CapturedbytheSS by Gail Starbright

and
needs?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “It just didn’t seem important.”
    “Your own needs didn’t strike you as important?”
    “No.”
    “Why? Explain that.”
    “Because his needs just seemed more important to me.” I feel
a bit flustered.
    “Why? Explain that,” he demands again.
    The drug compels me to answer, even though I don’t really
know what to say. “I just wanted to make him happy. When I was with him, I felt
like…like making him happy.”
    I didn’t quite say what I was thinking. I didn’t lie. I just
chose to use a different phrase than what I was going to say.
    “You tripped over your words. You were going to use a
different phrase. Tell me what you were going to say. Finish that sentence,
‘When I was with him, I felt like…’ You felt like what? Tell me what you were
going to say. You felt like what?”
    “A slave.”
    Silence.
    In all honesty, I never completely understood what I felt
for Steven. I never analyzed our relationship. It just kinda worked. I feel my
slave comment was a bit odd. A part of me is convinced my captor is going to
laugh at that answer, but again he doesn’t. Instead, I hear his pen moving
across paper.
    “If pleasing him was enough, then tell me why you left.”
    “I didn’t. He ended it.”
    There’s another long stretch of silence. I hear him stand
up. His heavy footfalls walk from the room. Where the hell is he going? Are we
finished? After several minutes, I hear him return. Paper rustles.
    “I have more questions regarding your training and your odd
behavior.”
    His tone is harder and colder. Somehow, I think my answers
surprised him or knocked him off guard a bit, though I have no idea why. I
think he left the room to regroup.
    “Do you have a teacher in the art of seduction?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you understand back at the checkpoint I was giving you
an opportunity to seduce me?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why didn’t you try?”
    “Because it seemed too obvious.”
    He’s silent for a moment. “But…don’t they teach you to seize
opportunities like that? Don’t they teach you that sex is a tool, a valuable
resource?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re telling me you chose to ignore part of your
training?”
    Why is that so weird? “Yes.”
    “What about the Irish accent? Did they teach you to do
that?”
    “No.”
    “Then why did you do it?”
    “It seemed like a good idea. I know SS officers are
linguists, and I thought I could hide anything that sounded American behind
another accent.”
    “They do not teach agents to improvise or go against
training. Your training dictated that you should have tried to seduce me.”
    It’s not a question or a request, so I don’t say anything.
    “When I said last night that your eyes looked different, did
you understand what I meant?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why do your eyes look so vulnerable?” he demands.
    Vulnerable? I’ve never heard that description before. My
superiors always said I was too curious for my own good, but I never heard
vulnerable.
    “I don’t know.” Something that sounds a lot like frustration
or despair creeps into my voice.
    “Your superiors don’t like that you’re different, do they?”
    “No.” To say they don’t like it is putting it mildly.
There’s been more than one occasion where one of my superiors literally got in
my face and screamed at me, “Stop thinking and follow orders!”
    I hear his pen whispering across paper.
    “Why aren’t you like the others?”
    “I don’t know.”
    He lets out a frustrated sigh. “All right. We go back to
your sex life now.”
    I’m not sure, but I think he sounds eager. I have the
impression he’s trying to hide his interest.
    “Did your lover ever tie you up?”
    “No.”
    “Did your seduction instructor ever teach you about
Domination and submission?”
    What the hell is he talking about? “I don’t understand the
question.”
    “I take that as a no.”
    His pen whispers across paper.
    “Have you ever heard the term