and then slammed shut in the cab.
They had arrived. What did he plan now? Her pulse exploded into terror’s trip-hammer beat. Or was it desire’s rhythm? She struggled to think.
The truck’s doors opened and the big man scrambled out, then turned to pull her after him.
He yanked her trousers up to her waist and pulled her jacket back to her shoulders again. She was hot, wet and swollen against cloth’s steady rub and she twitched under the rough sensation.
He tossed her over his shoulder, paying no heed to her struggles, and ran into the building. An elevator, a freight elevator by the draughts brushing through it, lifted them up higher and higher. Somewhere far below, the truck came alive again before it faded into the distance.
He set her down on her feet, supporting her against his hard body. He unchained her cuffs then lifted first one wrist, then the other shoulder high.
Each wrist was anchored before her head stopped spinning. Her hands instinctively grasped the metal bar that separated them. Four staccato clicks announced her legs’ separation and their attachment to another metal rod, her feet firmly planted in her hiking boots against the floor. She could stand like this for a long time.
He yanked the blindfold off so she could discover her new universe.
Beth blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the filtered light coming through the banks of grimy windows and skylights. She saw an enormous room in a brick building, furnished with a big wooden swivel chair, a table with a chest to one side, and two ancient wood stoves that heated their surroundings to almost tropical warmth. The floor had been swept to a warehouse’s idea of clean. She was spread–eagled against a set of pipes, a relic of the room’s manufacturing past.
She felt totally exposed and helpless, despite her heavy clothing. She was completely at the mercy of the big man watching her from across the room, his blue eyes considering her in a predator’s level stare. He was ferociously calm, in contrast to her body’s throbbing sensitivity.
She trembled, the motion traveling deep and ending in a slow burn in her gut. She gathered herself to fight. Oral sex was well and good, but she could find that with another partner, as could he.
“Are you going to tell me where the art is, beautiful bitch?” he purred, prowling towards her. His eyes stripped her remaining clothes in an unspoken promise. “As soon as you tell me where the Nazis hid our treasures, then I’ll let you go.”
She shook her head violently. Never, she mouthed against the gag. She would play this scene out to the end.
He held his knife before her eyes, a big wickedly-sharp dagger that he’d looted from an opera-bound Nazi general. She managed to sneer, even though she trembled and her breasts hardened under her shirt’s remnants.
He rubbed the flat of the blade over her cheek. She remained motionless and stared back at him. What the hell was he going to do?
“You should never have left us, your true people, for foreign men,” he remarked, teasing the gag’s edge with the dagger’s tip. The silk shredded slightly but didn’t tear. “You should have stayed where you belonged, with those who love you.”
His eyes burned into hers but she managed to refuse again. Her insides were twisted together, while her cream now dripped onto her thigh. She tried to breathe.
“So you want to play this game, do you?” He caressed her neck with the dagger’s sharp edge, so that her pulse beat frantically against it. “Then where is the art?”
In a move so fast that she had no time to respond, he cut the gag away and tossed it aside.
“Tell me or I’ll pluck your clothes from you.”
“No! You are nothing, compared to their mighty army.” She found a laugh to throw at him. “They will hold Europe when you and your kind are long dead.”
“Foolish woman, do you think you have experienced everything I can do to you?” He circled her, studying her closely. She snapped her head to follow him, growing more uneasy and excited with his every step.
He halted behind her and slid her hair away from her neck. He licked her nape and she jerked, then shrieked a little when he nipped her. He laved and nibbled on her sensitive points, until she trembled but remained stubbornly silent.
She was almost relieved when he left her and went to the table. But her eyes widened in shock when he returned with a pair of heavy scissors.
“You wouldn’t dare cut my clothes!”
“I find that I prefer your nakedness. It offers so many opportunities,” he purred. Her blood ran cold and then heated as her breasts tightened again.
Still, she gasped in outrage when he ran the scissors up her jacket and shirt sleeve to her neck. Now her only clothes above the waist hung by one shoulder.
He stood back, savoring the view. She burst into a string of curses, railing at him for destroying her warmest coat.
“How dare you cut it, you dirt-grubbing…”
He stopped her by the simple expedient of kissing her. She fought and tried to wrench her mouth away from him. He trapped her head between his two big paws and continued to kiss her until she yielded to him. Then his tongue roamed her mouth like a ravenous army, conquering everything it touched. His hands kneaded her breasts until she moaned and twisted.
“Where is the art?” he breathed against her cheek.
“No,” she stammered, dragging her few remaining wits back. “No, the Nazis would kill me if I told you.”
“Little fool,” he rumbled, “do you
really want me to question you until you beg for mercy? You know what I can do and how dangerous I am.” His eyes gleamed, sapphire-bright but still controlled, above his flushed cheekbones. He paid no attention to the bulge resting behind his fly, which seemed only mildly interested in Beth’s potential. He looked like a lion considering how best to spring upon a gazelle.
“I will never tell!” Beth cried out.
He cut the jacket and shirt off her other arm and tossed the remains under the table. Dear heavens, what was he capable of?
“How dare you! Do you think that is enough to make me talk?”
“You should have remained home,” he remarked, his eyes never leaving the tightly furled nipple. Her breasts rose and fell frantically while her ruby-red nipples tightened.
Did he mean that she should have remained with him? Was he looking for a pledge from her?
“No! I, ah, oh!” she gasped as his mouth welcomed her treacherous breasts. How could she resist him when they reacted like this?
He suckled her strongly and she writhed, grasping the handrails for support. “Damn you, how can you do this!”
His hand tugged at her other breast. She shrieked as he worked her breasts, using mouth and hands as each touch sent a jolt directly to her clit.
He stroked her back and his hand soon traveled over her derriere, first over the trousers then inside. Her head rolled back as he teased her. But the heavy corduroy trousers were too snug for the close contact he sought. He eased them open, while he marked her with small growls and nips.
She groaned when he rubbed her clit between her swollen folds. Her hips thrust convulsively as she sought to follow his fingers’ steady probes inside her. Then he lifted his mouth from hers and yanked her trousers down to her knees.
She squeaked and opened her eyes, shocked by the cold air exploring her hot skin.
He walked around her again, studying every inch of her. She eyed him warily, starting to be very concerned about his plans. How far would he go to dominate her? The kind of oral sex they’d enjoyed in the truck should have been enough to make him use her like a ravenous stallion, leaving him spent and exhausted. Then she could have left him without promising any changes.
The Switch Page 21