"And now they're gone. She took my children and ran. From me! Can you imagine?"
John was on his second cigarette and had downed most of the wine. He raised the glass to his lips and tilted his head back to drain the last inch or so when an incessant buzzing distracted him - the light near the entrance started flickering. Then the various pointless knickknacks adorning the shelving began to rattle.
The wine sloshed around in his glass; a large drop landed right on the hollow of his neck and slid down his chest. Even his legs began to shake. Juliana was as rigid as ever, yet his boots atop her quivered. He removed them immediately and rose from the couch.
As for Juliana, she seemed more than relaxed, considering the physical strain she was under.
It was possible she had entered what those in the kink community referred to as subspace, wherein a sexual slave or submissive becomes so enmeshed in the pain, humiliation or other unsavory treatment forced upon them during a scene, they experience something akin to peaceful enlightenment.
But that could not account for all the sudden movement.
He had a fleeting memory of what had occurred when he encountered a real traveler for the first time – Fatima something. The wiring in the lab short-circuited; lights and machinery temporarily stopped functioning. And the woman disappeared before his very eyes, without a trace.
Could …?
No. He dismissed the frivolous notion and crouched down in front of Juliana.
"Miss Crain."
She didn't budge. The shaking in the apartment had ceased but her head remained down, eyelids shut.
Against the rules.
He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. Nothing. He lightly slapped her cheek and her eyes opened just a crack. He reached back and yanked her hair.
"Ahhh!" she exclaimed somewhat groggily.
"What, were you sleeping? Are you getting bored?" John paced back and forth, kneading a temple while mulling over his options. He spun around. "You will kneel for me."
Truly exhausted from holding one position for just under thirty minutes, Juliana rolled her spine and stretched her tired limbs before heeding his latest instructions.
"Sit further back. On your heels." John could never be satisfied it seemed. He filled his wine glass until there was nothing left to pour and offered it to his prisoner, nicely this time.
"Drink, Miss Crain. We can't let this fine bottle go to waste."
Juliana sipped it warily, still in a slight daze from being in the trance-like state she entered. It felt like she was somewhat freer, lighter, unattached to anything but herself.
Saddened by near continuous loss and worn-down after years on the run, with no other options left for survival save the mercy of the Reichsmarschall, Juliana considered she may have subconsciously sought solace in her obedience.
Absurd notion aside, she could sense herself floating towards something immense and unknown. She could feel it building – and then he took it all away. Being plied with alcohol was positively the last thing she needed.
She hated the wine. Juliana preferred an ice cold beer or chilled sake, but that was beside the point. This particular wine was enjoyed by members of the Reich. She was tempted to spit it out, right in John Smith's smug face.
He watched her take small sips and tutted. "Miss Crain, you're taking too long. Do not make me force it down your throat like I did last time. We wouldn't want you dribbling all over yourself."
He, of course, would never admit the very same thing just happened to him. To do so would be to imply they were equals in some way. In his mind, they were nothing of the kind.
When she finally finished, he had her rise. The chain was reattached to her collar and she was led her to the bathroom, her wobbly legs making it that much more difficult to walk in the sky-high pumps.
At one point Juliana tottered so much she had to grab hold of a bookcase, but John just pried her hand off and rewarded her with a swift spank to her left cheek and a sharp push.
His cruel laughter threatened to eat at her spirit as she stumbled down the hallway.
The door was closed enough to be able to allow John to hold onto his captive, more so to exert control than to prevent her from escaping (as if that were even remotely possible).
Juliana stared into nothingness. So considerate of him not to force me to urinate in a bucket like a real prisoner, she mused. When she felt a tug, she reluctantly wiped, flushed the toilet, washed and dried her hands and was returned to the same spot on living room carpet as before.
Holding onto the chain with one hand, John placed his other between her shoulder blades and shoved her to the ground, back onto her aching knees. Her hair was gripped before she could blink.
"I think it's time for a little fun, slut."
He was back to that word. The one that would only be rolled out during special occasions…
John wrapped her braid around one hand, twisting it until it was tight enough to use as leverage. He easily flipped her over onto her back.
She squealed at the sharp sting of more hairs being plucked from her poor scalp against their will, while the orientation of her surroundings rapidly shifted. She fell at his feet with his hand still clutching her hair.
"You see? So very useful." He tossed the still-damp length onto her face and dragged her back towards coffee table by her hands.
She instinctively tried to maneuver out of his hold, to lift her pelvis enough to knock him off, but he was too quick. He straddled her wiggling form, trapping her thighs between his knees.
From his back pocket he produced the familiar set of handcuffs. Snapping the first cuff around her left wrist, he brought the other behind the table leg and secured her right.
Once both arms were locked in place, John wasted no time in placing hot kisses along her neck, fondling her breasts through the cups of her bra, ripping the fabric down and suckling her nipples. He moaned in utter contentment.
"I could devour these whole. I love your tits. I always want them in my mouth and under my hands."
He pinched a tongue-wet, pea-sized nipple, digging a fingernail into the very center, eliciting a startled hiss from Juliana. He smirked wickedly.
"I knew you would like that. Now lay back and take it like a good slut." And he bit at and pinched both nipples simultaneously, savagely for several minutes until they ached and burned.
John smoothed his hands over her torso and lapped at her navel, kissing her flat tummy in a straight line, lower and lower, until he reached the silky waistband of her panties.
The instant her eyes met his, John let his lips rise minutely and wrenched them down.
Juliana rolled her hips from side to side and clamped her thighs shut. "No no no..." she protested halfheartedly.
She started flopping around like a fish. His little koi was dancing with excitement!
"Yes, oh yes," he crooned as he tugged the satiny material past her knees. She assumed he would remove them and have his way with her.
But John had another idea.
She was still wearing the heels he so adored on her. Too bad he had to remove them for the time being or risk a punctured eye.
With his heated gaze trained on her, he coaxed her shoes off, one by one, setting them reverently on the floor, as if they belonged to a queen.
Next he took hold of her panties and pulled out her right leg only. Twisting them around the middle, he wrapped the free leg opening around both ankles snugly, but not so much as to cut off her circulation.
He wasn't finished.
John pushed her legs back until they ran perpendicular to the ceiling and pried her knees apart. He leaned down and ordered her not to move a muscle.
To Juliana, the mere pretense of catering to this demented man's every whim proved even more challenging than originally anticipated. She played along and nodded in apparent confusion.
John released her wrists and tossed the metal restraints onto the coffee table. Swiftly, he looped each arm underneath its corresponding knee, forcing her to grasp her ankles for purchase.
He stared down at his prey with those blazing green orbs to keep her body in place as he pulled yet another item out from beneath a couch pillow.
Rope: black, semi-thick and soft.
He concentrated as he bound her petite wrists and ankles together, having honed his rope skills first as a sailor, then as a soldier. Now he was but a man with a fetish for rebels tied up in neat little packages.
He slid the heels back into place, mesmerized by their satiny bows. When he was finished hovering over her toes, he stepped back to admire his work of art.
She was so, so painfully erotic to look at – especially with her hands gripping the shoes like that. He wanted to come all over them, walk away, and eat a freshly butchered, blood-drenched sirloin while picturing his creamy remnant running down her fair skin, sticking to her stockings.
Still donning his uniform trousers, John sat on the rug, one leg straight out, the other bent at the knee, propped near her left hip. He wasted no time in finding her small thatch of dark brown hair, squeezing and releasing the pillowy flesh.
He had such fine elegant fingers for a fascist monster, Juliana noted traitorously. She watched in fascinated horror as he glided them lower, massaging her hood, teasing her inner and outer folds.
At one point, he bounced his fingers over that taut little junction separating her sex from her other, tighter hole.
Never once did he venture too close to her clit.
He removed his fingers and wiped them atop her slender thigh, now glistening with moisture.
"I take your wetness as consent," John informed matter-of-factually, as if spelling out the consequences to a suspect suspended from the ceiling, seconds before the lash swung and struck.
He then grabbed the empty wine bottle sitting on a side table and began to stroke its neck as if it were his own cock: firm, yet easy; prolonging the inevitable.
Juliana was rendered mute once the wine bottle appeared. She strove to focus her attention on his partially exposed chest; the serious set of his mouth.
"Won't you be my little slut again, Miss Crain?" he asked.
Won't she be his bound captive Valentine?
She lay there in absolute trepidation, mortified to the core. Against her better judgement, Juliana refused to let him see her testing the bonds. She so desperately wanted to escape but managed a noncommittal nod.
His preternatural eyes acknowledged the tiny gesture of affirmation, but only words would appease him. Otherwise, it would cease to be his fantasy.
At his unwavering stare, she replied that she would be his "dirty, helpless slut again," pursing her full lips for deliberate effect.
He didn't hesitate, kneeling before her body, spread open like a soon-to-be-corrupted butterfly. John began to glide the neck of the bottle over her lips, again avoiding her most sensitive, hungry spot.
He held her squirming body by the waist and rubbed her juices around. Not quite satisfied with the level of lubrication, he spat on the bottle, spread it around the neck, held her lips open and aimed.
Inch by inch, the smooth, cool glass plunged into her depths. When it was about halfway in, John slid it back out all the way with an audible pop.
Juliana whimpered, mainly in protest.
"Does my slut want more of this bottle of fine German wine shoved up her tight (he pulled on her thigh with his teeth forcefully)… little (he bit the base of her thigh)…pussy?
He finished his erotic assault by smacking her rear just close enough to send titillating vibrations to that hidden erogenous zone he'd toyed with before.
She found everything he said and did to her both horribly insulting and incredibly arousing.
What the fuckwas he doing to her? In all her twenty-eight years, she'd never imagined…
Poised with the tip of the bottle at her opening, he started to get riled up. "Answer me, slut. Now. And be detailed about it."
John Smith was one sick fuck.
"Oh yes, John, your slut is so ready to be punished with that thick, hard bottle," she rattled off, a verbal roll of her eyes. "My pussy is so tight and wet…I need to feel it. Please, John, cram it inside of me."
He watched her sinful rose-red lips move over each embarrassing word, but he was drawn like a rock hard magnet to one in particular.
"At what point did I say this was going to be a punishment?"
Her mouth went dry.
Despite his personal agenda, John felt this was too delicious an offer not to humor.
"While I would normally jump at such an opportunity, Miss Crain, right now I am going to have to politely decline."
At this, he slid the bottle home, pumping her with a subtle twisting motion and characteristic precision. "However," he continued cryptically, "I'm sure something can be arranged; that is, if it meets my specific requirements."
Juliana emitted a low moan as the lip of the bottle teased her g-spot. Even though seething with resentment, every new perversion he introduced seemed determined to make her wetter.
John's domineering presence alone sent heat rushing through her veins. Her clit was primed to burst at a single swipe of his finger - or tongue.
He went at her so long his wrist began to ache. It was an awkward position for him with her tied like that, yet it was worth it not only for the stunning visuals, but also to hear evidence of this unnatural creature's arousal.
He fought a sudden urge to whip out his straining erection and rub it against her cheek, knowing that, despite her initial reluctance, she had warmed to her role and was just itching to let go.
What I wouldn't give for these oppressively drab walls to be tinted the same oceanic shade as her eyes, by the dulcet tones of her rapture. He bit back a groan as he watched her neck arch, lashes fluttering.
Panting, walls clenching against the inflexible intruder, Juliana was dumbfounded when the bottle was slowly guided out and set on the carpet, soaked in bubbling juices.
John knelt next to her, lifted her head and brought the neck of the bottle to her lips.
"Lick it clean."
"I –"
Ignoring the sheen of perspiration trickling down his neck and curling the hairs along his forehead, John proceeded to methodically rub the wet bottle all over her lips.
Evilly, he growled that she should move over it "just like a cock," taking care to "watch the teeth."
She began to lap up the juices as he held the bottle in front of her. He turned the bottle so that she could drink it down.
"Open for me, slut."
With that, she took the smooth glass into her mouth and tasted herself completely. John tipped the bottle forwards and the liquid inside drifted onto her tongue.
She almost choked on the strange combination of her slick, pearly essence and the last dregs of wine. It created a sweet, tangy mess in her mouth.
"Good girl. Now, swallow."
He wanted so badly to tend to his own needs but the scene was almost over, and it would be such a shame to interrupt the finale.
He gently caressed her throat and she gulped. She licked her wine-tinged lips, smiling on a sigh.
Floored by her unexpected display of gratitude, John pulled Juliana close by the metal ring of the collar and kissed her full on the mouth.